My day ended sort of shitty yesterday. I got up today feeling like a special kind of prick. Not a duschebaggy sort of prick, but a sort of start-a-meaningless-argument sort of prick. I used that strategy as a catharsis and it didn't really work. Jen and Jim didn't think it was much fun.

So I decided to write something that made me feel better. Which, nicely enough; it did. It probably won't make anyone else feel any better though. Such is blogging. Dealio.

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God I'm so glad it's Friday. My favorite day of the week, without a doubt. And what another week it's been. As I walk into the parking garage I can feel the stress ebbing.

I walk past a convertible M3, and there's that gorgeous DB9. That is just a gorgeuos automobile. Athletic, elegant. Carrera, check. Oh wow, a GT-500. Don't see those often. Mazdaspeed3, nice choice. Quirky, powerful, fuel efficient. Soemtimes there's a Ferrari, but not today. I take the stairs up to the top level, and there's my car.

Before my ass hits the seat, I'm already feeling better. The car is so small and so familiar that I'm practically wearing it; like a swimmer in a speed suit.

Ignition. Windows down, sunroof open. Scroll through the music selection. For the first time today, my body senses the sun, the sky, and the temperature.

Backing out of my spot, I listen to the intake whistle as I tap the throttle. I swear I can feel the machine going through its pre-sprint stretches. Idling down the ramps and out of the parking deck, I'm watching the oil temp gauge. As soon as it warms up I'll know she's ready to run. Gotta get out of the city first.

In the city, we're just going through the motions. Traffic lights, mild early rush-hour congestion, watching for errant drivers crossing the lines, etc. I watch as a couple people run one of the lights and get their pictures taken by the city. Gotta hate that.

I round the bend on Wooster (or is it Dawson), and drive past the old homes and the basketball court. I like this small section of town. There's always people jaywalking and they're never in a hurry. Just hangin' on the block. Millions on welfare depend on me. Then I come to my last redlight of the day. Yes.

I'm sitting at the light before the memorial bridge, and I can feel the slight breeze coming off the river. Just barely there.

GREEN

First gear. 1 - 2 - 3 - 4,000 rpms. Second gear, climbing the bridge, third gear. The river's below me now, and to the south I can see the maritime giants docked at the port, the cranes ferrying their containers. To the north is the riverwalk, restraunts, bars, trendy loft apartments. I cross through the metal cage at the apex of the bridge and look over at the battleship. It's all down hill from here.

I punch it down the backside of the bridge, shift into fourth. Keep drowning the throttle some more, and I'm in fifth. The engine is absolutely singing as I cross through the tidal marshes on the Brunswick side of the river. The highway here is surrounded by marsh on all sides. The sun's shining off the still creeks and streams weaving their way through the high reeds. I cross the Brunswick river and pull into the off ramp.

I wind my way onto 133 and head south. Here the drive gets even more picturesque We're still in the relative marshland, but the highway is only one lane. Looking at the spanish moss hanging off the geriatric live oaks, you can nearly see the rice plantations that stood here hundreds of years ago. I pass a few modest residential neighborhoods, and cross Jackie's Creek. This tidal basin is constantly in flux, and today the water is at low tide; roughly four or five feet below pool. The road bends, and I'm rolling up The Hill to our neighborhood.

This is my favorite turn of the drive home. It's a 90-degree right-hander, wide entry into a narrow exit. I revmatch, downshift to third, and the engine responds with a chorus. 60mph...55mph...no brakesnobrakesnotyet...45mph, revmatch secondgear, initiate turn in, nooooo braaaaaakes...33mph across the apex and pouring on the throttle! YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! We're both screaming at the top of our lungs now! 7,500rpms, third gear, and the speedo blows past 65mph.

Okay, okay buddy. Settle it down, this is a 25mph zone. I back off the throttle and let the transmission bring us back to sanity. I meander past the ponds looking for gators or egrets, turn onto our street, and pull into the garage.

Clutch in, first gear, idle for a second or two. Driving really is a privilege. I turn the key off, the engine warbles into silence, and we both sigh.

That was fun. We should do more of that.