The other morning I woke from a bad dream in which I had stupidly allowed an ex-coworker to drive my car and he totaled it.

Let me officially go on record here for those who may not know me well that in the past, in what I might in the future refer to as my ancient times, I occasionally allowed people to drive my vehicles. It usually had something to do with varying sums of money exchanging hands or promises to be forever in my debt (Yeah, if I had a dime for everything I heard that!). On the last occurrence however, back in the early '80's, I thought I really knew the guy and he wanted to take his girlfriend, a very nice young lady, to her senior prom in style. Promises of filling the gas tank before returning my car, pinkie swears that he'd not go over the speed limit, crank the stereo too loud, etc, etc, etc. Yeah, yeah, okay, here's the key, be careful, have fun, stop bothering me, yada, yada, yada.

( Sad tale of car woe behind cut )

This guy who I thought I knew turned out to be what I considered an asshole. Wasn't the first nor the last to cross my path. So when I dreamed that one of my ex-coworkers, a guy whom everyone at the time, my boss included, referred to as a royal pain in the ass, rolled my car off an embankment while I watched, I woke in a sweat (non-menopausal related). But after a minute, I felt good, almost happy even because while I dream about cars often, it's not often I dream of cars AND assholes at the same time and that only means one thing: The Car Novel, that just happens to contain a couple of asshole characters (because the car world is full of them -- trust me on this) isn't just calling to me; it's jumping up and down, waving it's arms, and hollering my name loud and clear. Oddly, I feel like I'm coming home and it feels good.