My car died.

I've realized recently that I'm feeling younger and younger every day. Kids will make you younger. You see through their eyes, experience things anew along with them. Being with my kids in the backyard can make me feel like a young Walt Whitman, like life really is full of everyday wonder. I believe in the power of children to open eyes and speak truth.

But that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about insecurity, about unhealthy regression. I sometimes feel like I've lost the ability to function properly as an adult. And that's not good.

Take my car, for instance. The engine seized up. The car's been smoking for weeks, but I put off dealing with it. Yeah, yeah...no time, no money. Even one of my students said, "What happened? You let it run out of oil?" Wise ass, I thought. "No," I said. "I didn't LET it. It must have developed a leak." Like air from a balloon? Unlikely.

Now, I'm stuck with the decision of whether to pay for a used engine (with 90k miles) or to "cut my losses," as my dad says. In the meantime, I've been given my grandmother's 1986 Olds 98. It's cream and has under 70k on it. It's a grandma car, and I feel like a grandma driving it. Or rather I feel like a kid. A kid who needs to learn some humility.

What the hell am I complaining about? It runs, right? So what if it's missing hubcaps, allowing pebbles from the road to collect and jangle in stereo when the windows are down. So what if the armrests are about to fall off and the interior smells like an ashtray. It's got a CD changer in the trunk. It's free. I can take the mini-van to gigs. The mini-van. So, I'm no longer cool. I realize that, but does it have be so incredibly obvious?

I suppose I'll get used to the car. I should be more thankful for a solution to the problem. The problem is that I feel like I'm in high school again. And that's not a good thing. I thought that I'd have my shit together by now. I thought I DID have it together.