mrsronweasley | Should I be or shouldn't I?

Well, he's back now, and with his newly acquired license - and thus, car. He's so excited, you'd think he was sixteen. The boy has finally discovered the freedom that comes with having a vehicle all to yourself instead of mooching off driving friends. See me roll my eyes (affectionately). But it really is nice that we have a car now (mine died last December and I still remember it with all the love that a car can inspire) - don't have to wait for anyone to drive us anywhere, and the best part? (Besides not having to pay a buck fifty for the bus) I can drive! Yes, I can get behind the wheel and put my foot on the pedal and drive. All my friends make fun of me, but I adore driving - it gives me such freedom, such a great feeling. First year in college I didn't have a car because I didn't need it in the city (oh, those were the days...) and whenever I came back home, almost the first thing I did was get in my car and drive. The first time I did it, I swear, I almost had an orgasm. Ahhhh... Then last year, I took my car to my new transfer college and it promptly died on me in the middle of the year. I cried. No, really - my dad and I waved it off as it rode out into the sunset towards a junkyard and we both sort of looked at each other, I sniffed - and my dad's eyes were suspiciously red. We'd had that car for seven years. It was family, dammit. And it was mine since I got my license. My car. Well, that's all gone now...

So, why am I writing here instead of being with my boyfriend? Because his dad is here - he missed the last train and decided to stay in a hotel room. The problem is, he's not supposed to know we're living together this summer, so he called me ahead of time and asked to vacate the premises, so to speak. So, I went out with my book, got tea and sat at a local Starbucks (I hate Long Island) and read half the book before he came to get me. Now, they're off walking around and any minute the phone could ring and I'd have to leave again.

Now, if my parents don't mind me living with him, why should his? But it's ok, I do understand. It just stinks. And I'm not mad at him. Really. It's just frustrating, that's all.

And I'm bitching. Bah. I need to stop that.