In an effort to add to my increasingly embarrassing pile of “things to read soon” and to support my fellow liberal arts folks in Cherry Hall, I bought something from the English club book sale Wednesday.

A week ago, I wouldn’t have given the book I ended up buying a second look.

But a week ago, I didn’t have a car.

So two days ago when, from the bottom of the small, eclectic stack of books in the “travel” section—destination Zaire or Virginia?—a copy of “Auto Repair for Dummies” screamed “Buy me! Buy me!” with its bumblebee-colored words, I had to buy it.

I should tell you that I usually ignore pleas from any of the “For Dummies” books (though I almost caved when the “Facebook for Dummies” book buzzed at me), but because the number of wheels to my name expanded threefold last weekend, I couldn’t resist paying 50 cents for a book that might save me money in the long run.

You see, the car I’m now driving is as old as I am. It requires a bit more attention than modern models, and, since I’m borrowing it from my parents (yeah, it’s not actually mine), I want to keep it in as good condition as when they decided to let me borrow it with the hope that they’ll let me continue to do so after Thanksgiving passes by.

So yes, as you can see, I am excited about having my own set of wheels. I’ve put in three solid years of bumming rides and pedaling my way to and fro wherever I needed to go, and it’s going to be nice not to have to do that when I don’t have as much time to plan my journeys.

But I’ve also put myself in a bit of a situation: I know that I can survive without a car. I’m actually quite good at it. And it’s environmentally sound for me not to have one (plus it decreases the strain on our campus’s desperate lack of open parking spots).

But I love hauling my own ass places. If I need to go to the bank, I can go to the bank. If I want to visit my brother, I can visit my brother. I don’t have to make any phone calls or come up with alternative plans if my rides fall through. It’s wonderful.

But I still feel bad about it. Had I gotten a copy of “Environmentalism for Dummies” instead, I probably would have already violated rules one (don’t drive a car) through 31 (don’t feel good about driving a car). Perhaps it’s my permanent sense of Catholic guilt stepping up now that my life is easier, or maybe I simply feel weird about having more responsibility. It’s like having a puppy to take care of, except it’s never really happy to see me, and its waste pollutes the air in a way that far outdoes dog doo.

Like my dilemma with shopping at Wal-Mart, I think I’m just going to have to meet myself in the middle with this and be bumper to bumper with myself. I just hope that when I’m driving I’m not that way with another car.