Diary #464

Some of you may have noticed that for all my steel, thunder and rationality, I’m also a very sentimental person.  The top of my desk is cluttered with cards, small gifts and other mementos given me by people I love, and I have difficulty getting rid of things I’m used to having around even if they don’t actually work well anymore.  But a car is something that must be reliable to be useful at all, so when my mechanic told me that my automatic transmission’s shifting difficulty was a harbinger of its imminent demise (and that wasn’t even the only issue), I knew it was time to retire my burgundy-colored 2000 Honda Accord (just a few months after the premiere of The War on Whores, in which she has a small part).  Fortunately, another sex worker I know was thinking of getting rid of her 2002 Saturn; the car’s in very good shape (and very low mileage for an 18-year-old) but she rarely drove it, and didn’t feel it was worth the expense of maintaining any longer.  She gave me a very good price, and yesterday I sold the old one to a mechanic who’s going put a salvage transmission in it for his teenage daughter to drive.  All very reasonable and practical and for the best, and it wasn’t like I was really in love with the Accord, and she’s going to a good home.  But I was used to her, and comfortable with her, and I really dislike change.  So I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I shed a tear for the old girl, and thank her for getting me around dependably for the past three and a half years.