Oh, the guilt.
To car or not to car.
If I take the Transit System, it's a cold, hour-long, slippy, snowy, pain in the ass walk up to the King streetcar, a comfortable-ish ride to the Subway, and then a crowded subway ride to my stop, then another slippery, snowy, pain in the ass walk to my building.
If I drive, it's a twenty minute hop in a warm car, music to focus to, a little bit of news to ease away the disconectedness with the universe, a parking lot attendant with a gaping grin who remembered me from when I parked there for my interview, and a fifteen second hobble to the back entrance of the building.
I feel slightly guilty at wanting to add to the infamous Toronto traffic jam, slightly guilty at the overly strong urge to choose comfort over duty.
Connie laughed when I told her of my quandary, giggling that she wished she had a car for the long trek in each morning, the way the senior people do.
She came to fetch me for a coffee run this morning, and we talked about her kids, how the youngest needs more attention to do well in school, how the oldest is the star student.
I told her of my sister, how she needed more encouragement too, how littlest effect really is that strong.
I told her how my sister is the smart one now, applying for her master's degree and finishing her bachelor's early, working in a women's shelter, doing all the most awe-inspiring things.
She grinned at that, and in the elevator we had time to meet the CIO and have him laugh at the work ahead of me, meet the head tech writer and inspire the same gut-jiggling reaction.
This morning I am just a little less tired than before, and today, with an I'm-so-lazy-I-took-my-car fire lit under my ass I'm diving straight into something I've been putting off in lieu of reading for the past three days.
Before I bought this car, there was no question. Now, I feel as though I have become weaker somehow in my dependence upon it.
The question really, is it worth fighting this urge when the convenience might allow me to work harder at other things?
Prioritizing has heavily accelerated into complicated these past few years.
This growing up thing? Pain in the ass if'n you ask me.