The thing about living here, in this small town for which I must come up with a name (let's call it Adventure City. No? Okay. I'll think of something, I'm sure) is that not having a car is a bad thing. There are things within walking distance, such as a corner, and then another corner, and then another corner, and there are things that are not in walking distance, such as everything else. But, they tell me, there are buses! Buses that will take you anywhere you want to go! I've been here, what, a week? And so far, the buses I have seen is actually bus, singular. And it didn't look very safe. It was powered by pedals and drug by a horse and was making mysterious clanking noises and I just don't think me and the bus of my new town are meant to be, is all I'm saying.

Okay, there are things within walking distance. There's a convenience store three blocks away, and Rite Aid. Four blocks the other way, there's the main drag and that's got my gym and my bank and coffee shops and restaurants and it's practically civilized out there! But it's a hike. These are long blocks! They are not reasonably sized. I shake my fist at the city planners. And I have to tell you that I actually wouldn't mind the walk. If people shoveled their driveways and maybe put some salt down and maybe the skies didn't open up every third hour and rain down white death. Snow! Ice! It puts a damper on walking. Especially when you are clumsy like me. I will not tell you how many times I have fallen down already.

Even if I were cross-country skiing around town wearing a parka and a tauntaun carcass, there are things that I cannot do at a cute little coffee shop or a very nice place to get lunch, like buy low-fat milk or decent cheese or get a key made or mail a package or buy a book or shower curtain rings. So I'm going to get a vehicle. A ride, as it were. Probably I will totally pimp it. First, I have to get the freelance check that is supposed to be in the mail, along with all the other checks in the world, having special check adventures and doing wild check things, the way checks in the mail always do.

In the meantime, it is me, my feet, and my sense of pioneering spirit, or swallowing my very dumb pride (because they don't begrudge me! But I still feel bad!) and asking the boys—E. and his most excellent roommates—to give me a ride. They all have cars, and sometimes they can even get themselves and their bald tires out of the snow drifts and down the street, and then they say watch this! and do a Utah turn, which is taking a corner at full speed, yanking the wheel around and hitting the emergency brake. Sometimes, I crap myself.

But that's not the only reason I'm reluctant to ask for rides. I mean, it's part of it. But also, we talked about it before I moved out here: "We can drive you anywhere," E. said! "You don't need a car!" "But I don't know..." I trailed off. It makes me feel guilty, to drag them around to do my errands. And it makes me feel very the opposite of independent and resourceful and adventurous, when I have to sit in my house and wait for everyone to get off work so that I can go get toilet paper or a stick of gum or some crack cocaine. And sometimes, you need things like tampons (or crack cocaine) rather urgently, and then what are you supposed to do?

You're supposed to haul your sick ass off the futon, strip out of your flamingo pajamas, strap on your boots and slap on your hat and wade out into the blizzard, is what you're supposed to do. It is emblematic and important, this metaphor—it's your own two feet! You're supposed to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and be brave and strong and tough, and it doesn't hurt at all if you're procrastinating on either unpacking or finishing up another hundred pages of freelance work and you're so high on non-drowsy cough medicine that you've come all the way around the other side to walking unconsciousness, because by god, you're going to go out there, and you're going to get yourself what you need!

I don't even remember what I needed, now. Cough drops, tissues, a Hershey's kiss. Something propelled me out the door, and down the street, all three blocks to the convenience store, hauling ass over drifts and scaling cliffs and skidding down precipices. I made it to the convenience store! I felt so good, out and about and running errands. I marched back down the street and I didn't fall down or even slip, and it was lovely, to get out of the house during the day, to have pants on and a hat and gloves and a scarf and boots, and to be a sister doing it for herself, with an armful of things and a heart full of courage and derring-do. And then I got home and crawled under my afghan and fell asleep for two and a half hours. Which I'm sure would have happened even with a car, but I hope I don't have to find out.