The Tesla dealership has moved to a new, vastly larger location, something that had been overdue for most of the time we've been owners of the cars from back in 2014. There were multiple reasons for the lack of relocation, including dealerships fighting to keep direct vehicle sales from being allowed in the state. But they're in the new spot now, with the large parking lot in the front and today, we drove the five miles from our house to find an absolutely overflowing parking lot.
When we got our first car there was a large amount of hoopla associated with picking up your car. It felt a little like the red carpet treatment, which is nice when you're excited about getting a new car. The second and third cars we picked up we were ready to take ownership and head home and even had to move things along by the time we got my husband's car, saying we didn't really have any questions.
Today, we couldn't find a place to park to come in to fill out the paperwork (there was still actual, physical paperwork to sign.) The car was running a bit late coming out because they were still cleaning it because of the number of deliveries they had happening. We were one of four kiosks working with someone to have their car delivered to the area in front of the building where cars weren't overflowing.
There was a car carrier bringing in more vehicles for probably the next day's deliveries. It was fair dinkum crazy there. Still, they took the time to answer questions and didn't mind as we inspected the car prior to taking ownership.
It's mine and it's nice and it has so many new things in comparison to the four-and-a-half-year-old car I had before. But it doesn't feel like I deserve to get a new car. I destroyed mine. That's no way to get a new car. The insurance company paid us for the pile of wreckage at the body shop, which still has salvage value as much of the car was untouched by the accident, but it in no way covered the premiums we'd paid.
I should have been excited. But I wasn't. I drove it home and went inside. My husband spent about two hours on it, doing this and that, setting up things, configuring changes, putting all the things we normally keep in it like reusable grocery bags, the handicap placard, booster seats, etc. He programmed the garage door opener settings and generally futzed around with it. He took it around the block to see what it drove like and stopped in a neighbor's who had been considering buying one but weren't sure on color and ran into my best friend's family walking who stayed far away because some of them are just recovered from COVID-19. Then he came home and talked to me all about it.
I should be excited. And I am, I suppose. I'll be more interested once I start driving it. I've been driving my husband's Model S for a month now on and off as needed, but today was the first time I got back into a car that looked for all intents and purposes, like the car I climbed out of with my children, on the highway, in the middle of traffic, after slamming into the car in front of me.
I don't have PTSD or anything even remotely like it from the collision. I'm cautious, wary, extra aware even. But it was an odd thing today, getting in a car that looked like my car—that I loved—that wasn't my car, only it actually was my new car. It was surreal. It's a beautiful car. Tomorrow I think I'll be more excited about having it.
The Big Boy Update: My son had now decided he wants to make YouTube videos. My husband and I are trying to figure out how we can make this work for him given that he doesn't have the skills to edit videos. We've got an idea that we're going to try and execute for Christmas which will include caveats to have him learn editing if he wants to put out more than the most basic of videos. We'll see how interested he really is when he learns there's actual work behind making those cool videos he likes to watch.
The Tiny Gitl Chronicles: This is going to need a lot more writing, but that'll have to be for another day. My daughter admitted to me today that she's scared all the time. She's scared of running into everything. She wishes she wasn't blind that if she could just see, she could do so much more. I cried with her and talked to her. I took a few videos of her at her worst and sent one to her therapist, whom we haven't seen in a long time, asking for an appointment. If it's this bad with the Prozac, I can't imagine how bad it would be without it. Some days my heart breaks for her.
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