The emancipation of David (not)

The next attack

I haven’t told her about this. 

It can be excruciating, the want of a car. Not any car, but that car. There are elements of pure joy and hurt. These moments are interspersed but not in equal measure. The pain takes the lead role until you get the keys in your hand. The want leads to sleepless nights followed by incessant day dreams. Your mind is occupied. It thinks in colors, wheels, options and brand core messages.

Should she know? 

Sometimes it is actually about really one particular thing. For the longest time and even now, I can’t get past adding lightness. The sheer stubborn genius of pure engineering to persist with the engine being positioned in the back is fascinating. The open gated six speed transmission in steel is automotive porn. The sheer rumble of a V8 or the harmonic balance of in inline 6 defines lust legally.

Most times though, it is about every little thing. You are irked by vague switch-gear. Red tinted speedo dials bother you even when you are stuck in a traffic jam. You can’t understand the difference between driving with halogen lights or just driving without any headlights at all. You constantly miss the clutch when none is needed. You freak out on tiffin box plastic or on an AC switch that needs to be turn on to turn the air conditioner off.

It is by definition a sickness. An incessant love of cars can be sold under the euphemism of passion but we all know that it is a condition that leads to tearing pain. The sheer variety of choices tugs the heart at corners it doesn’t have. The sticker prices that are usually multiples of your take home income constant showcase the commonality of your existence and the trivial nature of your success. Further, if you do find moments of rare peace, on comes a video that explains why the GT3 RS has moved the benchmarks again. How painful it is for a car lover when improving on perfection isn’t just possible but rather the norm this decade?

Would her knowing that make it easier?

I have had this sickness for so long that I consider it magical. The want of a car, the corresponding wait and the anticipation is entirely the reason I beat the alarm clock each morning. I have longed seek to define of the pursuit of happiness and understand what it entails and what it does not. And while I can’t elucidate it with clarity, I am convinced that my way there is through sublime vehicle dynamics, harmonic engine sounds notes, an overload of sensory perceptions and the a driver’s cockpit that can seat me for eternity.

An untold illness continues to be untold until the manifestation of it is no longer invisible. My tell-tale signs are now prominent.

I think I best hold until morning. There isn’t a cure anyways.