Not driving is tough on me. I loved driving a car since the first time I got behind the wheel at the age of fourteen. That was when I "borrowed" my older brother's car for a quick spin through our neighborhood and ended up in a ditch. By the time I was seventeen I had bought my second car, a beautiful Ford XL500 that I promptly wore out in less than a year. I remember being surprised that I needed new tires after only a few months of ownership. Apparently putting on thousands of miles in less than six months will do that. Basically I bought the car, told my parents I'd be right back, and thirty thousand miles later pulled back into the driveway.
It's too bad Mom and I don't live near each other. I think with the both of us sharing responsibilities in the front seat, we'd be fine. She could help out when I was driving by pointing out stop signs and other obstacles for me. When she was driving I could sit in the passenger seat and scream in terror every time she came too close to another car thus preventing an accident. We could even put Mark in the back seat to get the effect of surround sound.