A month or so later the Hot Wheels racer turned up in the basement, and I wept with joy. Couldn't get enough of it. I lived with the thing, brought it to meals, slept next to it. My parents were concerned. But they were smart enough to wait, and in time (say ... a week) I got used to having the Hot Wheels racer back in my life, and began to ignore it again.
So with the car. Give me time, and I will go back to taking it for granted. But for now I am in the bliss of a second honeymoon.
One other reason I spend so much time in the car is that I am driving slower. Much slower. Student drivers are passing me. Old men in hats are passing me. I wave at them as they speed by, several kilometres per hour over the posted limit.
Reckless, that's what they are.