Almost completely official.

There is a motorcycle in my parking lot.
It's mine.
I handed over a check to M's Mom in exchange for a green piece of cardboard that says so.
It came with a helmet and a manual and some spare parts and some oil.
I just purchased an insurance policy online, and all that's left is to fill out a form or two at the DMV.

...and now I'm hoping I didn't do something stupid, and I'm embarrassingly terrified of telling my Mom, for fear of her worrying about me more than she already does, for fear of admonishments that it was a stupid use of money.

I'm supposedly an adult or something, right? I wonder if I'll ever outgrow worrying about my Mother worrying about me. Probably not. It's probably hardwired. It's probably reinforced a lot by the fact that I'm worried about me. I know these things are more dangerous than cars. It can't be argued. I can only assume that this is a healthy, respectful fear, and not a debilitating one. Right? After all, I don't want to become intimately acquainted with asphalt any more than my Mom wants me to.


It feels strange that this is the first vehicle I've ever purchased on my own.

Kinda feels grown-up.

Weird.