There was a dream that used to visit me once every month or so.  The details changed sometimes, but it always involved my family at the brink of being late for something important like someone’s plane trip.  We’d look at each other and realize that the only way we’d make it on time is for me to drive us there.  I’d get into the driver’s seat only to realize that I don’t even know how to turn on the ignition.  Or if by some stroke of luck I am able to start the car, I look down and realize that I’m actually in the backseat and I’d have to slump over the driver’s seat to reach the steering wheel.  Always, just when I decide to give it a chance, I realize that I am ill-equipped for the task at hand.