I have done my share of moving. Believe me, I don't move for the thrill of that particular adventure. There has always been a reason for my move: new house, new job, or to leave a woman I never should have married in the first place. But, of all the nightmares associated with moving, by far, the scariest one is registering my car with the new state and getting a new driver's license.

As I stand in my new apartment, with my right hand holding my Washington State driver's license a shiver begins shimmying up from the base of my spine, passing through all my danger-sense points. You know, that point behind you telling me Big Brother is watching, that spot between the shoulders getting tense, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck become prickly, and my brain buzzes with alert messages: "Danger, Will Robinson!" Then the inevitable flood of questions from my admittedly overactive imagination kicks in: Will there be a written test? Will there be a driving test? (I failed the last time I took a driving test, I made a right on red where there was a sign saying: "No right on red." Duh!) Do I have to get one of those silly manuals and memorize how many feet between cars on the beltway? What happens if my eyes cloud up on the sight test? Nobody knows the answers to these questions. If you go on the Department of Motor Vehicles website, they answer questions nobody's ever heard of. For example, what question does "Anybody operating a motor vehicle on public roads must have a driver's license" answer?

And, in the other hand is my vehicle registration. The gurgling sound from my gut must be setting off some seismographs someplace. My stomach feels like the epicenter of some geological disaster. I have to exchange my out-of-state registration for an in-state registration. My eyes roll up in their sockets, that shimmying shiver does a repeat performance as my imagination goes into hyper drive. Will there be a safety inspection? Will I have to get a new windshield because the current one has a crack? What about the dents? And the dreaded: Is there an emissions test? Yes, I can feel my bowels revving up, but, I don't need to go into that.

Then, in my silent suffering, I hear something. It sounds like ... like music. It is music. Yes, I can recognize the melody, it's the theme song from Gone with the Wind, it's playing in my mind. I begin to relax. Then I hear the immortal words of Scarlett O'Hara: "Oh, fiddle-dee-dee, I'll think about it tomorrow!!" My anxiety leaves me. My driver's license is good for two more years, my registration lasts a few more months. Today is not a good day for nightmares at the DMV, tomorrow might be better. I hear my laundry calling me...