Fly.
Just kidding.
Get a driver.
Preferably one with a license and opposable.
I’m kidding. Kind of. I love(ish) driving. I might be getting tired of road trips. Ergo, the driver comment. Twenty hours, give or take, in the car a couple times a month is a little bit like dying slowly alone in a box on wheels. That’s hyperbole. It’s like running a marathon; except, I’ve never run a marathon, so that is also a guess. It’s kind of terrible. I, also, am kind of addicted. Obviously. Expensive but still cheaper than heroine, I’m told.
The first twelve hours feel like a bad TV marathon, but you’re too lazy to get up and change the channel back when the dial was on the TV. The next five hours are when you hit the too-delirious-to-give-a-shit phase. This is the money zone. I love that zone. It’s when my voice is the right amount of shitty and perfect for belting out all the songs I should never try to begin with. The last hour or three are the worst because I’m sooooo close but still 183.29 miles to go. That’s the math phase. If I were to go over the speed limit – I never do, for realsies, ask my best friends – I could make it there in two hours if I manage to average 98.5 miles per hour. Again this is fantasy because I’ve been in the car for 18 hours, and I’m ready to offer myself to my ancestors by way of seppuku to get out of this damn aluminum transportation device.
I like road tripping because I can take my dog. Beau doesn’t fly. I’m too poor and she’s too dog to fly. It’s also convenient to have a car at my end destination. I hate relying on people. Unless, it’s my best friends forever and always til the Big Crunch because where would I go without them anyways? It tends to be cheaper than flying but not always. I can bring as much ridiculous crap as I want without having to pay for checked bags. Who knows! I might need those seven pairs of shoes, a ballgown, all of my makeup, 26 books, and a yoga mat – I don’t do yoga, but I could be inspired on this latest adventure. You just don’t know!!! AND the apocalypse might happen or a house fire or I can’t stand the people I’m visiting all of a sudden out of the blue, and I don’t want to sleep on the sidewalk or a bench beating people away with a stick from stealing my stuff, so I bring my car because I can sleep in it push comes to shove.
Any who… I’m leaving North Carolina this evening on the next leg of my road trip extravaganza. Let me know if you want a recording of the singing happening between hours fourteen and sixteen tonight.
bisous,
Your Tired Blogger Friend
