Decades and centuries ago I told my granny that I was thinking of driving dynamite across to the Eastern Shore.
Ooooh, stop, she twittered (back when twittering was something different) and patted my hand affectionately and told me she loved me and smiled up at me like grannies do.
But I was. Seriously thinking about it, I mean.
But then the years and years and years zipped by in gale force winds while I did other things.
In the last coupla months the dream has somehow re-kindled and taken root. And now its gnawing obsessiveness is becoming a siren song, something I’m not sure I can ignore much longer.
Dudes, I’m thinkin’ about getting my CDL and driving a tractor trailer. Not local, and maybe not long haul, but, yeah, maybe long haul. I know me. I could never drive local, and regional might be a stretch boring-wise, but, man the long haul lure is there and the hook is tight.
Escapism as epiphany, ya know?
I meant to talk to Miss Carol about this again tonight and break it to her, but it was her birthday and we did other stuff and I forgot so she’ll probably read this instead.
Ooooohh. That’ll be fun.