But, gods, it's too easy . . . The route I took to get gas and return was maybe a five minute drive. It would have taken me half the day to walk it. I love the feeling. No wonder I used to casually drive to North County for a cup of coffee, or to La Jolla for a cinnamon roll.
I guess it'll be nice to able to get to La Jolla again. The trolley goes downtown, where, obviously, there're plenty of things available. But Tower Records is in La Jolla, as well as one of the few Landmark cinemas in town.
I really oughta start working on the new Boschen and Nesuko chapter. I have several rather complex plans for it, but I've learned my lesson about trying to write these things before I've had enough coffee. I used to try to write them early in the day, but the past several chapters, I've made sure it was well after I've had at least three coffees.
Ugh, I don't wanna get up early to-morrow. Stupid car. I hope it grows legs with expensive shoes and spats and starts laughing furiously about land deals while puffing a big cigar. I hope it then falls over on its ragged mattress and realises that those gay nights are but a dream of yesterday, and to-day is the mouldy walls of plaster all round. Then maybe my car will have learned something and will come back to me with sense and a willingness to cooperate and run without gas.
Oh, I'm sorry, car, that was harsh of me. You're doing your best, you've taken me over very long, lethargic distances. Gods, crossing a thousand miles is only slightly more difficult than sleeping. It's unfortunate somehow.
Under one skirt.