Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
I try not to allow myself to get too involved in the kinds of things real people trouble themselves over, but for the past several months Real Reality’s been poking me and pinching me on the rump. Real Reality’s an ego-maniac, thinks it’s important and if a person isn’t careful it can convince him it has something to do with anything, make a considerable nuisance of itself.
All these oak trees falling, others threatening to fall on inconvenient and distracting places. Various new roof leaks. A number of other nagging items not worth mentioning. They’ve been taps on the shoulder by Real Reality I’ve suspected might be followed by a round-house to the jaw if I didn’t duck and dodge.
So, a few days ago when I came across a 1983 Toyota RV I can manage to squeeze me and the cats into [out from under trees] I felt more relief than I expected of myself. I can quit wondering where I’m going to live, at least structurally and what I’m going to drive transportationally. Opens the doors to more palatable geographic questions.
I’ve a number of issues I’ll need to wrap up here, depending on all manner of non-ponderables, but if things required it I could be out of here in a couple of weeks. Or, if I’m left to piddle around doing it, a couple of months. But one-way-or-another the engine’s running and the Coincidence Coordinators are giving their approval for me to get the hell out of Dodge before the snow flies out west.
The road mightn’t be brick, mightn’t be yellow, but there’s an exit ramp coming and if I can get this thing slowed down enough I’m going to cut myself loose from all this pesky Real Reality rushing around making a nuisance of itself.