If local laws ban texting while driving, how does that affect my habit of writing messages/journal entries in a notepad while I’m sitting behind the wheel aiming a two-tonne machine on tires powered by an internal combustion engine through traffic?
Depending on the part of the world/country in which you live, you might have a preconceived notion about the driver of the vehicle below:
I don’t. I have seen men, women, boys, girls, Caucasians, Asians, Hispanics, blacks, young and old behind the wheel of dubbed-up rim jobs like this rolling down the highway. I’ve never seen a homeless type person or an Amazonian tribal member driving one, though.
Makes me wonder…
If we’ll spend fifteen thousand dollars on a set of wheels, would we spend fifteen large on annual healthcare or a ride 100 km above Earth’s surface?
I am a childless, dying person so I don’t have to worry about leaving a legacy behind. I can say what I want and do what I want while deciding if I want to obey local traffic laws when scribbling personal observations and notes to remind myself to thank others for their kindness to me throughout the day.
There are 13,883 days to reach the next milestone.
Thanks to Shannon at Arby’s, Liz at Beauregard’s, Michelle at Dreamland BBQ, the busy staff at Gibson’s BBQ on the last free pie day of April, Nichelle at PVA, Joe and Jenn at KCDC, Irina and Julia, Hannah at Shaggy’s, Danny at Walmart, Jonathan at Anaheim Chili, Ian at the Rave, Lynn, Sarah and Dr. Pugh, and many more.
Pause for thought of the day.
On a personal side note, I’ve found that recent stress has greatly increased my desire for sex. Very interesting as well as disruptive, as if I’m creating vast stores of testosterone in order to take on and conquer the world. Makes me not want to look into a person’s eyes because I feel like all the lust inside of me is pouring out through my face.
Spending time on self-examination takes away from building scenarios for the story of our lives told in this blog.
For instance, my dreams have reached vivid proportions.
In last night’s dream, while my wife and I traveled through snowy country on a tandem bike, we topped an icy hill and were suddenly sitting in a car. Topping the next hill, we happened upon a set of railroad tracks.
We stood by the tracks. I was holding the reins of a rope harness attached to a cow. The cow was pulling a set of railroad cars which had big wooden wheels like you see on a child’s playtoy set.
The cow was very tired. It wanted to get into a hot tub.
I climbed into the hot tub with the cow so it could warm up its legs. Sitting in the tub was a woman with orange hair and ivory-white skin covered with freckles. She was a cow whisperer.
My wife asked the cow whisperer to interpret what the cow was saying. The cow rubbed its head against me like a cat, making low mooing sounds like a cat’s purr. The cow whisperer said the cow was weary of the ways of the world and wanted to quit pulling the railroad cars.
The cow, tub and whisperer disappeared. I was standing by the railroad tracks with the rope in my hand. My wife wanted to go on to the hotel/chalet where we had a reservation. I pulled hard on the rope and finally got the railroad cars rolling in parallel with the railroad tracks.
We entered the chalet and walked the halls looking for our room. I kept pulling the rope, wondering if the railroad cars would fit in the hallways and stairwells we walked and walked for a while.
Finally, we found our room. Inside was a man who looked like the character of Mr. Ripley played by Matt Damon. The man kept telling us one different story after another about why we had this particular room, including why I had the rope in my hand. He promised to tell me if the railroad cars would fit in the chalet hallways when the phone rang.
I jerked awake. The bedside phone rang, disturbing the cats sleeping next to me. My wife had already left for work.
I answered the phone. My mother was on the line giving me an update about my father’s stay at the VA.
My wife decided to interpret the images of my subconscious thought for me during dinner at Dreamland BBQ tonight:
- The cow was my mother and the railroad cars were my father.
- The man in the hotel room was my alternate egos.
While she told me her interpretation, TV screens around us featured talking heads analysing the recent suicidal death of Junior Seau, a former fearsome NFL player.
While I dreamt, a blind man proved he can change the course of history by standing between the governments of China and the U.S.
If a parrot can live longer than the average member of our species, then a dream can live longer than one civilisation cycle.
And texting while driving is a matter of interpretation.
Time to give my dreams impetus/motivation and transportation!
treetrunkdings 