…so if a 2003 Honda Accord with 35k miles sits idle for three years, can it be driven? I’ve read replace the battery, drain gas tank, new oil, new filters, possibly new spark plugs. Is this something an untrained amateur can YouTube?
The beach house is sleeping. The dog is sniffing for more food. My blue and green flannel is on the table. Sand between my toes. I slept for 11 hours last night. The fasting isn’t getting easier. I think it’s getting more difficult, actually. Last night I had a bacon cheeseburger at this restaurant in St. Simon’s Island called The Iguana. My sister, father, wife, and father’s wife got the shrimp and grits. Before we left the parking lot for stroll by the pier, I had my fingers in the creamy gravy of the to-go box. Anticipatory hunger. Afraid of the 15-hour fast.
…I think I’m going to start journalling privately as well. Like write and not publish. Write just for me. The more I diary, the more I realize how much I’m not saying. I’ll hurt her feelings. Or burn the shit out of that bridge. I wish I could post these journals anonymously, but maybe it’s good to have an outlet for just me. Maybe it’s an invitation for deeper honesty.
The Iguana’s grits weren’t soupy like cornmeal oatmeal. They were fried into shape like hash browns on steroids. Which was delectable. I could go both ways—soupy or solid. I could even have a little bit of both, in the same bowl. Leftover grits and over-easy eggs and smoked salmon and kale salad is on the menu for breakfast. In 54 minutes. With coffee and cream. And papaya. And apples with almond butter.
The 2003 Honda Accord is in New York. I am in Georgia. The clan is trekking to Minnesota at the end of May. Instead of hurry hurry hurrying and getting the car now, hoping it can make the hump to Georgia, maybe it’s best to wait until mid-summer and make a trip of it. Fly out. Drive back. Pray to Honda gods. Accord is an odd vehicle name, no? Aren’t most cars named after mythological gods or animals? This is the vehicle that is a “an official agreement or treaty,” unless they mean it in the adjectival sense of “to be in harmony, unity, or agreement with.”
I applied for two high school teaching jobs yesterday, both requiring work M-F from 7-:30-4. Which isn’t my cup of morning coffee, I’m more into the part time, have a life with my family, have time for my interests, in order to not resent my job, or burn bridges, or only work there for a year before bouncing kind of guy. I wonder how many people understand this versus how many people roll their eyes and are like shut the fuck up and work. I definitely have both voices in my head.
I didn’t wear green yesterday. Or order a beer at the restaurant. Holidays rub me as cults, regardless of the holiday. Super Bowl, Christmas, Easter, 4th of July, I kind of Scrooge stare at it. I can’t articulate why, maybe I’m just a sour person and need to fix that. Or maybe I’m really wary of the herd, and walking into Walmart to pick up the pics of Ellie to send to my grandparents in Virginia, I saw the racks and racks of green t-shirts with sayings printed on the front, I’m like woof. Imagine Rocky Balboa wearing a green Kiss Me I’m Irish shirt from Walmart. It’s just not right.
That said, Kate and the baby are bloody blow-up poster worthy. Cute as a button as the southern women say. Both of em. Even in flashing in green on St. Pat's day, I can't help but smile.