I used to love to drive. It was when I'd blow off steam. Turn up the fuckin' radio until my ears would bleed, and press down on the accelorator and edge up to at least five miles per hour over the speed limit. I did my best thinking behind the wheel, tossing a plot around in my head, twisting and turning it until I made myself crazy, but I'd figure it out.
Friday is our big errand day. I have to drive my mother to the doctor, which since my accident (crushed vertebrae) has been my son's duty. I'd curl up in the back seat with a blanket and sleep. My son went and joined the Marines, probably to get a break from all the chores he's had to take up on my account. So, I'm designated driver again. I need a pillow behind my back, not the hard one, the soft, feathery one that I can mash in different shapes depending upon my current needs.
The good thing is that my mother and I plot. Of course, I tell her I have the sex part down, don't need her opinions there. No, no, mom, I've got that covered!
The doctor, WalMart, and the other shops are two hours away.
We have the bank, the post office, of course, and then the drive home.
Then, it's intensive care for me, which consists of me popping the 'bad' pain medication (bad=unconscious) and knocking myself out so I don't have to suffer.
So, I hope everyone has a safe Friday and a great weekend. I should be conscious sometime Saturday afternoon.
Hasta la vista, baby!