Gah. The internet seems broken. The boys say it's only me but they're also not really online as much as me in a way and way more than me in another and so I don't know if they're playing straight with me, I just know that everything chugs and buffers and the webpages look weird and there's junk at the top and bottom but I can mostly find what I need and it only took me five tries to log in so either I forget how to blog or someone is messing with my Perfectly Ordered Routine.
Probably the Devil but would that actually do him any good?
Cormac McCarthy died and I shed a tear for one of my favourite giants of literature. I got my speaking in Italics from him, when I write. I got Southern gothic from him, in my dreams and I still quote needing whiskey for The Road if we ever end up on it. A gun, bullets and whiskey. Other than food that seems to be all they needed.
When I hit the road (AKA Highway 99) I have my tote with a lighter, a knife, pepper spray, a phone charger, and chapstick. Then in the back of the Jeep is a tire kit, fire extinguisher, food/water/blanket, jack, first aid kit, etc etc etc.
Huh. Anyway, I am sad. Everyone dies.