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First, I did get to drive the Foose yesterday. Jon took me out to a large parking lot and away we went. The shifting actually came back to me fairly quickly, but the stop sign was a challenge. Stopping was easy, getting rolling again without killing the engine was hard. I managed more often than not, but the not was often enough that I let Jon drive home. I do not want to be driving down the road, see a light, and have to pray, “Please, God, don’t let it turn red.” Until that is not my thought about stopping in traffic, I’ll stay off the main roads. My goal is a month from now that I will be able to drive my own car anywhere I want.
We were going to drive some more today, but we have an appointment with one of Trinity’s activities and that will eat the afternoon. You parents out there know what I mean. What’s more frustrating to me than the not driving is the not writing. I woke up today chomping at the bit, but once I finish this I have to go clean up and get ready for the afternoon stuff. One of the reasons we try not to volunteer for stuff like this is that I never know when the muse is going to hit hard, and demand attention. Hard to plan.
The goal for today with the Foose is to test the tire pressure. The Foose has special high performance tires, and they’re picky. So we got new gauges to test with, and I’ll be doing that today. Charles suggested we might want to change the tires out with something a little less picky. Not the words he used, at all, but that’s what I took from the conversation. Give me a bunch of technical terms about anything and I’ll boil it down to something I can say in a phrase. High performance tires are picky, and require more maintenance than less high performance tires. There are still moments when I feel like, what have I done? Is the Foose going to be wasted on me? I mean, this is an amazing car. The engine growls and roars. It’s visceral.
I could hear the engine when it needed to shift. There is no shift light on this car, but I didn’t need it. I could hear it, feel it, in the engine, from the pedals, to my hand, up my spine. You can just feel when it needs to shift. The one thing I can’t “feel” yet, is how quick to let up on the clutch and how much gas to give when going from stop to go again. I don’t “feel” that yet. Jon says, I’ll get there. I will, but it is the one thing I can’t understand with my body. This car is the first car I’ve ever owned that talks to my body, my skin, my hands . . . When I described it as having a heartbeat I wasn’t really joking. Maybe all the muscle cars, or at least all the Mustangs are like that, but all I know is that it feels amazing.
Oh, and one thing I forgot earlier this week when I was listing work, was the comic book. We saw the final colors for issue #7 of GUILTY PLEASURES, and we’ve been seeing pencils of #8. The script for #9 is delivered and accepted as good.
There are so many different jobs in my life right now that sometimes I forget to list progress from all of it. I’ll try to do better in future, but I am dangerously close to needing one of those organized private secretary types. You know, the one with a clip board, a portfolio, who tells you how much time you can devout to this phone call or that. Most days I think it would drive me crazy to be followed around like that, but then I hit days where I’m not sure what to do first. I can keep the writing in line, but it’s the interviews, the phone meetings, the interaction with more and more people across the country that is beginning to leave me puzzled. There are days when having my very own girl, or guy, Friday, wouldn’t be a bad idea. But what would I do with them on the days when all I want to do is sit in my office and write for hours? Would they sit in the kitchen and drink coffee? Do their nails?
There have been days where I literally hit the intercom and said, “All hands on deck,” and everyone knows that the proverbial crap has hit the oscillating device. It’s usually good news, sometimes great news, but it’s more work.
Checked the time, gotta run. That whole parenting thing interrupting again. We love the kid, but weekends never did mean time off for me. I wouldn’t want it any other way, but it is hard to juggle it all. And see, a girl or guy, Friday wouldn’t help me today, because they’d have the weekends off. See, see, it wouldn’t work. I don’t need another employee, I need to get a handle on my schedule for my own little self. The challenge is almost never other people, but your own internal dialogue. Maybe that’s why the Foose, so I have something to focus on that isn’t work, and isn’t ever going to be. Finally, a hobby that isn’t fodder for the books, but just because it’s fun. Just typing that seems weird. Now, I really have to go.