The Entry I sat Down to Write the other Night Before I got all Melancholy in General

The Entry I sat Down to Write the other Night Before I got all Melancholy

So Gary told me last weekend that we might be going to the southern restaurant in Portland on Sunday.

This is referring to last Sunday.

We met up in front of my banks branch halfway between Broomstick and ‘Salems’s Lot.

Zorched down the highway to the restaurant.

It was ridiculously cold. Gary’s cousin, Chris had planned on getting up and working on his snowmobile. Once he saw the temp he said “Screw that, I’m going to breakfast.”

I had a crawfish and a andouille sausage scramble. Damn tasty. Coffee was good. The waitress was cute. As long as you could avoid looking at that disgusting nose ring. No visible tats.

Glen is convinced she had tats, just not visible.

Piercings and tats are just so disgusting. You have every right to get them. And I have every right to find them disgusting.

After breakfast we made our way to the mall and wandered around. It was still pretty early, so most of the stores were still closed. Gary bought a coat for his son at JC Penny.

He was actually shopping for a Pea Coat. He ended up buying something that looked like a pea coat but was certainly not a pea coat.

Then we went to Trader Joes.

I needed a nap.

We made our way home, or Topsham as it were.

I made myself a cup of coffee and did not have a nap.

I texted my flight instructor after I saw the weather was going to be decent on Thursday. He told me he was booked for the week, the airfield being closed for ice for the last 4 days. Tuesday.

“The day after Christmas?”

Yep.

I have accumulated a total of 6 hours since I started flying again. This is like pulling teeth.

My last flight was pretty cool, because the instructor pretty much let me do anything I wanted. We orbited ‘Salem’s Lot for a while, trying to find my folks house.

We were doing vectors. So I told him where I wanted to go and he said “Turn right to 090, descend and maintain two thousand five hundred.” And I would respond with “Coming right to 090, out of three thousand for angels two points five. Whoops.”

It is cool when you already know you fucked up.

The only problem is the pace is vastly too slow. I can’t be getting an hour or an hour and a half every three weeks. Just not going to work.

Break.

I put myself on the hook for the Christmas eve Lasagna. Tomorrow I make the marinara.

Last updated December 20, 2017