Star date 574.385
I’m writing this entry in my mind while driving for efficient time management. But there should be no problem transcribing this tonight back at the hotel because I have an excellent memory. Or at least used to. Been forgetting things lately, like at The Last Resort Bar and Dodgertown. Is my mind slipping? Here I am again, tooling down my beloved Florida on another fabulous morning, exactly what I love to do most in the world, watching scenery go by: palmettos, petticoat palms, some guy living in a wheelless Airstream, roadwork ahead, another town, another sign at the city limits telling me the Kiwanis and Moose Lodge are glad I’m here, old billboards, freshsqueezed orange juice, pecan logs, Jesus knows what’s ailin’ me, that cop pulling over a speeder with a pair of checkered flags flapping from the windows of his sports car. Ain’t life wacky? So why aren’t I happy? Look at Coleman over there, blissfully content. Maybe I should do drugs. And how do I explain that nagging feeling I’ve been having lately that won’t go away? What if Mahoney’s right? Or what if it’s all a trick? Of course! He’s trying to rattle me into a fatal mistake by getting inside my head. Well, good luck Mahoney! But how do I explain the sleepwalking? I’ve never done that before. And I’m not even taking those new medications from the TV commercials that CNN says have side effects of people sleepwalking to the fridge at night or waking up behind the wheel of a car going seventy. What’s happening to our republic? We used to be tougher than that. But today the pharmaceutical companies encourage us to whine like babies and take a bunch of pills that aren’t supposed to be handled by women who are pregnant or may become pregnant: My bad cholesterol’s too high, my good cholesterol’s too low, sometimes I’m sad, I pee a lot, I can’t nod off, my legs are restless, my acid refluxes, diarrhea interrupts my active lifestyle, uninvited relatives show up right after I’ve taken a pill to bang my wife, which is why we’re sitting in separate bathtubs on a bluff overlooking a cornfield. But they never consult me. The problem’s obvious; everyone’s too tired to fuck from lugging bathtubs. I know what you’re thinking: Coleman and I have sat in our share of hilltop tubs, but that’s something else. I just see things on TV and want to participate in my times. Like right now I’m applying something directly to my forehead. Had to buy a new stick of that stuff because I wasn’t about to put it back on my forehead after catching Coleman rubbing it on his dick. I said, ‘Coleman, why are you rubbing that on your dick?’ He said, ‘What have I got to lose?’ What indeed.