Will this become a new theme?

Who knows?

(Probably no, as you read on you’ll figure out why…)

Nonetheless, here I am: declaring chronicles.

So, I’m a little O.C.D. Also, a tad hypochondriac – recreational hypochondria, as my P.C.P. likes to say as he calls me out.

Both relate in this instance. I’m just one big Venn diagram of dysfunction.

On the O.C.D. side of my personality, I drove last night into what I like to call overtime. That is, beyond my normal goal of 10 rides. Ten is nice, sometimes it takes two and a half hours and other times it takes five. Yesterday was a – because it’s my life – frustrating blend of those two potentials.

I started out just around 4:30 and got several short rides around my neighborhood ride out of the gate. So, by 5:30, I was staring down the barrel of being 40% finished and figured by 7:00 I’d be home.

Oh, no…just…no.

Suddenly, I was getting rides that had me zipping 20 minutes across town – which is about all it takes in Portland, really. Especially in the QuaranTimes.

Because I love to recognize when the app is taking care of me, I noticed that ride nine had me – once again – just a few blocks from home. My aunt used to say “Thank you, Jesus” just loud enough to be heard when something good happened for her because performative religion she has an attitude of gratitude. It’s something that I like to recognize, that A of G. But my attitude manifests more along the lines of “Thank you, Universe“.

I carried that ritual forward in life, thanks to her example.

But, since it is my life, the Universe decided to exert dominance and ride number 10 had me in Hillsboro. The Aech (A.K.A. Hillsburrito) is about 10-12 miles outside of town.

Literally.

Portland has had a growth boundary my entire life to promote density over sprawl. You’re welcome, Californians. Beaverton, Tigard and Hillsboro do not, so far as I can tell.

That has manifested in Portland being more dense and upwardly building. Luckily, the ‘burbs are there to pick up our slack and the result is that somehow, the towns have all basically coalesced, despite Portland’s sprawl discipline.

Anyway, I’m not going to shut off my app way out in the ‘burbs and drive my ass home for free. Fuck that. I was basically in a place in Oregon where I could throw a rock and hit surf (not really, weenie arm notwithstanding) so I set my app to only take rides ending closer to home and kept driving.

It took eight more rides before I was once again close enough to home to justify shutting off the app for the night. I stopped at a cart for some grub before the closed – it was just midnight, but they took orders til 1…no need to overdo overdoing it – and then went home.

I parked just as the app was pointing out to me that I was in a bonus zone. Was another ride worth an extra $6?

Nah.

Actually, totally! But as a driver, it bothered me for a potential ride to smell my food. They might feel guilty. I don’t mind them smelling someone else’s doggie bag, even though I try to air Angela out between rides by rolling down the windows.

Did I mention we are in the midst of a weekend forecast in the PNDub that would have the rest of the world building arks and gathering animals?

So, I went inside and treated my to-go food like a prom date: I finished in a few minutes.

But all day today, as I say on my ass on the couch, my O.C.D. was niggling. Gourd, I hope that word doesn’t have racist history…

Around 4:30, I had hit the road. But I’m not going out for two measly rides. To split the diff, I committed to seven. Not a full drive shift, but worth dragging my flat ass off the couch – which, oddly, still has a butt shaped indentation. In both ends.

It’s probably defective.

During my second ride – which would true up my 10 Goal for the week – something came up in conversation and I immediately portmanteau-ified it and debated my next five rides.

Couldn’t quit it. I’m such a fucking Ennis Del Mar.

BTDubs, Brokeback Mountain turns 15 this week and Jake Galbreath Gyllenhaal turns 40.

Heath’s update is a little less surprising and a little more dire.

My rational brain says,

You better write that down, yo.

But I didn’t have anything to write with/on…

I’m not kidding, you know you’ll forg –

I got a ride.

And that’s where C.R.S. comes in. For those of you outside my daily bubble – it stands for Can’t Remember Shit. It’s very serious.

Seriously, I thought I’d remember this blog topic because it was so compelling and dynamic. There were portmanteaus!

Alas, ’tis gone.

However, in the unlikely event that I a) remember what I forgot; and b) remember that I started a potential theme on my blog…well, I’ve at least made a first (only) entry as a foundation.

I figure around 2 this morning I’ll be faced with the dilemma: blog my rememory or go back to sleep.

Any bets there? 🥸