Amongst the many signs that I might, just possibly, be aging is how exhausting I find it to drive a lot at night, especially in rural places. Time was thought nothing of driving from DC home after the sun went down. Last night I found myself looking over at my phone and Google maps up affixed up there on the air vents to the right of me to find out how much time had passed since I had last checked. Sometimes as little as two or even one minute had gone by. Not good.
By now I find that night driving saps me pretty good, though it got easier when we got back to the Raleigh beltway and there were more cars on the road to keep my eyes focused on what's going on.
Especially when they have their lights on. Yesterday evening we saw not one but two separate cars out in pitch dark -- around 7:30 -- with no lights on. On the frickin insterstate. I flicked mine on and off. One of the drivers got it, the other continued on blissfully, tra la la, presumably towards an untimely death.
Mary and I have been listening to Amy Schumer's autobiographcal The Girl with the Lower Back Tatoo for our entertainment. Not in the same league as Trevor Noah's memoir, but not bad. Some insight, some laughs, some justified righteousness, she lays it all out there and fundamentally she seems like a good egg. At least to hear her tell it.
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