logy.

[loh-gee] adjective, logier, logiest.

  1. lacking physical or mental energy or vitality; sluggish; dull; lethargic.

I have had a logy heaviness lately. I think it started in Denver due to allergies and traffic and what was left of my energy faded away with every mile on the drive to Oklahoma City. My stay there was lovely, though I wish I had been more entertaining to my four favorite kiddos. My logy state continued as I drove from Oklahoma to a rest area in Tennessee, where I slept soundly in the back of my Kia. Then I progressed to Asheville and on to Raleigh. I drove the long way home to avoid a storm on the coast and slept at a rest area in Georgia. I woke up drenched in sweat and was reminded I was close to my Florida home. I no longer needed my 15 degree down sleeping bag. This made me sad.

I got an hour and nine minutes away from home where Mom had peanut butter pie in the freezer, and my car started acting funny. I pulled over and then she wouldn’t start up again. I had déjà vu from Utah and didn’t want to get her towed since they didn’t find anything wrong with her last time. So I waited. Maybe Sangria Kia had logy herself, she would have more reason than I.

I stared off into space. I wasn’t frustrated yet. I actually wasn’t feeling much at all. I had a lot of emotions on this trip and perhaps I ran plum out. I felt like a robot. Maybe a robot would know how to fix the car. I ate some homemade granola from my cousin. I cleaned my passenger seat that had been overtaken with gloves, hats, and books. I checked the fluids. I ate some more granola. Then I tried to start the car again and had no luck. I called my car insurance’s roadside assistance and they sent a tow truck. After about two hours in the Florida heat on the side of I75, the truck pulled up. I am sure I looked lovely after sleeping in my car in the same clothes and having a few layers of sweaty grime all over me. I smiled and said, “Hello.” I don’t think he responded.

Whilst traveling, I’ve learned to have a “this will make a better story” perspective when things go wrong. So I knew I had to make friends with this tow truck driver. I asked the usual questions. He might’ve been sluggish and logy as well so the conversation started slowly. His name is Robbie and he grew up in the area. I know some fine fellas in Brooksville that I play poker with so I asked if he knew them.

“I do. Their kids, too.”

“Oh, wow. Small world,” I said.

“I rented a house from them for twelve years,” he mentioned.

“Very small world!” Then we spoke about how great they are and I didn’t tell him I tend to beat them in poker. Mostly because that’s not true.

I ran into Firestone and explained my situation. I told the mechanic about Utah and how the car stopped working but all the diagnostic codes were clear. He said, “Might be your gas sensor…think your driver has a gas can?” He did and he said he’d drive me up the road to get gas and then back to try it.

“If it’s out of gas, I’ll be embarrassed. The gauge says I have a quarter of a tank. I’ve never run out of gas before,” I said.

He laughed.  “Oh you shouldn’t be embarrassed. There’s a girl we bring gas to at least once a week.”

“You’re kidding…”

“I am not. Every time she says ‘I just put $3 in!'” he shook his head.

We laughed. “Do you like beer?” I asked. Robbie raised his eyebrows. “I have Graham Cracker Porter from Denver Beer Company that was so delicious. My dad might not notice if one is gone…”

He took the hot beer and thanked me. We put the gas in and the car started right up. After 12,000 miles, I ran out of gas sixty miles from home.

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