Compromise

It looks like, no matter how you slice it, it's going to come down to compromise.

I drove Tuesday night.

That sounds, even to my ears, like an alcoholic confessing to a Ketel One martini, extra dry but extra dirty. Not, of course, that I would know.

While Dr. Hallock's been trying to carry a kegger's worth of food home on his bike (you can dress it up any way you want, Dr. H, you're part of the Florida Studies program and we know your black little secrets), I was gambling on whether or not the city council meeting I had to cover would end before sunset. See, I wanted to take the scooter instead of the bicycle (let's call me lazy), but the lights currently operate on island time. They come on when they want and turn off as the mood strikes them; not safe.

I gambled – wisely – that the meeting would last past sunset and took the car. I was right not to count on not needing a headlight – the meeting lasted well past sunset. But, damn it, I've taken the car at least once a week since this started.

Perhaps the key is compromise. As a former coworker used to say, nothing is going to move closer Oklahoma to Orlando. We will always need cars. But maybe the key is to need them a lot less.

I'll still try not to drive through the end of the month. But I'm not pleased with how easily I resort to jumping behind the wheel of a car, and I'd like to see if I can get past that. Suggestions welcome.