Phone call, earlier this evening:
Him: Are you sleeping?
Me: Not yet.
Him: I just talked to Seymour. He's camping, but we'll both be there.
Me: That's great. I couldn't do it without you guys.
Him: This is your brother, by the way.
Me: I know, I have call display.
Him: So, what time?
Me: I don't know, but it will be around late afternoon. I'll tell you this, I'm shitting my pants about driving a 26' truck to Nodnarb. I'll probably call you so that you can meet me at the Husky and drive this damn thing.
Him: That's nothing. It's like a 3-ton. Just remember your off-track. And find out if it takes diesel, there should be a sticker, but you can tell by the sound.
Me: Remember the last time I drove a truck bigger than a half-ton? I don't, but y'all keep telling me how I drove it into the granary. I was ten!
Him: You'll be fine. I have to shower now. I'll see you on Saturday.
Later: Oh, shit. I do not want to do this. And not just because one of my dearest friends is moving away from me. Though that is the major factor. The driving a 26' truck is just a minor annoyance. This really fucking sucks.