Out of My Mind Read Online Free PDF

articles. Next year, in order to have a real, restful vacation, I’d like to be bored for a few days because I had nothing to do. Being busy is never restful.
    I hardly ever read a whole book anymore and even the morning newspaper is a challenge if you’re on a busy vacation. If you’re traveling, you have to read someone else’s hometown newspaper and it’s never the same as what you’re used to. Next year, I’m going to spend two hours over breakfast, drink three cups of coffee and read the whole newspaper, including the Help Wanted pages. I may take a nap after breakfast instead of doing an errand. I’ll do a lot of errands on my vacation, though, because buying something can be very relaxing.

    I grew up with boats on a lake we went to summers, but boating is one of the most tense ways to relax. Unlike cars, boats very often don’t work. There’s often something wrong with a boat and boats are certainly one of the most expensive pleasures known to man. A boat is more expensive than a hotel and then you have to pay to put it away in winter.
    I often pass a big boatyard or docking area with hundreds of boats just sitting there in the water, doing nothing. There’s no single toy Americans own so many of that they use so infrequently, as their boats. The places you can go in a boat are much more limited than the places you can go in a car. There are no four-wheel drive boats.
    I keep hearing about other people’s vacations. Not many will admit they were terrible, but if you listen carefully, you can detect telltale signs that give it away. We had friends who went to Europe on the Queen Mary. We did that ourselves many years ago on the old Queen Mary. Call it luxurious, call it unusual, call it interesting, but don’t call it a vacation. On board, they make you feel as though having a good time is compulsory. There’s nothing restful about being on a boat.
    A friend gave me a great hammock for Christmas several years ago. Hammocks are a genuine vacation item. They are hard to get into and hard to get out of, so once you’re there, you tend to stay. That’s vacation kind of time.

THE SMELL OF A NEW CAR
    There are times other than birthdays, weddings, anniversaries and holidays that mark the personal history of each of us. In the past fifty years, I have bought fourteen new cars and each time was a special occasion in my life. I don’t buy a new car lightly.
    The price of a new car ought to be firmer than it is. I always have the feeling I could get the same thing for less if I shopped around more. It is
obvious that car manufacturers have deliberately done things to obscure the price so that potential buyers can’t figure out how much they are paying for what.
    My old car, a 1999 model, had 86,000 miles on it and a few dings that needed paint. I usually drive a car for 100,000 miles before I trade it in, but I needed new tires and didn’t want to put out $750 for four new tires on a car with that many miles on it. Tires last about 40,000 miles and I knew I’d never drive it another 40,000 miles.
    My new car is from another manufacturer. It’s a lot like the old one but three inches shorter. Many of the features on the car I bought—which I’m not going to name—were what they called “optional.” My dictionary says: “Optional: left to choice. Not compulsory.” In the car dealer’s lexicon, “optional” means “take it or leave it” because you can’t buy the car without most “optional” equipment.
    I did not want the “Panorama Moonroof.” My old car had one (called a “sunroof ” by that manufacturer) and I never—not once—used it. I had to take the “Moonroof.”
    â€œIf you want that,” the salesman said of another feature, “it’s $350 extra.”
    â€œWhat if I don’t want it?” I asked.
    â€œWell, you don’t have to