At the beginning of the final leg of this great race, I seem to have developed a much different strategy for success than my two esteemed competitors. Trixie has been enjoying the last day of living in the comfort of a garage by giving herself a full spa treatment, which includes doing meditative ignition exercises and only listening to the smooth jazz radio station. She even asked me to cut up round slices of melon to put on her windshield “for moisturizing” but I reminded her that her coat of wax would probably make that difficult. She accused me of attempted sabotage and I grudgingly bought her a full tank of gas. This partnership is already fraught with difficult.

Steven, in his usual inability to judge how long things will take, has apparently spent the last three days in non-stop packing activity, taking short breaks to steal shipping materials from behind businesses and, inexplicably, to engage in a little light woodworking. Since he’s been too busy to even talk to me, I can only assume that this is all part of a strategy to psych us out and make us overly confident. TOO BAD, Steven Wiggins, because I’ve totally read The Tortoise and the Hare, as well as its many variations “The Tortoise and the Hare Race to the Moon” or “M.C. Turtle and the Hip Hope Hare: A Nursery Rap”, (seriously). I’M A LIBRARIAN, YOU CAN’T FOOL ME WITH YOUR AESOP’S FABLE TRICKS! Naturally, Trixie and I will be upping our game to deal with this fake out.

Trixie suggested–in a strange fit of mature cooperation–that we get a book on CD from the library to avoid at least a few hours of fighting over the stereo (if she had her way it would be Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” for the full 12 hours). Unfortunately, there was only one checked in:

I was disappointed that we couldn’t listen to Harry Potter to get psyched for the movie on Wednesday, but Trixie called me a nerd and said that she could tell from the cover that this would be A-MAZING! I can only hope she is not leading me astray. She also pointed out that, since her hood extends a few feet from the driver’s seat, she will technically cross any finish line before me. I explained that I planed to park, get out, and run screaming across before coming back for her. She explained that she would use that opportunity to crush my legs.

I bet there’s a psychological disorder where you anthropomorphize all inanimate objects around you with real pills and self-help books and everything.

Anyway, since I will be leaving around 6am to avoid Tampa rush hour, I imagine this is the last you’ll be hearing from me for awhile. Hopefully I will have the Internet working in the apartment before Friday, when I can update you on the glories of North Carolina and, most importantly, who won this exciting competition, although the Twitter box on the right should have a blow by blow account as I can update from my phone.

See you on the other side.