I'm at the Space Age truck stop outside Hermiston, OR, getting ready to get back on the road. It's raining up on Snoqualmie Pass so I shouldn't have any problem running over the hill this morning; it's simply a matter of getting myself going.

Yesterday I didn't get myself going like I intended and ended up driving over the Blues in the snow. The weather forecast said it wasn't supposed to start until 10 p.m., but Mother Nature obviously doesn't get her clearances from NOAA. There must have been a snowplow about a mile ahead of me because it wasn't too bad, but it was getting worse. I'm certain the chains sign went up later.

Today I need to get going so I can get home early because I need to run into Tacoma to get a blood test. So I need to get going soon or I won't get home in time to drive into Tacoma.

Which leads us to getting going. I haven't been doing a very good job of that lately and I can't quite figure out what is happening. Maybe it's simply part of the mental illness. I don't know. Maybe it's just who I am and I haven't been paying all that much attention to myself before. Likke right now, it's one hour after my before breakfast pill and I should be eating breakfast, but I'm writing this instead. Guess I'd better put my pants on so I can open the curtains on the truck. Don't want to show off my tighty-whities to all the truckers and ruin their day before they even get out on the highway.

Another thing I need to do when I get home is make an appointment with my GP. My right knee is unbearable and not getting any better, in many ways it's getting worse; and, now, I've developed a sore on top of my left foot where the anti-embolism stocking rubs on a bony knob on my foot when it swells up after driving about six hours.

And, finally, I'm depressed, again. It hit me when I was driving through Georgetown, ID, Friday afternoon on my way to deliver bread crumbs to a potato processing plant in American Falls. I was just driving through this quaint little Western town and suddenly I'm sadder than I've been in weeks. Maybe it was just the idea of going home. Maybe that's my problemm. Maybe I don't love the wife so much just the meerest thought of being with her for a few days depresses the shit out of me.

But, then, I also realize that I do have someone who loves me whether I love back at all. She does care about me. And, there is Bonita, too. Can't forget the dog.

Oh, well, at least I'm not thinking of doing something stupid. Well, other than quitting driving because I hurt like hell and there doesn't seem to be anything anyone can do about it because I'm taking the mood stabilizer and warfarin, meaning I can't take anything close to an analgesic because they mess up blood levels of the other drugs and may induce an artificial overdose and leading to an untimely death.

With so many good thoughts, I guess I'd better quit and eat a bowl of Fruit Loops. Then I can get going.