CarlHoliday

Did the East Bay thingy this morning. Left Stockton early with my load of cut up pigs (or pork, for those of you who prefer a more tasty description of what was in those boxes) destined for a lot of Japanese mouths and made it to Oakland in good time. Unfortunately, the unload took extra time because whoever monitored the loading of the trailer in Tar Heel (yes, there is a town called Tar Heel), NC, didn't know how to set load locks so they don't fall and allow the load to shift. Fortunately, the receiver did not reject the load, which they could

My student, who shouldn't be a student because he's been through three trainers already, was doing very good, up until today. I've been considering keeping him on after his 36 days are up because he's been doing so well. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't heading back down hill, again. I HATE being depressed. It takes all the fun out of life. Not that life is a bowl of cherries. You know there's a pit in there. You know it! When I was a kid my mother canned Bing cherries, like she canned a lot of other fruit. She never pitted the cherries before canning them. You had to chew off the meat and spit out the pit. After dessert, there were all those pits in everyone's bowl. GROSS! If you didn't notice before, I'm rewritting the Tim story. It's going well. Very good in fact. So good, in fact, that I've found it detracts from the Schticky story. But I am forcing myself to work on that, too. It's just, well, you see, I'm getting depressed, again. And, I'm starting to have those thoughts, again. We won't say what those thoughts are, but they're the same thoughts Geoff had on more than one occasion. Maybe, that's why I'm going back to that story. Don't know. Do know my student pissed me off this morning, twice already. I had such high hopes. F**k! Sorry for dumping.

I

Well, I was hoping it wouldn't happen, but I bumped into another truck, again. They company who wouldn't take me back said I couldn't go a year without having an accident. Well, they seem to know me better than I do. On the other hand, I can say, "I bet I can stub my toe on nothing better than you." Sometimes being accident-prone leads to all sorts of schticky behavior. I think I do a fairly decent double-take; not too good with pratfalls, though. Then the receiver this morning rejected a whole pallet of ketchup. They ordered sphaghetti sauce, not ketchup. They don't even sell the size of container the ketchup is in, otherwise they might have kept it. So, I can't go anywhere until I can get rid of a pallet of ketchup and that won't happen until the Claims people come to work tomorrow morning. Anybody got a whole lot of French fries, say about 40 acres. If you only have 20 acres, maybe we can find someone with a field of beef to grind up into burgers. Ketchup on eggs, anyone? If I had a lot of mustard, I could make ketchup and mustard sandwiches (tastes just like a burger). I suppose I'd be having a lot more fun if I had more money and wasn't in Bald Knob. I'm not saying Bald Knob is a dull place because they do have the Strawberry Fest in May, but I don't like ketchup with my strawberries. I'm saying I might have more fun if I had more than $10, which is all I have. Of course, I do have a bunch of ketchup, so at least I can bring some of the condiments to the party, as long as you're not serving strawberries.

Things are, that is. Although, I was looking up last night when I had to pee and stopped on an off-ramp in Arizona. There was a whole lot of dark out there and when I looked up not only could I see the Milky Way, but Snickers, M and M's, and a Pay Day bar, too. When I was younger I was very afraid of the dark. Still am, a bit. Things hide in the dark, things that go bump in the night, like the stereo in my truck. The base is set at a decent level, but last night as I was driving across a dark part of New Mexico, "Telstar" by The Ventures came up on my Nano and there are a few base notes at the beginning that sound like I running over a pack of coyotes. Thump, thump, thump, etc. When I specifically selected the song, it didn't do it. But a few hours later when I was in Arizona, the song came up again (I changed playlists) and there was that thump, thump, thump. Unnerving to say the least. I half expected to see some creature hanging on the mirror bracket knocking on my door. (Do you remember that Twilight Zone episode where William Shatner sees the gremlins tearing at the wing of the airplane?) I was positive I had gremlins. Normally, they're rather innocuous creatures, but get out in the middle of nowhere and watch out! I have to do Flagstaff to Kingman tonight (Elk!) and the Mojave. Tomorrow I'm getting a 2nd seat. That's a new driver who has been out for one month with a trainer and has to ride with an independent contractor (like me) for 2 to 4 weeks, depending on whether they're going to lease a truck or become a company driver. Guess who only has to go 2 weeks. Third week in a row with none or very little money in the paycheck. I got $15.74 today because they took out the $535 I owed from last week. Next week I expect money. The following week should be a lot of money because I make money when the 2nd seat is driving, too. That's the whole point of having a 2nd seat. I get his miles at $0.90 per mile and I only have to pay him $0.11 per mile. I get to practically double my miles and only have to pay out a pittance. Well, got to go. Have to be in Riverside tomorrow at 0700. (It's only 493 miles, but I drive a big, slow truck that is governed at 62 mph.)

The gloomies have passed. Don't get your hopes up because I'm not 100% here. Suddenly, today I flew out of the dark hole I've been in for the past few weeks and experienced the extreme silliness of the high end of the type of bipolar disease I have. Looking back at that moment (it actually lasted a couple hours), I can't believe what was going through my mind, but most of it was extremely silly. It might have had something to do with the extremely cute guy I ran into in North Rose, NY, yesterday. Early twenties, slender build, nice demeanor, dripping with innocence, he was the kind of guy you want to take home and announce to the world, "This is the man I'm going to marry." He was that cute. Given the chance, I certainly would've done nasty things to his young body. Or, maybe, it had a lot to do with being in Ohio. I like Ohio. Sorry, if you don't like it, but I have to say, "I like Ohio." It's such an innocuous State and you can't say that about a lot of the other States. I did the Three C's today: Cleveland, Columbus, and Cincinnati. Well, I didn't actually do Cleveland or Cincinnati because there are some places I'd rather not take a big truck. I did the I-90 thing in Cleveland the other day and thoroughly enjoyed the 35 m.p.h. ninety degree turn. I always do. Columbus was, as usual, a hole. I'm not saying which one, but if you were going to give Ohio an enema, Columbus would be the place to insert the hose. Anyway, I had a good think on the new story, "The Terran Boy." It touches on a sensitive subject: missing children. It isn't about missing children, per se. The character, Steven Chambers, who is "The Terran Boy" is taken by aliens from a sidewalk in Anywhere, USA. He's coming home late from the skate park and disappears without a trace. Well, other than his skateboard and clothes on the sidewalk, there is no trace of him. He's sent to a place called the Game Farm. It's a planet that caters to this sentient gastropod species that will pay trillions of credits to hunt down and devour humans. So, UMS (Universal Marketing Scheme, Ltd.) created a planet where young humans are taken to be trained to evade capture because the hunters do not want their victims to give up. They definitely do not honor white flags. The other main character in the story is a star cruiser pilot, Dirk Syn, who rescues the Terran boy from the clutches of a very evil man, Beezo Smint. But, first I have to finish the Schticky story, which is close to the inevitable "The End"; or not. I haven't decided. The plot hit a peak in Chapter 13 and the story advanced one year between 13 and 14. Plus, I'm headed to California where I hope to pick up a student to ride with me and help me make some of those big bucks that can be had by running team loads. I've heard all the horror stories about having inexperienced drivers behind the wheel of your truck, but I need the money. So, I'm back, sort of. One day at a time, that's all I can do right now. (And, hope I get sent back to North Rose, NY, to pick up another load of apples from that incredibly cute shipping clerk.)

Um, well, what can I say? There are a lot of things going on right now that require my utmost attention. Unfortunately, there are a lot of things going on right now that, well, you see, I need to unload some of the extra baggage I

I hate this depression shit. I'm sinking fast and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I take my medicine and it works, too, almost all the of the time. I don't want to have to go back on the mood stabilizer because I can't drive a truck and be sleepy all the time. So, I have to accept the cyclical nature of my condition. Overly happy to down so far sad seems like a good mood. I wrote a whole bunch of stuff after this, but I deleted it. It made me feel worse. You know, I shouldn't complain so much about this because I've been suffering with this shit since 2003. Seven years seems like such a long time and it is. Oh, don't send me any happy faces or sad ones, either, thinking they might make me feel good because they won't. It's raining here in Rio Rico. I have to pick up some tomatoes and drive into the night. I need to get home, but I can't get there. I don't really want to go there, but I have to. I apologize for disturbing you. If this does disturb you, do us both a favor and don't read any of my stuff in the future. There's no need in both of us feeling bad.

I'm sitting in the Pilot at exit 12 on I-19. It's interesting to note that the exit numbers on I-19 are in kilometers, not miles. It doesn't matter all that much to me since I'm only concerned with exits 4, 8, and 12. I'm here because I delivered my load yesterday off of exit 4, in Nogales. It was seven barrels of paint going to the Ford plant in Hermosillo. Those seven barrels weighed a little over 38,000 lbs. They weren't your ordinary barrel. If I was going to our yard in Nogales, I would take exit 8, but that exit is closed until 2011, so I have to use exit 4. I don't exactly know where are yard is because the Pilot is so much better and they don't lock the gate when they go home at night. I am sitting here because my dispatcher is trying to find me a load going to Washington State, where I live. I'm supposed to be home now, but there seems to be a problem finding a load going to Washington from anywhere. When I was in Sioux Falls last week picking up cut up dead pigs. I was supposed to deliver that load yesterday morning, but over the weekend it was decided I would not be able to deliver on time so I swapped the dead pig meat for auto paint. Interestingly, I delivered the paint at the same time I should have been delivering the dead pigs. So, I sit in Rio Rico wondering why there are no loads going to Washington. Have they closed the border? Maybe it's just trucks from our company that aren't welcome. I don't know. All I know is that I'm in Rio Rico, again, and I want to go home. I kind of wish I hand ruby slippers, but I don't want to go to Kansas, either. I was in Kansas Saturday night. I had Chinese food in Dodge City. No, I didn't see Matt Dillon or Miss Kitty. There was an east wind Saturday afternoon. The aroma from the feedlot east of town filled the air with the pungent odor of cow shit and piss. A west wind brings in the aroma of the feedlot west of town. A south wind brings the aroma of the two slaughter houses south of town. North it's just a lot of wheat, which doesn't stink. Early Sunday morning (early as in the sun wasn't up), as I was driving down US-54 out of Dalhart, Texas, I was able to experience one of the biggest feedlots I've ever encountered in my travels across America. I don't know what is worse, the smell of the shit or the smell of the piss. All I know is for about a mile the air reeked of contented beef. Oh, an interesting thing happened while I was driving along I-70 Saturday afternoon. I was just minding my own business when the air conditioner started spewing the eye-watering odor of feedlots, but all around me there wasn't a single beef. Soybeans, yes. Milo, yes. Wheat, yes (well, harvested wheat). But, no squatting beef doing number one or two on their supper. Then, suddenly, a beef hauler passed me. I smelled the truck coming up behind me. That's gross! Did you know a beef will stand in a pond of water drinking that water while pissing or shitting in it? I've seen them drinking from a pond when one of their compatriots is no more than two feet away doing a number two in the same water. For something we eat regularly, beef have horrible toilet habits. I think it's going to rain, again. Yesterday evening it rained. The desert is green. I wish I didn't have to be in Rio Rico wondering if it was going to rain. I wish I didn't have to wonder what I was going to eat at the Wendy's in the Pilot tonight. Last night I had a chicken sandwich and a side salad. Maybe tonight I'll have some ground up dead beef on a bun. I hope I'm not here tonight. I sent my dispatcher a message saying I had been captured my aliens and was held against my will in Rio Rico. He sent a message saying he sent the aliens to talk to me. I want out of here! Now!

I definitely remembered advising everyone to stay off Route 29, but I don't think it was me. Unless you crawl slower than me, it's highly unlikely I could cut you off. I am not the fast truck. I am the slow truck. Little old men in Buicks pass me!

Last night before I left Menomonie, WI, I wrote two blog entries and destroyed both by doing something stupid. I was so high I was beginning to wonder if I'd be safe on the road over here to Green Bay. No, I was not taking drugs or imbibing any liquor. I was just higher than a kite and bouncing off the walls from that good ol' bipolar shit. Frankly, it felt good to be high, again. Why take drugs or drink liquor when I can get whacko all on my own? Of course, I tend to mess up on the serious stuff, but I'm having a blast doing it. (I had to move the truck to put it into a dock and lost the entry, again. So, it's now my fourth attempt to write a little something. I hope they don't unload the diced onions too quickly. That's right, folks, I've got 46,600 pounds of frozen diced onions in my trailer. Boggles the mind, sometimes.) So, anyway, both entries seemed to center around what I was listening to on my iTunes. Like, now, Del Shannon was singing "Runaway". I killed off a popular character in my Schticky story and a few people have complained. They hope by some miracle he'll be coming back, which, to me, is kind of strange. Sure he was cute and, yes, he had sex with Spid, but he also had his father buy Spid from his family. Let me ask you, if you had the chance to buy a person just for sexual gratification, would you do it? Would your friends think highly of you? You know, of course, that you can buy a person for sexual gratification. There's quite a market out there for young nubile bodies who, properly trained, will doing practically anything for their bowl of gruel. Yes, he was cute, but some sins are never forgiven. Now, we're having a bit of trouble with the language barrier. Sorry! I'm having fun with it anyway. But, not to worry, everything settles down eventually and everybody will be speaking English just like everyone else in the Universe. It's kind of comforting knowing you speak the one language everyone in the whole world understands. You'll have to excuse me, but I'm not high this morning and my entry is suffering. Plus, they've started unload the onions, so I'll have to leave soon, anyway.

Still in Rio Rico Still waiting for the customer to open so they can load me with whatever it is they keep in their warehouse. Another driver from our company is in the same boat, but he called the customer when someone showed up to do something inside. He said that someone said no one will be here until nine o

Finally finished Chapter 8 of the Schticky story. Chapter 9 hangs on the first word. Does anyone know how many inner cranial probes are required to read the memories of a political prisoner? Surprisingly, it's not as many as you might think. Well, of course, there is a lot of pain afterwards. Your head would hurt too if someone shoved twenty long metal probes into your brain. Thankfully, these people aren't barbarians because the procedure is done under anesthesia, but once you wake up you wish you hadn't. Traditionalists aren't too happy with the new interrogation techniques because they take all the fun out of torture. Hoping the shipper works on Labor Day, but doubt it very much. Rio Rico, Arizona, is probably a fun place to live, but when you've got a 53 foot trailer attached to your ass, there's not much fun to be found, especially when you have to stay on the truck route. Therefore, feeling totally silly, I feel it is time, once again, to visit my favorite corner of some universe far, far away. I probably enjoy religion more than anyone I know and if you enjoy something there's no telling how much fun you can have. Sometimes I think I have too much fun with religion. The following stories are said to have been compiled by Prumt sri

Delivered my first load for the new company. I've had a HazMat endorsement on my CDL for nearly 5 years and this is the first time I had the opportunity to placard a trailer. It was not fun driving down the Interstates with four red placards stating quite clearly what was in my trailer. "Flammable Gas"! That's right, nothing that could leak, but it sure would've made a terrific BOOM if some dummy used one of the placards for target practice. Actually, it was quite harmless. Just 5 tons of those gas containers you use on your camping stove. And, yes, I have to assume they were full of the stuff that makes pork 'n beans hot and yummy. When I get home in two weeks will take some pictures of the truck. I might be in one of them, but don't count on it. Guess the Schticky story is quite a hit. I'm certainly having fun with it. I'd love to throw out a spoiler or two, but won't. Let's just say that things are going to get weirder and weirder. Oh, yes, somebody is going to die soon, but you won't see it. As much as I like blood and guts splattering on the wall, this death was rather tame. As deaths go, it was very painless, especially considering it happened when it wasn't expected. It could be seen as something similar to the way we euthanize criminals, except the person who died didn't see or feel the needle. But, then, it wasn't a needle that killed. It was something more futuristic. The only problem I have at the moment is I'm publishing faster than I'm writing. Of course, considering the time I have available for writing, it surprising I can write anything at all. Plus, dealing with, uh, you know, aliens and such, and the other stuff that I haven't published yet, but it is coming soon, maybe sooner than I want. I've always been a fan of Monty Python and, well, Chapter 4 will certainly live up to "and now for something completely different." How about for a tickler: extraterrestrial physiology? Well, sure, they've got the same bits, but what do they do with them? Of course, I blame everything on Hurl, many breasted, hog-headed mother god of Argotte, who hacked up a wad of phlegm and when she spat the wad spun out and became the universe wherein lies Argotte, Belenda, L'nthdre, Orcol, and Gurd. It takes a weird imagination to come up with things like: 3 Hurl -495

It seems my first schticky story is off and running with a number of readers actually leaving comments in my forum. So, you ask, where does this schtick stuff come from? Well, a number of years ago I started writing the history of the Argottean Federation and this news item came out: 3 Hurl -531

Mediocre: of moderate or low quality, value, ability, or performance : ORDINARY, SO-SO A happy day is a high value day. A sad day is a very low value day. A day that is happy and sad is mediocre because happiness and sadness cancel out each other making it a so-so day; or, you could say today is a Charlie Brown kind of day. Mediocre!

Thirty-six years ago today I was living in a small one bedroom furnished apartment in Cabot, Arkansas, with the woman I was going to marry, which I did as tomorrow is our 36th anniversary. Today I am in the Holiday Inn Express in Ontario, California, and the other half is home in Lakewood, Washington. Yes, she is a bit bummed with the whole concept of me being here and her being there. Such is life. Today I increased my score on a very critical test at my new company. Now I will be able to lease a truck and make many more dollars, which should make the other half a little happier. Plus, by leasing a truck, little Bonita will be able to come with the other half when I take her out with me next summer. So, I happy and sad at the same time making this a mediocre day. Such is life.

Yesterday drove from Liberty, MO, to Green Bay, WI. Yes, it was a long drive. Unfortunately, as I neared Madison, WI, large accumulations of black air began to settle upon the countryside making it extremely difficult to see anything that was in the headlights or under streetlamps. Wisconsin was totally in the dark. Luckily, early this morning, after delivering a load of Arizona cheese to be reprossessed and relabeled Wisconsin cheese, the black air slowly dissipated due to increased amounts of direct and indirect sunlight. Wisconsin's cows seemed happy. Wisconsin looks especially green today.

Yesterday at our lunch break, one of my classmates, a very interesting woman who drives one of the vans that ferries us between the driving school and the Holiday Inn Express, was overheard talking to another group of students about her family. She was mostly talking about her youngest son, who happens to be gay. She had a lot of funny stories about him, but what got to me the most was when she said, "He's my boy. I can't stop loving him. No matter what, I still love him." It's nice to hear that now and then.

I hope all of you got your gift requests out in time. Tomorrow, Uncle Sam will be distributing gifts and putting them under the flag poles of all the patriotic boys and girls across the good ol' U S of A. Unfortunately, I'm still in SCal relearning how to be a trucker so I won't be home to put out the brats and beer Uncle Sam enjoys so much. I know the wife won't do it because she's not as patriotic as the rest of us. She kind of takes everything with a grain of salt. Plus, she totally does not believe in Uncle Sam. She doesn't even believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Great Pumpkin, or, surprisingly, the Thanksgiving Turkey. Talk about a party pooper! Our next door neighbors, on the other hand, will be celebrating in earnest as he recently returned from Iraq protecting us from the evil scourge bent on destroying our interests on top of the Middle East oil reserves. They always proudly display the Stars and Stripes and I'm certain they'll will gather at dawn to sing numerous patriotic songs in hopes Uncle Sam will shower gifts upon their worthy heads as he flies over in his converted B-52. Then tomorrow evening the neighborhood will gather at the house across the street for a barbecue and fireworks display once daylight flickers out. I wish I could be there this year, but I think it's highly unlikely I'll be there next year either. On the writing side, The Incident at Red Bridge came the inevitable END and the last chapter was posted. The first chapter of Josh's Blog has been sent out for proofing and should be available soon. Since I'm not certain of my available computer time after a week from next Thursday, I'm not certain the chapters will be posted on a regular basis. Once I get my own truck, sometime around the end of September or beginning of October, my life should stabilize enough for me to return to posting on a regular basis. On the other hand, my immediate future might not be full of dire prospects and I'll be able to post on a fairly reliable schedule. We'll see. Keep your wheels on the pavement, the sun out of your eyes, and remember to have fun. A smile goes a long, long way to making everyone happy.

The truck driving refresher course I'll be attending begins 6/28. That'll be 17 days in sunny Mira Loma, CA. Then it's out on the road for 90 days before I'll be eligible to get my own truck. It's been a long, long time, but it feels good to be going back. I've stopped taking the mood stabilizer since I ran out and couln't afford to get them refilled. Actually, I feel a lot better for not having them. I am going back on the antidepressant as soon as I get some money, which should be tomorrow. Although I'm not feeling depressed all the time, I do have moments when it sneaks up on me. Right now they're not big slumps, but with my history, I don't need one of those. So, I'll take my medicine like a good boy should. Plus, I've been having some problems with insomnia, which we all know can be a symptom of depression. As you know, I tried to get a loan at the credit union, but they needed to have a joint applicant to back me up because I don't have a job right now. Well, needless to say all but one of my so called friends said no way or they simply never called back. I guess that says a lot about the quality of the friends I had. (For awhile I was thinking the old proverb "a friend in need, is a friend indeed" had recently changed to "a friend in need, is a friend you don't need", but I realized I don't have all that many friends, so I had a limited pool of prospects to begin with.) Unfortunately, the one true friend is having some serious credit problems so that was a dead end. The loan counselor at the credit union did not see any humor when I said I've got good credit and my friend has good income, so why can't we combine the positives and drop the negatives to come up with a loan. I thought it sounded like a good idea, but you know rules are rules and they must be followed. Anyway, I took the $20K equity in my 2009 Subaru Forester to the dealer who originally sold me the car and they were gracious enough to give me the money I was seeking at the credit union and a decent used car (2006 Ford 500 with only 30K miles). Since I'm going to be out in the truck and the wife can't drive anymore because she's blind in one eye (20/400) and still has problems with the other eye, the "new" car is just going to sit most of the time, which is okay with me. So, all in all, I'm feeling pretty good right now. I'm not looking forward to being stuck without a car in sunny California for nearly three weeks, but at least I have a almost certain job and should have time to work on the new writing project and the Fall Anthology entry I've already written (did that yesterday) (another symptom of depression is an overwhelming need to write; take the pills dummy).

One thing about not having any money is I can't buy all the prescriptions I supposed to be taking. No, I am not going to suddenly die. But, I am finding out that maybe it's time for me to get off the Welbutrin crutch. I should be really, really depressed right now, but I'm not. In fact, I don't feel any different now than when I was taking that shit. Sooooo, maybe I don't need it. Of course, not taking Welbutrin has to be combined with not taking Depakote, which will be running out in a day or two, since Depakote tends to dull all my emotions. If this works out, I could be just as crazy as everybody else around here. Now, all I have to do it get a job and get some money. Oh, I did figure something out. Remember that old proverb, A friend in need, is a friend indeed? Well, today's version is, A friend is need, is an ex-friend. That should be a depressing thought, but for some strange reason it isn't.

As the money leaked out, I hoped and hoped and hoped that something would come my way, but nothing, absolutely nothing in the way of a new job raised its joyous head and yelled, "Hey you! Here I am! Pick me!" I had a plan, though. It was such a good plan, nothing could go wrong. Unfortunately, Robert Burns said it best: The best laid schemes o' mice and men Go often askew, Yesterday, one of the companies I thought was interested in hiring me, but never returned my calls, sent me an email saying they were hiring solo drivers. That's me! I want to be a solo driver. They sent me an email! So, I call and the recruiter says that I've been off the road too long and need to go thru their refresher training program. Yes! I can do this. So, I put in place my plan of action. I tell the recruiter to give me 24 hours to get a few things in order and I'll call back. Then I call the credit union and say I want to refinance my car (which I own free and clear and is the only asset I have to my name) and the credit counselor takes my applicatioon. Unfortunately, my loan request has to be sent to the loan officers for approval. (???!) This morning a loan officer calls and says, "Your loan looks good and you have good credit, but you do not have any current income." (looks innocent over telephone) "You need to find someone, a family member (most are dead) or friend (yeah, right) who would be willing to sign the loan as a joint applicant." (In earlier times, a joint applicant was called a co-signer, but that term had a lot of negative connotations, so it was changed to something more innocuous.) You can't imagine how many friends you have you are unwilling to take any risks in life. Well, maybe you can imagine. No matter how you say it, nobody wants to have to take on the payments if anything should happen to me. So, the one opportunity I need to get the boat turned around and heading to port turns into a bust.

The good news is The Valley of the Dwarfs is moving right along. Closing in on the final chapters in a week or two. Other good news is the next story will be starting before Valley ends. This one is titled Incident at Red Bridge. It

About six or seven years ago my life took a dramatic downturn, so dramatic that searching for an exit became a real possibility. I looked at a number of certain ways as I was not interested in half doing it and ending up maimed or, worse, lying in a vegetative state waiting for someone to get the guts to pull the plug, which, in itself, is a way to do yourself in. I looked at death by trains because there is a mainline about two miles away, but it rejected because there are people who get traumatized when their train runs over someone. I seriously considered jumping as that almost always works if you do it correctly. If you don't get it right, as a few have done jumping off Golden Gate, you're in a big hurt. So, you need to find something high enough to either reach terminal velocity or be over something that's going to do a lot of damage. Freeway overpasses are popular in our area because if done at night a lot of vehicles are going to run over you before someone gets off the cell phone long enough to pay attention what's ahead of them. There was one guy who the police figured was hit and run over by three vehicles, including a semi, that didn't stop. There wasn't much for the fourth vehicle to do except call 9-1-1 and put his flashers and hope no one rear-ended him. The police weren't even certain the guy was a suicide until they found his abandoned car on the overpass above. Just driving down the avenue and that feeling hit. Parked the car, ran around to the railing, and dove over. It's as simple as that. I saw someone jump off a building once. There was this hotel in Seattle that had a restaurant and cocktail lounge on top of twenty or so stories. They also had an outdoor patio on the roof. A guy came in ordered a drink, took a couple swallows, and jumped. On the way down he clipped a support wire for the electric buses and hit the curb head first. No matter where you jump, the key to a successful jump is to hit head first. Anything other way and you run the chance of bones and tissue absorbing the shock enough that you don't die, but wish you had. But, I figured the best way to do it, for me at least because basically I'm a coward when it comes to pain, is hypothermia. As I saw it back in my insane days, there were two choices. I could take a ferry across Puget Sound and about halfway jump into the water, which is about forty degrees and death will occur in about twenty minutes. Or, I could dress very lightly, take a fifth of whisky or some such alcoholic beverage and have a private party somewhere out in the snow. I never considered drowning, which seems to be from what I've read a very literary way to do one's self in, because, although it is very, very effective, physically it is very excrutiating. They say it takes the brain about a minute to die via drowning. That's too long for all those "I'm doing something stupid!" thoughts to run through your mind. Now that I'm being medicated, those thoughts stay pretty much in the background, but the original cause of the problem still exists, so I have to be on my guard against actual attempts, which occurred at least three times that I remember. Memory from that time is a bit fuzzy around the edges, but I do remember once being on a bridge looking down at a lot of traffic going about 60 MPH. It was a good fifty feet down, not enough to kill me if I hit wrong (not head first), but if you jump on the far side of the bridge, the oncoming traffic doesn't see you jump and they have less reaction time to stop. Yeah, they end up traumatized, but you're dead and won't see it on the evening news. What stopped me from jumping? I don't really know other than the time factor from point of jump to point of impact. The oh shit factor when you realize that you're doing something very, very stupid, but you're going to die anyway so why are you worrying. Like I said I don't like physical pain. Mental pain is bad enough. I had the ferry thing planned and had a date set, but life got in the way and I met this terrific therapist who started me on the chemical intervention route.