CarlHoliday

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I guess it

Although I got home on Monday, I didn

Moving right along, I'll still have one more night on the road, probably up near Hermiston, OR. This is a familiar route, one I've been doing since coming back to the company. There are alternatives, but those loads don't seem to be coming my way. I have yet to take a load into the LA area. I kind of like running up I-5; of course, now with the idling ban it wouldn't be so much fun, but there are alternatives going that way, too. For the past couple days I've been trying to come to terms with a situation that doesn't really inolve me, but I stepped into it as unwelcome as possible. That's one of my greatest failings in life, stepping into other people's business when they'd rather be totally f**ked up about it, thank you very much. I don't know why I do it, either. It's never comes out right and intentions are often mistaken. Friendships are often destroyed. Yet, I still have this need to f**K around where I'm not welcome. Oh, well, guess I'd better get down the road. It's an hour past when I planned on leaving, meaning I'll have to stop short of where I want to be before the final push into Seattle.

If you're ever travelling US-287 between Amarillo and Witchita Falls, Texas, be sure to stop at one of these rest areas. Not only do they give you a really nice place to relieve those uncomfortable physiological urges, they're kind of interesting, too. I could've written about Hedley, but with 379 people, there isn't a whole lot to say. It had it's heyday, but decline set in back in the 1950s and much of the focus in the area has been toward the larger cities in the area; Memphis to the east and Clarendon to the west. Oh, they have one school that serves students from pre-school through grade twelve. They're the Owls, by the way. It's a mean, dangerous bird known to attack and kill nasty vermin. You could say the owl is a friend of the farmer because if it weren't for those wicked owls, you know who has to go out and do his best to find, attack and kill those nasty vermins, most of which are damned difficult to see in the daylight let alone at night. I could've said something about the high school, but their website hasn't been updated in a few years. There were thirteen graduating seniors in 2005. Once again, I should be getting ready or eating my breakfast rather than doing this entry. I need to be in Denver tonight so I can do Wyoming in the daylight on Saturday. I just hope Mother Nature is on her good side because I do not want a Wyoming size blizzard to contend with. It's going to be bad enough once I get up to Oregon and Washington. No, I did not work on Chapter 18. I most I can say is that I thought about it. This isn't a block. It's being very tired at the end of the day and only wanting to sleep and then getting about seven to eight hours of sleep.

Did you know Irving, TX, was more than likely actually named for Washington Irving? I spent the night at our company yard in Irving. It's off 482 over near the old Cowboys stadium. Yesterday, was mostly spent finding the next rest room. It wasn't a fructose issue though, just something I ate. One time I couldn't make it to a rest room and had to stop at a picnic area to make use of a garbage bag. Definitely not something I don't want to do everyday. I have been working on Chapter 18. It's going slow. I'm looking forward to being home next week because basically I'm beginning to feel pretty good most of the time. I think upping the dosage on the Celexa was definitely needed. The sexual issues? Well, since it's just me, what's the point?

I'm still waiting for the gold chain from your nose to a nipple to your navel to, well, you know where you need to put the last gold ring. Maybe you could get a line of these disk thingies across the top of your pubes. How about shaving your pubes and putting a circle of them around the base of your cock? Yeah, you definitely need a lot more of these. Carl

Oh, piddles! I tried to do an entry earlier, but when I clicked on Preview, nothing happened until IE informed me it couldn't display the request page. It had some really great stuff in it, too, but now it's gone to wherever lost blog entries go when IE can't get its act together. Such is life.

Disconnected thoughts ... I drove through Wilkinson, IN, today and was struck by its overwhelming quaintness. There were pumpkins everywhere. There were children playing in the park. There were people out talking to their neighbors (it must have been half-time). I imagined last night with a lot of trick-or-treaters going door to door without fear of being shot or poisoned. Other than the enormous Church of Christ at the edge of town, it was my kind of town. Pity that. I got into some high fructose corn syrup recently and now I'm suffering through symptoms quite similar to Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I'll see my new GP on the 14th and discuss it with her. There's nothing that can be done other than remove fructose from my diet. It's back to reading labels. Good thing they haven't started putting HFCS into my favorite chocolate bars. The increased dose of Citalopram (Celexa), from 20 mg to 40 mg, seems to have increased the SSRI side effects. I'm having a lot of dry mouth, which no amount of water will rinse away. On the sexual side, things have gone awry. It's just as it was three years ago when I first tried it. I get turned on, but that's as far as it gets. On the other hand, I'm not as depressed as I was. When I saw the shrink he prescribed the new generic form of the time release version of my mood stabilizer. I think it's doing a terrific job. I'm in the middle of a bad case of apathy. I don't seem to care about much of anything. Of course, this is part of the mental disease/medication process. The mood stabilizer has simply removed a lot of emotion out of my life and now (possibly having to do with the time release tablets) I float along in a state of apathetic happiness.

Honestly, there are some places big trucks are not meant to go. Yet, to get a Common Carrier Alcohol Permit I had to go to 80 Calvert Street, Annapolis, MD. Luckily, I had the foresight to leave my trailer at the customer's locaton. I can see driving a truck and trailer into Annapolis, but I can't see getting the silly thing turned around to get it back out. Quaint and big trucks do not go together. It took me forever to find a parking place for the truck. I came in on Rowe, turned right on Calvert; there was a 15-minute spot over by the credit union, not good at all. Turned right on West and noticed an empty spot right there, but on the other side of the street. Went up West to the traffic circle, missed my turn-off and went around twice. Coming back down West, I looked at the spot, but it didn't appear to be big enough for my big truck. Turned left on Calvert and headed out of town on Rowe. Turned left into the Court of Appeals road, but didn't find anything other than the Naval Academy stadium where there was some kind of big party going on or soon to occur. Followed little road down past Police Station and the back of The Westin, coming out at the dreaded traffic circle. Went back down West and parked in that spot, totally pissing off a little old lady who was using the crosswalk at the time. Well, she wasn't exactly little, more like tallish and wiry, with a mean look under her cataract sunglasses. This load has been about as shitty as they come and I'm already looking forward to my next load. It isn't going where I want to, but I'm willing to take anything that'll get me away from the East Coast.

When I accepted the load, I figured it being late I wouldn't have any problems running into the yard in Chicago, swapping trailers, and hightailing it back out before morning traffic destroyed all of my good feelings about the fact that the load was going to Connecticut, which just happens to be on the wrong side of the Hudson River. So, when I got here (yes, as a matter of fact, I am still in Chicago) the trailer I assumed was to be there because the load stated the pickup date was 10/26/08 wasn't. It's not coming in until sometime this morning, I hope. Knowing how drivers fudge on ETAs and dispatchers lie, I have to assume it'll be here sometime between dawn and dusk. After all, it doesn't have to be in Connecticut until sometime on the 29th; I've got lots of time to drive 900 miles between now and then. The yard is in a Hispanic neighborhood of Chicago. The last time I was here, they were having some sort of fiesta/street fair. It looked like fun and I'm sure the food would've been terrific, but there's just something about walking around in a strange neighborhood full of people not speaking your language. That's one of the things I'm going to be solving once we get my mother's estate settled. I'm getting one of those language tutorial programs and learn Latin American Spanish. Just to make matters totally peachy, I forgot to replace one of the fuel caps after fueling yesterday morning. This is the second time in five months that I've made this tiny boo-boo. Well, it's not so tiny if Mr. Bear stops me. I have to assume the ticket will be somewhere in the neighborhood of WOW! Now, all I have to do is get a new one. I could steal one. There were a few other company trucks here last night and I could check to see if they had drivers in them and, if not, I could see if one of their fuel caps wasn't chained to the filler hole. That's my problem; one of the fuel caps is chained to the filler hole and one isn't. Guess which one seems to go missing. I thought I've been diligent about checking after fueling, but yesterday, well yesterday the wind was blowing, it was cold, the fuel stop only had one hose to fill both tanks, they didn't have an intercom to the fuel desk, and I was kind of tired. So, I must of forgotten to check before driving off. If I can't steal one, I'll have to find someplace to buy one. Plus, I have to pray really hard to whatever it is you're suppose to pray to that I can get from here to wherever I can acquire a new fuel cap and that I will not do this again, ever; or, if necessary, I may just have to stock up on fuel caps.

It's been awhile since I've done this and even now it seems like an undesirable chore. Home time was spent working at my mother's house getting it ready to sell; it goes on the market at the end of the month. My son and I will split the proceeds which won't be a whole lot, but might be enough for him to buy a house and for us to pay off 95% of our debt and fix up our house. I also went to my shrink who was all smiles. He smiles all the time. He smiles so much you wonder if he's wearing a butt plug. He changed me over to the generic form of time release valproic acid. I guess it's doing a bang up job of keeping people like me on the straight and narrow. He also increased the dosage of my antidepressant. I really didn't want to do 40 mg of Celexa because it messes with my sexual response, but I'm tired of being too depressed most of the time so I guess I'll take a bit of negative to get positive. Besides, it's not like Prozac which shut everything down completely. At least I can appreciate sexual input; I might not be able to respond fully, but I can still feel something. Final(?) revision of Winter Anthology story back to editor for review.

The good news is I'm not going to Massachusetts. The bad news is I'm not going to be home in time for the appointment with the shrink. The good news is I was able to get a new appointment next Tuesday. The bad news is my boss was majorly pissed that I didn't turn down the load to Massachusetts. The good news is I followed company procedure and advised the weekend dispatcher that I needed to be home before the 17th and all he did was send a message that said "Noted." The bad news is I'm going to have to drive at night and sleep during the day from here to Clearfield, UT. Oh, and the other good news is that, yesterday, I wrote my Winter Anthology story; about 4,500 words or so in one day. Yeah, it's that kind of story; lot's of personal input, but nothing close to memoir, not even close. Basically, it's about a fourteen boy who is extremely naive about most things sexual and whose extended family thinks he's queer. Although I've started on Chapter 18 of The Artists, I haven't gotten very far. I need to move forward, but I'm afraid of the emotions that are going to come out when I start pulling up some personal experiences to flavor one of the characters. The depression is much worse. I'm depressed most of the time, now. I don't think I'm close to trying to do anything drastic, but I now know that is an option. A stupid option, but still an option. I've made my peace with the Universe and my molecules are free to return home when they desire. I wish I could cry because maybe it would give me the catharsis I need, but I can't. The closest I can get to crying is getting teary eyed and that is not enough to pull up the emotions I need to tear this monster out of my Bhead. What scares me is that I might have to stop driving. Not because of the depression, but because of the increase in medication that might tip me over the edge of awareness into a constant state of drowsiness. I can't be driving down the road with 45,000 pounds of frozen food in my trailer and nodding off. But, I won't know anything until I talk to the shrink. The only thing I can do, of course, is to keep writing, even if it is mostly writing these boring entries. I have to work on The Artists because I think I may be nearing a possible end to the story. Plus, I have the new book to work on. It's turning into a fun story and right now I need fun. And, there are the anthology stories to keep me distracted from everything else. I apologize for dumping here, but I've got to get it out and put it somewhere so it'll stop bugging me and here is the only place I'm putting things these days.

Still here, well, I don't pick up the load until tomorrow so I'm supposed to be still here. Jonesboro is on one of the north-south mainlines for Union Pacific RR and their trains seem to run mostly at night: rumble, rumble, rumble, whoo whoo, rumble, rumble, whoo whoo whoo. Yeah it's less than a mile from the truck stop. There seems to be a rule about siting truck stops: Look for an interstate exit near a railroad track and you get twenty-five extra points. And, to think I like trains. I used to think I'd like to drive trains. Then I found out train drivers generally only run about 500 hundred miles then they get out, sleep in a motel, then the following morning drive another train back to where they came from. Back and forth over the same track day after day, month after month, year after year. BORING! Now, I drive big trucks over the same roads, but at least there is a bit of variety. Just a bit. I'm still pissed at my employer, but my dispatcher doesn't work weekends so I won't be able to bitch at him until next morning. It won't be a big bitch, though. I'm thinking along the lines of: "What do I need to do to ensure I get home in time to go to my doctor appointments, especially for the specialist appointments that are hard to get? The appointment I'm going to miss on Friday was for a medication check that might jeopardize my future driving career." Something like that, put it in his lap, but sound like I'm willing to do my part, too. I started work on Chapter 18 of The Artists today, even though Chapter 17 isn't up yet. I sent it in to my tech support person yesterday, but he must be away doing whatever it is techies do when they're not being supportive. Hopefully, it'll be up in the next day or so. Of course, this being a long weekend for some (it's Europeans Begin Their Invasion Day), said techie may be lounging on a beach somewhere reenacting the landing of Columbus in the Bahamas and not being smart enough to know he's only about halfway round; or, maybe he's scrambling through the underbrush somewhere in search of the deer he shot; it's that season by the way so bright colors when traipsing the woods doing whatever it is you do rather than pointing deadly weapons a prey animal without a natural predator (because we killed all of them because they were eating our domesticated prey animals, which just isn't cricket). Chapter 18 is going to be hard to write, probably harder than any of the chapters so far. I'd like to tell you why, but with Chapter 17 still waiting to come up, I can't. Then, again, I couldn't tell you why anyway because to say would give away the cliff hanger at the end of Chapter 17 and I've probably said too much already. So, forget everything I've said and bare with me while I go through some personal trauma dealing with something I'm not very good with. On the other hand, I could work on Chapter 3 of the new book. It's going to be fun, in a way. Actually, the whole book is going to be fun because I get to create a civilized alien environment that is quite horrible when you get under the surface. Again, can't say or it'll give the whole thing away. Sometime along the way, I'll probably piece together a selection of paragraphs and send them over to the GAzette people for consideration. Well, I'd better think about getting some sleep. Have to yell at my boss in the morning, then run up the road to pick up a load of something frozen to take to good ol' Massachusetts. I've been to this customer before, they're okay, but they're in Massachusetts, a state that does not like trucks.

I hate being away from the internet, especially when I'm spending the night in places like Houston, TX. That's where all of this started, three nights ago. The connection manager for my wireless card decided to take a sabbatical from reality. It tries to work, but just can't seem to get all the steps right. So, I called Sprint and spoke to a Tech Support person (it was a guy or at least sounded like a guy, could've been a girl impersonating a guy, but as we weren't using our webcams I couldn't tell). Anyway Tech Supporter asks the basic questions like what's wrong, what have I done to fix it, why I broke it, you know, regular cover my ass because it's definitely not our fault questions. Then I hear a muffled "oh, shit" and know it's not my fault. So, we do a work around. The Sprint connection manager is still unable to function, but the Windows connection manager works just dandy, and it's Vista, too! That said, I'm back online. So, I delivered the candy bars to the Kroger warehouse in Houston. Not a nice place to go. I have a list of delivery locations that are not nice, this one went right to the top. I had three loads for this customer, one for grocery and two for deli. I was sent to deli. I was there ten and a half hours. I thought that was horrible, but I was talking to another of our drivers in La Porte, TX, where we were picking up bulk frozen Chinese sweet peas, and he (it was a he, I can say that with assurance, not that I looked, you can tell sometimes) said there was a Wal-Mart D/C somewhere in Kansas where he spent over fifteen hours. I delivered the peas last night in Bells, TN, and spent the night in the truck stop. Tonight I'm in Jonesboro, AR, doing nothing as I don't pick up a load until Monday morning. Not having internet access between Houston and Bells left out Bogue Chitto, MS. I spent the night in the truck stop there. You can't imagine how much I wanted to Google Bogue Chitto the night before last. The name sounds so interesting. According to BogueChitto.net, the name comes from Choctaw for Big Creek. The Choctaw lived in the area before being sent on the Trail of Tears to a better life in Indian Territory. (Interestingly, the town of Bogue Chitto is currently in the Mississippi Choctaw Indian Reservation.) The Bogue Chitto River runs through the area and where it crosses I-55 it looks like a big creek. Of course, this is the northern end of the river, it is much larger where it joins the West Pearl in the Bogue Chitto National Wildlife Refuge. For the record, I am currently very pissed with my employer. I am scheduled to be home on the 16th so I can go to my shrink on the 17th. The load I'm picking up on Monday delivers in Massachusetts on Wednesday meaning I will not get home in time to make my appointment. The only good thing about having a lot of time off not doing any driving is it gives me lots of time to write. I finally finished Chapter 17 of The Artists and Chapter 2 of the new book. I'll start of Chapter 18 of The Artists tomorrow, unless someone at the company sends me a load heading toward home, like I have a fairy godfather.

Upon further investigation it appears I may suffer from Fructose Intolerance. I had been doing a pretty good job of watching what I ate until a couple days ago when I had an apple (high in fructose), two bottles of juice beverage (30% juice plus a lot of high fructose corn syrup). It was a rather gassy last night and I woke up this morning with soggy drawers. Basically what happens (from what I've read so far) is the small intestine does not properly absorb fructose, allowing it to pass into the large intestine (where it is not welcome). The bacteria in the colon get extremely upset and go to great lengths producing extra hydrogen, methane, and carbon dioxide, but the colon does its part, too, by not absorbing the normal amounts of fluids, which are expelled along with the excess gas. (Seems the sensor down there that can tell whether the approaching material is solid, gas, or liquid, gets confused and allows the fluid to exit along with the gas. Whatever is going on is not pleasant.) So, what do I do? Unfortunately, there isn't a pill to take for this. It's back to reading labels and avoiding anything with a high fructose to glucose ratio, avoiding foods with high fructose corn syrup, and talking to my doctor the next time I see her (My previous doctor retire and he hired a woman to replace him.) Another interesting aspect of fructose intolerance is the interference of absorption of necessary nutrients to produce neurotransmitters which can lead to clinical depression, which interestingly enough I seem to be suffering. Could it be possible that all those apples I've eaten over the years (after all my grandparents raised the red orbs) have actually been detrimental to my health? More importantly, could it be possible to get some relief from depression simply by eating food that has more glucose than fructose? I'm definitely going to take this to heart and attempt to change my diet. On the road this is going to be a little difficult, but at least now I know those so called "juice beverages" are not good for me.

So, I didn't write an entry when I was in Troutville, VA, after delivering in Salem. I didn't write an entry in Fort Chiswell, VA, after picking up a load of processed turkeys in Newberry, SC. I didn't write an entry after in Mifflinville, PA, after delivering said turkey stuff to Bethlehem, PA. So, why am I doing it here, when I need to be getting down the road? I've got approximately 450 miles to drive today to be set up to deliver this load tomorrow morning, unless they let me drop it tonight, in which case I end up with a whole day off in beautiful downtown Pontoon Beach, IL. Oh, I am so excited. For the record, I like PA. It's a beautiful state and the people seem to be mostly nice, too. There are a few lunkheads, but you find those anywhere. The biggest problem I have with PA are the drivers, but it's not really their fault. The State of PA bears the blame on this issue. There aren't a lot of States where onramps end with a stop sign, but you see them all over PA. With traffice whizzing by, starting out at zero is not going to teach a person how to merge into traffic. Then there are the short ramps with yield signs and traffic that doesn't allow you to merge. Trucks will move over or slow down, but cars keep coming on. Of course, if I was in a position to live in PA, I would live anywhere near a freeway, mostly because you can find some nice places to live without having to resort to living in an urban environment. Of course, PA is a bit too heterosexual for me. There are all of these big houses, new and old, that are obviously built with the idea that the bedrooms are not going to be filled with boarders, but with little kiddies popping out of momma's birth canal every year or so. As I was driving through Beaver Meadows, PA, there was this huge church with the kind of domes you see on Orthodox churches from where I come from, only this wasn't an Orthodox church. The domes on this church were golden. It was a Greek Catholic Church. It follows the Byzantine liturgical tradition. Now, I with I had stopped, but there wasn't anywhere to pull the big rig over and I was on a hunt for a place to stay for the night. That's the biggest problem I have with driving through America with the big rig; you see something really interesting, but there isn't any place to pull over or, worse yet, there are "No Truck Parking" signs everywhere. Kind of makes a person feel unwanted. I haven't done any other writing. Nothing on either the anthology story or Chapter 17. I'd like to be writing, but I just don't seem to be up to it write now. It's not a block, as you can see by proliferation of blog entries, and I want to write, but I just don't have the time anymore. I'm settling into the meds and I have to get eight hours of sleep, period. Yesterday, when I stopped for lunch in Mill Run, PA, there was this young (12?), slender kid with his mother at the local burger franchise. I know a lot of parents would rather not have a cute kid, but this little guy was definitely cute. Long dirty blond hair, dark inviting eyes, and a nice smile, even though his teeth were covered with straighteners; plus, he wasn't wearing loose pants. They might have been hanging a little low, but they weren't baggy. I know I wasn't supposed to notice, but it was cute the way he had his left thumb hooked in the left front pocket so his other fingers could surreptitiously fiddle with whatever was hidden in his groin. It was an obvious movement, just a little twiddle now and then, and it didn't seem to be a conscious act, either. The only fault I could see with him were his full lips. I really don't like them. Right now, as I waste even more valuable time that could be used driving to Pontoon Beach, I'm watching another young boy (16-18) (drives), doing the cleanup at different national burger franchise. Truck parking is out by the dumpster and he comes out this way with a load of trash every now and then. He's tall and quite slender (Did I ever say slender was a turn on?), but is wearing loose clothes so he has to turn a certain way for me to see he has a nice ass. Unfortunately, I need to be getting down the road, so I can't wait for him to come out, again.

I did the AA Highway in Kentucky today (too many "y's"). When I first received the load dispatch, I figured I be going Highway 35 across Ohio, but the computer fooled me and I was sent to AA (ha-ha). Well, it was kind of scary thinking this highway actually might have been named in honor of that wonderful non-organization. When I turned off I-275 there was a little sign that said "John Y Brown Jr AA Highway." My immediate thought was, "Okay, he's a pretentious sot who paid a lot of money to get his name tagged onto a Kentucky highway." It isn't the first time, either. It seems Kentucky is going through a renaming campaign on its parkways as rich people line up to get a lilttle recognition. Well, Johnnie Brown didn't have to pay anything to get his name on a road, even though he can afford it. Litttle Johnnie was governor of Kentucky from 1979 to 1983 and it seems he had a lot to do with the route coming to fruition. Tonight, as I sit in the T/A truck stop in Hurricane, I did a little research on the AA Highway and found out it's a killer. It's a death route. Having driven it, I can agree, but it's not as bad as US-35 from the Ohio River to Winfield, WV. That's a death route if there ever was one. The AA's problem is that it mostly parallels the Ohio River, which results in a lot of up and downy driving. There's all these trickles of water heading out of Kentucky toward the Ohio River and over quite a few thousands of years they've made some dandy valleys. Well, as any professional driver will tell you, if there is a hill a highway engineer will route his road over the hill rather than around it or through it, if there is a valley that same engineer with run the road down the side of one hill and back up the side of the other rather than bridging the valley. Highway AA requires a ton of downshifting and engine brakes to get up and down too hills; and, don't even ask me about the stop lights. I'm sure I wasted a few gallons of fuel going that way. And, yet, the AA Highway is a beautiful road. There's hardly any urban clutter, industry, or anything. Even the farms don't have animals, which is weird in a way. No cows, beef, horses, goats, sheep, pigs, chickens, turkeys, nothing! There was a lot of pasture, but nothing in them to eat the grass. I can see why there wouldn't be any sheep, but the other animals not being there is a mystery. I'd tell a sheep joke, but I'll let you think up one on your own. I haven't been feeling very well that past few days. It seems I'm having a problem with the uptake of excessive colonic fluids. I think it has to do with drinking too much water and juices, plus eating too many salty foods. So, I'll have to watch those things for the next few days to make certain this isn't something serious. What's interesting is the fluid does not have any fecal matter; it's just water and mucous. Since I take gemfibrozil, which creates excessive abdomenal gas, that fart in the night ends ups being a gusher. Most annoying.

I stopped at the T/A expecting to get two of my tires replaced, but they don

The last time I was here I had to find a clinic for a blood draw and protime test. This time it was an overnight plus a shower in a few. I suppose Fargo is a nice place, but it is North Dakota and everyone has heard all the horrible stories about the Siberia of America. By the way, winter is just around the corner. Coming across Montana the day before yesterday, there was fresh snow on some of the higher peaks. It won't be too many more weeks before that snow works its way down to the valleys. I'm looking forward to winter with about the same enthusiasm I have when the wife talks about going out on the truck with me. Winter will come, though, there's no getting out of it. I just hope I can get through it like I did my first winter of driving truck. For the most part, I seemed to be either a few days before the storm or a few days after the storm. There was the blizzard-like conditions south of Syracuse, NY, the foot of packed snow over Island Park, ID, and the ice across the Red Desert in WY, but all in all it was fairly easy. For the record, I DO NOT LIKE PUTTING CHAINS ON THE TRUCK. Chapter 17 is going, not well, but at least I am working on it. I think what I should be doing is, instead of writing it linearly, work on the three different sections of the chapter as I want. As I've said before, I know what happens in the chapter for the most part, it's just getting all of that down. The chapter starts with a sex scene (no, I'm not saying who) that involves a lot of internal dialogue, anger, and maybe a little regret; probably a lot of frustration, too. The second section might have a murder; a rather gruesome murder, the kind of murder you read about and ask, "Jesus! How can someone be so cruel?"; and maybe the death of one of the main characters. I haven't decided on that, yet. The new story is sitting waiting for me to finish Chapter 17. On the home front, I'm better than I was a week ago. Last week I truly believe I was on the verge of another breakdown. I think it was because of the stress of getting home on time, getting the ashes over the mountains, and everything that's been going on a home. It's kind of hard being the sole breadwinner in a family, especially when our financial situation has deteriorated as much as it has since I had my first breakdown. Right now, I'm trying to focus on staying rational by avoiding negative thoughts. When I call the wife to tell her I'm still alive, I'm trying very hard not to get upset when she says, "Wait a sec' while I turn down the TV." That used to irritate the heck out of me, but not now because, you see, it's a knife edge. One false step and I'm falling either into the nearest exit or into the nearest nut bin. It's so tempting sometimes to just let go and fall. After all, I've been to the edge and looked down at myself scattered upon the waters. A week ago I was definitely looking for an exit. I hadn't taken any steps toward the fruits and vegetables, so a drop to nothingness seemed to be the obvious choice. Yet, you see, I have this overriding sense of responsibility. The wife is almost totally incapable of caring for herself. How can I justify causing her possible death if I should decide to take the nearest available exit. And, what's to become of little Bonita? It's a failing, I suppose, to care too much. I just want whatever it is in my head to go away and leave me alone. I want to be at peace with myself and not fear the nearest sharp object, poorly guarded defile, or simply a cold winter storm. Did you know a bottle of good whisky and a icy cold winter day are the ingredients for an exit? Cheap vodka works, too, but if you're going to go, go top shelf.

Time off was kind of nice, other than getting home late and then having to get up early the next morning. Sunday we (me, the wife, our son, and Bonita) drove over the mountains with Mother's ashes. Our original intent was to take them up to Stormy Mountain and disperse them probably no more than an hour up the mountain. She wanted her ashes scattered on Stormy Mountain and I figured on is a relative term and all things being equal she's been damned lucky I didn't flush her down the toilet. A few days earlier my son called my uncle and advised him of our plan. Well, I guess Mother's brother had a hissy fit over my intent to casually dispose of the ashes. So, he called my cousin, who called my son to inform him he was going to take the ashes to the top of Stormy Mountain and scattered them properly and anyone who wanted could join him. Well, I couldn't because I only had three days off. So we took the ashes to my uncle and aunt for safekeeping until next Sunday when my son and cousin will venture forth to scatter Mother where she wants. She'll have a perfect view of where she grew up, if you believe in that sort of thing. I haven't been to Lake Chelan for a long time and, of course, it's not what I remembered. For one thing, most of the apple trees are gone. Small farms just can't make it in today's economy, so there's a lot of empty land sitting around waiting for something to happen. Some of the orchards have been turned into wineries, which seems to be the next big thing since I see them in practically every State in the Union. Drive down any interstate and chances are there'll be an exit to some kind of "Winery Route." Cheese and crackers anyone? My uncle and aunt are doing fairly well, considering they are in their mid-eighties. My uncle is the last of three and my aunt has one brother and two sisters left out of ten or twelve siblings (I know there were six girls, but never heard how many boys showed up. And, no, they weren't Catholic. They were the other German religion.) All in all, it was a nice day and my son was able to get the ashes out of the house.

It's across the interstate from here, but who'd want to live my a truck stop anyway. Night before last when I was waiting for my trailer to be unloaded in Pueblo (four and a half hours!), I saw a meteor (meterite?) fly overhead. At first I thought, "No, it's a skyrocket or some such firework," but they usually don't fly horizontally or go that fast. With Palin's Alaska problems, the LA train wreck, the AIG bailout, and every thing else in the news, there's been nary a word about other sightings. Maybe it was a firework of some kind or maybe it was something from Fort Carson, a missle or some such thingy. Then it was a drive to Lamar, where I've been many times, but I've never driven from Pueblo to Lamar in daylight so I was kind of disappointed I couldn't see the sights, not that there was going to be any. I suspect driving from Pueblo to Lamar is pretty much like driving from Lamar to Syracuse, KS, just a lot of flat farmland in the Arkansas River Valley and a few touristy places where big trucks aren't welcome. About the time when I was getting thoroughly disappointed with all the bugs committing suicide on my windshield (Have you ever driven down a road where there is a bunch of bee hives sitting in a field? The flurry of popping sounds seems to go on for a long time. You know the farmer on the bee hive side of the road doesn't realize the bee like his neighbor's crop much better. The good thing about bees, though, is that they don't leave a mess. Moths, butterflies, and dragonflies are probably they the worst for leaving a mess because they seem to have a higher fat content. Their splatter almost seems to resist the windshield fluid and quickly turns into a smear. There are other bugs that hit with a loud pop and are very juicy, but it's obviously most sugar molecules because it washes right away. Then there are the black flies. They hit and stick. You have all these dead flies all over your windshield and they don't wash off too well either (too much fat). Black flies seem to be concentrated around feed lots (go figure), where you also get the blood suckers, which leave a little splatter of blood that has to be washed off immediately or it will smear.) I smelled the familiar aroma of steak house specialties growing fat and juicy. Then I realized something. Cooking beef smells a lot like a feed lot. All that crap and piss together creates an aroma that is quite similar to the smell of a nicely dressed steak on the grill. Or, at least, that's what I was smelling between Pueblo and Lamar. Maybe I was just hungry for a good steak. I'm supposed to be driving right now, but haven't gotten started. It's the same old thing. My creativity levels are higher in the morning than at night after driving all day. Also, this is going to be a fairly familiar drive one where I'm beginning to remember the color of houses and the vehicles parked outside. Yesterday the wife's doctor called her and said she had to go on insulin. Just one shot in the evening to lower her blood sugar level. I guess they'll be cutting back on some of the medicines, too, so that it doesn't go too low. Her kidneys are getting steadily worse. Creatinine jumped a bit on the last test. The good news was her A1C had dropped from the previous test, back to levels she's had for the past three years. Her biggest problem is she doesn't watch calories, fats, or carbohydrates in her diet (her first dietician told her all she needed to be concerned with was the simple sugars); she doesn't get any aerobic exercise; she doesn't eat a balanced diet; and she eats a lot of food at one time instead of following everyone's directives that diabetics need to control portion size. So, in a way, she's getting the rewards for not managing her diabetes. Well, I do have to go, so be safe out there and don't rear-end pickups with long tow bars.

As far as the anti-depressants go, sounds to me like you just can't stand not being busy. Don't get hooked up in the pill for every cause bit becaust it just isn't worth the money. Get yourself a physical hobby, like juggling. Good luck with the new apartment AND getting out from under your parents' comforting wings. Carl

When a friend of mine was going through the trauma of breast cancer, she liked to say cancer was like a truck. You've been hit by a truck and lived to tell the story. She also told the worst cancer jokes I ever heard. It's a shame that was over 20 years ago or I might be able to share one. The one thing I do remember from everyone I have met who've experienced cancer is to have a sense of humor about everything. Laugh! It gets the good brain chemicals moving and keeps the bad ones in check. A gloomy person has a better chance of getting worse than a happy one. If you need a laugh right now, why not try this for some cancer cartoons by a cancer patient.

It's across the interstate. Fountain, Colorado, is famous for "The Blast," the result of a passenger train colliding with part of a freight train carrying 18 tons of explosive naptha. Today the event is celebrated with a street dance in July. My blood test in Hays went off without any problems at all. Unlike those people in Kentucky, these guys knew a customer when they saw one and were more than willing to test my blood. Unfortunately, my INR came out 3.3. Not significantly higher, but still up. They're dropping the extra half milligram I take on Mondays and Thursdays. A half milligram might not sound like much, but I guess it has a significant effect on clotting time. I read the entry in Wiki, but it's too technical for me to summarize. Go there if you dare. Yesterday, as I was driving on US-24 from Limon, CO, to Colorado Springs, I came across the small town of Simla. Just to let you know, there are no other towns in the entire USA with that name, but Simla, CO, is pretty damned small; total area is one-half square mile on which live 663 people (2000 census). If you know anything about India, you've probably heard of Simla. The more famous city has 163,000 people (2001) on 25 square kilometers. Surprisingly, their elevations are quite close with Simla, CO, at 5978 ft. and the other Simla at 6988. The one in Colorado is out in the plains with mountains in the far distance. The other is in the mountains. So why have a Simla in the plains of Colorado? My guess is that is has to do with the Chicago, Rock Island and Pacific Railraod that used to run past Simla. Railroads came up with a lot of the place names in America because every siding had to have an identifying name. I imagine someone in the Rock Island organization had been to Simla in India, or maybe worked on the narrow guage railroad that climbs up to that city, and put that name on that siding. Today, I deliver my load down the road in Pueblo and then drive over to Lamar for the night and most of tomorrow. I don't have to be in Liberal, KS, until 2154 tomorrow night, but since it is a beef load, I won't leave Liberal until the following morning. We were planning on scattering my mother's ashes this Saturday or Sunday, but this load delivers on Sunday. I'd hate to have to reschedule the dispersal, but that's one of the difficult aspects of doing this job. You miss family events, it's just a part of the job. Whew! My boss just let me know he'll try to get me authorization to drop the load. That saves me a lot of worry I don't need.