CarlHoliday

I suppose the key element to this story is Dad who got all of his tasks completed earlier and didn't have to make such a big show of going to bed.

Weatherby isn't much more than a Rest Area on I-84 and a siding on the UP mainline to Portland/Seattle (a mixed freight is chugging up the hill right now). So, why am I writing this entry? I'm supposed to leave in 15 minutes. (It's now 15 minutes ago; been writing for a bit.) I'm goin to be home tonight. Yipee! Bonita will pee with excitement. The wife will get a hug and a peck on the lips. She might complain about my lack of romantic involvement. I love her, but not THAT way anymore. Maybe, I never loved her THAT way at all, but that's water under the bridge and I've moved on. She's still looking upstream, for what I don't care. All I have going on right now is Chapter 9. Chapter 7 was set off to my wonderful, dear, editor moments ago with instructions not to touch it until next week. She should enjoy her weekend, too. Chapter 9 hasn't been started, on "paper," that is. I know what I want to say, it's just putting it down. With a multitude of characters and situations you just never know who'll come up. I'll probably work on it this weekend while the wife is watching the idiot box. I might watch House Monday night. Remember Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry doing the Wodehouse "Jeeves and Wooster" thingy on PBS (BBC if you're from the back side of the ocean)? Before I went to back to work, I saw the documentary "Stephen Fry: HIV and Me." It was quite good. I don't know where I'm going with this other than I'll probably watch House, except Monday is the wife's birthday and we'll be out, so I might miss it. Damn! Well, I gotta go. It's 80 in the truck, 58 outside, and the air conditioning won't come on until it's at least 70 outside. You do the math.

I'm at a pork processing plant waiting to be invited in to get my load. I've been here since 0700 this morning. I was a little late due to weather, but it's been six hours of waiting so far. And, time not wasted either. I finished Chapter 8 and sent Chapter 6 to the elves for processing. I suspect Chapter 6 will not go over very well. It deals with sexual situations that have not been too popular here at GA. Oh, well, such is life as seen through dirty lenses. The only constant thing going on today is the constant squealing of pigs. There seems to be no end to the number of livestock trucks bring the tasty beasties to slaughter. Yet, I sit here waiting to be called in to get my load. I suspect it is some kind of trim product since I'm taking the load to another company for further processing. One thing that's been interesting is the workers coming out for smoke breaks. There are the ones that wear white uniforms and knee-high rubber boots. They have a lot of blood splattered on them. There are other who only have the rubber boots and there are others who wear white, but don't have boots. It kind of makes one wonder what exactly is going on inside. I'll leave it at wonder, though, as I have absolutelly no interest in going in and looking. It might be okay after the piggies are turned into pork to see that side of the processing, but I have do not wish to see the piggies being turned into pork. Good little piggy. Thunk! Slice! Slop! Whirr! Squish! Squirt! Yuck!!! And, all the heads sitting over there in the corner waiting for their turn to be further processed. What's nice, though, is that it doesn't stink here like it does at the pork processing facility in Ottumwa, IA. Every time I go there, it smells sickly sweet like fresh pork. Here, there isn't any meat smell at all. Just the incessant squealing of pigs fighting to get off the trailer so they can be first in line to get thunked in the head.

I've been getting around quite a bit lately. No long trips, which pay gobs of money. Just short day trips that you hope to have enough to add up to a paycheck. The drawback is I don't have extra time. I'm busier than heck for 11 to 14 hours and then all I want to do is sleep so I can do the same thing the next day. Finally, I've been given a breather. I delivered this morning and don't pick up my next load until tomorrow morning. Then it's a long four days west. It looks like I might make it home by the eighth, which would be nice since the wife's birthday is the nineth. It's been kind of fun being back on the road and driving to more places than Washington, Oregon, and California. I don't look forward to having to listen to the guys on NOAA Weather to find out if my truck and load will be safe if I stop somewhere. A week ago I drove across Nebraska and they were having a lot of thunderstorms. Yesterday, when I was, once again, driving across Nebraska I came to, I'd guess, a five mile stretch of highway where a tornado had done its dirty deed. The bad part about driving long hours is that all I want to do at the end of the day is sleep. I haven't been getting much writing done. I'd guess I'm about halfway through Chapter 8 and while I have Chapter 6 ready to go up, I'm waiting until Chapter 8 is finished. On the psychological side, well, let's just say that I have a recognizable psychological side, now. I can see now that it was always there, but it was kept neatly under the surface where one is supposed to keep that kind of stuff. When I first went over the edge back in 2003 and 2004, I wasn't fully cognizant of being crazy. Then after some intense counseling I saw the error of my ways and became a recovered nutso on a good antidepressant. Now, having fallen off the edge once again and having been pulled back onto my feet, I'm left with a mind that is, quite literally, living on the edge. Each day there is a struggle not to simply jump off, again. The only thing that keeps me being me and not some wacko on a gurney waiting for ECT, is the realization there is absolutely no support at home. If I jump off, I will in all likelihood not be able to get back because there won't be anyone there to pull me up. It's a scary thought realizing that.

Yesterday, as I was driving down I-35 from Iowa I couldn't get someone out of my mind. Usually, or rather the past few days, I've been going over The Artists and where each of the characters are going, but yesterday it seemed my mind was fascinated about this one real person. The hard part is that this person actually isn't a part of my life. I have very few people who are in my life so I tend to get clingy when someone gets close. Not everyone mind you, just the ones I'm interested in, mind or body. I was thinking about this person because I was expecting to be overnighting in the Metroplex tonight after delivering my load of turkey and chemicals that have been transformed into pseudo-pork products in Fort Worth. Sometimes there isn't an outgoing load until the following morning. Luck would have it, that isn't going to happen. I have to go to Paris to get some soup. So, I'm not thinking of that person anymore and probably won't until I head this way again. Heaven knows when that will be. I've gone for months without ever being dispatched to the Metroplex and then right after another I'm going down I-35, up US-287, up I-76 to I-80 to I-35, and back down I-35. It's a constant circle. Today will be busy. The story is going well. Sharon (Have I ever told you what a great editor she is?) just sent back Chapter 6 and I'm working diligently on Chapter 8. Chapter 9 is sort of vague right now, but I expect it to coagulate once 8 is in the bag. My life is going well, too. I've been thinking a lot about my disability (it's a disability, I am not differently-abled, I'm nuts). It explains a lot about my life choices in the past and where I am today. It also explains a lot about where I might be going. I suppose a lot of my current ability to consider these things is due to the medication that has allowed more contemplation. Well, got to go. Be safe and please don't tailgate the big truck to save gas. It makes us nervous and distracts us. The last thing we want to do is wash blood and icky bits off the back bumper.

Nice entry. Personally, I'm doing quite well with insanity. Thanks . . .

I like the earthy feel to it. There are some fascinating stories around the bottom of the totem poles.

Back in the early days when computers were just beginning to talk, the company I worked for (major telecommunications provider in the Western US) had one that had a bad database. It could say "Iowa" when "IA" had been entered, "Washington" when "WA" had been entered, but in the beginning it had a bit of trouble with "OR, MT, and NE" which came out "Or, Mount, and Northeast," respectively. As the various upgrades took place the mistakes were eventually fixed, except for "NE". That system never seemed to figure out "NE" is "Nebraska." It was probably programmed by a Sooner. I decided to stay in Grand Island for two days rather than driving to Minnesota today and having a day off tomorrow in an unknown truck stop. This way I

I really screwed up a couple days ago. My dispatcher is giving me a shitty load to make up for it. Being late is a big no-no and I could've said, "Uh, I shouldn't have taken this load because I don't have the time to complete it." I could've of said, "You know, I'm going to be late tomorrow because I shouldn't have taken this load because I don't have the time to complete it on time." But, no, I did not do that. I waited until I could make my dispatcher very, very pissed at me. Okay it was in the low 100s yesterday, they had a level one smog advisory, the wind was blowing, and I kept making mistakes. If you're going to make one, you might as well make a couple and get them out of the way. So they gave me a revised delivery appointment that was next to impossible to make. I had to make a choice: get fuel I needed or deliver on time. I chose the latter. Then I get to my 99 (our stops are number, initial pickup is 1 last delivery is 99) and there are all these trailers there that belong to my company. 99 asks, "Is this a live unload or a drop." My dispatch order says nothing about this load being drop, so I say, "Live unload." To which they respond, "Well, it'll be awhile because we don't have a lot of room in our freezer and we're short a couple forklift operators." I sent a message to my dispatcher asking if this load was a drop, but I had to go into a door before he responded, which he never did. Then he send me this load which I'm supposed to pickup in four hours, which would've been okay if I had simply dropped my trailer. I waited and waited and waited. The pickup customer called me to find out when I'd be there. I had to be at his location no later than 10:00 a.m. I was going to be lucky to be out of 99 at 10:00. Plus, I had to get the trailer washed out. I spent the night in the San Felipe Pueblo Travel Center off I-25. My delivery appointment in Denver is 22:00. I've slept a lot, worked on The Artists, and basically chilled out. There's a casino across the street, but I'm not interested. I'll be leaving soon. It'll take about 8 hours to Denver. I'll stop at our yard for fuel and to rest a bit before going down to this 99 and making my delivery. Then it's finding The Blue Beacon to get my trailer washed out (this is a dirty load). And, then I suppose it'll be another load. Normally, I'd expect a Coors load, but I've been naughty and can't expect a good load, not that delivering beer is good. I've delivered a lot of beer and quite frankly there are better loads. (Uh, I don't want to get anyone in particular upset or anything, but I've been noticing a change in my mental status. I don't know if it is a result of the meds or something else, but I don't seem to care about a lot of things anymore. It's not quite that though. Close. If I had a few hours and the energy to think about it, I might, but I'll just have to keep going and see what this leads to.)

I'm spending the night in Troy, IL, when I should be further down the road. I had to stop at the T/A to get fuel and going on would've meant logging another 15 minutes for a post-trip inspection. By stopping here, I was able to combine the required 15 minutes for fuel and do a post-trip at the same time. I finished Chapter 6 this morning. It deals with six different characters in three difference situations. Right now, it appears the character Six is taking over the story. I strongly suspected he was going to do this as he is very likeable. Casey is difficult. Well, he's obese; and, how many good things do you know about any eighteen-year-old who can't walk normal because their thighs are too big, can't swing their arms normal because there's too much flesh between their biceps and chests, and has breasts? Oh, by the by, Casey's breasts appear in Chapter 6. They may appear again in a later chapter. I'll probably start Chapter 7 tomorrow morning or tomorrow when I stop for the night. I know how the chapter goes; well, pretty much most of it. Most of this is Six's chapter, but I'm seeing two other characters popping up for a brief appearance. Further on, I can see some timing issues developing with the different story lines. There will be a lot of tragedy occurring and I'll have to keep each of them organized so they don't conflict with the others. Plus, since all the characters interact on a fairly regular basis, there is the chance that one character who may be going through a difficult time may have a cameo appearance in another character's story line. If that is is case, I'll have to make sure the character is out of the hospital, up and walking, or not yet in the morgue, etc. Yeah, I said morgue. One minor character is definitely going to die soon. Plus, two major characters have good chances of not surving very much longer, either. Such is life.

I made Marion, IL, tonight instead of stopping in Paducah. My new load delivers tomorrow evening in Sterling, IL, so I wanted to get as far as possible today without messing up my log book. Actually, I was planning on fudging on the book a little, but the scale was open south of Marion so there is a record of my truck passing through it at about the time I wanted to show I was already in Marion. I know it sounds complicated, but running out of hours is a major screw-up and I've been driving long enough not to do that again. I finished the second section of Chapter 6 this morning. Now, all I have to do is the third section. Three very important events occur in this chapter and I'm looking forward to getting to Chapter 7 which looks like it will be fairly easy. Chapter 4 has been returned from the editor and has been sent to the elves to get posted. Hopefully, it'll be up sometime tomorrow. I seem to be doing pretty good as far as the psycho shit goes. I'd like to think everything is peachy keen, but I've been a horrible cynic for so long I can't imagine life getting better much less having a good outlook.

You've probably heard me say this before, but I like Missouri. In fact, I like Missouri so much I'd like to see it become the first totally gay state in the United States. I think we should demand this at the next convention of the Gay Agenda. Missouri needs us. Look at what this state has to offer. First off, it's mostly green. Well, in the winter the corn and soybean fields do go a bit brown, but there are the trees, no, wait they aren't green either. Okay, it's not green in the winter, but what state is green that time of year. Green under a blanket of snow doesn't count; and, Florida doesn't count either because they're turning that state into one giant timeshare. Florida is actually cutting down trees so the land can be paved! What else does Missouri have to offer? How about it's practically in the center of the U.S. Okay, it's not actually in the center which is somewhere in Kansas, but who wants to live in a state that has been compared to pancake and where Toto comes from. Missouri is a lot nicer than Kansas, too. Missouri has trees. Kansas has corn, pre-burgers, and religious bigots. Besides, I've been to Topeka. Missouri also has Huckleberry Finn, who just happens to be one of gayest fictional characters produced by any American writer. Look what Huck did for Bass Pro Shops. Of course, Missouri also has Springfield, but what's a little wind? It's not like they have devastating high winds and tornadoes everyday of the year. Plus, tornadoes sometimes don't take every house, sometimes one house on the block will be spared. Maybe it will be yours. We'll have to get rid of St. Louis, though. I propose we dig a huge canal around it and reroute the Mississippi River. We can dump the spoils in the old river channel and then St. Louis will be in Illinois. Illinois deserves St. Louis, after all, they've already got Chicago. By the way, I should be sleeping in Faucett, MO, right now, but I'm writing this and I finished the first section of Chapter Six. Two more sections and it's on to Chapter Seven.

It's still winter in Wyoming. Last night I picked up a trailer headed for South Carolina. I have to be there Tuesday. I stopped for breakfast in Sinclair, Wyoming. If you're familiar with Sinclair gasoline, this is where it comes from. From what I understand the downtown area is quite picturesque from when this was a company town. It was snowing a little when I stopped. Just a little. I took a little nap. I ate a breakfast cookie, banana, drank an orange juice, and swallowed my meds. The snowing got worse. It might have been easier if my CB worked, but it doesn't. I don't know if it's gone to CB heaven or if it the Volvo isn't feeding it the right stuff. Whatever the case I can't hear what's going on on the road. So, I cranked up the laptop and to check the weather. I was wondering if there was an end to this cloud full of snow. The sun does wonders with snow, especially if you don't want it. Unfortunately, it's roaming here in Sinclair so my mobile broadband connection speed is close to dial-up, maybe a little slower. The loop on the weather site was taking forever to load so i went over to the Wyoming highway department and found out eastbound I80 is closed. I'll be stuck for awhile. If I was tired, I'd sleep. I'm not that tired though. I suppose now is a good time to work on Chapter Six.

I'm in the Econo Lodge in Salt Lake City hoping I'll get my new truck today. There's a chance I might have to take a Kenworth W900 which presents itself a whole lot better than a Volvo 670, but it's a bear to back into tight docks. At this point in time I can't be too picky though. You don't have to take a W900, but it might mean sitting for another day until a Volvo comes out of the detail shop. No, I haven't written anything. I meant to, I tried to, but not a lot came out. Chapter Six isn't hard, it just has a lot of emotion in it, a lot of unexpressed emotion and the characters this time around are turning out to be rather difficult with their emotional baggage. I've been away from home for five days and the wife is already giving me the "I miss you so much" crap. She has zero ability to be anything other than totally dependent on me. We talked about me being gone for three weeks, which I need to do if I want to make any kind of money in this trucking job, and she was totally for it. Now that I'm gone, she's gone back to her "I can't do anything when you're not here" shit. Does not make for a calm mind. Chapter Three is out being proofread and should be up for the weekend.

I haven't written anything in a week. No big deal, so far. But, I have been busy. Maybe too busy. We (my, the wife, Bonita, and our son) are leaving Friday morning for Salt Lake City. I got the call this morning that I'm on for orientation at the trucking company I worked for first. I'll be there until Wednesday afternoon when I get a truck. Then it's boogie, boogie, boogie on down the road. It'll take a while to get up to speed, but I think I'll be smokin' on all cylinders by the end of May. I think this is truly what I need. Bonita is on drugs. She's been coughing and retching recently and the vet think she's overheating when sleeping at night in our bed. So we give her a 1 mg Torbutrol (butorphanol: a morphinan-type synthetic opioid analgesic) tablet before going to bed. She doesn't do this when only one of us is sleeping with her, so she won't need to be drugged when I'm on the road. Bonita is on a diet. The vet had WORDS with the wife about poor little Bonita being a SEVEN POUND Chihuahua. Hopefully, this little chat will finally stop the wife from giving in to Bonita's whimpering and begging. And, finally, I bought the new laptop. It's not quite what I wanted, but the price was right so I bought it anyway. Mostly, it's too big. I should be able to get to writing Saturday night and hopefully will get Chapter 6 of The Artists finished before I get back on the road.

I

I finally got Chapter 1 of The Artists pushed out the door so all of you wonderful, beautiful, astute readers can enjoy the first installment of what I hope will be a long project. It certainly has the seeds for it: two young, impressionable, and in some ways intriguing boys; a house full of interesting and artistic people; interpersonal conflicts; a touch of psychological unbalance, just a touch, nothing certifiably crazy this time; straights, gays, and inbetweens; and four years of college ahead of all of them. The other night when I'd tired of writing, I turned on the idiot box and did not watch "Idol". Sorry, but I refuse to be idolized. What I did watch, though, was "Camp Out," a beautiful documentary about 10 gay Christian teens who go to camp somewhere in the wilds of Minnesota. To many people being Christian and gay is about as oxymoronic as you can get, but these 10 teens were struggling with this very issue. I think the documentary dealt with their situation quite well. I called the first trucking company I worked for and was told I'm "rehire-able". Now all I have to work on is getting them to shove the paperwork fast enough for me to get out the door and back on the road. If I had my druthers, I wouldn't do this, but there isn't much else I can do. The last company I drove for doesn't provide enough miles for me to make any (enough) money. There is a local company looking for CDL-A drivers, but their dispatch window runs from 00:01 to 16:00 six days a week and I need more structure than that; running long haul generally means working for 8 to 10 hours then having 10 to 12 hours off, during which I'll be able to get the sleep I need. Well, that's about all I can get out of the ol' neuron bag this morning. I have, what I hope will be my last for awhile, a blood test on the valproic acid level in a few hours so I had to get up early. I am feeling very good, but I've felt good before and crashed horribly soon afterwards. Hopefully, this stuff is actually going to level my playing field.

I think the cats need their own towels in another room! Carl

I

A week ago I sent in my resume to the company I retired from back in '04, at the height of my insanity. They're looking for residential credit consultants and I figured I could get hired since I've done that job. It's not a fun job. It's not a job that has a lot of good feelings about it. The last time I did it, I quit after five months because it was such a crappy job, but there were "political" reasons, too. Basically, you call, or receive calls from, customers who haven't paid their phone bills. You do whatever you have to do to either get the money or protect company assets by cutting off their service. With the coming recession, there should be a lot of cutting off. Frankly, I'd rather not do this job, but money is starting to get tight so I need figure out something. This morning I went to the occupational clinic at the Port of Tacoma and spent $60 for a DOT physical. I wasn't expecting much because of everything I've been reading on the internet about valproic acid being a questionable drug as far as federal regulators are concerned. After a thorough examination, the doctor gave me a letter for my psychiatrist to sign stating I'm okie-dokie to drive. If he signs, I'm calling my first trucking company to see if they're interested in taking me back. Having seen that the grass is not always greener, I look forward to driving cross-country again. My new story (novel) will be titled "The Artists." While there will be other characters with major parts, the story will primarily focus on one character. That won't be obvious though, which some readers may find difficult. What I'm looking forward to is the story should be rather mild compared to my rather violent stories. I'm not foreseeing any violence at all, but one never knows. Also, there might not be a lot of sex, either. I'm going to try very hard to make this story as fun as possible.

Another good chapter, CJ! I wonder about Dimitri, though. Would you trust someone named Dimiti, especially considering his line of work? And, the goose! Now, that's good! Getting the goose to do it's part is a bit tricky, but the effect will definitely look totally accidental, which is the point, right?

The weather forecast is for mostly sunny skies with temperatures climbing up into the lower to mid 70s. A good day to mow the lawn. It needs it because it's been 3 weeks since the first time this spring. I was also seriously considering doing some major pruning on a few camelias that have pretty much finished blooming. There's nothing like a day out in the sun working in the yard, using the power mower (Is it only me or do you too see the conundrum in those two similarly spelled, but dissimilarly pronounced, words? A fine example of why English is such a screwed up language.), using the blower to cleanup, and doing all sorts of bending, stooping, stretching, lifting, and other kinds of physical activity. Unfortunately, that is not going to happen. Last night the next door neighbor decided to have a little fun so he went to a friend's house to do it. The neighbor is an alcoholic who's had other substance abuse issues, too, plus taking some serious antidepressants. He's an okay guy, but he's always been a little immature in his thinking and actions. To have fun at his friend's (and you have to realize I use that term loosely) house, our neighbor decided it would be a lot better if alcohol was involved. According to the police chaplain (you probably know where this is going), our neighbor fell asleep, then vomited. He was too wasted to do anything other than aspirate the fluid. His friend called 911, but they were unable to revive him. There is a lot of crying next door. Family and friends are coming in to help the grieving. Sadness fills the air. I do not grieve, though. I am saddened he unexpectedly left his family, but a forty-six-year-old drunk who does something stupid that results in his death deserves little respect. I will mow the lawn another day, though. Those who grieve do deserve that.

Yesterday morning as I was preparing my breakfast the full realization of my change in status finally hit me. I am mentally ill. :wacko: We talk about them. We see advertisements on television about how we should care about them, stop discriminating against them, and come to embrace their unique needs. I am them. When I used to work in downtown Seattle

I was congratulating myself this morning while I prepared breakfast. I have been feeling rather good lately. Slight depression now and then, very slight indeed. Plus, I'm not overly happy. Just kind of okie-dokie all the time. Well, most of the time. This is afternoon I slipped back a bit. I went out to move the van inside the fence and realized I could just drive away. I could go to the bank and take out a couple thousand and simply disappear like I wanted to do four years ago when I was very, very crazy. I'm not supposed to think thoughts like that. So, I quickly inserted a thought that my medicine was inside the house and I couldn't get away without it. Well, I could because if you're going to do something really crazy, what's the point of taking your medicine especially if that medicine is doing all it can to prevent you from doing crazy shit. Well, needless to say, that did the trick and I'm still among the boring. I'm not proud that I convinced myself to stay, though. I'm still mad at myself for thinking I could get away with it. I'm not depressed enough to do this which means it isn't the depression which is making me want to run away. It's the other end of the pole that's doing this shit. The good thing is I'm going to the shrink on Monday for a medication follow-up, so maybe we can talk about this, too. It could be that having running away thoughts again might be indicative of something more serious. Maybe this mood stabilizer is freeing up a few previously distracted neurons and they're devising a plan for me to take unauthorized leave of my faculties.

I've been toying with the idea of putting my first novel on GA for a number of months, but I didn't want to do it at the same time as "Chartreuse" like I did with "Pastel" and "Tim". It's just too damn confusing having two stories coming off the press at the same time. What I couldn't figure out was when to put it up, ie, before "Chartreuse" or after. As I got closer and closer to the time for "Chartreuse" to go up, the greater the difficulty I was having with getting it to go. First it was dropping off the deep end and having significant problems dealing with day to day activities. Then it was the constant picayune problems with the various "Chartreuse" characters. Then yesterday I was wandering around the forums and found this thread. Well, I primarily write because you have to have some kind of hobby and writing is mine, but sometimes a story comes along that you think might be marketable. The first question to getting any story published is, "Does a market exist for my story?" Unfortunately, most of my stories satisfy a niche so small having them published anywhere except GA is impractical. However, the way "Chartreuse" is shaping up, it might be of interest to enough people to put it through the process of trying to get it into print. I won't know for certain until I get further into the story. After three chapters I'm still on the first day, for god's sake. If it turns out that "Chartreuse" is a story that can be moved into the marketing process, putting it up on GA would be a big no-no. I've already started modifying the manuscript for Novel #1, "Red Bridge," and making a few minor corrections to the text. My goal is to have it ready to go by next weekend. "Red Bridge" is about Buddy Wallace whose wife of 33 years is dying of cancer. With only months to live they embark on a final journey so she can say goodbye to family and friends. In the process of the journey, Buddy is pulled into the suppressed memory of his relationship with his former best friend.