If It's Thursday, today must be Thanksgiving

Today, all of America celebrates Thanksgiving Day, a day to gather with family and/or friends and reflect on the year past and all that one has to be thankful for in the year ahead.   Sounds nice, doesn't it? In truth, it's a day to eat way too much food and fall asleep watching football.  Some of the more ambitious of the clan will organize and pre-plan the shopping extravaganza of tomorrow with all of the skill and cunning of a seasoned military veteran.

Unlike most of the civilized world, I will not be spending any time at home, nor will I be with any family, friends or loved ones.  I am spending my day in a truck stop thousands of miles from home, eating whatever food I can get at whichever nearby restaurant I choose to visit.  Tomorrow, I get to pick up another load and head back across the country yet again in what seems like a never-ending cycle of loneliness and depression.

As much as I would like to tell myself that I knew what I was getting myself into when I started this mad merry-go-round ride, the cold reality is I had absolutely no idea it was going to be anything like this.  The nights are getting very cold and, since trucks aren't allowed to idle all night long, nor does this truck have one of those nifty little power units that provide heat and whatnot, that is adding to my misery.

I could go on, but who really cares?

I had said in my previous post, for those of you that still read this blog and pay attention, that I have nothing to be thankful for or feel blessed about.  That is not entirely true.  There is one person whom I feel thankful to have in my life, and it is a blessing to have her continue to be there despite becoming one of the "cool kids" and I can only hope that she will continue to be there throughout this crazy ride I'm on.

I'm getting too depressed to write anymore.   Maybe another time.

Maybe.

On The Road: Thanks for ... ??

Phase Two of my training has begun, and I am currently sitting in a truck stop just west of Flagstaff, Arizona.  Although I don't remember packing them, my usual assortment of doubts has crept in, leaving me to wonder what I got myself in to, and more importantly, if there is indeed a way out this time.  Naturally, as is the custom and as it's always been since I first started the training school, information has been flung at me hard and fast, and time will only tell how much of it has managed to stick to the walls of my brain, such as it is.  If I knew at the onset that things would be this weird, and after talking to drivers for this company, knew that this is de rigeur and part of the status quo, I would have never come here.

Too little, too late.

Thanksgiving is this Thursday.  I'm many miles from those that I consider family, and while this isn't by any stretch the first Thanksgiving I've had to work over my years, it will be the first one where, at the end of the work day, I will not be able to go home when the work is finished.  This, like most things I've experienced, will be a big first for me.  No, I'm not handling this well, thanks for asking.  The gentleman at the Subway where I had lunch remarked on the "slow end to the workday," and all I could think to myself was: Dude, at least your day has an end.


I still look at things differently than I used to, and of all the things I took for granted, going home at the end of the work day is one of the things I miss most.

My luck continues, unfortunately.  Not counting the general screw-ups (because I am technically still learning), I find myself thoroughly disenchanted with the company I work for.  We have a load that is supposed to be delivering at it's first offload point at 2 am tomorrow morning about 650 miles from where I am.  We (my co-driver and I) told the company several times, going through the phone system and a flurry of satellite messages, that there was no way we would be able to make the delivery time because, thanks to having to log all of last week's classroom time as on-duty time, we would not have enough hours to make the trip.  We told the dispatchers, we told the department who's responsibility it is for this type of load, and we told our driver manager.  All of whom sent their reassurances that they would work on getting someone else who had the time to get the load where it had to go.

Which is why we are currently sitting in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around us but the rugged Arizona hills, with absolutely no hours left on our clocks, unable to move the truck even if we had to.  I've not heard a word from anyone at the company since I spoke to them before we rolled out earlier this morning.

Thanksgiving time, so they say, is a time to reflect on your blessings and the things you're thankful for over the year.  As it stands now, I can honestly say, with all conviction and truth, I have absolutely nothing to be thankful for, nor do I feel particularly blessed in any aspect of my life.  I'm not all that optimistic about the next year, or the ones after that, either.

And don't get me started on Christmas.  That's a rant left best for another time.  Maybe next month.

Show me the way

Looking back over my last entry, reading it over and looking at it from a fresh perspective, I admit it does seem pretty melancholy.  Partly, because it is, and that was my frame of mind when I wrote it.  And partly because I've been told that no matter what I do, or where I go, I will probably never be happy.

I don't know if it's so much not being happy as not finding my focus, or knowing if I am indeed heading in the right direction, in my life.  When I think about all of the times I was asked, "What do you want to do/be when you grow up?" the only honest answer I could give was, "I don't know."  There was never any real push to seek a skill and for many years most of what I did was what I though I would enjoy or felt that, at the time at least, I really wanted to do.  I was told to develop a core set of skills so you could have something to fall back on should an option not work out as planned.  The only problem with that is in doing so, there's no real opportunity to develop proficiency to a level that makes you desirable or employable.

I've looked back at all the jobs I've ever held.  Yes, there's a lot of them, and in varying fields based on what I was doing at the time.  I've analyzed the best and worst traits of each, and there are a couple of common threads.  Of all the jobs, I liked the driving part of them the best.  It was nice to be out and away from any type of office politics, be somewhat on your own, knowing what you had to do and getting it done with little or no real direct supervision.  The parts I thought were the worst were the periods away from home for long periods of time, with no real decompression time and very little time off.

I am now locked into a job that combines the best and worst in one tidy package.

In a few short days I will have to be ready to hit the road yet again and complete training.  This time out is supposed to be shorter, with less home time following, after which I could either be granted the opportunity to head out on my own or told I won't make it.  I have no reason to intentionally torpedo my chances so I will give it my best shot and let the chips fall where they may -- if I fail, it won't be for lack of effort on my part.

The hard truth of the matter is I don't want to go.  An even harder truth is that I have to.  This is the conflict I will be wrestling with and trying to contain as I put on a brave face and soldier on as I am supposed to.

I've looked at local want-ads and I don't think I'm going to do that any more while I'm home.  All the jobs in my field require at least a year of experience, and at my age it's way too late to change careers and start fresh.  I wouldn't even know where to start.

And that's where things stand.  I will continue to do my best and I can only hope it's good enough.  It doesn't mean I'm going to be happy about it, but for now it's all I have.

On The Road: My wanderings

I'm typing this from a truck parked in a truck stop somewhere in Ohio.  I've been out on the road as part of my new job for the past five weeks, learning the tricks of the trucking trade and essentially living the life of a wandering nomad who just happens to transport goods to various points around the country.

It's not been an easy time, as I'm still learning a lot, but things as far as the operation of the truck and various tasks like backing up to a dock or into a parking space at a truck stop have gotten a little easier.  I've gotten better at it, at least, and haven't run over anyone or anything ... yet.

So far I've crossed the country twice and hit many different points in between.  I've currently logged over 10,000 miles driven.  I've been to cities I've only seen in pictures: Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Phoenix, Tucson, Los Angeles, Cheyenne, Detroit, and many other towns.  I've driven through the wide open spaces of Wyoming, seen the saguaro forest of Arizona, been through the Mojave Desert, and saw the Pacific Ocean.  

And, more important, I've seen you.  At least, a representative cross-section of you.  I see you commuting to work, I see you commuting home after a long day, I see you out on errands or just going somewhere as I cruise along the highway.  I see all of you, living your normal little lives.

And I envy you.

I envy you because, unlike you, as long as I'm out here my work never ends.  It's always another load, to another destination, in another city and another state.  But the truly sad part, for me at least, is that all I really, truly want right now, is to go home.

Because, to me at least, that's where you're supposed to go at the end of the day.

Now, don't misunderstand me.  I love driving.  I'm very glad I took the steps to upgrade my license.  I'm happy that I received the training and that I'm fairly competent at what I do.  I don't hate the job per se, in fact under different circumstances I might have had a better time living on the road.

I guess, in my little heart of hearts, I'm just not the nomadic type.  I feel better when I know the job is done and I can return to my own home, and do it all over again the next day.  

I hope I can find something like that.

In a few days, I will have completed this phase of training and, for a little while at least, can have a few days to be at home and decompress.  And weigh options.

And, if need be, get ready to head back on the road.

Big changes on the job front

Many of you may already know that for the past year and a half or so, I was working at a job that, quite frankly, I despised.  Money was tight and our situation was growing grim, so when the opportunity came along I took the job with the following caveat: I would only work there until I was able to find something else, and then it would be over.  A year and a half went by, with application after application, and not so much as a callback for an interview.  The ones that did call me back never so much as sent a "no thank you" letter.

I knew that one way to improve my worth was to get my class A license (essentially, a license to drive a tractor-trailer), and there was only one way to do that in my case.  It would require me going over the road for at least a year to not only get the experience most employers are looking for, but to enable me to pay off the school loan at a reduced rate.  I waffled over this decision for a long time, and in August, after another in a string of hellish days at the old job, took the plunge and made the call.

Three weeks of training to get the license and operate the trucks, and I now have a class A CDL.  I am awaiting assignment to a trainer to spend the next five weeks on the road.  I am nervous and excited, and I am  ready to start a new chapter in my life.  Given that I just turned 44 on Friday, I don't think I have a lot of pages left, and should get to continuing the story as best as I can.

At some point this week, I'll be setting off across the United States, driving hither and yon and learning about my new trade.  I'll update when I can.

Weedy

They called her Skunkweed.

That's a hell of a name to give something, never mind that this particular name was attached to one of the sweetest animals it has been my pleasure to have in my life.  It was decided, pretty much upon hearing that name, that from that moment on, she would be forever known as Weedy.

When Weedy entered mine and Ms. Darkstar's life, she was already ten years old.  Her owners had a dilemma and through some quirks of fate, along with a new baby and allergies, I believe, Weedy had to find a new home. Ms. Darkstar learned of her while working at one of the fabulous companies she temped for during her time in the Frozen Tundra.  The wrinkle in the plan was that Ms. Darkstar wanted to adopt a smaller, and younger, feline, but one look at Weedy and no other cat would have done.  Add the fact that she was an elder cat, and elder cats and animal shelters aren't the best match, and Weedy was pretty much a done adoption.  We set out to pick her up after I got out of work.

I still remember her reaction to meeting Willow.  After some hissing and fluffing things calmed down to a point where both parties agreed to disagree.  Willow had no problem at all with his new playmate/sister, and Weedy wanted nothing to do with him, going as far as to leave the room if he should happen to enter.  Every now and then we'd catch them playing together, but most of the time each cat stayed their distance.

Ms. Darkstar was motivated to adopt another cat mainly because it was clear that Willow was a daddy's boy, and she wanted something that would cuddle and love all up on her.    To a point, Weedy did think Ms. Darkstar made a wonderful cushion on those chilly Frozen Tundra mornings, but for the rest of the time, guess who she gravitated towards ... yup, me.

Weedy had her little quirks about her.  When she would wake up from her nap, she'd get out of her cat bed and emit a series of grumpy little meows before stalking over to myself or Ms. Darkstar and demanding her wake-up petting.  If we weren't quick enough, or if we didn't hear her come in, we'd feel a gentle tapping on our arms or legs.  We'd look down and see Weedy looking up at us with her bright, green eyes, expecting the attention she felt she so rightly deserved.

Weedy didn't like being held or cuddled.  She would, after we first got her, climb into my lap and, if no one else (like a certain Ms. I've been mentioning here) was around, would snuggle her head under my chin, or occasionally, sniff inside my ear.  The whurffling sound, along with the purring noise and the cat breath inside my ear, tickled a lot, but I let her get her snuggling time whenever I could.  In later years, she would just flop herself up on my desk, usually on top of my keyboard, or just sit in front of the monitor as if to say, "Your work now is to pet and worship me, for I am beautiful."

We had lots of nicknames for our dear girl: Grumpy Weedy, Momma Weedy, Little Miss Whurrflepurr (which came around because of the incident mentioned above), but never Skunkweed.  We did, however, learn WHY she had been given that name, and it only took about a month to figure it out.

She had the softest head bonk.  It's like she barely even touched you, but you felt it tickling on your leg.  Or her way of waking you up with a well-placed, cold, wet nose on any exposed skin.   She would greet me after a long day of work with a litany of complaints, expressed as loud meows if I didn't arrive home when she expected me to do so.

Each of those memories makes me smile a bit.

I wish those memories would stand out in my head more.  All I can see now is the replay of her last night with us.  Flashes of the past month.  Lots of "what if I had..." and "if only I ..." dancing around those final, brief moments, leading to the trip to the emergency vet clinic, the grim prognosis, and more importantly, the statement that, even with aggressive treatments, there was no guarantee she'd last the night.

We gathered in Exam Room 2. Our poor girl, thin and weak, panting in an effort to breathe ...

We petted her, kissed her, reassured her.  We told her how much we loved her, how the pain would be over soon, and we were right here, we weren't going to leave.

The vet hooked up the syringe.  And pushed the cocktail in.

Weedy's breathing slowed, and slowed, and finally stopped.  As did her heart.

Weedy had passed.

We spent a long time with her, just brushing her soft fur, feeling her body grow cold.  We did all that we could.

This week will be one of the longest weeks for us.  Every day, I will expect to see her sleeping in her cat bed underneath my desk.

Or feel her soft bonk on my leg.

Or hear the grumpy meows.

Or feel the soft tap-tapping on my arm, and I'll look down and see her bright green eyes staring at me.

I'd give ten lifetimes for any of that.

I miss her.

And her name was Weedy.

Event wrap-up: STRIP! The Dallas Webcomics Expo

Our annual pilgrimage to STRIP! has completed, and now all we can do is look ahead to next year's show.  STRIP!  was formerly known as DWEX, and was intended as a showcase for webcomics and their creators.  This is the third year the event has been held, and is also the third year we've attended.

Our first foray here was made not long after our arrival in Texas.  We peripherally "knew" one artist, Randy Milholland, and being admirers of his comic we set out to meet him.  We achieved that goal, and also met such great people as Samantha Wikan, Barry Buchanan, and Rebecca Hicks.  We've attended every year since and met more great artists.  This year was no exception.

Our day started early with a trip to the bank to withdraw some money, and then it was off to the Southfork Hotel in Plano.  We arrived a bit early, and had to wait for the doors to officially open after we checked in and got our little "it's okay, we already paid" stamp.

Once inside, things became a whirlwind of activity.  We saw Rebecca, Samantha, and Barry before I went to reconnect with Leroy Brown, whom I met at the first show.  We then went and said hello to David Wilborn, and I went to see Mark Largent. (sidenote: Please be sure to check out Greyhawk and the Starbucklers -- it's an excellent read and I don't think you'll be disappointed.)  It was also great to see Will Rodriguez again this year, and I even bought a couple of pictures from his son, who is turning out to be a very talented artist as well.

We were able to check out a couple of panels -- one of which was announcing a special premiere event, which I will be able to attend (I'm glad my on-call wraps up before then), and later in the day we went to the Women In Webcomics panel.  It was a very good panel discussion, but I wish it could have touched on more subjects  As it was, we had to clear the room for the next panel and a lot of questions went unasked.  Still a very nice panel to attend and hopefully next year we can touch on more topics.

Joel Watson and the Cyanide & Happiness crew were there, and we were even treated to an impromptu concert.  I never thought I'd hear Word Up and I'm Your Boogieman played on the ukulele, but Joel did a great job playing along.  There were some pretty decent cosplayers walking around throughout the afternoon, and The Taffeta Darling did an excellent job portraying the expo's mascot.

I also met a bunch of great artists, and if I missed anyone, I do apologize -- these are the ones from which I was able to collect information:  Scott Tapp; Jason Poland; Jason McLean; Elia Madrid (making her first convention/expo appearance); Thomas Overbeck; Terry Wagner of Mental Diversions; Michael Hawkins; Brad Diller; Jose Ramirez and Jamel Jones from Drink & Draw DFW; James O'Barr, author and illustrator of The Crow; the crew from Grrl Power, Halloween Man, and The Jupiter Palladium; and JediCole and the United States of Geekdom.

The show wrapped up and we had time to kill, so we went looking for food.  The hotel bar was full of poker players (no-limit Texas hold-'em tournament, happens every Saturday) and the restaurant proper was closed, so we braved the heat and walked across to Twin Peaks.  I was hungry.  The food was ... edible, and had some decent flavor to it.  Although, for what they save in the wardrobe department, they could invest it back into the kitchen.  My steak could have been cooked a little bit more, but at least it didn't moo at me.

After dinner, we returned to the hotel for the Live Art Show and charity auction.  We shared a table with Rebecca and James, and Chris Jeffrey and his girlfriend joined us as well.  Earlier in the day, there was talk about "booth barnacles," and sitting in the company of such talented artists (joined later on by Jamel Jones, and DAMN he's talented), listening to them talk about arty things, sort of made me feel like one.  So, I decided to post this tweet and wouldn't you know, this is the one the event organizers chose to re-tweet:

Hanging out at the art show post-STRIPcon. Sitting with the cool kids. Feel so out of place. Hate having no talent. #boothbarnacle

 The table got a big kick out of that one, and Rebecca encouraged me to run with the theme, so I composed more booth barnacle posts over the course of the evening.  I also come away with some more awesome art and was pretty sad when the evening was over.

Yesterday was a blast, and I can't wait until next year's show!  Special thanks to Rebecca, Samantha, Barry, Chris, Mr. Largent and Dave Wilborn for allowing me to be a hanger-on and tolerating my presence, and special gratitude to Jonathan Caustrita, Bobby Blakey, and Michael Moreno for organizing and putting on this wonderful event.