Simpler is better? redux

Should be safe to sleep in another hour. Especially if I run the a/c for a little while first.

Sundown. Backlit sky. Cooler breezes starting to move. Thus my optimism.

I'm sitting at the smokers' bench outside the truck stop. Otherwise deserted, fortunately. It would be cooler inside the building, but a choice between a Martin Lawrence movie and country Muzak isn't really a choice at all.

I'm less than a hundred miles from my home terminal, but a combination of a flat trailer tire and a storm far to the north has seen to it I dare not go the rest of the way. (The storm knocked out the computers at the company HQ, making it impossible for me to get certain paperwork done. Without the paperwork, I could not drive. So I sat for half the afternoon, after sitting at a tire shop for half the morning. Sigh.) If I had kept going, I might have made it in before my hours ran out. Or I might have had a company official logging my arrival, just late enough to be in violation of Federal Law (insert ominous music).

What can I say? I'm chicken.

A few other interesting things have happened this week,* but most of them were interesting only to me. Or inadvisable to talk about. So, noting how much this opening is like the one for June 14, I will make a similar observation to match.

Not so maudlin, this time. Honest.

When I first found out I was alone again, I thought about just moving into a truck. Apparently there are a fair number of truckers who do just that. Save on rent, save on all kinds of other living expenses. See the world, with occasional breaks where you actually have the time to get out and see pieces of it.

I've changed my mind.

I've talked about running into truckers who just wanted to talk early on. But this week I've had to work not to turn into one of them.

In that older post, I said that I'm basically solitary. And I think it's mostly true. But apparently I'm less so than I thought. Part of the reason I came out here was to keep from climbing the walls in there. Because things were bothering me. And I didn't have anyone to talk to about them.

I still don't have anyone to talk to about those things. And I've calmed down enough I don't really need to now. But it has occurred to me that I don't really have much of anyone to talk about the fun things with either. Not any more. The blog helps, but--well, maybe I'm old-fashioned. Typing isn't the same.

For the past few weeks, one of my taglines has been something like: "What does it matter how often I come home now? There's no home to come back to." But I've found out that doesn't work for me. One week has been enough to make it clear.

I don't socialize much. And I like my time alone. But apparently there are limits.

A friend talked me into finding a small place to sleep in (and keep some of my stuff) when I'm here. Guess I'll be using it more than I thought.

Who'd've thunk it?

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*(One of them will be back-dated once I'm at a computer where I can stick a picture in...)