I'm utterly exhausted this evening.
I will never move, ever again.
The morning greeted me at my favorite Marathon gas station in Bloomington telling my my card was declined, not once, not twice but three times despite calls to the card company and my bank.
I had needed $250 in gas to make it back to Hayward and thought, for a brief second, I'd have to stay and making a living in Bloomington. Doing, you know, stuff.
My financial folks finally worked it out for me and I hit the road with 22 ounces of Pepsi in my gut and a hunger to return to below zero temperatures.
But when I turned west out of Indianapolis, I hit straight winds of about 35 miles an hour. The now ladden truck moved like a brontosaurus who'd eaten at a Golden Waffle -- filled with food boiled in fake margarine and now the chutes were greased.
I had to pull over every two hours because it was exhausting.
Then it became worse.
I turned north at Champaign-Urbana where wind came from the west at 35 miles at hour and my 34-foot behemoth acting like a huge wind sale.
Each time a gust hit the truck, I twisted my body along with the wheel to keep from crashing, either into semis going 85 mph or small cars going the same speed but sounding like angry bees.
It might have helped to stop every now and then for a piece of pie or some ice cream but my bank was now down to nothing, even with the debit card issues fixed.
I had budgeted $350 for the entire strip for gas. The trip down was $250. With the now-filled truck and wind issues, I'll spend $500 return home.
Of course, I can't wait the return to Hayward, my new and last home.
The troubles of the trip show what I'm willing to do for my final settlement.
Peace and home sweet home unto all of you by brothers and sisters.
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