I’m not gonna lie, last week was a difficult writing week. I’m cranky and bored with being at home (which, thank the good Lord, ends the 20th when we leave on a secret mission for Cadiz, Ky., that may or may not have to do with the solar eclipse – stay tuned). On top of being cranky and bored, I’ve had the added stress of putting together a second book, and apparently everyone in trucking decided to act ugly last week. I’ve seen more wrecks and awfulness associated with the industry than I care to in my news feeds. What the heck happened, y’all? Have mercy, we need a better week.
By Saturday night, I was indeed mopey. I seriously considered locking myself in the closet with a ham and a bottle of vodka, but George hates it when I do that, so I flung myself in front of a train instead. Kidding! I turned my phone off and went to bed, or, if we’re being dramatic (like I could get more dramatic), I took to my bed and stopped dealing with reality.
I don’t know about other people, but the inactivity part of not dealing with reality is only fun for about 9 seconds for me. I prefer to not deal with reality by writing funny stories about the absurdity of reality.
I was up again at 4 a.m., in the office, treating every word of that cussed book like a Tetris game. I left my phone off and growled at people who approached the office door until I had read, re-read, loved and hated it so much I couldn’t read it anymore. I emailed it to the book editor – a dear, dear friend who understands writers and their fitful moodiness – with a notation that I was going back to bed, possibly forever, and to make sure the kids got my rock collection when I perished from the mopey virus.
It’s absolutely amazing what a nap can do. Especially when you finally turn on your phone after several hours and find messages like the quote under the ham above, followed with, “Don’t make me send another ham in after you. Call me.”
Because, believe it or not, I have friends who send me things like random hams, and seriously, when you have people who think enough of you to ship a Smithfield ham to your door with no explanation whatsoever, how bad can your life be?
Sometimes, it’s good to have a bad week. If you didn’t have them, you wouldn’t know the difference between the two. It doesn’t make the bad weeks suck any less, but it does help me keep a keen appreciation for the people who support me and help navigate my way through the often self-imposed minefields of nuttiness.
Hunter S. Thompson wrote, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro,” and I really can’t think of a more appropriate quote for the trucking industry in general, because the ups and downs definitely register on the “weird” scale for me.
It’s nothing a random ham can’t cure. Have a better week, and be safe out there.