These days, more often than not, I wake up feeling under the weather. I open my eyes and stare up at the spackled ceiling of Chris' guest room, on a stiff daybed not meant for long-term use. I hesitate to move when every shift results in the creaks and cracks of a body that didn't move much during the night. A side effect of having two long-immobilized legs is that I sleep on my back now; even if I could roll over, I no longer have the luxury of body fat to cushion my hips. But, be that as it may, some mornings I still wake up with a feeling of appreciation - not only to be waking up under a real roof (for much of the trip, that wasn't always the case) but to be waking up at all.
It's been sixty some-odd days since the story of My Road Trip temporarily became the story of My Brush with Death and Subsequent Recovery; I don't know about you but I'd kind of like to get back to the good stuff. I wish I could just loudly shout to the world "BUT I DIGRESS" and suddenly be back in my truck, coasting down a faded stretch of two-lane highway, surrounded by the rush of an unfamiliar landscape. But no.
It's been a month since I arrived in El Paso from the hospital and, from what the doctors have told me, it will be at least a month yet before they grace me with the green light to leave. So, in the meantime, I sit.
And I wait.
I sit in my wheelchair and I watch Netflix documentaries about coral reefs and Oregonian cults and I read internet lists about "These 25 People Whose Lives Are Literally LOL-Worthy." Slowly, my brain collapses in on itself. Only within the last couple of weeks have I been able to read real, respectable novels again, as I'd struggled with blurred vision for a while as a side-effect of one of my medications.
The more books I read (devour might actually be a better word - I'm reading more now than I possibly ever have before), the more I realize just how much my brain had atrophied after being abruptly cut off from the constant influx of novel sights and on-the-fly problem solving that came from traveling around the country in the dead of winter. So I'm thinking it's time to get creative again.
I started this post way back in January, on the first of what would be several days in West Virginia. Having turned in early due to rain, I thought it would be fun to give a tour of my home on the road. Now, 1,900 miles away, I'm finishing this post as a reminder to myself of those days when waking up under the weather was a good thing. When I would open my eyes to a ceiling not of age-stained spackle but of ice-covered canvas.
I may not be there yet but one day in the near future, I will find myself back out on the road and it's time I started to mentally prepare myself.
Originally penned/recorded on 1/28/18
By now, I've pretty much figured out the nuances of a nomadic life on the road. I have a familiar routine every evening and every morning and, for the most part, living out of the back of a pickup truck isn't too bad. Below are a couple of videos - one in the evening and one the following morning - that go into more detail about the realities of living in my truck.
CWO
As far as the original post goes, that was going to be it. Just two videos, describing the ins and outs of living in the back of the truck. Short and simple.
But I recorded another video that night, one that I had forgotten about until just now, as I was combing through the media folder on my laptop. This one comes a few hours after part one of the home tour, once I'd had a chance to hang out and relax a bit. I wasn't originally planning to include this video but I realize now how important it is, given the events of Las Cruces.
Those of you who have seen me then and since have seen the toll that the accident has taken on my spirit. I feel weak and frail, having lost close to thirty pounds in the hospital. I'm sore from a lack of exercise, grumpy from a lack of social interaction and disheartened from a lack of forward momentum. And worst of all, I'm heartbroken, having lost the one being whose company and comfort I valued above all else.
So I'm posting this third video for everyone who has seen me in this condition and wished they could do something to help. I will weather this storm as I have all the rest and eventually get back to the version of myself in that video - strong, optimistic and confident. Because, even at my worst, I wouldn't trade that moment in West Virginia (or any of the ten-thousand moments that preceded it) for anything.
CWO