A Confession of Sorts...

Did you guys know you can get socks infused with aloe vera???? It's prob a scam but I like the idea so I'm going to pretend it's real. My feet are softer I think. Not smaller. But softer.

I have to admit something. Yes, I shave my armpits. And my legs too. No, I'm not gay. Yet at least. Searching for a third option? Maybe. We've discussed that before. But, in the ways of my father--may he rest in peace--I've been facing a bit of a struggle lately. ADHD. Depression. Whatever it is. It blew up my world the past few weeks. And in its cyclical manner, I'm getting back to the point where putting on my shoes to go to work doesn't seem like the beginning of a death march.

It's an interesting conundrum, the burden that I carry. I think in many ways my thought process allows me a lucidity that puts things into perspective, perhaps too much so. Ruminating is a past-time that breeds insecurities and false tragedies, but it also can foam over with creativity and passion and hopefully--ultimately--a journey that can take me somewhere beyond the 9-5. And by 9-5. I mean 7:30-5:30. Which usually ends up being somewhere between 7:45 and 8 and often 6:15 or beyond.

You've presumably heard the phrase "What doesnt kill you makes you stronger". I like to think of this more as "What doesnt kill you may really upset you for a long time or maybe incite mental issues you didn't have previously, like PTSD or real depression or scabies". Then there's the whole "No pain, no gain" thing?? Well, I can think of alot of things that dont require pain that can result in gain. Like winning a bet. Or hugging a friend. Or eating cheeseburgers. Pain and gain arent mutually exclusive, people. 

Prescribing to this tough, grab-ya-by-the-balls American mentality just doesn't work for me. So I'm going to brainstorm what I like to call...

PLAN B

I've had a lifelong dream of driving a semi-truck. Catching some diesel fumes in the lower 48, ya know what I'm sayin? Hauling the big rig. Hanging at truck stops. Getting my concealed weapons license. Shaving a mullet into my hair and disguising myself along the lines of Cherize Theron in Monster. Like kind of terrifying but without being murderous. Also, plenty of super patriotic t-shirts will be necessary. Like this one:

Can you believe the artistry on that thing? What asshole sold out to make that t-shirt? I know you're hiding somewhere, you secretly patriotic artsy hipster.

Also, I'll have to adopt a really cool dog. Because everyone needs a driving buddy. I'm thinking something that looks scary. Or maybe I'll just get a Chihuahua. They like to bite people. And you can duct tape them into a shoebox if they get annoying. Dont get upset. I'd cut holes in it. I'm not going to kill anything, remember?

Ok, so now I'm kind of being an asshole. But...there is a level of truth to this. Driving a big rig would be the balls. And corporate America is putting my busy brain in a box that I just dont fit into.

Open road. American skies. Cheese fries.

And I'm going to try to get seven hours of sleep into my mortally exhausted brain cells. Dreams of big rigs and weigh stations to come.