Moving

Well...we're here, in more or less one piece. The trip was a disaster. Over 18 hours of driving - should have been no more than 14 hours.

Friday, we got finished packing the van around 7:00 pm, then went to to meet Scooter at the Western Inn for one last conversation over coffee. We pretty much just talked about Neverwinter Nights, getting our systems up on Linux, and good old geeky stuff. +Kyle and I had dinner of omelettes. Their Denver omelette is pretty darn good. Two hours and 6 or 7 cups of coffee later (and that was just me), it was time to say goodbye. It was quick...but it couldn't have been any other way. We stood and held each other for probably too long, although I don't think either of us really wanted to let go. He shook +Kyle's hand, then pulled him into a hug, and went to his car, saying he'd see us around.

I didn't even make it to the truck before breaking down. +Kyle put his arm around me as we walked and finally said, "If you want to stay, this is your last chance."

"The van is packed."

"That doesn't matter."

I think I just shook my head...I don't even remember if I said anything. I just got in the truck and we drove out, and took the highway up toward I-40. I can't remember the last time I cried so hard.

In doing this, I realize...or at least think I do...that leaving must be the right thing to do...because it was so damn hard. It's almost never truly easy to do the right thing. Not really. Even for so-called "good people". If it's easy...if it doesn't hurt...require some sacrifice...is it really right? I've been called a martyr for saying things like this, but isn't it true, really? Staying would have been selfish...a hell of a lot easier than leaving, especially after the fight we'd had earlier that day...but selfish nonetheless. Is thinking like this being lost in self-pity? I don't think so...it's just one of those things that keeps popping up.

I know that, had I stayed, a life would have been available. They'd have welcomed me back at the Record. I'd have had friends. I'd have gone to school - maybe not for the language, but MSC had some courses I'd have been interested in, and Ms. Coulter seemed like such a wonderful teacher. I'd have kept going to New Beginnings, and gotten involved with the people of that church. Most importantly to me, I'd have had a family - maybe not by blood, but certainly by agape.

So I just prayed. I took something Don said a few weeks ago, and prayed to be like Jabez. My name may not be a cursed name, and there are millions of people with harder lives than mine, but I asked blessing. I asked that this decision to leave behind that which I want, for sake of ease and all the rest, this decision to stay with +Kyle, knowing that the healing needed is going to take time and hard work and many many unpleasant days...to be blessed. I'm not doing it FOR blessings. I made the decision to stick by him because it seems the right thing to do. But I asked them anyway, because I am so tired of being sad...of hurting... I don't think it's wrong of me to ask this, because Jabez did, and God blessed him just for asking.

I also asked Him not to make me wait too long for real happiness.

Somewhere around Vian, OK, (midnightish?) we stopped for a break at a Phillips 66. I went inside, got cleaned up from crying so much, and then went for coffee. Some cop had just finished at the counter, and he and the guy were talking. I got something like a 16 oz. cup, and went up to pay for it. The guy at the counter was probably around 45, maybe 6 ft. tall, greying, wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with a Harley logo. "Traveling?"

"Yep...long, long drive..."

He just looked at me for a second, then said, "Are you a biker? Leather...all the black...chain wallet..." He smiled.

"No...this is just me..." I smiled a little.

I pulled out the wallet, and tried to pay, but he said, "Just take the coffee. You look like you need it."

I smiled a little more, thanked him, and left. That little exchange really blessed me. More than just the coffee, it was an element of caring that you don't see very often. I wish I'd gotten his name - I would have liked to send a note. I can't find a Phillips 66 actually IN Vian...the closest one listed in the yellow pages is about 8 miles away. I pray many many blessings in return for him.

We had planned on getting to Little Rock before stopping, but I wore out way too early. We only made it to Clarksville, which is about 100 miles west of Little Rock. We found a Super 8, and stopped for the night. The shower was nice.

We passed a place called Toad Suck, Arkansas shortly thereafter. We've passed it several times, of course, but I've never remembered to mention it until now. We crossed a bridge at one point, and there was a sign for Lotahwatah Road. There are way too many bridges on this drive.

I made about 12 mix tapes for the trip - only listened to about half of them, because I torture myself with depressing music when I'm already depressed. Maybe I'll post the playlist. Maybe not.

We left out around 11:00 the next day. Things went pretty smoothly until Mayflower, Arkansas...or actually about 7 miles out from it. It was about noon by then. Traffic stood at a complete halt up until just past the exit for Mayflower. We were in line for an hour.

Now, about a mile out from the exit, we saw a nasty wreck in the westbound lane. There was a trooper in the eastbound lane, but he wasn't the problem. Underneath the overpass at Mayflower, there was another cop keeping things slowed down for no apparant reason. Immediately past that, traffic picked up again.

Anyway, we got off at Mayflower because I needed petrol badly, and were there for probably half an hour because they were having trouble with EVERYTHING...the debit machine...the pumps...everything. The lady said it was her first day working alone, and everything that had could go wrong had - they had even run out of gasoline once already that day. (I'm not surprised, with all the people WAITING for AN HOUR...)

I called Nancy and the 'rents to tell them where we were and how far behind things were. Nancy sounded glad to hear from us.

So we drove and drove, and got to Memphis around 4:30 or 5:00. I hate that bridge. I hate it in the dark. I hate it even worse in the daytime.

Memphis was the seventh circle of hell. There is NO exit marked for Highway 72. We miss that exit every time we get off I-40. Every time. Even when we have directions. This time we got really lost, except for that we remembered that the road name was a tree...Pecan or Poplar...we were sure it started with a 'P'. Eventually we stopped and got directions, then happened upon Poplar. Problem was we turned West instead of East. So we got turned around, and of course by now, Rush Hour was REALLY going, so it was about 6:30 before we even got OUT of Memphis. I have to keep telling myself to stop looking at little maroon cars.

Somewhere in Memphis, while stopped at one of the million or so stoplights, I saw a store called Dan West Christmas Supplies. Their little slogan was, "When it comes to Christmas...go West..." I don't know why, but it was of interest at the time.

That was the most harrowing part, and I really got to the point of not being able to control myself. Could not stop crying. +Kyle kept getting on the radio and asking where we should be turning, etc., and of course I have no idea, so that just made me crazier. I was pretty rude, screaming at him and such... I plead temporary insanity. I told him I wasn't ready to make this move. I told him I couldn't handle it, that my nerves were already shot to hell and that I really needed to wait a few more weeks to settle down.

But anyway... In Germantown, we pulled over, and +Kyle basically told me that I just had to pull myself together and keep going. Maybe I needed it, but at the time I definitely didn't want to hear it. He went off and called the 'rents and his mom to tell them what was going on, we got some drinks and went on.

Somewhere in Mississippi we stopped again at a little gas station to fill up. Some kid who looked about 12 came out of the store holding a root beer, then got into a green VW beetle (his shirt matched), backed out, and drove back behind the station, to some housing in the back. The guy who runs the store came out, saw me gawking, and said, "Don't be surprised when you see things like that around here." I guess the kid really was about 12. He looked like a sandy blonde Daniel Radcliffe...Harry Potter glasses and everything.

The clerk said we had another 3-1/2 to 4 hours drive to the Huntsville area. I called the Scotts again - Jim answered this time - to let them know we would be getting in FAR later than anticipated and didn't want to bother them when we got in, instead. He sounded glad to hear from me, too, and wished us well.

The rest of the drive was pretty uneventful...just long...

We got to Athens right around 10:30. Found the house with little difficulty. It's a nice place. Hardwood floors. Basement. Probably about 1200 sq. ft. It's a steal, really, at $350 a month.

I've got to find a job. I was really hoping to be able to take a break, but even if +Kyle gets this job tomorrow, it's not going to pay the bills, much less get us caught up. He's talking about getting a second job, too, but we need fun money, too, or we're going to go insane. There are way many movies this summer that will not be worthy unless seen on the big screen. We would like to bowl more regularly, go skating, etc., take Ian, the boys, and probably Logan out some. Need to get out with Gamegod and Geekgrrl...etc.

Oh well... It's late, and that's pretty much the whole trip, so...for now, goodnight.