8:52 p.m.

It's 8:52 in the pm on a Tuesday evening. I am about to head to bed so I can get up around 4ish or 5ish to drive 250 miles eastnorth. There I will be surrounded by miles and miles of nothing. And by nothing I mean open space filled with the history of a few million years.

This area, once covered by an Ocean, then stomped on by dinosaurs and eventually intruded into by man, is desolate and to most, probably useless. I drive down the two lane highway and look around and see Indians walking behind each other into a long curved canyon. This Canyon.

I roll past these old buildings standing by themselves in the middle of Mesquite trees and red clay. The Gallegos Ranch. The historical marker just south of it, where I stop to pee occasionally, says it was owned by two sisters, one of whom shot Black Jack Ketchum.

I like the history of places. Of things. Of people. Even rocks. I’m weird like that sometimes…. before I was married, I could imagine pulling the truck over, leaving the keys inside and just walking out into the wilderness.

Anyway.

I’m tired of the driving though. Of the job. Of the constant struggle to simply catch up with past bills. I need a new direction. Something to put a bit of skip in my panties and will pay the bills with some left over to throw into a savings account.

I have nothing to complain about. Life is good. God has been great to me and mine. Complain I do though. The nature of the beast I suppose. Me being the beast….

It's actually 5:10 in the am now.

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