The Day I Officially Lost My Sanity

                                       

E.C.O.L.O.G.Y

I’ve been living on a truck for week now. I marked that day in my memory as the moment I officially lost my sanity.

Take two people who have sorta been married for 28 years.

He lived on a truck.   She didn’t.

Now shove them together in a cab the size of a walk in closet for twenty four hours a day, seven days a week, months at a time.

“One Day at a Time, Sweet Jesus” hits different out here.

And “Give Me Forty Acres and I Won’t Kill This Man of Mine” becomes less of a song and more of a daily affirmation.

We’re starting the new year in Oregon.  Do you know why Oregon is so clean and green?

Let me tell you — I spent four of my formative years here.

Every year, twice a year, they made us watch a film about Lake Erie catching on fire.

Not metaphorically.

Literally burning.

While other kids learned reading, writing, and  'rithmetic, we learned:

Recycle. Reject newcomers. Repel any Old Fashioned  idea that might hurt our e.c.o.l.o.g.y.

Now you know.

Stick around—tomorrow I’m sharing the unwritten rules of the road, starting with the covert operations of the truck stop restroom.

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