Roberta Verona’s (RV, get it? Hey, don’t blame me, Susie and Bill did it. Susie mostly, I’m betting) health status is still unknown, and that has caused some serious changes in my plans.
First of all, my main goal is now to get to San Diego on time, because I’m meeting Jonathan’s plane out there and I’m his hotel for the Comic-Con International. Also, the San Diego show was one of the big reasons I took this trip when I did, it’s a place I want to be and it’s something I’ve already paid for.
From where I am, there’s really nothing on the map until Denver, which is a solid eight hour drive under the best of circumstances. Getting help between here and there is not something I want to have to count on. The situation west of Denver is equally bleak until you get to Las Vegas.
So I’m throwing away the itinerary and heading South to Wichita, about two hours away, then south to Oklahoma City, another three hours beyond. Then west on 40 where I’ll have Amarillo, Albuquerque, Flagstaff, then down to the 10 at Phoenix. Every one of those places should have some resources for me, should I need them. I’m no longer going to even try to estimate where I’m going to be on a particular night. I actually wish I hadn’t paid in advance for tonight here in Salina, I’d rather be on my way to Wichita right now.
Hell with it, spilled milk. I’m not in a real great mood right now, either. The frustration has pretty much given way to anger, and I don’t have a good place to direct it. Susie and Bill had the RV checked out before I ever picked it up, it’s not their fault. And the backward-assed yokels around here, have, to a person, been extraordinarily kind and have at least appeared to do everything they could to help, it’s not their fault. It’s damn sure not _my_ fault.
Some of you know I’ve been trying to grow my spiritual side here recently, and have heard me say things like “everything happens for a reason,” and “we can’t control situations, but we can control our response to them.”
Yeah, well, the reason this happened is that life sucks, Mother Nature’s a bitch, and American engines aren’t worth a crap. And I would be controlling my response to this much better if I had tequila and firearms, big-assed, high-caliber firearms.
I’ll be okay.