Nearing the Walls of Troy

Tuesday morning. Just south of Detroit. The company had to reschedule my delivery. By the time I left the shipper, it was 01:00 on Monday morning, I had at least 700 miles to go, gnd I had to deliver by 2 pn Monday afternoon. There was just no way. And even if I could have managed that from a logistical standpoint, I wouldn’t have been able to stay awake long enough to pull it off. As it was, I got about 100 miles from the shipper before falling over.
Naturally I’m doing the ritual kicking of the self. It would have been much better for me if I had done as I had planned and picked up the load early Sunday, and delivered it early yesterday. That would have gauranteed me an excellent paycheck and put me a full day ahead on next week (which means a second great paycheck). Now it’s unlikely I’ll be able to get to a truckstop early enough to fax in this trip so I get paid for it this week. That means an anemic paycheck.
I don’t know what happened. I got up early on Sunday just like I had planned. But I couldn’t get motivated. I frittered away the day fifteen to thirty minutes at a time. It mystifies me, really. While I appreciate the down-time, I don’t particularly relish hanging out at Mama’s. I always feel like I’m invading her space. I guess the reality is that however uncomfortable I may be there on occasion, I prefer it to being in the truck by far.
But I need to remind myself that the prospect of making good money is the only reason I’m out here. It’s why I’m willing to subject myself to a life and a situation that I don’t like. Bad things today mean good things tomorrow. But when it comes down to actually leaving each week, that’s all just empty words.
I have to admit, though, that at least part of my problem is the looming possibility of being sent into Canada to pick up my next load. I have nothing against Canada itself. But getting in and out is a major pain in the ass. My company offers no incentive to ease the pain. In fact, as terrible as they are at calculating paid miles on U.S. trips, they’re dramatically worse on the Canadian ones.
Oh, well. I’m nearing my exit. Time to take my medicine.

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