Okay...Having demonstrated the very worst that I can be, I got into the car and Siege decided the first task was to top off the gas tank. We became so involved in babbling a bit that we passed the gas station I'd intended to direct him to. Because this gas station was not situated on a corner, we decided to circle the block. This proved to be a little adventure unto itself, as there was a water canal running through the neighborhood. We made "pretty circles" trying to find our way back, and ended up burning away a mile's worth of fuel trying to get back to that one, reasonably priced gas station.
Filled to the brim and ready to roll, we hit I-17 and journeyed north. This was a fun "getting to know you" phase, in which Siege explained some of the things his mental illness produce in terms symptoms. Some of the hallucinations were...I'm not sure what descriptive word should go here, so I'll go with "different."
We also spent some time discussing our surroundings. Once one gets out of Phoenix, there are lots and lots of mountains. Phoenix is called "the Valley of the Sun" for a reason. And when one enters a "slide" zone, one is inclined to worry as to whether or not the vehicle one is in will eventually be flattened by falling boulders.
Once we hit I-40 and were headed east, I began feeling the need to use a restroom...and it would turn out that I never stopped feeling that need. I honestly can't figure out why this was happening. Was I drinking a virtual ton of fluids? Yes, but no more that I usually did. Was my sugar out of control? Not that I could feel. If anything, I had issues with it dropping on me, which made me grateful for having been smart enough to load up stuff to counter it. So why I became a urination machine is beyond me...almost.
I think it was nerves. This was a significant event taking place. I was abandoning all I'd known for a place where I knew one person, in which I had no idea how Siege's housemates would react to me. I mean, I knew they'd been following my blog, so they knew me to an extent. But, as one of them pointed out, a blog or the like allows for some kind of "brain filter." That is, a blogger can take the time to advertise themselves as a much better person than they are. All too true, in most cases. The thing is that my personal filter is usually struggling to keep foul language to a minimum. That's about it. I want anyone who stumbles upon this blog to not react negatively to it because I end up cussing wildly in almost every post.
That is where I automatically change behavior. In a place where there are others who curse regularly, my four-lettered NY vocabulary comes to the fore, and I start using "f*ck" as a descriptor. I don't actually enjoy using that kind of language, but...well, it happens.
And happened it did! Siege had critiques for many on the road, and I, as her "co-pilot," has similar responses. Really, how did half the people on the road get their licenses?!? Did they miraculously find them in boxes of Cracker-Jacks?
The most common comment was, "Pick a lane!" But then, this comment also applied to Siege. It was new for me, but there is scarred pavement on either sides of individual lanes. When a driver starts to drift, there is a loud BRBRBRBRMMMM! The first time this happened, it startled me. And...
And it would seem that I need to bring this post to a sudden close. I've been putting off showering and the like to write all this, and my new housemates are waiting on me to go do...things. I would simply save this post and come back to it, but this site has a habit of reformatting posts that you want to return to. Better to cut it off here and continue the tale later.
There will be more, my beloved friends and readers. But for now, Rob is off to handle the business of life. Be well!