I woke up around 6 a.m. this morning. Didn’t plan on it. Wanted to sleep until at least 7. My nerves were really going with the idea that today is the last day of my trip and in about 8 hours, I’ll arrive at this strange town where I’ll spend the next 3 years of my life.
At this point, I’m growing tired of the road. Tired of the scenery. Tired of passing everything by. I want to get to my destination and be done with it.
I feel like I have nothing else to say. Or any other pictures to post.
Here’s another mountain picture:
How many pictures of mountains can I show people before they’ve seen enough fucking pictures of mountains? I don’t know what other types of pictures to post. When I drive, I see signs for shops, restaurants, exhibits, etc. that look interesting but I never want to pull off at the exit because I’ll lose time. I’m so concerned with losing time. Making good time. Keep moving. If I slow down, my entire trip will be ruined.
I could have stayed on the main highway but decided to drive through the Clearwater National Forest, which is this 200 something mile stretch of 2 lane road.
The road ran along the Lochsa River and twisted and turned constantly. At first the twisting and turning was fun, but it got old. For whatever reason I started getting very tired. Maybe something to do with the twisting and turning. Or (more likely) the 6 a.m. wake up. I mentally attacked myself for not buying a pop at McDonalds.
“Why did you not buy a pop?”
To keep from pulling over to rest (waste time), I slapped myself semi-hard in the face. Let me tell you, that technique really works.
The scenery of the drive was beautiful, but I wasn’t looking for beauty at this point. I was looking for somewhere to park my car and empty out all the crap inside of it.
I kept myself entertained by listening to music and imagining various fake scenarios. For instance, I sent this author my book in hopes that he would read it.
The author doesn’t have time to read some nobody’s book, so he tosses it on his desk. The author’s wife finds the book. Reads it. And recommends it to the author, who reads it because his wife wants him to. The author ends up enjoying the book. I get rich.
Again, the author doesn’t have time to read some nobody’s book, so he tosses it on his desk. The author hears his wife laughing one Sunday morning. He enters the living room and asks, “What’s so funny?” She replies, “This book.” The author glances at what she’s reading. The author thinks to himself, she doesn’t laugh that hard at my stuff. Author doesn’t read my book. Ends up hating me.
Hours later, the trees disappeared and the amount of twists and turns decreased.
I headed north to Moscow.
Suddenly, everything came crashing down, and I felt like turning around and driving home. The weight of the situation crushed me and I was crying “UNCLE!”
I located the house, pulled into the driveway, and parked. I missed driveways.
The guy who lived in my bedroom before me had this desk that he wanted to sell. I wasn’t sure if I wanted it due to it’s exceptionally large size. I told him to leave it there and I’ll think it over.
After assembling my bed, I lowered the desk to the ground in order to see how much room it took up.
The desk was way too big. One of my roommates and I pushed it out into the living room. I then took a shower and we went to dinner. We had Chinese. I was going to take a picture of the food but didn’t feel like it. I am now home. Half asleep. Goodnight. Thanks for reading. Hope I made the right choice.
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