It’s 9:30 at night. I’m driving home without really thinking about driving. I just sit back in the comfortable seat and make the truck go where it needs to go. I’m not hungry because Ms. Tracey fed me red beans and rice before sending me home.
I watch the countryside slide by outside. There are no street lights out here just the occasional lights from a house as I pass by anonymously in the night. The wheels tirelessly singing their song. Something is playing on the radio but I don’t remember what now. Just a slow old country song that reminds me of nothing and yet defines most of my life.
The windows are rolled down and the cool night air blows in. I smell the occasional unidentifiable flower mixed in with the rich, organic, smells of early fall. Nothing really hurts but everything seems to ache. It’ll go away after a nights sleep but for now I just ignore it as I slide along through the night counting the miles to home.
I started at 0630 and have worked all day helping to refloor the house of someone that I had never met before today. Rob called me the night before and said that someone needed help so the next morning we got up early and pitched in. It took about 15 hours of work to remove old carpet, level things and lay new flooring but we finished it in a day and the job is done.
I’m tired. So tired that there’s not even a sense of a job well done but I am happy anyway. Content even. I know that I’ll be home with Mrs. Jinksto soon and that she’ll smile while performing the wifely duties of cooing over how tired I look and helping me off with my boots (if I whine enough). She’ll hug me and kiss away the aches (all the while rolling her eyes at what a crybaby I am).
That’s just a day. Nothing special; nothing different; nothing wrong.