The Move — And After.

“topless woman lying on bed” by Gregory Pappas on Unsplash

There is a great, deep tired in my bones.

There’s something about driving across most of the width of America that is profoundly draining. This strikes me as strange, considering that I spent the time sitting in a car driving, and not actually doing much of anything.

(Okay, so trying not to die at the hands of other motorists is a thing. And a tough one at that.)

But, on the other hand, it’s like — I should not feel this tired. I should be excited! Energized! And I am. But it’s overwhelmed by the tired.

I didn’t expect the Midwest to be so rainy. I don’t think I’ve seen the sun since Western Wyoming, before the clouds rolled in. But God, this country is beautiful. Even if Indiana and Ohio had to ruin Ike’s perfectly good interstate system by putting up God-forsaken toll booths on either end and at all the exits.

I am so tired, you don’t even know. But now the great work begins.

I apply for Medicaid again — figure out how to close my account in Nevada, then try to convince the county that, despite making $100 on Medium this month, and $400 a few months ago, that my income is fairly variable.

I need to find another doctor. Another pulminologist. Another bariatric surgeon. I need to have this surgery done before I die from the weight of carrying myself…