April was a heck of a month. I was on the road for eighteen days, total. Flew out to New Hampshire, where I promptly got sick unto death and spent what was supposed to be a productive writing sojourn in secluded Castle Frostbite flat on my back with the creeping death.
I flew home in time to turn around and drive south to catch a ride out to Topeka for a weekend of gun school. Sunday after class, we grabbed dinner and loaded up the truck and headed back east.
It was long about just east of Evansville, in the wee hours of the AM, when I noticed that my blinks were occasionally getting very long. I looked over at Jack Clemons in the driver's seat and asked "Hey, are you cool?"
Jack pondered this with a level of concentration that was visible on his forehead. "No. I think we need to pull over for a nap." And so after a couple hours' shuteye in some restaurant parking lot at 0mygod30, we continued east.
I retrieved the Bimmer at 0800 and headed back west through Louisville rush hour traffic and then north to Indy, with my blinks starting to get long again about the time I hit I-465.
I arrived home staring down a double handful of deadlines for various writing chores and internet scutwork, plus this past weekend was one where Bobbi works the graveyard shift, and then there was the driving her to her mom's doctor's appointment on Monday. I would have slept yesterday away, but yesterday evening was the monthly meeting at MCF&G.
As I sat at the table, Dee, the club vice president, looked over and asked how I was doing. "I'm not even sure what day it is anymore," I replied.