Now that we've checked out of the hotel, I find myself sitting in the back seat of our compact hatchback, tightly surrounded by luggage, bags of travel supplies and fast food trash, and doing a little check-in with my body and mind. When I do this consciously, I often surprise myself. Not just by the fact that I'm being conscious about it (though that is rare enough), but also by what I notice. It seems that the older I get, the more uncomfortable I am, generally speaking. Or, maybe, I've always been this cringe inside my own body, and I'm only now getting better at recognizing it. I haven't decided which is the case, but I'm leaning towards the latter.
As I said, I'm tightly packed in back here. The hatch behind the back seat is as full as we could get it without blocking the view through the back window, but plenty of junk has overflowed into the back seat. The boys are sitting in the back, the ladies up front. When we go on a long drive, we've found this to be the healthiest arrangement. I can go into that a little more in another post perhaps, but for now let's just say that, through trial and error, we've discovered it's the optimal setup for our family trips. There is our bag of bathroom supplies, a bag of chargers, and a bag of snacks that are sitting between Keegan and I on the seat and on the floor. We have enough room, thankfully, to put the center armrest down so that we have cupholders for our drinks. My oversized 64 oz water jug is on the floor between my legs. Although, my restless legs might argue it's more like a 64 gallon barrel that's preventing them from making the constant readjustments they require.
I have a gut. It hasn't always been there, but it is something that I am currently, er, sitting with. My gut hangs over my belt, as those with guts can attest. The belt line is also where the seat belt lies. Between my waist band, my belt, and the seat belt, there is an awful lot of pressure that is unnecessary and unwanted. In complete defiance of my needs and wants, however, the pressure placed on my waistline is an ever present situation when I'm sitting. Having just gotten burgers and fries before we hit the highway, my stomach is full, thus exacerbating my gut discomfort at the beginning of our trip home. Now I am finding myself shifting in my seat, pulling at my waistline, and tugging on the seat belt. I'm also patiently waiting for the heartburn to kick in.
Speaking of seat belts, I'm tugging at the shoulder belt, as well. I'm taller than who the back seat is designed for in this tiny vehicle. The shoulder strap is cutting into my neck almost exactly like it never does in my own vehicle. I keep looking for ways to adjust how it sits over my shoulder, despite already knowing there are no such adjustments possible in the design. I just need to sit with the discomfort. And tug at the strap every few minutes.
I don't have to pee yet. But I will. I won't get to pee, but I will feel the need to. For the last half of our five hour drive, I expect. My body has been trained to go every two hours. This drive is more than double that. I was smart and went to the bathroom when we ordered at the fast food joint. Luckily for me, they didn't get my order right, so I ran in to get it remedied. While they were fixing me up a plain cheeseburger (no onions, pickles, or ketchup for me, thank you very much), I took the opportunity to ensure my bladder was as empty at the start of our trip as could be. That was an hour and a half ago. And, honestly, as I'm exploring my various discomforts, I'm discovering that I already have to pee! Just a little, but it always starts that way, doesn't it? I'm sure writing about peeing is doing me no favors. Ah, well. The price I pay to find content for my blog...
So, let's recap. So far, I have a gut, my legs are restless, this stupid seat belt is chafing my neck, and I have to pee. Ok. Now, what else?
This trip's purpose was to watch Ayla play her last volleyball tournament of the travel season. We spent six hours today sitting on hard folding chairs, hard bleachers, and the hard floor. That was today. Yesterday, we did another six hours. Don't misunderstand me; I love watching her play. My back doth protests a bit much, though. Lower back pain, check. Middle of my back, check. Neck and shoulder pain, check. While the back seat of our hatchback is far more comfortable than those bleachers, my back is already shot. So, along with seat belt, waistline, and restless leg adjustments, I'm also squirming in my seat to find better positions for my back. I find it helps to pop the vertebrae every once in a while.
Here's another blog-induced discomfort. I use my phone to do all my writing. I have always preferred a phone that barely fits in my pocket (I like a large screen). I hold it with my left hand, and text with my right index finger. I know. For any young folks reading this who raise an eyebrow about my texting posture... yes, I'm old. I text like an old man. I can't do the two-thumb 200 word-per-minute texting that I see the youth of our times perform. I never got the hang of that method. I don't tap one letter at a time, either. I do the slash-texting thing. I drag my finger haphazardly across the keyboard in hopes the phone understands what I'm trying to type. It gets it right about 90% of the time. I have a bad habit of hitting SEND before checking for errors, though. You'd think I'd learn after a while. But, nope. I don't. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that my hand is cramping up. My left hand that holds this six inch wide, ten pound phone, has seized up. Fortunately, it has seized in exactly the shape I need to hold the phone! Organic phone holder! But it is getting quite painful. For the blog!
Lastly; my mind. It's exhausted. I never sleep well in hotels, and car rides tend to make me sleepy anyway. So, as I write this post, my vision is getting blurry, my eyes are burning, and my brain is slowly shutting down. The longer I write, the more distracted I get, the more accidental breaks I take. And the longer it takes to find my way back. Which might be a clue that it's time to put my phone down.
*I didn't put my phone down. Instead I began writing an AFTERWORD.
AFTERWORD
I've come to realize that I have so many discomforts that can set me off. I feel the need to adjust and readjust things to get comfortable. One thing I've heard about that seems to affect a lot of people is shirt tags on the inside of their neckline. Yup. That's a big one for me, too. I love that many shirts now are made with a printed label instead of a tag. Soooo much better! And while I'm at it, I need to have zero creases in my pillowcase under my face. None! Not even a little one! Oh, and I have a pair of Crocs that I wear on occasion that twists my left sock around for some reason. That drives me absolutely bonkers! The more I look at these things, the more I notice this kind of stuff about myself, the more I am convinced that I am somewhere on the spectrum. Not for these reasons alone, of course. But the sensory issues are telling.
Another note: to those of you who are on the spectrum, I do get worried that I might offend someone by writing about these thoughts in the manner that I do. What I say to those people; I am trying to learn more about the spectrum. I am still very unfamiliar with the language and social rules surrounding the ideas I'm considering. From what I've heard, those on the spectrum are a largely accepting community. But I do find myself a little apprehensive about how to phrase my thoughts. I'm still learning. Please let me know if I offend in any way. I want to be as respectful as possible. I may make mistakes along this path. It's pretty guaranteed that I will, actually. But I will do my best to correct any that I understand, and strive to get better.
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