Sitting at home in Kings Mountain, getting ready to crash for the night. We are under a load bound for Harahan, Louisiana (on the outskirts of New Orleans), which delivers on the 28th. We stopped by here on the 22nd in the hopes of finding a Christmas tree. We found a nice one, but haven't managed to decorate it. We'll have to leave that to Mama and Loretta. We've assed around too much to get it done. And since we're leaving tomorrow, there's no time now. At least there's a tree. We didn't have on last year, and Christmas just wasn't the same.

I suppose we'll be heading out for our last tour with B&L Trucking. Just three or four more weeks and we'll be ready to go back to U.S. Xpress. I really hate that this is going to be necessary, but we didn't get paid consistently with B&L. And it takes weeks to get reimbursed for our expenses. Quite frankly, we just can't afford to work for them anymore. That said, I don't feel like I should mention that we both think a lot of the folks at B&L. We just need more stability than they can provide.

Oh, well. It's late. I should get some sleep. I realize that my entries here are rambling and infrequent. So what's the point?

I don't much feel comfortable with the idea of keeping a journal. A lot of interesting things happen to us on the road, and maybe they bear mentioning. But I can't shake the feeling that I am somehow being disingenious. Since I started putting entries up online, I don't feel like I'm writing honestly anymore. And I don't feel like it's for my benefit. In a way it's like I'm trying to write something of interest for the people who might read the journel; not working through personal issues. It seems incredibly staged these days. That makes me uncomfortable, because I don't want to be one of those self-important people who post online journals and lovingly examine every facet of their own existence, from the first fart of the morning to the last twinge of emotion at the end of the day. But I suppose I've already done that in the past. It seemed self-destructive back then, and is the reason why I've largely abandoned the diary and its format. Nothing much seems so important these days that I have to post comments and examinations for all to see.

If this journal is to continue, perhaps I should re-think its purpose. After all, we were stuck in the snow in Buffalo, New York last week for eighteen hours, and I've never felt a need to mention it here.

I suspect that a part of me still clings to the notion that this journal is for indulgent self-examination (like it used to be), when all I really care about these days are the facts. Hopefully the new notebook I'm writing in can serve the purpose of simple recording moments of note. I'm sure I could write the occasional entry here with some regularity if all that was required were a few notes and lines.

Well, Mara is bedding down on the couch. I'm going to turn out the lamp and kick back in my chair.

I suppose, in a way, this is the epilogue for the old dairy. I'm not sure what, if anything, will be recorded in the future, but I don't think it'll be the same old tripe.