First World Problems

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen my house, and when the hours feels like days you begin to lose track of just how long you’ve been part of the tribe.  The Winterhawk nomad tribe.  We all signed up, leaving our loved one’s in the falling horizon to the west.  But no one could have prepared us for this, nothing like this.  Not in our wildest dreams.

[Day One]

Our ragtag group of road warriors, banded together with an eye for the prize and a hunger for victory.  Or so we thought.  That was fifteen days ago.  The bright-eyed go-getters filing onto the last carrier out of Portland.  You could say we were inspired, but it was just a cover up for the anxiety.  The grizzled veterans hung back, the only one’s prepared for the journey ahead.  3,000 miles! At that distance, we were going to have to make another space on the record books.  Finally, our platoon stopped, resting for the long day ahead.

[Day Five]

Our quarters barely pass as houses, maybe 300 square feet, stalked one on top of the other, hundreds of feet in the air.  No one gets special treatment, every room is identical to its brothers.  Some of us have been able to out last the insanity.  Keeping an ever-vigilant eye on the light at the end of the tunnel.  Some of the younglings have already started experiencing a few symptoms of “Bus Fever.”  Sleeping at all hours of the day, a slowly developing fear of small places, tightness of the neck and back, and finally, advanced onset lethargy.

[Day Eleven]

The 1,000 mile mark passed in the darkest part of the night.  The bus had become little more then a mess of legs, trash, and dirty, yet still being used, laundry.  We had stumbled into across a couple hostile tribes, but it had been expected.  Finally, something we had been prepared for.  The battles were short, lasting maybe an hour each.  We lost a lot of good men, lost battles, but won a few more.  Everyone’s sustained injuries.  It’s a miracle that no one’s been shot.  I can count on one hand the number of bruises I have.  I even needed to take pain killers.  “Bus Fever” is more contagious then I thought, I fear that I may be the only one immune.

[Day Fifteen]

I don’t even know why I keep a log.  No one’s going to hear it.  They say it’s just to keep me sane, but I think it’s just to keep them happy.  Either way, I don’t have a choice.  “Bus Fever” is rampant and I fear I’ve contracted it, the signs are everywhere.  We pause for a moment in remembrance of a fallen warrior, but a moment is all we can spare.  The days are starting to become a blur of nights and days.  However, a rumor has surfaced about us being sent home as early as next week.  The excitement brings a much needed positive motivation to the group.  We’ll see how long it lasts.

Stay Thirsty My Friends,
TP

P.S.  In all honesty the trip has been going really well, it’s provided some good chances for the guys to all bond as a team and develop that off ice chemistry that’s so important.  That being said, it’s good to be nearing the end of it.  And if history has anything to say about it, we’ll be a better team because of the whole ordeal.

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