Truck Stop Showers. A Room of One’s Own.
Roll down the road. Negotiate space, cook on a 1 burner coleman stove. Dodge surefooted frisky companions. Keep a relationship going amidst huge hurdles of tiredness, fatigue, long days…beautiful scenery, yummy homemade meals, occasional music sessions inside the truck, my blog, lots of good books, some read outloud, sirius music and cd’s from friends, hectic schedules and close calls with haphazard drivers. How do we maintain space when the charm and cozy nuance can no longer satiate an eventual need for a “room of one’s own?”
The answer: the truckstop shower.
Follow me and I’ll take you on a virtual tour of the one thing that can sometimes save not only your social sense of self but, that integral holy thing. Privacy and a room of one’s own.
And the fork says it all. Little enjoyments and essentials restore equilibrium and establish privacy in space.
We fueled up…a grotesque ordeal considering the oil industry…but, nonetheless 50 gallons of fuel earns you a shower with co-driver shower.
We’re in like flynn. Park the truck. Make sure the animals are comfortable and that the weather is not too forbidding to leave them…or we set the temperature…lock the truck and go in with a few basics to shower.
The key being…we could share a shower but all the sharing we already do…why not get a small 10 by 10 foot room. I haven’t actually measured it but that feels equivalent. Perhaps less tall. Definitely less tall.
But, nonetheless we are on our way.
We’ve been talking a lot about Virginia Woolf lately. The time traveling and gender bending Orlando.
Like before and after experiences. Where you feel completely transformed.
Yes, I was relishing the experience of this small sequestration. Perhaps a half hour at the most. As Virginia so rightly knew and could explain. A room of her own.
Here is the ticket. That magic set of numbers. The time and space lottery set of numbers. The open sesame if you will of your own individual portal of space.
Here are the accomodations. Towels provided. A dispenser of soap that I have relinquished other more costly and cumbersome products…more or less.I am of this tribe. This wandering collective. Adept to circumstance and not about to shrug the total experience.
But, first the magic wand part. The keypad. Which often you have to press the prescribed numbers twice. Then the red light indicates go when it turns to green and you venture inside.
This is your doorway through. A private universe of your own experience. Defoliating the roughness of time’s churn against your body. A way in and through.
Any transformation is filled with potential pitfalls and hazards but signs do not necessarily have to be adhered to as precursors of fate. I venture in.
Roadweary and dazed. But, not unhappy. Just temporarily consumed.
I always lock the door. Who knows what confused soul may linger into the portal of my room alone. Sketch factors remain. I’m locking that possibility out.
Coffee comes with. Clean underthings or new set of clothes. I look around at my prospects and resemble as much as I may ever do…a deer in shower stall lights
I need to shed some hyper alertness and defoliate as I said the unwanted confines of the day’s wear and tear. Even amidst foraging bliss. Even the wildflowers need a good rain.
I’m ready for mine.
This is where my feet get to land. For a brief stay in this room of mine. I’ve never been kicked out for staying too long. But, it’s tempting to negotiate this space through some magical realm and stay longer than ordinary circumstances would normally permit.
But, I have secured the premises from the inside. And, here my feet have landed and I can stay.
The alchemical sweetness of being part of earth. The wonderful access to water. A sweet enabler of clear transformation. A joyous exalt into watery realms.
Looks plain and simple. Yet relief is inherent in this simulated rainfall. I can claim this transformation herein. Perhaps on entry I was anticipating the result of entering a whole new world.
But, overall something deeper and more calm can often satiate.
I can embrace the twilight of a crepuscular event coming in the new dawn.
I can begin again.
Full version cited here of Virginia Woolf’s:
“A Room of One’s Own.”
Excerpts from “A Room of One’s Own.”
By Virginia Woolf
“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say. ” ― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
“A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction.” ― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own
“Lock up your libraries if you like; but there is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind.” ― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own.
Posted on July 11, 2013, in commentary, livin the good life on the road, semi-trailer livin and tagged "A Room of One's Own." by Virginia Woolf, creating a room of one's own, lesbian life on the road, life on the road, semi-trailer living, truckstop shower. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.