Good evening, Royal City, Washington.

Yep, as you can see, I’m not in Ridgefield—I’m in fucking Royal City. Why? Because the load I was supposed to pick up in Ridgefield got fucking canceled.

Fuck’s sake, this always happens. Every time I’m really fucking happy, like ten things start going to shit all at once. Then just when I’m about to say “fuck this life,” suddenly ten good things happen in a row.

But it’s all good. I’m used to this shit by now.

So listen, while I was in Sumner, unloading the previous load took a bit of time, right? Then the broker for the Ridgefield load called me and goes, “Sorry man, looks like you won’t make it in time for this pickup, so I have to cancel.” Just like that—boom—load’s gone.

Okay, fine.

So I drove for like an hour, made it to a truck stop, and took a nap. Barely closed my eyes when dispatch texted me—found a new load, says I gotta haul ass ASAP. Fuck me, it was like 2 in the afternoon. I’d already started my damn day at 2 AM. Barely slept, my eyes are burning, and now I gotta drive nonstop for like 3.5 or 4 hours to make it on time. Even if I left immediately, no fucking way I’d make it by 5 PM.

Anyway, I hit the road, cussing out life. Then I’m like, whatever man. Can’t complain about every little thing. Dude’s out here finding me loads, and I’m sitting here whining—makes no sense. So I texted him back, told him “sorry man, I was just sleepy earlier, I’m good now.” It’s a solid load anyway—pays $5,900. Going to New York State.

So I’m hauling ass on the road, pushing the speed limit, hoping I might somehow make it. Then this asshole honks at me—another trucker. I pass him, then he speeds up and comes up beside me. I’m tailgating the little car in front of me ‘cause I don’t wanna fall behind this other trucker. The car gets pissed that I’m up his ass, slams the brakes. I slam mine. Thank fuck nothing happened, but the company gets an alert for any sudden braking.

Boom—got a message from them: “What the fuck are you doing? Be careful.” That just wrecked my mood even more.

But whatever, man. I don’t give a fuck.

I got there, they loaded up the onions. Loaded like 20 fucking tons. Slammed the door shut and dipped. Nearest scale is half an hour away. I went there, got on the scale—82,500 lbs. That’s 37.4 tons. Fucking illegal. Anything over 80,000 lbs is illegal. So guess what? Had to drive back 30 minutes to where I came from. They’ll open up again at 8 AM. Hopefully, they’ll take off like 2,500 lbs. Another fucking day wasted. I could’ve made it 300 miles tonight.

Whatever. Just talking shit. It’s not really a big deal. That’s just life, man. One day it’s fucked, the next it’s fine. I’ll get some sleep—I’ve been up since 2 AM. It’s 9 now. I’ll wake up again around 6.

Good night.