The Road To Tennessee - Part II

Just before dusk and only a day after our arrival my cousin and I took to the roads for the four-hour return drive to Atlanta. The Tennessee farm was gorgeous but our weekend trip had to be cut short due to the unfortunate passing of one of my cousin’s close friends. Truthfully, I wasn’t fully rested from the drive up as we loaded our things into the car but I decided I would take it easy the following day.

I arrived home Saturday just before midnight and threw my bags in the corner. The next morning I was tired, but was pleasantly surprised that eight cumulative hours in the car hadn’t completely wiped me out. I nevertheless knew I would need at least another good night’s sleep before I even felt close to being rested. In an effort to give myself a leg up I booked a massage for the following day. Almost without fail I manage to sleep deeply after a massage and I knew sleep would be the only cure for my fatigue.

The day of my massage went more or less as planned. I had booked the last appointment of the night knowing the relaxed state would leave me feeling sleepy. I ordered a pizza on the way home and devoured several slices before retiring to my bed. Just as expected, my slumber was deep and uninterrupted. Normally I sleep anywhere from four to six hours unless I’ve had a massage, in which case eight hours are more typical. This day however I didn’t fully awake.

The next morning I looked at the clock, aware that I had slept eight hours but I remained strangely groggy and unrefreshed. In fact, I was more tired than I had been the night before. Luckily, I didn’t have any appointments and was free to continue sleeping. I quickly rolled over for what I thought would be another hour or so of slumber only to find my day dragging on with me only waking long to eat or use the restroom. Before I knew it, 6 pm had rolled around and I was not only still in pajamas, I was still in bed! With each hour of sleep it seemed my fatigue only deepened. I was probably in denial at the time, but when I think back about it I now realize there was an added malaise I was experiencing even if I couldn’t define exactly what it was. There was no sore throat, no sniffles, not even a full headache but I was groggy and my thoughts were murky.

To my dismay, this new feeling of unwell continued for days that quickly ran into weeks and then a month. I felt myself slipping into a cloud. After months of laboring to finish my book, it occurred to me I had misstepped. I had promised myself I would move from the outskirts of Atlanta or what the locals call OTP (outside the perimeter) for a younger and hipper address inside the perimeter (ITP).

Only months before I’d been told that Alan Ball, the author of “American Beauty” had grown up in Marietta and had based the story on his perceptions of life there. Ten years after the movie I was living in Marietta and made witness to some of the hypocrisies outlined in the film. And now I was scrambling around attempting to ready the new home while organizing the old one thirty miles away for its new occupants. Each passing day I felt like crap. To describe my state of mind as “discouraged” is the weakest of understatements. With such feelings of physical discord how would I accomplish everything that needed to be done? To make things worse new symptoms were arising daily -- terrible heartburn, dizziness and heart palpitations. And no matter how much I slept I didn’t feel rested. I reluctantly consulted my doctors but they were without answers. Fortunately by this time the answers were only days away. -TO BE CONTINUED-