My numb butt needs a delivery boy.

So there is one thing about working on the publication my grandparents put out that I don't particularly enjoy. And that is all the driving that is involved. I enjoy the writing, the meeting new people. I still have lots to learn when it comes the ads (making and selling). But it's all the time spent driving around that's killing me.

Today was our third day in a row driving around, picking up ad copies. By the end of the day, I was fending off a headache. My Excedrin have yet to kick in. Just so we're clear, we are driving around an area of California that is quite possibly the least populated in the entire state. The biggest town we pick up ads in is probably Susanville.

It's a lot of driving. On two lane roads. Where you encounter deer, cattle, and of course, all kinds of farm equipment.

What is it about sitting on your duff for 8 hours that wears you out? Maybe it's the getting in and out a few dozen times during the day. Perhaps it's the driving on two lane roads over mountain passes. It could be the kind of car you're driving. In my case it's a van. I've never liked vans. And this one isn't overly comfortable for my legs. Either the center console is in my way, or the wheels are. I can't straighten my legs out straight - they are either kept bent or stretched out in some sort of angle. Makes my knees ache - especially my bad one. The steering wheel is rather thin, not thicker not like newer vehicles.

That and by the third day, my butt goes numb by the end of the first hour. My grandmother actually went and found some sort of extra cushion for my rear end. Apparently I complained a little about not being able to feel my ghetto booty.

Some of these days on the road are easily 10 hours long. Like I said, the area up here is sparsely populated. And even when you get to a bigger town (and by "bigger" I mean around 3000 people), you're making several stops to either pick up ad copies or delivering said publication, and it's in and out of the car countless times.

I swear, by the time we're home, I'm ready to curl up into a ball and sleep for 10 hours. As I type this, it's 8:45pm, and I was ready for bed about two hours ago. Sad, I know. But there's no rest for the wicked. Or weary. I've heard it both ways. Tomorrow is day four on the road for ad copy, plus we have a bull buyer coming to look at our yearling bulls in the morning. I haven't witnessed this yet, so that's something new. I've already been warned to not speak. So unless spoken to, I will adhere to this rule.

It may require duct tape. But I'll try to behave so hopefully that won't be necessary.