For two days, Kevin has driven the "hot shot" truck. This is a flat bed pickup that they keep around for small loads, so they don't have to pay the hauler company to do it. Kevin usually stays at the store, loading and dispatching trucks. Most of the heavy stuff is done with a fork lift.
While driving the hot shot truck, Kevin gets to listen to the radio. Something that he usually misses. That's a good thing. However, driving the hot shot truck involves a lot of loading and unloading by hand. Carrying lumber around a house and up a hill to the place that it's needed. His body doesn't like that part.
Tonight, he cannot move. He is having a tough time getting out of the chair. He can barely move into the next room without help. He's got muscle rub and a rice sock, but it's not helping. Good Lord, I hate his job.
I don't know what we'll do. He cannot do some basic stuff needed around here, because all of his energy and strength is used to work each day, to pay the bills. I am fighting the urge to get depressed by all of this. Let the justice system move quickly, so he can get out of this crappy job.
I'm so tired.