The Mistake

So I'm back at home, eh. The idea was to help my family by selling plasma, but that fell through: my history of generosity has undermined my eligibility; and the area's been (rather poetically) bled dry, reducing the pay-rates lower than even a hippie such as myself would tolerate. For a while; I've contemplated how hope can be just as foolhardy as its sister, fear, and now I see that I was not mistaken.

The most immediately hilarious discrepancy regards food. Years ago, I had originally learned of "economic dieting," and noted how I ate more frequently and more responsibly than when I relied solely upon my own wages: relying on my parents was even worse. In Academy, the same phenomena was present. Upwards of six meals brought to me, versus laboring for one? Imagine a disgusted laughter, here; perhaps a few self-deprecating chortles, as well.

Academy taught me alot, and part of my leaving was a feeling that I had learned all that it had to teach me. What I interpreted as "stagnation" I now nostalgically see as "settling in." It's taken me four days to regain my composure. Yes; Academy's course came to its end, and now approaches the next of the sequence, eh! Something to remember is that agitation is as valid a motivating sensation as any other.

I'm struck at the skill involved in living without money, and how it's not often cultivated. Testifying to old connections about daily living as an outdoorsman revealed to me that I've truly chosen an obscure lifestyle, but I can't imagine why there's such unfamiliarity. Money is a tool, and improvising a tool's effects is an important skill. I've not yet encountered someone that can fake through a need for a hammer, using the butt of a screwdriver: the same principles apply (blunt force trauma, careful aim, and pain-killers being paramount as with all things).

The new skills to learn at the Harbor are how to acquire money, or at least expanding my bartering-ability. Something about Harbor is that it's… dead. In my research of wild edible plants, I've learned that most of the landscape qualifies as "wasteland." Economically, only fools come here in hopes of finding prosperity, using traditional methods; myself being a perfect supporting case. The funny thing about Harbor is that it's designed for retirees and commuters: I was overwhelmed by this market, initially, but I now see how it'd be doing myself an injustice to not learn more about this model of business. The trick seems to be in networking with the idle money, but I'm not going to dwell on it anymore today.

Lastly, I'm a punk: had to say that, I did. So long as I'm "at home," things won't go well for me: I'm going to sound like a punk. As a student of lower-class propriety and as a student of hobo-living, this respite of mine mustn't last long. If nothing else, I'd make for a very boring read.

The End of Hobo Quest?

Hah! You wish!

I apologize for the lack of updates! After attempting to change my sleep-schedule into a functionally nocturnal form, because I don't want to again be awoken by police, I was a mental wreck. Some big things have happened, over the past few days.

First off, I've relocated back to my hometown. Moving away was pitched as a job-hunting experiment, so coming back quickly didn't seem to be a bad idea: my reason for coming back is to sell plasma, which requires a nearby mailing-address. I'd be lying, if I said that my familiarity with the local terrain had no compelling influence: I want to sleep without the scope of prying eyes. My old place of residence should function as proof of stability. For the convenience, I am willing to give a sizable portion of my income to my family. I was mistaken, in how my family would receive me. I am being told that there will be another talk about my enlistment, and I fear that I won't be able to again talk my way out it.

On the bus-ride into town, speaking with a soldier further softened my impression of the military: you're only yelled at during basic training, and that's only if you don't play along. My issue with joining the army is that I feel uncomfortable with overcoming an adverse economic condition by running to yet another authoritarian figure: I do that enough. What growth can be accomplished by a mundane live-in job? Beyond simply being a stale path, I don't feel comfortable with relying on the government so overtly and completely.

Empowered Thinking

(Lord knows that I'm not joining any martial ranks, so I need to do something that isn't panicking. The following is what my strategizing looks like.)

The beauty of being back home is the network I built there. The suburbs I currently occupy are not as forgiving of hobos as the university-city of last week, so I'll have to store the bulk of my belongings. Constantly wearing a large backpack is not an option. Starting as early as tomorrow, I'll begin my investigation of suitable store-points. If my favorite camp-site is still unoccupied, I might not need to stress any acquaintances.

I've been contemplating the needs of a "netbo," an internet-savvy hobo, and optimization-experiments have already begun. My netbook fits into my satchel easily, and I bet some light clothing-supplies wouldn't be too much to add. In a day, at Academy (what I shall, from now on, use to refer to the town in which Hobo Quest began), I made use of very little of my pack: my bed-roll and netbook were the only common removals. Here's what I'm surmising will make up the contents of my streamlined netbo-satchel:

• Netbook and power-cable
• Rain-coat
• Wallet
• Spare shirt/socks
• Light food

My sleeping-equipment might be wearable as how some people wrap a sweater around their waists, but that might be too conspicuous. A very generous former-hobo gave me a sweater that had helped him get through cold nights, and I… The main pouch of my backpack could hold the afghan-part of the bed-roll; with one sweater hiding within the other, wrapped around my waist?

With plasma as my source of income, doing my own laundry becomes easy; but I've still got to reduce how often that it needs to be done. I may be able to use the sea as a washing-machine, but I'd need a bus-pass. I need a bus-pass, to routinely sell plasma…

A larger satchel! But do I really need to expand?

My nights won't be able to go on very long, anymore. I got lucky, at Academy. If I can download more anime, I can still do something into the night: a flashlight and some old-fashioned books might do me better. Just working on my computer isn't fulfilling, any longer.

***

The library I'm haunting closes in half an hour, and I'm quite distracted with the above. My apologies!

002 — Fighting Sleep

I'm not writing from within my night-haunt, because I don't think I want to go there. Just the thought of going to "bed" early fills me with an intense feeling of loneliness, but it may be something I must confront. The end of a day has been the most painful part thereof, for quite a while. I hate the idea of closing a day out without company: it's probably why I bloody inhaled the romance-comic I picked up, today; and why I don't seeing it being the last one that enjoys such a fate.

For years, now, I've hated going to sleep. Every night; I need to exhaust myself, to get any real rest. If I'm not so broken down that I consciously want to sleep, I go under by way of trickery: I'll start sincerely believing that I think most efficiently; when I'm lying down, my eyes closed. If I can continue working, ending my day is tantamount to damnation. I would have life no other way. I suppose it's another testament to my childishness, that I would so garb, with rhetoric of the soul, simply adhering to a bed-time! I'm laughable, and I do quite slay myself.

There's no shortage of social interaction, where I am. At the heart of town can be found a congregation of hard-luck individuals, and many are personable. I'd like to live in a house with someone (preferrably more than one person), but that simply wasn't in today's cards.

I simply must keep the night going! I can't bring myself to accept this.

***

(Unless I get access to a power-socket that is functioning properly, I have no more than six hours from which I can enjoy the internet.)

First off, I got a new hat! When getting lunch, a fellow had a very interesting "Punisher"-hat, and I traded my punk-rock hat for it. It was hilarious; how the man simply threw down his hat, when his inspection of my own turned out favorably: I hope he finds his daughter.

Material and personal wealth abounded, today. The hat, an afghan, some knowledge, and a hot meal comprise my objective profits of the day. Finishing "Read Or Die"; some good conversation with locals; taking off my shoes and outer pants, for a while; a fun interview; and reconnecting with my brother, sister, and cousin make up what gains of mine the IRS will never ever bother. I got so enthralled by "Read Or Die" that I missed dinner, but someone gave me their surplus thereof: I hope to never again require such generosity; but I am deeply glad to have been in receipt of it, this once.

I've made a point of avoiding chronic dehydration, a malady that I've been told is common, but it's imposed some limitation on my proceedings. I ought to be grateful that I'm never far from a bathroom, and I'll keep that in mind! On that note…!

The interview was a wonderful surprise: I think that catching it was the result of missing my meal of the day, although my memory has been disrupted by later emotional surges. A university-student is making a video-exhibit of the local homeless-community; interviewing whomever he can, he was, when I encountered him. Only three people were captured upon camera, myself being the last of them. The student noted that the trio had approached him, which counteracted his nervousness. My being very unusually young intrigued the man (the peer); and we've networked with each other, for the sake of the project. I wouldn't mind knowing a news-caster: might be useful, that.

The majority of the day went along with the manner of before my move. Plenty of music, comics, and relaxation. The real kicker was when my brother and sister logged into Skype! I haven't spoken with my siblings in… well, it's been too long. All day, I was resigning myself to not visiting the 24-hour business whereat I pass the night-hours. I was unable to finish my journal-entry in time for the library's close, forcing me to go; but, more importantly, the pains of trying to force slumber are what compelled me to follow my new-found habit. If I had been "disciplined," I would not have met those whom had taken a seemingly random shot at contacting me. Being happy nigh to tears is something that's not supposed to happen to hobos, isn't it? Isn't living like this supposed to be miserable?

Changes of Inventory

• Money: $-0.50
• Food: -1 orange
• Items: -1 blanket, +1 large blanket, +1 light jacket

My habit of helping people with small change must come to an end; or I'll be required to do it, myself. I'm glad I ate the orange, because its wild movement within my backpack bothered my tidying thereof. The large blanket was abandoned in the central park of town, and everyone I asked said that taking it was not a faux pas. Jokingly, I draped my old blanket over someone sleeping in the park: I bet they'll yell at me, later. Finally; my jacket was actually returned to me, washed, by my guide: it's been fashioned into a carrier for the large blanket.

There are no particular plans set for tomorrow. The pancakes were very nice, though one gigantic one was undercooked. Dormitories, here, look like a hybrid of holding-jails and bus-stations; by the way.

***

I've just overheard some university-students conversing o'er how they'd like to see an increase of the campus-library's security; what a chilling talk to hear!

001 — Getting Started

With me being caught in the 80% of town receiving rain-fall, holed away within a wi-fi hot-spot, I've really got no reason to start this daily journal of homeless living: the anime I'm watching isn't something in which I want to indulge while my night-haunt is still notably occupied, so my alternatives are nonexistent. I'll start by explaining myself and my bizarre actions. The rain just got heavier; so expect a procrastinating pace, if "procrastinate" can be used as an adjective.

In a search for sustainable living; I have relocated to a wholly unfamiliar town, and began living as a hobo. For years, I observed my parents struggle against forces compelled to wrest from them their providence; and I soon—and repeatedly—lost that same struggle, when I began living as an adult. My… renewed presence within my father's house was doing nothing to aid in managing the burdens made heavier by our shared difficulty in procuring paid vocations, so I simply decided to leave: this was three nights ago.

I did not move with complete recklessness: my choice of town was influenced by the prodding of a friend of mine whom attends classes within the local university. Having someone as a guide and central storage-point has reduced the intensity of the challenges I've faced, and nullified some of my own foolishness: carrying everything I packed is too loathsome a notion to even bear within my imagination. I've quickly learned what I truly need; and the miscellanea rests peacefully, in the trunk of a hybrid car.

My lifestyle hasn't been too greatly affected by the "drastically" different circumstances under which I now operate. At home, I made a point of exclusively dining on whatever for which I bartered with local volunteer-organizations. Now, I merely subsist on charity: I don't much enjoy the one-sidedness of it, but I will not yet allow pride its whole way. I think about the effort I must invest into sleeping peacefully; but the stress under which I previously rested, the living-room becoming my private domain (despite my insistence that others feel free to use the faculties therein), is comparable in unpleasantness. My hobbies continue indulgence unabated.

I worried about how restricted I'd be, in regards to internet-access and comic-books. Fortunately, neither is enjoyed to any lesser a degree than any point in my life save for one golden period of which you'll later be informed. Luck is to be accredited more than any effort made by which ever author you'll find writing for this journal: that force has yet to fail me, and I'm making a pointed effort to remember the weight behind that.

With material concerns largely addressed, a piercing melancholy has become the hurdle of the day. From what I can figure, the feeling stems from the usual longing for a peaceful home and family. My time with an ascetic has been put to good use, and I've been able to keep my wits about me: this, I've come to assume, is one form of separating one's self from the barbs of worldly living; if not the whole of the concept. Instead of purging myself of the desires at the source of the stress, I've decided to abide by them. While consistent, now; the anxiety has become strangely pleasant, to the point that its presence brings me to lightheartedly humming shanties (a music-genre I've only discovered today).

***

Sunday was a simple one. I had focused my day upon enjoying all four hours of the library's operation, and accomplished that swimmingly. Lunches were being given out by a local band of altruists, and my sole meal for the day was thus secured… or so I had thought. I was reminded of a Sunday-only dinner being given out by a hispanic ministry, and was wonderfully fed. After giving a dollar and orange to a fellow vagrant, my food-stores were increased by a few peanut-butter crackers and a five-pack of cinnamon-raisin bagels.

Socially, I had quite the time! A local had lent me their newest sleeping-bag (gifted to them by a pair of vagabonds); after hearing that, o'er the previous night, I hadn't gotten any rest at all. I was hiding in a 24-hour business-establishment, ruing the bitterness of the night air. Thusly; I was able to peacefully rest within the town-square, mid-day, becoming fully rejuvenated: this would be the highest point of the day, in my interactions with others; the rest being poignant in its contrast. The amount of drama in which I see other homeless entrench themselves is well into the realm of humorous: fortunately, I'm not the only person of the ilk to think in such a way. I'll leave the details to be forgotten.

Actually, others proved themselves to be uplifting. A trio of peers was a refreshing site, among the "circuit," and my misreading of a young man's age by ten years too young (32 where I thought 22) is something upon which youth of today ought to base their standards. At my night-haunt; I concede the interior to the collegiate patrons, relaxing quietly upon the outdoor seating-arrangements. Conversation with others simply nearby yielded a blanket and some invaluable knowledge of the local resources. A very colorful young man had meandered through our dialog, and joined in: he and I are now connected, online, and I look forward to what that'll lead. During the conversation, I ended up aiding a young man with bus-fare.

I'm glad to see that I'm not regarded as threatening. I'm not being particularly avoided by anyone, and conversation is always cheerful. My efforts to remain inconspicuous are going well.

Changes of Inventory

• Money: $-1.50
• Food: +3 cracker-sandwich packs, +5 bagels
• Items: +1 blanket

Tomorrow, I'll be meeting my guide: my laundry (my guide offered to wash my clothes with their own) will be returned to me, and recreational pancakes will be made.

***

Wow, the rain still hasn't stopped….