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!