A Long Talk with George

I had a long talk with George this morning. He urged me to stay in my home until and if they evict me. I have decided to stay put for the time being. I will just wait and see what happens. I have very strong urgings to set out on my own though.

I did sleep in my tent last night. It was a wonderful experience. I slept so well and fitfully. I awoke at my usual 4 a.m. and sat at the threshold of my tent door. Thousands of stars greeted me as I smoked a cigarette and took in the view. In the far off distance my much anticipated whip-o-will called. It is such a lonely and wistful sound. I then curled up on top of my sleeping bag and finished the book I was reading with my flashlight until dawn arrived.

The sun began to rise and I boiled some water and cooked some oatmeal. I then packed up my tent and other belongings into my car and headed home. I was glad to see Sherman this morning as I needed a friend to talk to. He assured me that my father would have to go through quite an effort to oust me from this house. We will just play the wait and see game for the time being. Come what may, I will survive no matter what though.

The Daring One Returns

The scuttlebutt down at the grocery store this morning was that HIV/AIDs Guy is back on the scene after a lengthy incarceration. I always find it uniquely comical in how this one guy can send all the other groupies fleeing for cover. He is like a pretense to the police showing up. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the good pleasure of seeing him today (sarcasm). That guy is a low life.

Sherman did something very uncharacteristic of himself this morning. He already owes me twenty dollars. He always pays me back before asking for more. This morning he asked to borrow twenty more! I am broke and couldn’t give it to him.

“You gotta slow down man,” I told him regarding his drinking. “You stay fucked up all the time these days.”

“I be havin’ issues,” Sherman said as he took another drink of cheap wine.

“What kind of issues do you have?” I asked incredulously. “You get to do what you want when you want to. You can drink when you want. You mother pays the bills and doesn’t give you shit. Hell, I am the one with issues!”

“Yo dad given’ yo ass shit again?” Sherman asked.

“Don’t get me started,” I replied. “The son of bitch told me he is no longer going to let me have my social security money cause he caught me drinking the other day.”

“How in da fuck old are you again?” Sherman asked.

“Thirty four fucking years old!” I exclaimed.

“Dat be da shit, man,” Sherman replied. “Dat do be da shit. What are ya gonna do?”

“I am going to live in my tent and get him off as my representative payee,” I boasted. “That son of bitch isn’t going to run my life.”

“I hear ya brotha,” Sherman said. “But don’t go be livin’ homeless again. Get yo ass a place to stay.”

“I WANT to live in my tent!” I exclaimed. “I WANT to be free again! I don’t want to be a slave to a home!”

“Man, you and you crazy white-ass survivalist mother fuckers,” Sherman said with a laugh. “Next you gonna be eatin’ rabbits yo ass caught.”

I laughed heartily at Sherman’s last statement.

“Hand me that bottle, man,” I said to Sherman.

Sherman handed me the bottle and I took a hefty drink of Wild Irish Rose. I cringed as that coarse drink slid down my throat and burned.

“God, I don’t see how you drink this shit,” I said still cringing.

Sherman laughed and grabbed the bottle back from to take another drink as well.

“Can I come see yo ass at your homeless compound?” Sherman asked.

“As long as you bring the beer,” I replied with a grin.

“I hear ya brother,” Sherman said. “Ole Sherman will look out for ya.”

I patted Sherman on the shoulder and then climbed out of the car to head home. I had just gotten out of the parking lot around the corner when the effects of that stiff drink of cheap wine hit me. Damn, I was feeling good and had a smile on my face as I walked on up the road to home. My belly was full of Dutch courage and I had to fight the urge to go over and give my father my two cents on his recent attempts to control my life.

Rendezvous with Sherman

I saw Sherman this morning for a very short time. He came over early this morning wanting to know if he could borrow twenty dollars for gas. I gave it to him as he always pays me back. He needed the money to fuel his car for his fly-by-night taxi service. Without gas, he couldn’t make any extra money today.

I was cooking breakfast when he showed up. I had made a pan of homemade biscuits and fried some sausage. Sherman sat with me at the kitchen table eating sausage biscuits w/mustard as we talked.

“You been down to see Ferret lately,” He asked me. “No one has seen him.”

“No,” I said. “I have been too preoccupied with other things. I will try and get down there today though.”

“Big S said he be done gotten arrested for public drunkenness,” Sherman replied.

“Big S is not a good source of information,” I told Sherman. “Remember when he and Ferret were spreading the rumor that I was gay?”

Sherman laughed.

“If yo ass don’t be getting’ laid soon I is gonna think yo ass is gay as well,” Sherman replied with a grin. “We gotta get yo ass some pussy.”

I laughed as well. Sherman means well.

Sherman then said he must get to work and start earning some money. I put two more sausage biscuits into a zip-lock bag and gave them to him for the road. Sherman gave me some cigars in exchange. I watched as good ole Sherman pulled out of the driveway and headed out to do what Sherman does everyday as I had my morning cigarette and coffee outside on the porch. Here’s to hoping he will pay me that twenty dollars back quickly as it is nearing the end of the month and I am growing broke.

The Dog that went Bark in the Night

I pitched my tent in the backyard and tried to sleep in it last night. Rosie fucking barked all night long at various animals coming through the yard.

“Rosie, get your ass in this tent and go to sleep!” I would holler as I stuck my head out of the tent occasionally.

My presence would just nag her on and cause her to bark more furiously. Finally, I gave up on sleeping outside last night and came in around 2 a.m. in the morning and crawled into my bed. Rosie followed me in and immediately crawled into her chair and went to sleep. *sigh*

I didn’t have to work this morning. Hallelujah! I am unsure how long I am going to be able to keep this job. They are putting a lot of pressure on me to work many more hours. It has been a tug of war and a battle of the wills. I don’t want to work more hours than I already am. I told my supervisor if he didn’t stop pressuring me last week that I was going to find another job. He said he was going to have to find someone who could work more as they need the extra help. I told him fine.

Saturday Morning Wanderings

I spent another morning with Dumpster Diving Dan feeding the seagulls. I need to get some pictures of this uploaded to the blog if I can just ever remember to take my camera down there with me. I would say there were a good fifty to sixty birds out there today. Dan always feeds them in the same place at the same time so they know when and where to come. Austere asked about seagulls by the river. I live a day’s drive from the Gulf of Mexico. The seagulls follow the river up from the Gulf in search of food. Thanks for the comments Austere!

“How long have you been dumpster diving?” I asked him as we both stood there and threw out stale bread to the gulls.

“Oh, for a long time now,” He replied. “It has been years.”

“What is the best dumpster?” I then asked.

Dan donned a Cheshire cat grin. “That would be giving up my secrets.”

“Don’t use the dumpsters behind the Kroger though,” He said. “They will call the police.”

I then peddled on over across the river to the grocery store. Big S was sitting out front as usual accompanied by Droopy. They were having an animated discussion about this year’s college football prospects.

“Seen Sherman?” I asked them interrupting.

“He be by here earlier,” Big S said. “He said he needed to talk to you.”

I walked on down to the pay phone to call Sherman on his new cell phone. The phone rang a few times and then Sherman answered.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I said. “Big S said you were looking for me.”

“Where you be at?” Sherman asked.

“Over by the grocery store,” I replied.

“I’ll be over there in a minute,” He said.

“Hey man, what did you need?” I asked trying to get him to the point.

“We be playin’ poker at Pookie’s house tonight,” He said. “You want to come?”

“You know I don’t do the Pookie Poker thing,” I replied.

“I be buyin’ da beer,” Sherman said almost pleading with me.

“Sorry man, you know I don’t trust that bitch,” I replied. “There are some shady people hanging out over there.”

“Why yo ass gotta be dissin my woman?” Sherman said with a laugh.

“You know how I feel about that group of people,” I said. “Come by the house after the poker game and we will drink a few.”

“Alright, my brotha, alright,” Sherman said and then hung up the phone.

It will be interesting to see what state of inebriation Sherman will be in when he comes over this evening. I just hope he doesn’t show up on my doorstep three sheets to the wind at 2 a.m. in the morning like he has been known to do. I really need to reconsider the people in my social group. I do find Sherman and the gang to be so interesting and vibrant though, even if they are a bunch of misfits.

Flock of Seagulls

I went down by the river this morning and helped Dumpster Diving Dan feed his seagulls. It was a sight to behold. Hundreds of seagulls flocked around us. The noise they created was almost deafening. I keep wondering how long the local authorities are going to let this continue to happen. The number of seagulls continues to grow everyday.

I grow to admire Dan more everyday. He is such a good fellow and almost like a grandfather to me. I never knew either of my grandfathers. I told him to come by work on Monday and I would give him some potatoes and onions that will most likely be thrown out. He got very excited over the offer and thanked me profusely. I told him thanks for being such a good friend. He is almost like a mentor for me.

I then peddled across the river on my bike back to where I work. I was hoping to see Sherman and I did. I bought us both some beer and we sat in his car drinking them. Sherman had some prescription pills he was trying to sell me. I think they were Lortabs. Those things upset my stomach so I had to pass on them. Sherman said that Shifty would most likely buy them, but he wanted to give me first dibs. I then peddled the short distance home and sat down to write this. Hopefully, I will have more to write about this weekend. I am too lazy this morning to write out the dialogue of I and Sherman’s conversation. This will have to suffice for today.

The Bastard that Be

I made my way down to Weasel’s campsite yesterday. He was drunk, belligerent, and obstinate. It seems his homelessness is taking a toll. I can’t blame him. My tour of homelessness was a drunken volley as well. I just wish there was something I could do to help him. Such an experience tends to put men on common ground. I left him hurling racial slurs my way and peddled on up to the grocery store. I sat for the longest time talking to Slop about much ado about nothing; such banal conversation.

I know this may sound odd, but I yearn to be homeless again. I am under a severe amount of social pressure from my family. I wish I could cast that all aside and go back to the anonymity and carelessness that living homeless affords. My socially affluent family would ostracize me once again and leave me alone. I get so tired of their putting on airs. It seems I must constantly jump hoops to be in their social good graces. I just want to be a drunken homeless bum.

Am I setting my sights too low? I don’t know anymore. I just want peace of mind for once in my godforsaken life. I know these writings must seem dire and fatalistic. I assure you that they are not. I just feel better talking about it and sharing it with others.

Thy Spirits have been Lifted

Ferret was in far better spirits today. You could almost say he was jovial. He had forgotten the racially charged drunken tirade of yesterday. We had a long talk about our respective homeless experiences over beer.

“How did a white boy from a middle class family become homeless?” He asked me.

“It’s a long story,” I replied not really wanting to go into the details of my failed and disastrous marriage.

“I was a drunk and still am,” I finally said tersely.

“You lived in the woods?” He then asked.

“For six months,” I replied. “I had plenty of camping gear.”

“Most mother fuckers don’t know what its like, you know?” He said.

“Yeah, I know,” I said as I took another drink from my beer and pondered over thoughts of my homeless days.

“I am probably going to be living in my car this summer,” I said. “I just can’t take all the shit my family throws at me. I sometimes think I was swapped at birth or something.”

“Yeah, my mother is a drunk bitch as well,” Ferret replied.

I picked up a rock and chucked it into the river. The resulting ripples quickly faded in the swirling water.

“Would you have thought you would be homeless at this point in your life?” I asked.

“Man, don’t get me started,” Ferret said “By now, I would be hooked up in a sweet and easy job with a wife and three kids on the way. Life’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? I sure wouldn’t be sitting out here in these woods drinking beer and sleeping in a goddamned tent.”

“You can look at it in a good way though,” I replied.

“What do you mean?” Ferret asked inquisitively.

“I look at most people’s lives and they are tedious and boring. They work everyday and are too tired to do anything else when they get home. Me and you have the freedom of time and most people don’t have that. We are far freer than the wage-slaves I see everyday. Try to look at it in a good way.” I replied.

“I ain’t never thought about it that way,” Ferret said as he laughed.

“Don’t say I said that though,” I replied with a smirk.

“Why?” He asked.

“Well, you start questioning the basics of everything we are taught to believe and adhere to and people get almost outraged,” I replied. “They can’t see that life could be different from what they are living. I look at my homeless days as a point of personal enlightenment. People feel threatened by that. You are expected to work dutifully, raise a family and other such bullshit.”

Ferret offered me a few more beers, but I had to pass on them. I have an appointment this afternoon and need to be sober for it. I told him I would head back down to the river this evening and the beer would be on me. I feel a good drunk coming on. These tend to tie in with my reflective moments and boy have I been reflective the past few days.

Cold Mornings Ahead

I was just looking at the National Weather Service’s forecasts. There are going to be some very cold mornings ahead; untypically cold for this time of the year. My thoughts go out to Ferret who is braving this weather in a small tent down by the river.

I, too, will soldier on in my sleeping outside experiment save good weather. I have the good fortune of a down filled winter weight sleeping bag. It will probably be too hot for the next few nights for that bag so I will fall back on my summer weight bag. It will certainly be interesting to see how I fare.

I did awake this morning at “The Magical Hour.” I wish I could more accurately describe the magical hour in words. It is as if the world comes alive for another day. It is hard to sleep longer for the calls of jays, mocking birds and cardinals. Their crass, but glorious calls will keep you awake. I sauntered on up into the house and got dressed for work after my morning coffee and a shower. One of these days, I am just going to disappear into the woods and emerge some forty years later to tell my tales. What grand stories I would have by then. Good day.

Thy Sleeping Bag for a Beer?

I took Ferret the sleeping bag yesterday afternoon. Shifty was hanging out with Ferret. I was trying to figure out what Shifty wanted from a homeless man. Shifty is a crackhead of the highest order and only hangs out with people he can get something from. He is a total user. I have seen him with more and more frequency as of late. I would hate for him to become a regular part of the gang.

“Did you get cold last night?” I asked Ferret handing him the sleeping bag.

“Shit man,” He said. “It was so cold I couldn’t sleep. I stayed up all night drinking beer.”

Ferret offered me some beers for the sleeping bag. I declined.

“You used to drink all the time,” He said.

“It fucks with my crazy meds,” I replied.

Ferret laughed.

“Shit, you ain’t crazy. Now that motherfucker is crazy,” He said pointing at Shifty.

“Watch his ass,” I said quietly to Ferret where Shifty couldn’t hear.

“Oh, he be leavin’ as soon as the beer is gone,” Ferret said with a grin.

Shifty didn’t like us talking about him. You could tell he disapproved of what we were doing.

“That sleeping bag should keep you warm down to forty degrees,” I said.

Ferret shook my hand and once again offered me some beer. I declined and then got back on my bike headed towards home. I ran into Droopy over by the bank. Droopy is perpetually walking somewhere and just never seems to arrive at his destination. I wish you all could see Droopy. He is the oddest looking black fellow. His face looks as if it were wax and started to melt and slide off his face; thus the name Droopy.

“Sherman be lookin’ for you!” Droopy hollered out as I rode past.

I smiled. It sure would have been good to see ole Sherman. I wondered what kind of antics he was up to. I rode on up to the grocery store, but Sherman was no where to be seen. I certainly didn’t want to hang around long enough as they might try to put me to work. I peddled on home.

________________________

We had a very dangerous line of thunderstorms pass overhead last night after dusk. It even started to hail at one point. All I could think of was Ferret down in that cheap Wal-Mart tent by the river. I do hope he stayed high and dry.

It was still raining this morning when I got up. I cheated and slept inside last night. I don’t know what I am going to do with my day today. I feel terribly listless and malcontent. It is an aggravating feeling.

After the Storm

Boy, did we have a humdinger of a storm this afternoon. My electricity flashed on and off several times. One time, lightning struck so close to my house that the crack of thunder was immediate and so loud my ears began to ring. I reclined in my lazy boy, lighting my pipe, and listened to nature’s maelstrom outside my windows. Such storms always make me want to get drunk for some reason. The urge to go buy a case of beer during the downpour was almost overbearing, but I resisted. I have been dutifully following my doctor’s orders these days and have stayed abstinent.

Tonight, I am having a quiet evening in. It is far too late to be drinking coffee, but I needed the comfort it brings me. At least I don’t have to work tomorrow and can sleep in. I fear a late night tonight and just needed to get my thoughts down in words.

The rain is softly failing outside my windows and it is a most comforting sound. I also have a few Ray Charles MP3s playing in the background. That soulful sound is music to my ears. It is times such as these I wish I had a kindred spirit to share in such moments; a companion who could also relish these simple moments in life. My only company these days is an elderly dog who sleeps 24 hours a day. I have never seen a dog sleep so much. I guess she has lived a tough outdoor life and is enjoying being a house dog these days. She would normally have to weather a storm such as today outside.

Well, let me go fix another pot of coffee. I also feel the urge to smoke another pipe on my porch. That rained cooled after-storm air will feel so good upon my skin. I do believe nature is still putting on a night show of lightning off on the far distant horizon as well. Let me go have a look and see. Good night.

Transitions

I am coming to the realization of the amount of change and mental conditioning I must overcome to enjoy my newly aspired to lifestyle. I am finding myself more and more isolated these days and am having to rely upon myself more for things I used to look outwardly for.

One of the things I have struggled with the past few days during my solitude is the need to keep busy or to constantly occupy my mind. It is hard to just sit still, be quiet, and observe nature. I feel I must constantly have some kind of noise (like a radio) or a task going on (like a video game or book).

Case in point: this afternoon was a wonderfully stormy afternoon with heavy rain. I unplugged everything and turned it off due to the very dangerous lightning we were experiencing. I found myself in my quiet den with nothing other to do than just sit still and listen in the waning light of the afternoon. I kept wanting to reach for a book; anything to not have to deal with my thoughts and the silence. I will have to work on this.

I also spent a long time this morning looking for books or field guides on wild edible plants of the southeast. It was a frustrating search through countless and myriad “survivalist” advertisements and commercial web pages touting expensive books. Maybe my best bet is to hit the library at a local university. What should be common knowledge passed down by each generation has been lost and you now have to pay a premium to learn via special survival schools and survival gurus.

Lost in Thought

Thoughtful days such as today hold such great meaning to me. I picture myself as the stereotypical mad scientist concocting wild experiments in my thoughts. I get to believing that I can see the bigger picture that most people never see. I sit out in my backyard pulling lungfuls of pungent smoke from my pipe as I mull over ideas. The sights and sounds of nature bring me such joy and delight. I can truly see the forest for the trees.

My nightly outside sleeping experiment is going well. Sleeping on the ground has actually helped my aching back. You also develop this hard to describe third sense about when you should wake up if an animal or danger approaches. Possums seem to be the biggest backyard blundering culprits late at night that disturb my sleep. The occasional raccoon disturbs my sleep as well. These are fairly harmless critters, but can make for heart racing moments of fear during the dark of the night. The weather has also been just gorgeous for sleeping outside at with temperatures in the low sixties after midnight. It can feel rather chilly when I wake up in the mornings.

There is this certain time early in the morning that I call “The Magical Hour.” It is when the birds first awaken and start to call and the first dim light of dawn begins to glow. It is nature’s alarm clock and never fails to happen every morning. What a wonderful way to greet a new day as I open my eyes and yawn; often rolling over in my warm sleeping bag listening to nature’s orchestra before getting up to start my morning coffee.

I have had a severe case of wanderlust today. I dreamt of packing up my big Kelty backpack and setting out on a summer’s adventure. I often look down the road leading from my house longingly for what awaits over the hill. This will urge me to go over and over all my survival gear and do things such as cleaning my water filter. Everything is all packed up and ready to go at a moments notice if the urge to strike out ever overcame me; I so long for travel and adventure.

My biggest train of thought today is how to live without money or to live on as little as possible. I realize to ever be truly free then I will have to find a way how to do this. It can be done as I read excerpts from the journal of a man who walked the country with little money or camping gear today. He spent years just walking across America or canoeing down the Mississippi. His writings brought me great hope that I too can one day embark upon such a journey. Until then, that is what dreams are for. I shall go smoke another bowl from my pipe as I listen to nature’s orchestra while I ponder over these thoughts.

Ferret, what chu Sellin’?

My sleeping outside experiment fared far better last night. I was so tired I slept for most of the night and got up around 4 a.m. in the pre-dawn dark to start my morning coffee. The hardest part is initially going to sleep as your imagination will run wild.

Austere asked why am I doing this? First and foremost it is exciting, fun, and interesting for me. I like to explore alternative ways of living and doing things. I hate how isolated and shut off from nature I feel in my home during the summer. I am also extremely interested in the Native American’s ways of doing things. I have several more experiments planned for this summer to try such as trapping and snaring. I am lucky to live in a relatively rural and wooded location.

___________________________

I did go fishing very early this morning down at the river before they started generating electricity up at the dam. I caught two decent sized blue channel catfish with my bait of almost rancid chicken livers that I had defrosted in the fridge overnight. As I was driving home, I noticed Ferret heading at quite a quick pace up the highway carrying a box. I pulled over in a nearby parking lot to see if he needed a ride.

“Where ya headed man?” I asked as I rolled down my window.

“Pawn shop,” Ferret said and kept walking.

He was a man on a mission.

“Get in the car and I will give you a ride up there,” I replied.

Ferret put the box on the backseat and climbed into the passenger’s seat.

“What’s in the box?” I asked curiously.

“DVD player,” He replied giving up no further information.

Aparently, someone had “given” him a DVD player.

“I will sell it to you for $20 bucks,” Ferret said.

“Man, I have a nice Sony DVD player and I haven’t used it in years,” I replied. “I don’t watch movies or DVDs.”

I drove Ferret on up to the Pawn Shop. He got a grand total of $15 for a brand new DVD player. I told him he would have been better off making a sign and selling it on the street corner for around $50 bucks. He just wanted the quick cash to buy a case of $12.99 Natural Ice Beer down at Wal-Mart.

Well, I am going to go set up a picnic table outside and clean these catfish and get them in the freezer. Cleaning catfish is a bitch. I then may walk down to Fat Albert’s convenience store later and get a forty ounce of Colt 45 and join Ferret down by the river for bullshit and beer. I have a long Saturday with little planned to pass today. Good day.

Summer Experiments

I have several summer experiments I want to try this summer. One is getting accustomed to sleeping on the ground without my tent. This is far scarier than it may seem to be, but last night proved my case. There is just something so comforting and securing about having those tent walls separating you from nature’s creatures and insects.

I had laid my sleeping bag out upon the ground in the backyard and had soon fallen asleep. I must have slept several hours when a blood curdling animal cry woke me up. It was very close and the animal seemed in great distress as if its leg were trapped in a snare. I fumbled around for my flashlight and shone it down towards the bamboo thicket on my side yard. Two eerily glowing green eyes reflected back in the light. My heart began to race. The animal took across my yard just feet from where I was sleeping. I still have no idea what kind of animal it was.

Somehow, I must overcome this fear to sleep outside in the elements. My rational mind knows that no animal lives in our area that could really do me harm unless it were rabid. Still, my imagination ran wild last night after that occurrence of the various beastly things that could harm me while I am so vulnerable fast asleep. My sleep the rest of the night was broken and uneasy. I would awaken at the slightest noise.

Once again, I will give it another try tonight. I have tried to stay awake all day so I will be so tired that nothing will keep me awake tonight. Hopefully, tonight’s experiment will fare with better results.

Verbosely Swift

I have been rather under the weather these past few days so haven’t been out of the house much to generate and write more tales about the gang. I have to work early tomorrow morning and then will have Tuesday off. I plan on camping down at the river with Ferret tomorrow night and showing him some of the things I did to make my homelessness more comfortable with regards to living in a tent. That should generate some interesting writings for tomorrow and Tuesday. Who knows what the rest of the week will bring. Such is the willy-nilly nature of life.

I do appreciate the comments. I do want to add that my last post was not intended to portray that we to prohibit alcohol like we did in the twenties. That little experiment in puritanical fervor ended in utmost failure. I believe that the so called “War on Drugs” should be the thing that is abolished. Whether or not to use a substance should be up to the individual and not some large entity as the majority or the government. If you place a prohibition on beverage grade alcohol then you would most likely have more men/women such as Ferret drinking mouthwash to get their fix. I won’t go into a long diatribe about my ideas on this. I just know I have struggled with addiction with most of my adult life and the only thing that made me stop was me. It really boils down to that simple fact.

Look for the Ferret and Andrew camping adventure on Tuesday.

The Mouthwash Experiment

I was thinking tonight of my mouthwash experiment earlier this week. What stupidity would drive me to do such a thing? I was looking at the back of the empty bottle a moment ago noting all the various “antiseptic” chemicals that are supposed to kill germs and freshen my breath and mouth. All I could think of was the millions of liver cells I destroyed and cleansed out of my system in the process.

I mainly wanted to walk in the shoes of these interesting characters I write about. How can one man understand another man’s alcoholic dilemma if he never walks a day in his shoes? What would ever drive a man to do such a thing as drink mouthwash? Alcoholism, that is.

My father often told me tales of his uncles becoming so desperate for alcohol that they would drink nail polish remover and vanilla extract. I always thought he was just crafting tall tales about his uncles; tales to scare a young child into refraining from the substance in later years. Now, I see he was telling the truth.

The sad truth is that alcoholics will do anything to get their fix even if it means a quick end of life much as the iceheads and crackheads with guant eyes and sad faces I see inhabiting the rundown majority minority neighborhood near my house. Alcohol is just as much as a destructive drug and can be abused just as easily as those drugs we have been so brainwashed into beliving are so illegal and detrimental to us. But you can buy alcohol on almost any street corner in this small town I live in. Clerks will sell it to you with a smile and “Have a nice day!”

More Travels with Preacher Man

I had been on the road with Preacher for weeks now. I was starting to get used to the daily regimen. I and Preacher would take turns driving. I would drive for ten hours and then Preacher would take over as I crawled into my bunk to sleep. We were paid by the mile so it was to our advantage to keep the truck rolling. It was grueling though and I soon grew weary of it. I don’t think the truck got turned off for days at a time except to refuel or to load or unload.

One of the hardest aspects for me to get used to was sleeping in a rolling vehicle. The truck had two bunks top and bottom. By company policy and law, you could only sleep on the bottom bunk when the vehicle was in motion. The bottom bunk was Preacher’s bed with his comforter and sheets. I hated sleeping in another man’s bed and on one of our stops, I bought a sleeping bag and would sleep atop of Preacher’s beddings inside it. Also, if the truck ever hit a large pothole or bump, you would literally bounce in the bunk and it would jar you awake.

One evening, we were on some back roads in Mississippi. It must have been around midnight. I awoke to the truck sitting perfectly still with the engine off. “Now this is odd!” I thought. I pulled on my pants and opened the curtain separating the sleeping area from the front cab of the truck. The flashing lights of a police cruiser greeted me. I climbed into the passenger’s seat to see what was going on. Soon Preacher came climbing back into the truck with a ticket in hand. He was livid as hell.

“Those damned smokies gave me a ticket for a headlight out!” He exclaimed. “If I were white then I wouldn’t have gotten a ticket!”

We were still hundreds of miles from the distribution center were we could get another headlight installed. Preacher had tried to explain this to the officer but to no avail. The police could sometimes see these big trucks as sources of rolling revenue.

“From now on, for the rest of the night, your white butt is going to drive,” He said. “You won’t get a ticket. I can almost guarantee you.”

I looked at the mileage and trip computer and sure enough, I had gained ten more legal hours to drive. I felt like I had only slept for two hours though and begrudgingly climbed back into the driver’s seat. Soon we were rolling again as Preacher climbed into his bunk to go to bed.

“Wake me up if something happens,” Preacher said and then he shut curtains between us.

I had probably only driven fifty miles when a police cruiser came racing up beside me. He flicked on his lights and motioned for me to pull over. I had to drive several more miles to find a suitable spot. You can’t just pull a big rig over anywhere. The officer got out of his car and walked up to the truck. I rolled down my window.

“You doin’ all right tonight?” He asked in a heavy southern drawl looking up to me.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I will be glad when I can park this thing and stop for the night though.”

The officer didn’t ever ask me to get out of the truck.

“Well, I just wanted you to know you have a headlight out,” He said. “Get it fixed as soon as possible.”

The cop walked back to his car and drove off. Preacher was right. I didn’t get a ticket. Preacher poked his head through the curtains.

“Now, didn’t I tell you?” He said. “My black ass would have gotten a ticket!”

We finally made it back to Indianola and the distribution center. The first thing I did after dropping off our trailer was to head straight to the service bay to get that headlight fixed. Two run-ins with the cops were two too many for me that night. I was so glad to be off the road and to get some fitful sleep after a restless night.

The Tale of Two Lives

I do so realize that my father wants what is best for me. I wish I was so simple that I could live that conventional life he has always longed for me. My brother and sister both followed his instructions to the T and went on to be successful doctors. I just could never find my place in life. Living a conventional life such as my father or my siblings just brings this deep amount of despair over me. The tedium of conventional life is just so disparaging. Maybe my lot in life is to be that verbose wino on the street corner holding that sign that reads, “Need money for beer, hookers, and weed. Hey, at least I ain’t bullshittin’ you.” I probably need to go pitch my tent upon my old homeless stomping grounds and disappear as one of those invisible statistics you read about, but rarely encounter on a daily basis. I want that deliberate life that Ferret is leading these days.

An Adult Child

My father bluntly told me tonight, “You never grew up. You don’t act like an adult.” I didn’t get upset. He is pretty much right. I will concede that my life is rather unorthodox considering the company I keep many days. I just couldn’t live life like he does. He does nothing but work all the time to afford things that have little meaning or value to me. I could give a rat’s ass what others think of me these days. His life reminds me of that British comedy Keeping up Appearances.

“What do you want to do with your life?” He then asked me.

“I would love to live in a tent in the woods and waste my time writing away,” I replied.

You should have seen the look on his face. He wasn’t pleased with my answer.

“A grown, responsible adult doesn’t live in a tent and write,” He replied blithely. “They work and raise a family.”

I knew not to expound further upon my ideas about what a meaningful life would be to me. My father just wouldn’t understand.

“You know I love you,” I said to him giving him a hug trying to diffuse the situation. “You will always be my dad.”

“I just don’t know what to do with you sometimes,” He said exasperated hugging me back.

Well, I am now seemingly enrolled into my father’s program for becoming an “adult.” I am to wash my car tomorrow, the dog can no longer come inside, the driveway shall be swept clean of the leaves from that hail storm the other day, and I am to get my yard into a more “pleasing state of order” or whatever the hell that means. I don’t even know where to start.

“You would grow concerned if I let my yard get in a state of disarray,” He said.

“Yeah, there would be something very wrong with you if that were to happen,” I replied sort of surreptitiously .

Maybe I will take some pictures of my yard tomorrow and let you all decide if it really is in such a state of “disarray.” One of the biggest obstacles to living my life has been living up to my father’s expectations of me. It is maddening. I do love and admire the man though. That is why it is so hard.

A Deliberate Life

I made my way back down to Ferret’s campsite today. I wanted to give him one of my extra magnesium fire starters and show him how to use it. As I made my way back to the clearing in the trees where Ferret had pitched his tent, the most wonderful smell of food came wafting by me upon the air. Ferret was standing over a pot above a fire and stirring the contents.

“What you cookin?” I asked as I walked up to him. “It smells wonderful.”

“Ground beef hash,” He said handing me a spoon full of the concoction.

I tasted it and it was indeed delicious.

“What did you put in it?” I asked.

“Oh, just some onions, ground beef, potatoes, garlic, and salt and pepper to taste,” Ferret said. “You want to stay for supper?”

“Sure,” I said as Ferret went back into his tent to get an extra bowl and spoon.

He ladled two bowls full of the food and we sat on the ground around the fire as we ate.

“You were right about the mouthwash,” I said.

“That shit will fuck you up!” Ferret said with a grin.

“Yeah, and give you the worst hangover you have ever experienced in your whole life as well,” I replied.

Ferret just laughed and laughed.

“Did you drink the whole bottle?” He asked.

“Yeap,” I replied. “I got so fucked up last night I couldn’t even find my glasses this morning.”

“Man, you gotta drink that shit slow and easy,” He replied.

We both finished up eating our bowls of food. I handed Ferret the fire starter and showed him how to use it. He was very appreciative of the gift. I was about ready to head for home.

“What do you miss most about living in a home?” I asked Ferret before leaving.

“I miss the television,” He said. “And these fucking mosquitoes will drive you crazy.”
“Well, I haven’t watched the TV in months and can assure you that you aren’t missing much,” I replied. “I will get some OFF tomorrow at work if I think about it for those damn bugs.”

“See ya man,” Ferret said as I started my walk back home.

I really do envy Ferret in a certain way of the life he is living. It is such a simple and deliberate way to live. I don’t know why, but I have a strong feeling of nostalgia over my homeless days.

Two Alcoholics Shoot the Shit as Sherman

I spent most of my afternoon hanging out with Ferret down at his camp by the river. I had brought my fishing rod, but didn’t manage to catch anything. I and Ferret had a long discussion about our drinking habits. It kind of reminded me of some of the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings I have attended, but with a very odd twist. Ferret told me that when he is running low on money he will drink mouthwash.

“Mouthwash?” I asked incredulously.

“Think about it man,” He said. “A cheap bottle of vodka will cost you ten bucks, right?”

“Yeah,” I replied in agreement.

“That shit is about forty percent alcohol,” He said looking for my approval.

I nodded to let him know I was following the discussion.

“You can go buy that Equate mouthwash down at Wal-Mart for just over two bucks and it is almost thirty percent alcohol,” He replied. “Your ass can get fucked up for two bucks!”

“How can you drink that crap though?” I asked grimacing. “Doesn’t it make you gag and vomit?”

“You better have a chaser,” He replied with a laugh. “It ain’t as bad as you think, especially if you need a drink really bad.”

Me and Ferret talked for quite a bit longer mostly about sex and women (like us two fucked up souls are ever going to get laid). The sun was growing lower on the horizon and I decided to head home before it got dark and I couldn’t find my way out of the woods. I also wanted to try Ferret’s little mouthwash experiment. I drove down to Wal-Mart and bought a 1.5 liter bottle of equate mouthwash for $2.47 with tax I have drank two full glasses of the stuff and let me tell you, yes, it will get you drunk. Ferret was right. The below picture was taken about an hour ago.

Grillin’ with the Gang

“Hey white boy,” I heard a voice from a car behind me say. “You be needin’ a ride?”

I turned around to look and started to laugh at the big goofy grin on the fellas face driving the car. It was Sherman. I was on the last leg of my daily hike heading home. Sherman was coming from giving someone a ride over to the nearby housing projects. He pulled up beside me and told me to get in.

“What’s up you crazy bastard,” I told him in a goodhearted way as I smiled and got in the passenger’s side.

“It’s Miller time!” Sherman said as he put the car in drive and we began roll. “I just be gettin’ paid.”

“How much did you make on that fare?” I asked him.

“I brought dat nigga all da way from Greenville and he only paid me thirty dollas,” Sherman said.

The thought of Sherman’s decrepit car doing the speed limit on the interstate made me shudder. I would feel safer in a plane full of terrorists bound for New York.

“You be havin’ any money on you?” Sherman asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Let’s be getting’ a few cases of beer and some steaks and go grill dem out at the lake,” Sherman replied. “I be buyin’ the beer if you be buyin’ the steaks.”

“Who else is coming?” I asked.

“We are gonna get dat fat fuck Big S and see if Droopy and Ferret are over there as well,” Sherman said.

I have to admit that the thought of a cookout with the gang was intriguing. It certainly would be a first time experience.

“Okay man,” I replied. “I just can’t drink though.”

“Why you ain’t drinkin’?” Sherman asked.

“Man, I told you the other day my doctor said I can’t drink on the new medications I am taking,” I replied. “You must have been too fucked up to remember.”

Sherman drove over to the grocery store where I work. Big S was sitting out front along with Droopy as usual. Sherman rolled down his window.

“Get yo fat ass in da car!” He hollered to Big S.

“And you too, you lazy-ass no-good-for-nothin’ nigga.” He said referring to Droopy.

They both climbed into the backseat apparently ready for one of Sherman’s adventures.

“You seen Ferret?” I turned around in my seat to ask Big S.

“He said he be goin’ across the river to the liquor store about fifteen minutes ago,” Big S replied.

They don’t sell steaks at the grocery store where I work, but do at the grocery store across the river. The people in the neighborhood that frequent my place of employment are far too poor or cheap to buy them and they never sell. We don’t even put them out for sale in the butcher’s department anymore.

“Good, that will be on our way,” I said. “Sherman, we will pick up Ferret and then go get the beer and steaks at Lashley’s grocery.”

We made our way through downtown and started across the bridge spanning the river. Ferret was halfway across the bridge peddling furiously on his bike in his quest for a drink. Sherman just stopped right in the middle of the road on a major thoroughfare completely stopping traffic. He told Ferret to put his bike in the trunk and to get inside the car. The car behind us started to honk their horn repeatedly with impatience.

“Kiss my black ass!” Sherman hollered to the driver behind us as he stuck his head out of the window.

Sherman was causing a scene and was driving without a license with a possible warrant out for his arrest. I just knew the police would show up at any minute.

“Come on, hurry up!” I hollered out to Ferret as he struggled to get his bike in the trunk.

Ferret finally managed to get it where it wouldn’t fall out and we were on our way.

“Take me by Big Jim’s package store,” Ferret said.

“I be buying da beer,” Sherman said. “Ain’t no need for dat.”

“I ain’t drinking that watered down shit,” Ferret replied.

We swung by Big Jim’s package store as Ferret went in and bought a large bottle of cheap “wino” wine. We then made our way over to the grocery store. Sherman made a beeline to the beer aisle as I went and bought five of the cheapest sirloin steaks I could find along with charcoal, paper plates, napkins, salt and pepper, plastic forks and knives. We finished our shopping and drove out towards one of the parks on the lake.

“Yo fuckin’ ass stinks,” Big S said referring to Ferret who was sitting next to him in the back seat on the way to the lake.

Droopy laughed heartily and agreed. “You need to wash yo stankin’ ass.”

“I took a bath in the river the other day,” Ferret responded. “I’m not stinking that bad.”

“Andrew, do I stink?” Ferret asked me as if I were some expert on malodorous issues.

“Well, a little deodorant wouldn’t hurt,” I replied trying to be polite.

He really did reek and the smell filled up the car causing all of us to roll down our windows. The odor was kind of a mix of days old fish, body odor from sweat, and stale river water.

We finally made it out to the lake park and took up a table and bench covered by a shelter overhead. I insisted that I would be the grill master and cook. The gang all proceeded to start drinking. The grill next to the shelter was a mess. It took me quite a few minutes to clean it up. I lit the instant light charcoal and soon it was ready to put the steaks on. By the time the steaks had cooked medium well, only one case of beer was left. The temptation for me to drink some beers as well was almost overwhelming, but somehow I resisted.

We all sat around the bench “shooting the shit” as Sherman likes to say as we ate. Big S couldn’t quit giggling like a small school child due to feeling rather high from the many beers he had consumed. Even the most banal of conversation matters were funny to Big S.

“Yo goofy ass will laugh about anything,” Sherman said to Big S.

Being cheap steaks they were a little tough, but good none the less. Then it started to rain pretty heavily. We all headed for the car after throwing away our trash. Sherman ran to the driver’s side door to get in. He had already had well over a dozen ice beers.

“Hey man!” I hollered. “You sure as hell ain’t driving.”

“I ain’t drunk!” Sherman exclaimed.

“You’re my friend, right?” I asked.

“You be my brother,” He said as he put his arm around my shoulder.

We were both getting soaking wet in the rain as I tried to convince Sherman to let me drive.

“I just want to drive the Diplomat today,” I replied.

Sherman handed me the keys and we started on our way home. Driving Sherman’s dumpy car made me appreciate my nice Honda. The front end was so bad out of line that I had to fight the steering wheel to keep it in a straight line and on the road. I then dropped Big S, Ferret, and Droopy off by the grocery store and took Sherman on home to sleep it off as he was far drunker than he let on to be. No doubt, he will sleep a few hours and then get right back to drinking as Saturday night is his nightly game of poker at Pookie’s house. I walked the thirty minutes home praising the weather gods that the rain had stopped and hoping it wouldn’t begin again and what a beautiful late spring walk it was.

For Ferret, Things are Looking Up

Ferret came peddling up to the front of the grocery store precariously balancing a cardboard box of his clothes upon the handlebars. Somehow, he has managed to get a bicycle. I had just finished my shift at work and was sitting outside on the bench next to Big S. Big S was unusually quiet today. He wasn’t even pestering me for a cigarette.

It is common knowledge within the gang that I was homeless for six months. I made the mistake of one time telling Sherman. Sherman is the grapevine down at the grocery store and anything and everything gossip worthy gets spread by him. The gang looks at my stint at homelessness as some kind of strange badge of courage and honor. It garners me respect from them for some reason.

The first few weeks of homelessness are the hardest. You think your life is over. My first two weeks of homelessness were a drunken pity party. It is hard to describe with words the kind of despair you feel and that is all encompassing. I think ferret went through this same process and has now grown more resigned and comfortable with his fate as I did. He was in an inquisitive and more lucid frame of mind today. He was more of his old self.

“Where did you get showers?” He asked me.

“I showered down at the truck stop once or twice a week,” I replied. “At the time, I think it cost $5 dollars.”

“Do you have to have your own towel?” He asked.

“They give you a small bar of soap, a towel, and a washcloth,” I replied.

“I washed off in the river yesterday and liked to have froze my ass off,” He said. “The water is still cold as shit.”

“How did your tent fare in that hail storm yesterday?” I asked him.

“The tent was fine when I got back there,” He said. “I sat out the storm in Sunday Ann’s drinking a coke and eating a chili dog.”

“Are you going to wash those clothes?” I asked him referring to the cardboard box of clothes he had sat on the ground next to us.

“Yeah,” He said.

“You know that Laundromat over on cherry drive?” I asked him.

He nodded yes.

“Those dryers run twice as long on fifty cents as the ones downtown,” I said. “You can usually dry your clothes without having to put in more coins.”

Ferret thanked me for the tip and went peddling back across the parking lot headed towards the Laundromat. I almost envied Ferret of what he is going through. I never felt more alive during my homeless days. The rawness of the situation taught me so many things about life that I had never learning during my thirty something years of conventional life.

Crackheads Come a Callin’

Warning! Lots of profanity ahead! It has been one of those days. I cursed enough to make a sailor blush today. I was extremely coarse and crass with my language out of anger.

___________________________

Sherman showed up at my house this morning. I had just gotten off work. Shifty was sitting in the passenger’s seat when he drove up in the driveway. I was standing at my back door smoking a cigarette just about to go inside. “Fuckin’ A” I muttered aloud to myself at the fact that Shifty was in the car. A feeling of deep dread overcame me. He and his crackhead friends will now know where I live. Shifty often hangs out at Pookie’s house and Sherman plays poker with him. Thankfully, he is not a regular groupie down at the grocery store.

“What up my brotha!” Sherman gleefully exclaimed as he walked up the driveway towards me.

“Come here man,” I said with a stern look as I walked around the side of my house out of Shifty’s view.

I was pissed as hell.

“What be wrong?” Sherman asked as he followed me.

“How many times have I told you to never bring him or his kind to my house,” I said angrily.

“He be cool,” Sherman said nervously. “He be cool.”

“Sherman, he will steal me fucking blind. Hell, he steals you fucking blind and you are a friend.” I said. “And now every crackhead that hangs out with him will know where the baby faced, white-boy lives that has a soft heart for fuckups like you.”

“You ain’t gotta be sayin’ all dat!” Sherman said loudly growing angry as well.

“Well man, how do you expect me to feel?” I asked. “I trust you as a friend and you go and do this shit? I am now going to have to start locking my goddamn doors and taking the key out of my car.”

Man, I got more pissed the more I thought about what Sherman had done. You can’t trust a crackhead. Anybody smoking that shit will do ANYTHING to get more. I don’t care if they were your best childhood friend for twenty years. If they start smoking crack, you can kiss either your money and/or your worldly possessions goodbye. They will tell you how good a friend you are with a big smile on their face while all the time pawning everything you own for a $20 dollar crack rock. Crack cocaine is a fucked up drug. I have had a most unpleasant first hand experience with the police, crack, and crackheads so trust me on this, but that is another tale for another time on this journal.

“What did you want anyway?” I asked starting to calm down a little bit.

“You ain’t be havin’ twenty bucks I could be borrowin’?” Sherman asked sheepishly.

“Fuck man,” I said as I shook my head reaching for my wallet to pull out a twenty dollar bill. “To be a good guy, you sure can do some stupid shit sometimes.”

All this over twenty bucks. At least Sherman always pays me back and you can trust him for the most part unlike Shifty and his ilk.
They say you can judge a man’s character by the company he keeps. This post must speak volumes about both I and Sherman. Jesus, I need to get some new friends to hang out with. My social life is the pits. The thought of Shifty and his merry band of crackheads pillaging my home will do wonders for my paranoia these next few weeks.

Drawing Lines in the Sand

This encounter with the gang originally occurred on September 9, 2005. I just really don’t feel like writing today even though something very interesting happened at work this morning that I wanted to share. Maybe I will share that work experience tomorrow. I have tried writing about it several times today, but have given up after a paragraph. Maybe a writer’s stars and planets are just not perfectly aligned today or something.

________________________

I made the mistake of walking down to the grocery store this morning for chocolate milk and some crackers. I needed a walk and to get out of the house. The groupies were in full force and they were fiery mad about what happened in New Orleans. The conversation I got caught in grew racially charged.

“Dat shows you what da guv’ment thinks of poor-ass niggas,” Sherman said speaking of the government’s lackadaisical response to the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.

“My great aunt be livin’ down dere and she was in the superdome,” Big S said.

“Did she get out?” I asked as I took a drink of my milk.

“Hell, I don’t be knowin’,” Big S said. “Last I heard was dat my sister saw her on TV. Haven’t heard from her since.”

“Well, I hope she is okay,” I replied sincerely.

“If all dem peoples be rich, white folks then dey would have gotten help da next day,” Sherman said excitedly and with great emotion.

I couldn’t argue with him as he was most likely right. The poor and minorities are often neglected in modern society. It’s a dog eat dog world.

“What about yo white ass?” Sherman asked speaking to me. “What would you have done?”

I ate another cracker and took a swig of chocolate milk. I pondered over my reply.

“Sherman,” I said earnestly. “I would have gotten the hell outta there. I would have packed my backpack with food and water, loaded my 9mm pistol, and hiked out of that hell hole. I can hike 15 miles on a good day.”

“Well, you crazy, white, survivalist mutha fuckas could do dat,” He replied. “But most niggas ain’t gonna be hiking. Hell, most niggas ain’t gonna have a sleeping bag or tent like yo crazy ass.”

“Sherman, would you want to sit around and wait on help that might not come?” I asked. “I would help myself.”

“What about all dem niggas with childrens and elderly folks,” Sherman replied. “Dey ass couldn’t hike outta dere.”

Big S agreed with Sherman.

“You’re right, man,” I replied. “If I had kids or an elderly family member then I would be stuck there dependent upon others. I would be doing my best to see about them.”

“Now, me and you be brothas, right?” Sherman asked as he extended his hand.

“Yeah, man. We are cool,” I replied as I shook his hand.

“Then, you gotta admit dose niggas were treated wrong,” Sherman said.

“Sherman, you and I both know that what happened down there was wrong,” I replied.

“See? Dat be what I am talkin’ about,” Sherman replied. “Even a white cracka admits it.”

I had finally finished my crackers and milk. Sherman went on and on about the injustices that had occurred in New Orleans. He and Big S argued feverishly about what had happened. I bid them both farewell and walked on home.

I don’t have anything important or ground breaking to say about what just occurred and what happened on the gulf coast. I mainly feel apathy and sadness. I have no way of helping as I am personally poor as well and have no means of doing so.

The Fingers; They Don’t Type

I just don’t feel like journaling today. I am in a rather funky mood. I didn’t sleep at all last night other than maybe two hours and had to be in at 6 a.m. for work. Work was just plain weird. I also had my injection this morning at the increased dosage so maybe that has something to do with my listlessness today. I doubt I will even attempt my daily hike. My highest aspiration for today will be somehow lifting myself out of this chair to go get something to eat. I don’t even know if I can climb that seemingly insurmountable mountain.

Starlight, Star Bright

Star Light Star bright,

The first star I see tonight,

I wish I may,

I wish I might,

Have the wish I wish tonight.

What beautiful words from a child’s nursery rhyme. Looking at the night sky just a moment ago evoked such memories of said rhyme. I can picture my mother sitting by my bed brushing the hair out of my face as we said it together looking out the window above my bed at the Polaris, the North Star.

“Sleep tight my little bed bug,” She would say.

“Night mom, I love you,” I would reply.

She would pull the warm covers over me and silently walk out of room often looking back at me and my brother before she left. I would lie in bed thinking fantastic thoughts of other worlds and other beings as I continued to look at that bright star in my window. Soon, my eyes would grow heavy and my yawning would increase in frequency. My fantastic thoughts would soon turn into dreams and fitful sleep. Good night.

Precursor to Summer

What a muggy morning. The humidity was so thick you could cut it with a knife. A heavy layer of stratus clouds had formed overnight keeping the temperatures warm and not hot by hiding the sun. Other than the oppressive humidity, it was a quite pleasant morning.

Work was routine except for one incident. I spent most of the morning wrapping chili peppers for sale. I forgot to put on my latex gloves and absent mindedly rubbed my eyes once. Big mistake! An immediate painful burning sensation ensued and my eyes turned bloodshot red. I looked like I had a vicious hangover. I won’t repeat that little excruciatingly painful faux pas again.

I did see Dumpster Diving Dan this morning. He was knee deep in trash in one of the bins as I walked out to throw some stuff away. He had found several bags of stale bread we had thrown away.

“Are you going to feed that to the seagulls this morning?” I asked.

“Of course,” He said as he smiled. “I have to take care of God’s creatures.”

Watching Dan feed the seagulls is a sight to behold. They follow the river up from the Gulf of Mexico. Hundreds of seagulls will encircle Dan as he throws out the scraps of stale bread squabbling amongst each other for the choicest morsels. I wonder how long the local authorities will let this continue as Dan’s little coven continues to grow weekly as more and more seagulls are attracted to the easy life of a free meal everyday.

After work, none of the gang was to be seen this morning. Big S must have had one of his rare lie ins. I was thinking this morning as I sat on Big S’s bench about how sad a life it must be to sit in front of a grocery store everyday begging for change. Of course, Big S thinks it is a grand way to live and probably wouldn’t have it any other way. Different strokes for different folks I guess.

Well, let me get my backpack packed up and get headed out for my daily hike before these clouds burn off and the sun emerges. I am hiking back to my secret place and am going to spend the afternoon sleeping and reading amongst the woods and the quiet serenity it affords. I have made some wonderful sandwiches of dark rye bread, sliced turkey, pepper jack cheese, and Dijon mustard for lunch. Amelia had also asked in my previous post what I am reading. I am slowly making my way through Dean Koontz’ selection of stories called Strange Highways. Good day.

Upon the Green Grass I Lie

What a wonderful day today. One that I will remember for a long time and hope to repeat in the upcoming days before the true heat of summer hits. I use such times to deprogram myself from the conventionalities of modern life. I get so lost in my thoughts.

I have been trying to go on a media fast these days. No radio, television, or internet news websites so I left my little walkman radio at home. So far, I have been successful other than one radio program that comes on at 9 p.m. in the evening. It is called The Golden Age of Radio. At least that program is rather innocuous as far as media goes playing old comedy skits from the 1940s. I find nothing of real relevance to my immediate life in the media so I shall not clutter up my mind by listening to or watching it any longer. I don’t want some other entity dictating what issues should be important to me or what I should be worrying about and why. If it is newsworthy then that news will find me by word of mouth or by direct experience.

Not much of note happened today on my day camping excursion other than seeing one lone turkey hen. I was lying quietly on my back upon my camp throw looking up at the sky and clouds through the overhead tree branches almost drifting off for a nap. Rosie was fast asleep at my feet. I heard a rustle in the underbrush and raised my head slowly. The turkey hen and I both froze. At this point, Rosie must have sensed the tension in the air and went tearing off after the hen. The hen went flying clumsily up into a nearby tree. Rosie thought it was her duty to sit at the base of the tree barking for a good half hour disturbing the solitude of my secret place. She finally grew bored of her guard duty and returned to lie at the foot of my camp throw. “Thank goodness!” I muttered under my breath as the silence of the woods returned.

During my hike and excursion today, my thoughts centered on the concept of money. I thought about how everything in life has some dollar value attached to it. The very land beneath my back as I lie there had some varying amount of green pieces of paper to signify what it is worth to us humans. The very society I live in is obsessed with obtaining and spending those little green pieces of paper. It is a necessary evil of my life that I must work for those pieces of paper as well. The older I get, the more I realize that those pieces of paper are more valuable to many others than actual human life. So many problems in this world of ours could be fixed if we didn’t attribute a dollar value to solving them. Alas, there will be no utopias in my time. I will spend most of the rest of my life scrambling to accumulate enough of those little pieces of paper to house and feed myself. The prospect is rather grim when I look at it that way. It reminds me of a surreal role playing video game as they are much the same way; always filled with tasks and quests to obtain a certain paltry amount of gold coins. Only the most dedicated and obsessed players get that expensive sword +3 of vampire slaying or that chest filled with rubies and diamonds.

My New Secret Place

A cool breeze blows through the leaves overhead making a comforting rustling sound. Shafts of sunlight shine down through the branches making a myriad of contrasting shadows and light on the ground. The sound of a nearby babbling brook is music to my ears. Thus describes the neat little spot in the woods I found out spring and smedley roads today on my daily hike.

I normally turn around where the road turns to dirt, but today I hiked on catching a second wind. My trusty friend, Rosie, followed me for the whole way. Now she and I are both tuckered out and she is lying at my feet snoring. I got worried that her short and stubby little legs would give out well before mine, but she hung in there and followed me for the duration of my hike.

Finding my new secret spot was by happenchance. I had hiked out the dirt smedley road for about a mile until I came upon a bridge spanning a small creek. I left the seldom traveled road following the creek to the left. About 500 yards from the road, I came upon a clearing in the trees covered with lush grass. I sat down pulling off my heavy backpack to take a drink. I also began to eat some cheese and crackers I had put in my pack and a candy bar. The serenity and peace of this spot just overcame me. I was far removed from the hustle and bustle of the modern world and the mindless babbling of my fellow humans. My only peers were the denizens of the woods and what far kinder peers they are.

I think tomorrow after work, I will pack up a meal, my camp throw, and the book I am reading and hike back to this spot. I can envision a hearty lunch, a long nap in the shade upon my camp throw, and a few hours lying on my side as I read.

A Journey’s End

I realize personal happenings such as this on a blog can be boring for readers not familiar with the author. I think you have to read someone for a long time to be interested in personal writings such as this. I just felt like writing and capturing today's events to read on a later date when I want to reminisce.

Ah, the comforts of home. My familiar surroundings enveloping me like a warm and well fitting glove. It is so good to be back where I feel the most comfortable in my humble abode. Social situations such as today just drain me completely. That and long drives leave me tired and worn out.

On the way up to my sister’s home, I swung by my great aunt’s house to see if she wanted to go with me. I knew not to call her ahead of time as she would have just said no. Surprisingly, she did want to undertake the journey. To be 89 years old, she is just amazing at how well she does. During the drive, I got filled in on all who either had cancer or had died. She can be so morose in her conversational subject matter. To hear her talk, you would think she was knocking on death’s door. She also talks incessantly and I just quietly drove onwards as I listened and gave her an audience and an ear.

We finally arrived at my sister’s house and I was glad to be off the road. Once everyone had finally arrived as well, we got back into our vehicles and headed to the restaurant. The food was very good and with reasonable prices. I ate a fried oyster and shrimp combo platter which only cost me $10 bucks. There was more food on my plate than I could eat. When then sang happy birthday to my sister and ate chocolate iced pound cake and vanilla ice cream. Our waitress was stellar with dealing with such a large crowd of nine people so we all pitched in and tipped her twenty dollars. You should have seen the smile on her face.

I was chomping at the bit to get the drive home over with before it grew dark. My great aunt also goes to bed as the sun sets so she made for a convenient excuse to get back on the road again and head down state.

On the drive home, she wanted to stop by this quaint old-timey feed and seed store in a town along the way. She bought some rutabaga seeds for her garden (yes, she is 89 and still plants her annual garden) and I bought some fertilizer for our pond which I have been meaning to do for months now. I dropped her off at her home, made sure she was settled, and then drove to the pond to pour in the fertilizer. I just happened to have a fishing rod in the back of my Honda and cast it a few times. On about the fifth cast, I caught a foot long bass which I unhooked and released. I still get that same thrill from fishing that I did as a child.

I then pointed my car east and headed towards home. There was no greater feeling than pulling up into my driveway after a long day with Rosie sitting by my back door to welcome me home.

“Hey girl!” I said as I petted her vigorously and then unlocked my door.

She did a little happy dance that only joyous dogs can do when excited and then ran inside. I was home at last.

Light Blogging Today

I had a short encounter with Sherman this morning. He told me Ferret is sleeping in a tent in the woods by the river. How in the hell Ferret managed to get a tent I do not know. At least he has some form of shelter. Ferret also got his food stamp EBT card so he has plenty to eat at the moment Sherman said. I would actually enjoy sleeping in a tent down by the river, but I doubt Ferret feels the same way. I wonder how the much vaunted everyman of homelessness “The Homeless Guy” would fare in Ferret’s shoes without the trappings of the charities that support him. He would probably crumble under the lack of free internet access to spew his daily pro-homeless propaganda.

I asked Sherman when was the last time he had sobered up. He laughed and said it was sometime in the 1970s. Sherman never fails to crack me up. Of course, he was exaggerating. I have seen him sober on quite a few occasions. I strongly urged him once again to make that call to find out his court date for his driving under the influence charge. I fear it may have already passed and they have issued a bench warrant for his arrest. He is afraid of going to jail and is avoiding the whole issue. One traffic stop and he would be seriously fucked. The decrepit Sherman mobile just screams, “Pull me over!” to a cop. Every time Sherman drives he is rolling the dice and he is dependent upon his car for his income.

I have a long drive ahead of me today traveling upstate. My parental units offered for me to ride with them, but they are staying overnight in a hotel room. I would rather come on home after my sister’s birthday meal and sleep in my own bed tonight. That will make for a total of five hours drive time today. Ever since my long haul truck driving days, I abhor long mileage trips such as these. I don’t particularly relish driving and can’t see worth a shit to drive at night these days. Well, let me get off my duff and get this journey over with.

The Sweating Season

It feels like summer here. I have started back my daily hikes like I did all last summer. I need to get my hiking legs back in shape and I have gained a few pounds over the winter as well. I donned my backpack and hiked several miles out spring road and then made a loop that brought me by my place of employment to buy a large bottle of Gatorade. I sat down on the bench in front of the store to rest next to Big S. The sweat was just pouring off of Big S’s brow. He would occasionally wipe it away with a rag. I have never seen a man sweat like he does.

“You be havin’ a smoke?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Can I be borrowing one?” Big S then asked.

“No,” I said bluntly and then proceeded to drink my Gatorade.

Droopy was standing up against the wall next to our bench and laughed at our little exchange. Big S told him to “shut the fuck up.” Big S probably makes more panhandling in a day than I do busting my ass wrapping produce all morning. I was not about to give him one of my precious and hard earned cigarettes. He can buy his own.

About this time, a middle-aged black lady came walking out of store carrying two bags of groceries.

“Excuse me miss,” Big S said in his most proper voice catching her by surprise. “You couldn’t spare some change for a cold drink on this hot day.”

She put one of her bags down on the ground and reached into her jeans pocket. She gave Big S four quarters.

“Thank you ma’am,” Big S said. “And God bless you.”

The lady walked away and got in her car and drove off.

“Big S, you are so full of shit,” I said. “There ain’t a religious bone in your body.”

”People be likin’ to hear that God bless you crap,” Big S replied as he smiled. “It makes dem feel good.”

I just shook my head and smiled at Big S’s total lack of ethics.

“Well, see ya fellas,” I said as I had finished my drink and was heading home.

“Keep it real,” Big S said.
Droopy just nodded the black man’s ghetto goodbye.

All Tied Up

We have such awesome weather in store for us today. The predicted high is supposed to be 86 degrees. Is an early summer going to arrive? I do hope so. The long term forecast predicts really warm weather.

My plans to go camping this weekend have been cancelled though. My sister’s birthday is tomorrow and we are taking her out to eat. I promised dad I wouldn’t miss it. I just dread that very long two and a half hour drive to her home. My sister and I just aren’t very close. We maybe only talk once or twice a year on special occasions. She didn’t even call me or send a card for my birthday which hurt my feelings somewhat. She will not talk to my mother either so I guess I shouldn’t feel too left out.

I was running really late for work this morning. I normally walk to work, but had to drive today I was running so late. I hurriedly clocked in and made my way back to the produce department. I took off my jacket to put on my apron and noticed I had forgotten to put on my tie in my haste to get ready. Things were not going well this morning. I figured one of the higher ups would say something about it, but they never did. I felt as if I were walking around naked without my tie.

Time to get off couldn’t have arrived sooner. Once again, I made my way down to Wanda’s diner for breakfast (I am making an expensive habit out of this). This morning I ordered the fried ham and eggs with grits and toast. The ham was a little too salty for my tastes, but I ate it none the less as I was starving.