Early tomorrow afternoon, my ex was to pay for my ride home. I've already been here longer than planned for financial reasons.
But I do not head to Austin (fuck you, AP, it's the 11th-largest MSA in the country) tomorrow; rather I'm headed to Temple, Texas (not a major city).
The burner activist who brought me up there a month ago wants me to crash in Mike's room for a couple of nights. I'm assured there's a second bed and a private washroom.
The idea here is to get to know him enough to finally get closure on the story I couldn't write from our first interaction.
Luckily, Killeen (I think we've established I'm in Texas, despite having to say that) is far closer to Temple than Austin. My friend pays half the price, and my ex pays nothing.
Speaking of which, last night, while we were talking about other things, I was bitching about her getting all the stuff and me getting all the debt. In the manner that one can only do in middle age, she pushed back.
"What the fuck do you mean? I ended up 11 grand in debt because you hadn't been paying things for months."
Now, I'd been paying things as billed, but our landlord was a bit shady, so I'd not be surprised something like this happened.
The thing is, I never knew. I moved out in February 2016. She expressed anger, rage, jealousy, but she is fucking terrible at communicating the real problem.
As am I.
It will be nice to focus on something in the vicinity of journalism for a couple of days, but there's a full can of worms waiting in Temple.
Out of the pan, into the fire. I suppose it's apt for a burner.
I asked for life to get interesting as a homeless guy in a van. Be careful what you wish for.