To be clear, I am not asking for sympathy, but when I was very young, I talked about my life in Texas.
Problem was, I grew up in Arizona and had never been here short of a Dallas layover. Some 11 years into being in Austin, the fact that I could talk about living in Texas but could not provide details is to be expected when one first starts talking as a toddler.
Thing is, I don't really know much about the state outside of its climate and politics. This all feels rather circular.
One explanation is that not-quite-reincarnation is real, and I've hit the end of the cycle and will end up back in Phoenix in 1979, a la Groundhog Day. Do I believe that? No. But Occam would suggest such an explanation, because it's damn specific.
I sort of feel as though I've done what I was meant to do.
If I get towed tomorrow because of the paving being done on my street, where No Parking signs were erected Friday alongside heavy machinery being parked here all weekend, I no longer have the home I built out. My sole hope is that being in the van will mean I can't be towed, as it's illegal to tow an occupied vehicle.
I actually had a knock on the van today, and upon emerging, a guy asked me if I was interested in selling my van. I said I actually was. He asked how much I wanted, and I answered $16K, which was too rich for his blood. I personally designed and installed $8K of upgrades to a $12K vehicle that I only put 1,000 miles on, so that's a deal.
I'm not really sure what he was expecting. I pointed at the solar panels, the R-15 insulation on all sides in the living space and the 600Ah of LFP. I think he just wanted a tool truck, but seriously, who goes up to a van in the middle of a rainstorm and asks if you're looking to sell a 26-year-old Class 5 commercial vehicle?
One thought that occurred to me was offering to sign a waiver for any damage, and as I'm about 30 inches (~75cm) from the asphalt, having looked at the equipment hanging out roadside, nothing looks quite wide enough to actually do much damage.
But I have nowhere to go and my starter batteries are dead (I have a jump box, but also, have you seen diesel prices lately?).
To say nothing of the fact that I've been running a fever for a week and a half and have not been legal to drive in that time. I was actually, at my mom's urging, considering going to the ER, but once the temporary towing signs sprouted up, if I leave my van for that, I may have no home to come back to.
This is an ideal time to self-medicate.
I have altered policy in many places as a writer and editor. I interviewed (several more times than necessary) a queer activist and wrote the copy for his GoFundMe last month. I saved my ex from a decaying complex just this week.
I'm really good at saving others, but this isolation and shit continuing to go wrong while feverish is not an ideal circumstance.
Over the past 18 months, I've gotten now 22 direct offers of help and solutions, and zero have panned out. It's like job applications, but applied to mutual aid.
I'm exhausted, my sleep schedule is totally fucked, and god only knows when the paving starts in the morning.
I usually know how to pull off miracles, but there's too much here at once in a compromised state. I have six figures of debt, my dad died last fall, my fridge hasn't been reliable in over a year, and my roof vent went off the track last year, so if we have a south wind and rain, I have indoor rain. It also appears my insurance was canceled, which saved me $150 this month, but when I started my policy, I hadn't let my credit go to shit yet.
Oh, and I learned the place I had an appointment with for new dentures doesn't, you know, well, actually do dentures.
I'm sick of having hope. The geopolitics don't help. I live in a constant state of fear and anxiety, having been told by society my skills don't count. That's why I implored the admins to give me the U.S. News community when it started up three years ago. It's not exactly the same as being an editor, but selecting stories off the wire and presenting them to an audience is just ... what I know how to do. I just have more sources now.
I don't know what comes next, but as I said, I feel as though I've done what I was meant to do in life. Years in a choir, a semester as an exchange student and then winning national awards for writing, hed writing, design, graphics ... you get the idea. I had no intention of going into journalism, but it tends to find you if you're the right person.
At least, it used to.
I hope my worst fears here aren't borne out, but I have too much data of late to believe otherwise. My little oven is squalor, but it's my squalor. Losing it won't end well.
This too shall pass, they say. And it would take a miracle. I'm too exhausted to storm the castle.