The Life to be Lived/Away from These Walls

 

2.18.12

It’s coming down to the wire. Just a little over one week more at Laguna Honda until I pack my things, leave.

I’ve already been here far too long, at least for the preservation of mental health, and regardless, there is little choice but too, as after 30 days in hospital “care” SSI plummets down to an outrageous sum of $42.00 – and what they expect anyone to do with that gargantuan monthly sum in the City of San Francisco, I would most certainly like to know. It must be an incredibly well kept secret – or a very, very cruel joke. My guess is the later. Perhaps it would be fine if I were stuck here like so many are… but every chance I am able to leave, I do, staying away as long as possible – until I get tired, until there is little left but the redundancy of café’s, as even those get old after a while.

Excited, perhaps a bit nervous remembering the last time, but my heart beats faster with each thought of it, and…

I’m going home.

Home

Back to my motorhome, back to my sanctuary. At least until all that needs to be done is done at one of the SRO places I’ve applied to, as I would like to do a bit of interior work on her – ripping out the beaten down couch & putting in a much more attractive, comfortable & space saving seating arrangement, (getting my feng shui on, yo) & perhaps even painting the outside, as well as a bit of engine work… but most of those things can wait, at least a bit.

Gods, I can’t wait to leave this place.

To wake up in my bed, in my home… to get away from these places of sickness & death, to get away from those who seem to have just given up on life, content to stay here until they die; as if they haven’t already died inside… this is no place for me;

and it is far past the time to leave.

There is much too much life to be lived.

The Road to Anywhere

Perhaps this little road trip to L.A. will satiate me for just a bit, but I’ve got a feeling it will more than likely sharpen my desire to *truly* get on the road, and keep going. I don’t know whose blood flows through my veins, I’ve never met any of my blood family – but perhaps they – or one of them, were travelers, wanderers as well…

What matters…

 

I really didn’t do that much, not at all. Cleaned, vacuumed, put things back in place & re-placed others, checked out the engine… & just enjoyed being home. Immensely.

You can’t really even call it work, but it made me realize, made me remember how much I have missed feeling like… feeling like I was actually *doing* something; something that may matter only to me, but when I’m done I can step back, look around at what I have accomplished, and see, with my own eyes, like I made even the smallest amount of difference.

Gods, I have missed that feeling so profoundly, but until today I couldn’t put my finger on what the emptiness was, why I was so angry, why I felt so useless.

Work.

Getting my hands dirty, feeling the strain in my muscles, using my mind to figure out problems… and the rewards of a day – or at least a few hours – well spent.

It makes me feel alive.