To everyone who sent me money: thanks.
This has actually lifted my depression. Temporarily of course, but it’s been a while since I’ve actually wanted to clean my “box” as my friend calls it (this shack I keep almost self-immolating in); since I’ve actually wanted to write something, or whatever. I ACTUALLY STARTED PUTTING THINGS BACK IN MY POCKETS AFTER I USE THEM.
I know I sound like a vapid bitch but having money makes me happy. Having an actual incense holder instead of having to use an empty soda can or whatever makes me happy. Having a lighter that works instead of having to spark a fucked off lighter with another fucked off lighter, so I can maybe spark the torch lighter and get that goin’ for a couple seconds, makes me happy.
So yeah. Thanks.
Whoa I’ll have to read all this later.
My shack is sort of slapped together. Right now I’m headed to the cool stuff store (hardware store) to grab a pair of actual gloves (the cool fingerless gloves were a stop-gap) and I forget what else; then I’m fixing my shack. The roof, consisting of a heavy folding table held up by a pallet and (by accident) another pallet, very precariously, and in a way that expands the floorplan in a really ugly looking way; my shack is built on a median, next to a boutique clothing store.
I expect to be posted (get a notice from the city telling me to get fucked) soon, because the weather has gotten better (lovely, actually) and I’ve been letting myself go lately. The city has this like street medic team to which it directs calls to the police/emergency services about homeless people and that sort of thing; the other day they paid me a visit because I woke up and started screaming like someone who’d be lobotomized a century ago (was that fucked up to say? I am quite mentally ill so I feel like I get a pass, kinda) because I couldn’t find my phone, which is probably the one of my possessions which I truly give a fuck about. They asked me if I was OK, I said Yeah, and they left.
Point being I don’t plan on making major improvements to this structure. When I get my fuck off notice I may return to my old nomadic lifestyle—sleeping on restaurant patios, in doorways, etc., packing up every morning. Having a space where I can hide and do whatever and store food/supplies is nice, but it always leads to me going feral—dirt on my hands that won’t go away after washing my hands a dozen times, just laying there all day, taking apart torch lighters, fucking off my basic self-care, being a hermit.
But what leads to that not giving a fuck is like, having to weigh my tarp down with bricks or, when I run out of those, a milk crate full of random shit; instead of being able to use actual paracord or something. Having a wall that’s a pallet leaning against another pallet. God, imagine if I could actually nail/whatever pallets together and make a real structure. Last year I almost did that when the friend who won’t talk to me anymore said I could borrow some of their power tools (which being a tweaker they have a lot of). Buuuut then the cops showed up and told me to leave.
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