Writing from the second floor of a bookstore in a mall in… Glendale maybe? I don’t know, I have been drifting around a bit today. I planned on being out of my apartment July 15, going home to Illinois on July 17 and probably staying at a friend’s place for the days in between. Instead, I canceled my flight and opted to ride back to the Midwest from LA with my cousins. That leaves me with eleven days of no set place to stay at.
To call myself homeless feels insensitive to people who sleep on the street every night with no end in sight to their current plight, but technically it’s true at the moment. I feel my current romanticism can only exist because I know when my current situation is going to end and I can get food and do a little bit of delivery work in my car, if money comes up. I have the luxury of having a car, so I feel like I can’t ever be truly homeless as long as I have a car. It’s just a place to go. A place to lock you in. Is that what being homeless is… not having a place to lock yourself in? No place to make you feel protected?
The past two mornings I have woken up in the backseat of my car. It’s interesting what having no real place to be does to you. I have reached out to more people than usual, but still tend to go off on my own. I have spent my days at the park and at the beach, playing guitar and running around. They have really been beautiful days.
Yesterday I was playing guitar and singing on the beach in Venice, away from the water, in the middle of nowhere. The guitar sounded so beautiful mixed with the ocean air and I played for quite awhile. Making songs up, playing my own songs and playing covers. I was figuring out the chords for “The Crystal Ship” by The Doors when a man came over to excitedly talk to me about guitar and music. He started talking about Jim Morrison and being in his Paris hotel room, so I played him “The Crystal Ship”… pretty good timing.
The day before yesterday I was at Echo Park Lake, playing guitar and flute with some friends who live nearby. They both left, but I decided to hang around. A tall, strapping man from Paris introduced himself to me. He said in a thick French accent, “I heard you play guitar and I thought you looked nice so I wanted to say hello.” I appreciate the directness and sincerity that comes with English not being his first language. That actually seemed to be his theme–directness and sincerity, questioning why it was improper for him to braise his hand along the top of the sports bra I was wearing. I just batted his hand away like it was a fly and paid no mind, it didn’t phase me. I think because of the directness. Nothing happened at all though, dropped him off at his rental and drove far away to sleep in my car.
I have felt very in the moment the past few days and my mind has been very clear. It’s nice to take a break from the way things usually are. It’s nice to remember that you don’t need much of anything. I feel very happy and clear. I have no idea what is going to happen in the next few days. I have given myself a challenge of trying to go all eleven nights without ever paying for a place to stay. I really don’t mind sleeping in my car, but who knows how that will be in a week.
Everyone looks like animals to me now. Humans are completely obsessed with cute things. How else do you explain the evolution from wolf to teacup dachshund? The past two fellas I set my sights on had serious puppy dog eyes. Genetically designed to make me want to take care of them and take them out every once in awhile and maybe give them a good back scratch. But I digress.
I need a shower, that is an obstacle. I could hit up friends, but I don’t know, it feels weird. I’m sure I’ll end up somewhere with a shower soon enough.