It's my fortieth birthday, and I'm looking out the window of the Friendly House at the rain sliding down out of the gray sky, looking like the kind of misery that precipitates daily in the third circle of Dante's hell. Actually, it's not all that bad out, but it's awfully dreary and reflects my feelings about the current state of my life and what I've managed to accomplish in the years behind me. It's just plain depressing sometimes, being a bum living beneath a freeway, having for some reason I don't understand (but sometimes think I do) such a difficult time dealing with the normal world where people hold jobs and have relationships and live indoors. It's almost perverse to me, that I can't seem to manage to accomplish what thugs, boors, dolts, creeps, slobs, and jerks have little difficulty in doing. I guess it's just demoralizing, is what it is.
So, yeah, I just didn't feel like posting Monday. I get sick and tired of not having anything good to report. Not only do I not want to come across as being one of those fools who is inescapably isolated in a dark bubble universe of self-loathing and -pity — which seems to be what happens to people after enough years are spent outside and the world transitions from a punk-rock vacation of puerile rebellion to one of malice and failure and disdain — but it would just be nice to have something upbeat to mention. While people quickly notice how wearying others' negativity can get, it often goes unnoticed how draining one's own negativity can get to oneself, whether it be expressed or left to fester in silence. I'm going to see someone at Central City Concern about advocacy for social security benefits tomorrow, and maybe get a load of laundry done. It could well be that my morale will improve some after I've cleaned up a bit more (I seldom get noticeably dirty, but the dust and vehicle emissions from the freeway above can leave me feeling gritty).
And, after I've tried out my new sleeping bag. Thanks again, Audrey! It's never a bad exercise to pause to appreciate your friends, assuming of course you have real friends and not just mere acquaintances, and that they're good for you. I'm blessed with two, in fact, and in a way that sets me apart from many of my peers; most of the other people I've met who are homeless seem to only have drinking buddies and meal-line acquaintances.
