A Living Magazine - Day 256 - Homecoming - Burlington: The Hunger Game

It was another one of those mornings when I was just happy to get up and on the move again. I wanted to get over to the other part of town to visit the Starbucks there. Perhaps there would be a better sleep spot too.

I walked back down University Drive, past the Starbucks from the day before, over a bridge and saw something somewhat rare. A black car was getting beeped at down at one of the off ramps of I-85. Looking more closely I noticed it was facing toward traffic coming off of the interstate. She had gone the wrong way. I scrambled to get the camera out, but by the time I did she had turned herself around and was now back up at University, as if nothing had gone wrong...   

If you zoom up on the high resolution of the photo above you can read a lot in her expression.

And, the "Do Not Enter" is made all the more relevant.

Fortunately, she was fine--and so were all the cars around her. I had no desire to get her in trouble or anything by attempting to photograph her. It was only because it would have made an interesting picture. I continued on...  

What a dozen eggs look like a few days after being tossed or dropped out of

a car at about 35 mph; the container having long since blown away.

I took a left onto Huffman Mill Road. Essentially, the intersection of University and Huffman is the bottom point of a "V" shape, with a Starbucks and everyone's favorite other box stores along each of the legs. After heading southeast on University, I was now heading northeast on Huffman.

It was still amazing to me that road-killed animals are simply left to completely rot away in each state I've visited since leaving Minnesota...

The intact bones of a very small deer, now bleached and resting on a mat of fur.

I actually had the compulsion to gather them up and

- with my very incomplete knowledge of anatomy - try to arrange them again. I resisted.

Gum Creek. Not so pretty. Yet, again, this is winter and I'm sure it is very lush during the summer.

For a moment - and just a moment - it reminded me of Spokane's,

Latah Creek, where I spent a month camping...

Latah Creek, Spokane, Washington... Now but a memory.

I finally got to Starbucks. It was kind of a neat one. It had been a bank at one point. The teller stations were now filled with baristas. And, the vault was now a private space for one table. I worked there for a while. I had not been eating much lately--one small meal a day. And with all of the walking, I sometimes felt nauseated by afternoon. I was definitely burning more energy than the food I was ingesting. 

The problem - and I know everyone gets as tired of hearing about it as I am tired of saying it - is money--or lack thereof. Living on $10 per day is ridiculously hard. But that's all I had left on this day.  

I wanted something different from McDonald's hamburgers. No fast food, grocery food or other food provided as much protein (such as it was) for so little money. But with the nausea, I just couldn't bear the thought of another "McDouble," plastic fries and fizzy sugar water. So, I scouted around for pizza. I was still craving it. It was the only thing that appealed. 

I found a place online called, Victoria's Pizza. They advertised single slices for $1.75. It frustrated me to see that their 12 inch pepperoni was only $8.00 (recall that Elizabeth's in Burlington was $15.00!) on a day, when I couldn't even afford that. A couple slices would be worth it and leave enough for coffee the next day, and maybe some more food. I left to get my pizza...

Loved this! Listing "sedation" first would definitely get me in the door!
And, if I was feeling okay during the gas, I might agree to having that chip filled.

There was a fire station along the way and outside of it I saw the following sign; one I'd never seen before. I guess the graphic told me something about what it meant. But not until looking it up later did I fully understand...

Safe Surrender Sites.

It was both sad and shocking to me (a guy who even has a hard time with people abandoning pets) that someone would get to the point  - after carrying a potential human being for nine months in her body - that she would then bring it into a fire station to give it up. I simply couldn't imagine. But it was better than some alternatives after giving birth I guess? What a world!

I found Victoria's and went in, ordered, and then got a table. I couldn't afford a tip, or I would have sat down first to be waited on. They were very kind--regardless. And one of the women there was a drop dead gorgeous--even had an Italian accent. Kind of a nice bonus.

When my two slices were ready, I went up to the counter and got them, along with a large ice water, then returned to my table. They also had internet, so I could get online while I ate. Two women entered and were seated in front of my booth. I guessed they were on a lunch break. 

They each ordered a salad and a slice of pizza. They ate like little nibbling birds and then left. And when they did, I saw what (to me) was unthinkable. One of them had left half of her pizza slice and much of her salad, and the other left nearly all of her salad. I was so friggin hungry, I seriously contemplated asking the waitress if I could have their leftovers. Very honestly, even writing this right now (four days later)--and having no money AT ALL for food seeing this picture is very difficult for me. I do have my dignity though, and I simply turned away, then left...

Wasted food, in front of a hungry person.



* * * * * * *

THE HUNGER GAME

There is never a single meal that I don't eat every molecule of food in front of me. Even if it is the sesame seeds left from a hamburger, I will wet my finger and dab up every one of them. I have a job that requires me to work all day, and to physically exert a great deal of energy almost every day. Because I have had so many times experienced real hunger and no anticipated prospect of when I will have money again to eat, I have developed a food obsession and - so far - minor eating disorder. It is a mind fuck to have plenty of money sometimes and nothing at all for days on end. If any unfortunate person out there reading these words has a food  insecurity problem, please know that I am sympathetic and well-experienced in this field. It is a very terrible game. To be hungry without a choice is something I wouldn't wish on anyone--even Donald Trump.

I look at my stats here at the blog each day and see that a hundred people read my posts--sometimes a lot more. If they were picking up my magazine at the newsstand for $0.50 each I would have $50 a day, seven days a week. I don't get angry at my readers for not paying to read or be entertained. It is my choice not to charge money for this Living Magazine. However, whenever I actually am in the position of not being able to eat and having to - yet again - beg and grovel, sacrifice my dignity, I admit to becoming frustrated. I am frustrated mostly with myself. If I were able to do something more successfully I could eat each day--so goes the theory. What am I doing wrong? Is what I ask. Surely what I do has some value, or a hundred people wouldn't come here to read each day, and I would not have well over 3,000 reads a month. It plays tricks on my mind.

I am especially able to ruminate and give a more descriptive account, because on this very day that I am writing, I am feeling this anxiety and near-anger quite acutely. Do you wake up in the morning and count your nickels and dimes to make sure you can buy a coffee (caffeine is very important to use for staving off hunger), all the while knowing that that is all you will probably have that day? I'm not talking about when you went through hard times in the past. I'm talking about yesterday, today and tomorrow--basically, the indefinite future?

Now, here is the real psychologically torturous part. I hate to receive donations just because people feel sorry for me. I would rather starve. I have a few friends who don't read the blog, but happen to come across my posts on Facebook that link to the blog and mention not being able to eat. Then - like the good friends that they are - they will donate $20, with the message "I just couldn't stand the thought of you being hungry." What do I do with that? 

I AM hungry,  so I accept the money. Then, I reinforce their non-reading behavior by thanking them for giving. They then feel that they have made their contribution to charity for the month. I'm not going to give them shit about it! But, it actually hurts my feelings to receive money for something I haven't worked hard to deliver.

I work continuously to publish all of this, to walk, to take photos, to sleep like a Nomad...to do what I do. And, then someone who doesn't give a shit about my work, throws me crumbs off their table just to be charitable? Again, how am I supposed to take that? If I say something, I'm an asshole. If I don't say anything, perpetuate everyone's myth about me as a bum. 

Nice game...the hunger game. Now, to really convolute things, it becomes a catch 22 for me to mention all of this to you readers, many of whom give quite bit, and quite regularly--even sacrificing some of your own security to do so! That just makes me feel just horrible. 

You who actually do care, give all you can because you value what I do. And, those who don't care what I do--but can easily afford to give, feel sorry enough for my pathetic ass to drop a bill in my tin cup. 

Most maddening of all is that the more frequently and intensely I suffer the anxiety and pressure of never knowing when I'll have money AND being hungry, the more I turn these things over in my mind. And, I have a mercilessly large amount of time to think. Believe it.

The only solution I can see is to continue to encourage readers to share my posts, and only give when they are financially able. And, I guess I just keep accepting funds from non-reading passers by the blog; true to the bum that they apparently think I am; getting "something for nothing" from them. 

The hunger game sucks. 

It is the bane of my everyday existence. Were I working for some company that paid me something for my effort - even $25 a day - I would never ask for a dime from readers, be able to live, and even save for a motel room on my own. There would be a payday each week. It is this middle-earth battle with the orks of uncertainty that pushes me back like a constant head wind as I walk up hill in the rain. Living the way I am living is hard, but it is made SO much harder by the mental anguish of not being able to plan, because I'm not even able to eat.

I was a financial counselor and business advisor, banking specialist and consumer credit counselor, for godsakes. I've written business plans, owned businesses, consulted on corporate spreadsheets...  I can survive on a minimal budget. I have the knowledge. Minimal, but not non-existent. 

This day to day begging, never knowing if I will eat like a king or starve like a dog, month after month bullshit does get very old. It screws with my mind, and dulls the moments of satisfaction that I really should be enjoying. 

I've ranted on this before, and something tells me I will rant on it again. I need to explain its manifold difficulties and dimensions, not just for the reader's interest and the sake of recording this unfortunate aspect of my own history, but because it is such a fine example of the American Dream NOT being realized, as promised.

If you work hard you will succeed. WRONG. If you have a good education you will be able to apply it to a career of your choosing. WRONG. If you have a ample background of work experience you will be able to advance and make more and more money--even be self-employed. WRONG. It's a shell game!...the hunger game. 

It is the game that society offers the nonconformist. Hell, it's the game society offers the conformist too! You are a single mother of three, with a MBA but can't find work? You have no choice but to conform. You get a job at McDonald's (let's say). They won't allow you to work overtime on most weeks--since they have twelve other part-time employees to stick in those hours. But even if you can work sixty hours, you're not making enough money even with time and a half to afford everything you need for your kids, and you sure as hell don't have any time at all to spend when them. Why even have kids?

But don't forget, the game has lots of other requirements. You need a car (which means loan-debt, gasoline costs, insurance, inspection, registration and repairs) to get you to work, or the grocery store, or the post office, since each is located in different places around town. Why are these places so far apart? Because the world is designed only for car-culture--it's part of the damn game. 

God help you if you are American and get sick or have an injury. That's just more time and money, more debt, more black marks on your employer's notepad. So, conform and fail, or don't conform and fail. 

Now, I know how all of this looks to certain readers. You ALL probably have some regular form of income, even if it is SSI. The single mother can get welfare, if she splays herself and is willing to go through the social humiliation of the DHHS system, along with the disapproving glances of her friends, family and neighbors. 

But single 47 year old men who choose not to conform? Forget about it! If your God-blessed, have a Spark shining on you and have a few shreds of talent and intelligence, you can grab your backpack, start a blog, head for the streets, and sleep in the woods. Still, no matter how hard you work to maintain your philosophical standards, you don't eat right, you get sick and have to be out in public while you puke and turn green from nausea, there is never a place to rest during the day, and your only means of transportation (your feet) puts your life at risk for several hours each day. 

Some people do maintain. They have found ways to avoid the hunger game by playing it. They even prosper by playing the game--swearing by it eventually; even recommending it to others, while they chide those who won't submit. 

Maybe you are one of them. But you read this blog, perhaps because you are fascinated by how the lesser majority live. You still have a trace of empathy. 

Most people struggle--to a lesser or greater extent. It is really true. Most are also in some form of mental stress, psycho-physical discomfort, depression or anxiety. They feed another aspect of the game by hopping themselves up on SSRI's. They are told that their brain chemistry (serotonin uptake, in this case) is lacking in some way. It isn't. They are the "worried well." Told they aren't well (by the ever-present TV--"Ask your doctor if Celexa is right for you!" So, instead of questioning the game around them, and not wanting it to turn into a hunger game, they literally alter their own natural and healthy brain chemistry in order to fit into the insanity of the game. Another monthly expense, more trips to the doctor to make sure they are properly medicated. The game is SICK, not the people. But, it makes them sick in order to make itself appear to be what "normal" people do. Think about that for a moment.  

Those who have not struggled, still do not struggle at all, and can laugh off or find psychological ways to otherwise ignore the struggles of the people around them (be it family, friends, or strangers) are the most cursed of all human beings. 

"The greatest affliction of all is to never have been afflicted." 

I personally think that if you are one of these folks, you owe it to yourself (for the sake of your own soul) to occasionally give until it makes you struggle. Just a little bit... Don't fall down the well, while tossing in coins, but every so often take the risk of standing on its edge and really looking into that black water. 

Being fully satisfied with yourself is no blessing. It is a sign from the Universe that you are not yet spiritually mature enough to handle hardships and tests of valor, honor and nobility. The guy you beep at to get out of the middle of the road--the one with the dirty clothes; the single mother--the one flipping your burgers and you yell at for getting your order wrong? These people are being trained for much more important tasks in the next life than you are. Their souls are being made strong that they might shine all the brighter once liberated from the flesh. You - as a "lucky" breadwinner - are actually riding the shortbus of earthly existence--not able to keep up with those who will do amazing things in the Universe, because they were blessed with suffering and misfortune.

And, I guarantee that someday, in another world, in another time and place YOU will serve THEM--and your opportunity to have built up a soul of outstanding vigor while in the flesh will have passed you by. 

You have one chance to choose to sacrifice, and this is it; in this dark world. Measure that self-obligation by those whom you see around you, both "more fortunate" and "less fortunate," according to your standards. Then...make the choice. Initiate A New Age of Heroes. Or, keep the hunger game rolling along.

So, I guess as all of this applies to me and this blog. I ask you to give only if you find the things I'm saying to be of value to you or to the world in general, and you can afford it. If you are moved to give only because you want to feed me, give the money to someone else, a friend or family member who is in need. Someone who is actually gaining insight from these adventures of mine will fill in where you have not.

* * * * * * *

I finished the last bit of pizza crust and sucked the lemon in my water, then pulled Saggy over my shoulders, and, when no one was looking, pulled a fat crouton off one of the salads the women left behind on my way out the door, then went in search of a sleep spot.

This guy has an interesting job...

Cell towers. Gotta keep all of those drivers distracted! Ha!

The first place I vetted looked so nice on Google Earth. But it was way too open, rough, swampy and wet...

The next place was behind a Kmart (I had not seen Kmart in two thousand miles!), but the field was too flat, not enough trees and filled with pricker bushes... 

There had been a large green area showing up along a street adjacent to Wal-Mart on Google Earth. As the drizzle began, I walked the mile to get there. But as I approached it, I was practically devastated to see that since the Google 2015 image of beautiful trees and grass, the entire 20+ acres had been bulldozed, leaving a gnarled, twisted pile of mud-soaked dead trees and huge tractor trails of quicksand puddles, where drivers to the nearby Holly Hill Mall had garnished the edges with thick piles of trash of every kind. 

It was a terrible sight, and not just because I couldn't sleep there, but because it was so despicably ugly--and on so many levels. All - as was indicated by the commercial property signs everywhere - for the sake of building more box stores, strip malls, and chain restaurants.

It was raining for reals now, and any hope I'd had of setting up while the ground was still dry was squashed out of existence like an injured insect in a muddy foot print. There was one last hope. 

When I had walked over from University, I'd seen a field next to a Nissan dealer that didn't look half bad. I'd discounted it initially, because of the water-filled ditch that ran like a mote along the road. But now, I wondered if maybe I could enter from the dealership side. I walked another mile in the rain to get there, and indeed, there was a grassy patch leading into the woods. I took it and quickly found a spot that would be acceptably level. 

I set up quickly and, without getting much rain in the tent itself, was able to climb in. I sat for a long time hoping my shirt would dry. It didn't. I had little choice but to slip into the sleeping bag and allow my body heat to dry me. It is a process that takes all night, leaves a bit of a puddle on the floor of the tent under the bag, but it does work...  

I wasn't really very hungry as I pulled my forearms up close to my chest (my sleeping position in the tight confines of the bag). Not surprising, I thought, since when you eat less, the craving (mercifully) does not occur as often. Eventually I fell asleep, and the Spark took me far away from this world, through the world of a very vivid dream and then and into one of the strangest and most fully lucid aware states I have yet experienced.

Burlington Sleep Spot 2.