A Living Magazine - Grounded in Maine - Day 13 - Worry, Waste and Work

When I awoke, I noticed two cars pull into the parking lot of the building to be leased. It was time to gingerly get the hell out of there. I packed. As I did so, I became worried about how far I'd fallen behind on the blog. It seemed like a self-made conspiracy to derail this Maine Journey. 

The little devil on my left shoulder yelled bitter nothings about procrastination and eventual defeat, laughing at me and stabbing his little pitchfork into my conscience. On the right shoulder the little angel whispered sweet somethings about the ultimate triumph of working to catch up, being prepared instead of wandering off unorganized and uncertain. I listened to her, and flicked the little fucker on my left shoulder off onto the forest floor to be nibbled at by mosquitoes and ants.

My body did the task of tent disassembly and packing automatically now, allowing my mind to go through it's crazy back and forth. I wasn't going to overthink this like I had so many other times. I would stay in this part of town still one more day before heading to buy my shoes. Yes, I was fully aware that all of this stationary work was draining the precious funds I had. Yet, I was quite determined to live as if I had very little money left, do more today, and then march on to Cook's Corner the next morning.

I decided that my one meal for the day should be breakfast so that I had the energy to work at the library the whole day...

The three concentric circles of the Trinity...on a  pancake. Or, something like that? How divine!

Since my ruminations about the over packaging of lunch meat two days earlier I had been unofficially trying to keep track of the waste I myself was adding to the world. Granted, it wasn't a lot. When I'd had my apartment in Gorham back in the days of Yore, I'd throw out a shopping bag worth of trash a day, accumulating into a full 30 gallon trash bag per week. This current life was much less wasteful. Still, the way things are set up, even a man without a home could generate more trash than really seemed necessary. What could I do though? At this point, nothing...

The waste of just one breakfast at McDonald's.

I buried my concern about waste in the landfill of my mind and ventured on to the library...

The intersection of the old and new parts of the Curtis Memorial Library.

Once there, I poured myself into the downloading and processing of pictures, the writing of a few posts simultaneously--by going back and forth between them, harmonizing inconsistencies and contradictions. The work lasted about eight hours, as I published one more post. By the time evening arrived, I was feeling much better about my progress. The little angel had been correct, as angels always are. I was glad to have followed her counsel.

Upon leaving, I was hungry again. Even my "Big Breakfast" with all of its associated waste products just wasn't enough. So, as I walked back on Pleasant Street toward the sleep spot, stopping occasionally to dump little stones out of my shoes and visited the Shell station where I bought some pumpkin seeds, a Gatorade for the night and next day, and rewarded my day's hard work by purchasing a beer as well.

When I arrived at the road leading to the sleep spot, I smelled cigarette smoke. It had to have been from the woods, as there was no one on the street and no houses close by. Sure enough, along the trail I had wandered down two days ago was a young guy sitting on the ground enjoying a butt or perhaps brooding over a failed love life. 

I didn't care to find out either way, turned straight around and continued further down Church Street toward the alternative spots I'd located on that first day in town, dreading the long walk ahead. I looked in every nook and cranny for a way to avoid the three miles to the wilderness.

Then, fortunately at the intersection where Greenwood Road passes across Church, I saw a dark spot off to the right. It was a busy time of night and I had to do the fake check-my-watch thing until there was enough of a break in traffic to sneak into the woods. When I made my bolt, I found an excellent spot just inside the trees. Once again it was piney, but much cleaner than the last spot.

In the low light I could see a structure just north west of my position and about a hundred feet away. Without my glasses I've resorted to using the camera to take a zoomed shot and did so in this case. But it was too dark and I couldn't risk using a flash. I assembled the tent in its simplest configuration, with only two poles and no rainfly, knowing it would not rain on this night.

By the time I climbed in, one of the windows of the house was illuminated. That meant it was occupied, but, counterintuitively, it also meant anyone in that room would not be able  see out into the woods. I wanted to take my typical picture of the tent and area, but it was just not feasible. 

Carefully I cracked open the beer and enjoyed it immensely while I chewed up my pumpkin seeds. For just a single glorious moment, everything was going right. I luxuriate and soak up as much of such moments as possible, as they are so rare and valuable to me. 

When I was fully satiated, I unzipped the pack and pulled out the sleeping bag.  Sleep crept up on me just after rolling out the sleeping bag, and I welcomed it gratefully. The next day...I was finally moving on.  

Brunswick Sleep Spot 2.