Alive

The attempted robbery of my gym bag a few days ago has made me seriously consider the divestiture of the iPad® tablet computer. I don't dare take it with me to town anymore. I certainly will not leave it in the gym bag as I did prior, even though I now have a really secure lock. Material possessions are not meant to be worried about. Otherwise, enslavement to the possessions occurs. And, as I edge toward homelessness, I realize that I cannot carry anything of value on me or store valuables in a homeless motorhome (read: minivan).

Of course, the iPad® may not be worth much anymore. Tablet computers apparently were just a fad, now fading into obscurity behind "phablets." Even I am discovering the power of the "smartphone." Although, I must report that the Web browser of the iPhone® is unable to edit the "blog" at all. But, I digress.

I am still experiencing mixed feelings about my impending homelessness. Mind you, I was homeless in Convalescent City in Cali for about three months as detailed in the old journal. I was not homeless on the streets, though. I had either slept on the couch at friends' places or rented a motel room for the night. All of my worldly possessions were stuffed in my "six-four," as my motor vehicle was lovingly referred to. Ah, those were the days. I was younger and more foolish. But, I digress again.

Now, I am considering a long-term (i.e., several years) commitment to living out of a homeless motorhome. While not as rough as street or sheltered homelessness, the trials and tribulations of motorhomelessness are not easy either. Can you imagine sleeping in the back of a luxury minivan every night? Can you imagine not have a stable place to return to when you please? Oh, that's the way it is for me already. Sheesh!

Although I have a temporary place to rent in Waimanalo, there are many drawbacks. I must abide by certain rules imposed by the landlord. Rules, no matter how valid or ridiculous, constricts my freedom. And, when I am paying out big money for restrictions on my freedom, I become quite displeased. I alteady live in a prison-like society. I don't need to be imprisoned or constrained any further. Freedom, in my old age, is my only quest.

I really don't know why I have doubts about my possible future foray into real homelessness. I am essentially homeless now, just like most renters. No money, no home. Perhaps the stigma of homelessness is the reason. Or, that homelessness is against the law (legislated by "tools" of the "one percent"). I am an old codger now. I have no one to impress. No babes, particularly a certain training and fitness hottie, are coming around. In preparation for homelessness, I divested nearly all of my worldly possessions. My entire life-style has already been modified for transient conditions. And, no one would really care whether I was homeless or not, well, except for the militarized police force.

Provided that undisturbed overnight parking could be found, the homeless motorhome would be more than tolerable. A luxury minivan is quite comfortable. During the day, I can easily find free shaded parking at one of the dens of consumerism (read: shopping malls). From there, I can transport myself by bus to fulfill my daily agenda and itinerary. Commute times would be minimized, too. And, I can return to the minivan to relax and rest, even lapsing in and out of a coma in relative quiet. What more could anyone ask for?

The advantage of being homeless is that the anxiety of anticipating homelessness vanishes. There is no more "hand-wringing" about when the threshold of homelessness will be crossed (i.e., savings runs out, fired from wage slave job, sudden rent increase, mortgage default). Once homelessness is attained, basic survival is all that's left. Superficial concerns over material comfort is irrelevant. Freedom on a raw animal level is experienced. The essence of mortality comes to the forefront. The sense of actually being alive is restored. No more embalming fluid! No more mummification!