The Long Slide Into Hobo-dom: Day One
Ugh. Whatever. My brain is so stupid and obvious...
Anyway, so yeah, today is the day AFTER the day of days... Day One of my long slide into hobo-dom, as, you know, I said in the title. Not that I actually think I'm going to end up comparison shopping for bindles or taking classes on how best to cook shoe leather in a rusty tin can out by the railroad tracks; I'm white, under 30, from a good family, and free of any debilitating diseases, physical or otherwise. I've got the world on a string and a song in my heart, at least from a societal standpoint, and sooner or later I'm bound to land on my feet. All of this... I *know* it's true. HOWEVER, there is... the fear. That nagging sensation in the back of your head that whispers to you, "hey, buddy, you're about to become a statistic." The sensation is most common when you're getting behind the wheel of a car on an icy night after doing tequila shooters with Randy and the Toddmonster down at TJ O'McShamrockafellers, but it also shows up, apparently, during times of joblessness that happen to coincide with a national economic freak-out.
The statistic in question? Slipping further and further down the rungs of the ladder of life until eventually droppping off completely, landing in a dumpster that I'll soon come to think of as home. Again, I'm PRETTY SURE I'm not going to end up homeless and addicted to increasingly larger dosages of hard street drugs and grain alcohol. But try telling that to my hateful, uncreative brain... fucking dreams about drowning... what is this, a student film...?
You probably figured this out by now, but... no... there will be no temp work for me today. Probably not for tomorrow either, and Friday is looking shaky as well. I have a financial cushion of about a week, but that's what the kids call, "small potatoes" in the grand scheme of things. Time stops for no man, the landlord demands his monthly check, and the liquor isn't always on sale. So, it's time to be proactive! To dig with both hands into the rich, murky soil of available jobs in New York City and make one of them mine! It's going to happen... no, it HAS to happen. I'd never make it on the streets. If I don't wash it at least every other day, my hair gets all oily and that's sooooo not attractive. Plus, I imagine the novelty of pooping in an alley behind a check cashing place would wear off pretty quick.
So... yeah, guess I better get on with it. The job search, I mean, not pooping in an alley. Although I guess it couldn't hurt to practice...
More later, as free time to blog is suddenly what I'm all about.