Out out out

I've had absolutely no time to process anything. I've barely had enough time to get everything together... There are lingering responsibilities to various municipalities and states... Almost everything I own is now living in a 4'x4'x4' storage unit in lower manhattan. Sixty-four cubic feet of vinyl, hermetically sealed discs and various articles of clothing and books. I've got three bags with me, chiefly because I couldn't deposit the thirty pounds of change I've been lugging around and I opted to take my computer with me while I'm in the states. I don't think that was the best idea... Time couldn't be conjured for the bank, but I didn't need to take this extra five pounds with me. How will the aluminum fare in the dank redwoods overnight? The twenty books or so I packed are more than enough entertainment.

What do I have now? A ten ounce sleeping bag, a one pound water proof cover for it, five shirts, one pair of shorts, two pairs of pants, three pairs of socks, three pairs of underware, a med kit, toiletries, a sweater, a sweatshirt, a camelpack, twenty books, a computer, a cellphone, an ipod, thirty pounds of quarters, nickels, dimes and pennies (and one sacajawea dollar), hiking boots, snooty shoes and various junk. I think even this is too much. I need to get rid of the computer and the coins... Then I might be able to move back to two bags. It doesn't seem wise, hitchiking to Eureka with a computer in my bag. Especially if I decide to spend a night or two in the Humboldt Redwoods, assuming I can.

I haven't really planned anything. If at any point during the run up to this moment I had, who knows where I'd be right now. As it happens, I'm a Hostelling International joint, sitting in a closed down cafe trying to sort through the mess that is my mind. There's a table of japanese women next to me chattering and twittering, mixing food and very slowly eating. Cheap, burnt, paper bag coffee wafts through the air and it sounds like some college kids are talking off in the background. This is my introduction to san francisco, I hardly know what's happening... The airport to the bart to the bus to here. A bewildered woman was unable to tell me whether the train I was on stopped at Civic Station, a cheery jaw jutting fellow helped me get to Larkin and Eddy and a stranger in a hurry pointed me to Ellis. It's a good thing the protruding jaw stopped where it did, because anything less would have forced his remaining teeth to grate on one another in a painful and unappealing fashion.

The internet is painfully slow and sometimes non-existent. One of my roommates seems to be drunk and uncomfortable, sipping on his itty bitty brown cup, unknown contents... Marty. Upon entering the room he immediately affected a terrible British accent and we introduced ourselves. I'm Philip from New York City and he's Marty from Portland. "Oh, you're from New York? I thought you from another country." Shortly thereafter he dropped the accent and spoke a bit more naturally about how Frisco's overtaken LA as the business hub of the west coast. People are apparently mean everywhere, except in Vancouver, WA.

How paranoid should you be about your stuff? What's the etiquette for locking up and when during the conversation can you pull it off without making people think you're accsuing them of something? Yes, it's all rather ridiculous.

Maybe I just need some sleep and then I'll be sane again. I have a sneaking suspicion that won't be the case... This will take some adjusting. I am homeless and I've got an awful lot of pounds strapped to my back. The life I lead is dead, for all intents and purposes. I don't intend to be a programmer any more. I don't know what I'll be doing tomorrow. I don't know what I'll be doing when this is all over. I don't know what I will be when I grow up... and I don't know. It was a life of settled inevitabilities for many many days. Then it was a life of drifting and trying to work out why I was on the path I found myself on. Now it's, that's all wrong and something needs to change... and change it has.

Leisure Suit Larry didn't do me so much good, as a kid... All I remember is, "The weather is here, wish you were beautiful." Well, that and having sex with a prostitute without a rubber means you're dead and you have to try again.