It is presently 7:30 am and 2 degrees in Denver and I am covered in a collection of small blankets on a surprisingly comfortable couch, watching a cat watch birds from the ledge of a window.
The room is painted a subtle shade of violet, the only lighting several strings of mismatched Christmas lights. The walls are adorned with drawings of the nude female form and signs from various political protests.
It is a small place, but really quite cozy and inviting. The cat is now watching me.
This is my second morning of being officially homeless.
My actual trip doesn’t commence until tomorrow (Monday, the 12th), the guy who owned the place where I was staying for January came back on Friday and said that he would be “having company” over and gave a pretty strong indication that, while I was welcome to stay, he would prefer that I didn’t.
And I, dear friends, am nobody’s cockblock.
It worked out anyway. I was invited to speak on Friday at a community college in Colorado Springs, so I worked it out to sleep in the home office of my old professor and mentor, who was the one who set the whole thing up.
Speaking engagement went great by the way. I spoke to about 20-25 people about my whole project (which has developed into me interviewing people about their faith, or lack of it, in addition to me traveling the U.S. and blah blah blah).
My friend Alessandra—also a newly homeless traveling writer and my travel companion for this first week on the road—and I threw ourselves a going away party on Thursday night. Only one of my friends showed up. So I sat there and drank and briefly made small talk with her friends, but quickly gave up on that endeavor, remembering quickly that they were not there for me.
This made me quite sad and I was briefly lost in a whirlwind of dismay—do I not have any friends at all? I’m going to die on the road, aren’t I?—but then realized that though my stoner brain clicked to invite everyone I knew in Denver on the Facebook event, I apparently never hit that “send” button.
No one knew that the party was even happening outside of my one friend that I invited in person.
Cool.
So tonight I am throwing another going away party. Maybe people will show up to this one. I hope so, because I still don’t have a place to sleep tonight and it’s supposed to be in the negatives after it gets dark.
I have been avoiding asking people if I can crash with them, because I keep hoping that I am going to get laid. And it has, thus far, been an incredibly disappointing month in that regard. A disappointing few months actually. The last time I had sex we discussed what she would be for Halloween. But that’s neither here nor there.
The Cambodian dominatrix of my previously entry--the one that offered me a free session of my secretly longed for tie-up time--fell through. I reached out to her a day or two after she offered, she said she would write back soon with instructions and etc., but then never did. Which is a real Goddamn bummer. And now there is no time.
And even the person with whom I stayed with last night--a rather beautiful and intelligent activist that I know from my days running a Feminist Alliance club at my old college--when she offered me a place to stay, she actually offered for me to stay in her bed with her, and I thought, gee this is a sign so obvious that even I can’t fuck it up.
But alas, as we were Netflix and chilling last night, she began to lay down some rules. She said I could sleep on the couch or in bed with her, but if I chose the bed option there would be no touching.
I told her I would take the couch because I sleep better alone and tend to toss and turn a lot. I wasn’t too sad about it though, because at this point, I would honestly be quite surprised to find that anyone wanted to see me naked. And that’s fine.
My first goal on this trip is to really learn how to love myself. Perhaps once that happens somebody will love me (or at least fuck me) then.
And plus, my romantic disasters are all part of the story. I asked out 5 women this month, four of whom totally ghosted me, and the fifth used the pretense of the date to inform me that I was never anything other than a side piece to her side piece to her boyfriend. It will all make my eventual sucess all the more sweeter. Every drought has its eventual rain, right?
And who knows? Maybe it will rain tonight at my second going away party. Maybe I will end up sleeping at a Motel 6 because I waited too long to ask any of my friends if I can crash with them.
It’s all open. As St. Kerouac said, nothing before me but the open road.
Tomorrow, I leave for Kansas City.
1:30 p.m. - 2018-02-11
Recent entries:
Shifting Sand - 2018-04-22
At The End of Myself - 2018-04-01
Grateful, Exhausted, Lost - 2018-03-10
Orange County - 2018-03-08
The first two weeks - 2018-02-25
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