Do you have to be homeless to enjoy life?

Wednesday, February 15^th, 2012

      I learned some things today. I suppose I do every day really, but today I discovered that if you are away form your truck for more than 2 days at a terminal that one is obliged to clean it out. While it is not the end of the world, it poses a bit of an inconvenience for people who live out of their trucks, like me. So I will take all of my stuff out on Friday, then hope to have a truck on Tuesday to get rolling again. Maybe next time, I will take my home time at a truck stop or something, in an effort to keep from switching trucks. That is, if my next truck is pretty sweet.

      I believe I will attempt to continue with yesterday's thought. Elaborating upon a single moment, perhaps finding the sublime therein.

      Today's moment was a bit longer than usual. Having the need to take care of small matters, I found myself in the town of Sumner. It really is a town, instead of a city. It has a cute downtown area, with a large industrial park on the north end, which is where the terminal resides. Along the walk into town, there is a bridge that crosses over a swift moving current. The water is a clean dark blue, mixed with some brown of local sediments. The deep banks are festooned with himalayan blackberries, and invasive species according to most. I see some serious bank stabilization and wildlife habitat instead, maybe even a potential food source come this summer. A tiny brown bird flits from stem to stem, tweeting in the most endearing manner. I make a feeble attempt to communicate with it, but who knows how close I come to mimicking the call. More to the point, how annoying would it be if someone just repeated what you said right back at you the whole time? I wonder if birds get frustrated in trying to communicate with humans. Has anybody even deciphered their complex language? Probably somebody out there. But not me. I silence myself, and find contentment in watching the water flow gently. The eddies and ripples form a kind of chaotic mosaic on the water's surface. Little bubbles from who knows where drift and spin lazily along the shoreline, picking up speed as they find their way into the main channel.

       I'm content to watch this all day, but duty calls. I'm at the post office, registering for a P.O. box. It is so much nicer having a mailbox close to the terminal. Happily, it is a quiet time of day, late morning, when all the “normal” people are at some kind of job or something. I hand the form to the clerk. He looks at me and asks, “So, are you just kind of 'living the life'?” I explain to him that I drive trucks for Swift, which is just down the road. He takes my 2 forms of I.D. and goes off to make copies. Upon his return, I ask him to give me an honest answer to my question. “Do I look like a homeless person?” He kind laughs and says, “yes, you look like a few of the homeless people that have come through here recently.” Not taking offense, I joke that the mustache is coming off after I get a picture of the waxed handlebars.

      Maybe it was the two knit hats on my head. Perhaps it was the scruff on the edges of my facial topiary. Perhaps it was the two layers of hoodies. Maybe I just kind of belong here. So in the meanwhile, I am calling some people to cancel the junk mail that is destined for my box, as the clerk recommended. While on the phone, I get smiles from local citizens, assuring me that while I may look homeless to some, I look friendly enough to be smiled at. That works for me.