Whiskey-fueled and reminiscin'

So, today marked 6 years since I arrived in San Antonio. I had almost forgotten, actually.

I set out from WI on the morning of November 7, 2004, having left my job the previous Friday, Nov 5. Since the duplex in which I had been living was sold to new owners, I spent the last week of my Wisconsin sojourn in my grandparents' basement. It ended when I hit the road that Sunday morning, with all of my belongings and two sweet kitties packed into a Jeep Wrangler and small cargo trailer.



We drove for several hours, finally stopping for the night someplace in BFE Arkansas. My Jeep's radio was broken, so the only sound was the hum of the tires on the pavement and the tinkling of a wind chime I'd suspended from the roll bar. I kept myself and my feline cargo engaged by singing songs. "Don't Fence Me In" was the running theme. "O, give me land, lots of land, under starry skies above..."

Seriously. Let's have it.

After I'd driven as far as I could that day, I pulled over in a rest area to sleep. Since the Jeep was full of gear, I spent a few restless hours splayed out across the two front seats, trying not to impale myself embarrassingly upon the stick shift. In the wee hours, I was awakened by a rapping on the window above my head. A "disabled war veteran" was asking me for "a few dollars" so that he could buy a "fan belt" for his "car" and get his "family" the rest of the way to "Little Rock". Sure, buddy.

But, I didn't feel like getting robbed, seeing as all of my possessions were protected only by a wind-blown tarp, so I rolled down the window, handed him a twenty, and spent the rest of the night in peace.

The next day, the Oddessey continued. Mooji was super freaked out about the 5-lane-wide freeway when we hit Dallas, and so he made the only rational decision he could muster: He cowered in the litter box. Just north of Austin, I was starting to feel the fatigue, so I called my buddy Josh to tell him I might stop again for the night. He asked where I was, and I told him, at which time he convinced me to keep pressing on. I made it to his place on the far North side and crashed out on his floor for a few hours. I think the cats slept in the Jeep. The next day, Nov 9, I steered my wagon train toward my new home: The Olmos Club Apartments on Basse & San Pedro.

Fu-cking shithole. It would be my home for 2 more years, at first because I couldn't afford anything better, and eventually just because I was too lazy to move.

The years since then have been a series of highs and lows. Nothing worth getting into now. Everyone lives a life, right? Today I find myself uncharacteristically at peace, both with my current situation and whatever mysteries the future may hold.