On Homelessness
On the range of really pathetic days I have had since coming to the city, this one is somewhere near the top of the list. It’s 3pm and I have literally done nothing of substance yet…and I was awake at 8am. That’s 7 hours of nothingness that I just accomplished. To top it off, I finally left the apartment and I am sitting at…wait for it…STARBUCKS. The place I loathe (except for their generous contribution of bathrooms to the city.) I am of the not-drinking-corporate-coffee variety so it pains me a little to sit here, using their wi-fi and paying for their exorbitantly priced coffee. As it turns out though, the weather is really shitty and there are no other coffee shops anywhere near my new abode.
But that’s the good news! I have an abode! I am no longer couchhopping my way through life! My brief stint with homelessness is over! Woot!
It’s been a strange couple of months, starting with living in a camper on a farm, then in a room is West Harlem and finally on a cheap pull out “futon” in the Upper West Side. (I put futon in quotes because calling it a futon would be misleading. In reality it’s a cheap loveseat from Ikea that happens to fold out into something that resembles a bed as long as you are not looking for support or comfort from your knees down.) I have been lugging my belongings with me from place to place, which gets exhausting. At one point I had one bag of shit in Astoria, one in Harlem and another in the UWS. I accused my new roommate of stealing my shoes. In response, she lovingly suggested they might just be in another location. She was right.
It’s been emotionally draining, actually, this nomadic life. When filling out some paperwork one day, I got to the part where they wanted me to list my address. It was in that moment that I realized I didn’t have an address. I didn’t have a home. I fought with everything I had to not loose my shit right then and there. My body almost betrayed me as a few little tears appeared in my eyes, but I somehow managed to hold it together. I can make jokes about it all day long but it’s fucking exhausting.
I don’t use the term “homeless” lightly. Having spent the last two years working with the homeless of Boulder County I’ve seen homelessness up close and personal. (Sometimes a little too personal when someone overshares about their personal life or cleans their ears right in front of you.) Sure, I have been known to make a joke or two about it, but I know with my whole heart that it is not a laughing matter. Not surprisingly though, these last couple of months have taught me things about homelessness that I never knew. Or maybe I knew on that liberal, bleeding-heart, heady sort of level, but didn’t understand. I had a roof over my head every single night and I was never in danger of not being sheltered. Even so, it was emotionally and physically exhausting. I would never think that after a few short months of being transient I understand the plight of the homeless, but maybe, just maybe, I have a better understanding.
So for now I am not homeless anymore, that is, assuming that I can find some way to consistently pay rent. Maybe I’ll give Seeking Arrangement a try? Better yet, maybe I will actually get a job. A real one. With big kid things like health insurance and a salary.
Here’s hoping.
