Spatulas.

It's 7:21pm and I'm looking at spatulas on eBay. I'm not looking at any particular type. I'm focusing the search on old ones with character which are nevertheless inexpensive. I do not need a spatula.

My next search is for "miniature spatula."

If these words are a window into my life, then you just peeked in on a moment that says a lot. Nobody, most of all me, knows exactly what to make of it.

Reading an eBook about building a cabin.

I bought an eBook from a guy in Utah who lives in a 14x14 foot cabin that he built by himself - even the roof, though he strongly recommends you get a couple extra hands for that part. It's quaint. The eBook and the guy's cabin. The book gives step-by-step directions which have just the right amount of detail for someone like me who is extremely novice but not completely useless. He doesn't explain how to screw two boards together, but he takes the time to explain what somebody with building experience might take for granted.

My $7.00 bought just about that much information and entertainment. I'm happy that the large majority of those bucks are going straight to the guy who is trying to spread information about a simpler way of life. His work deserves financial reward.

The directions are for basic wood-framed construction, and the whole project is highly possible. I'm completely taken with small houses, just like thousands of others. The draw of a simple life without monthly bills is strong. This cabin is the simplest, least expensive and least intimidating I've seen. There are hints and tips for scavenging most of the supplies - but if you want to buy it all up front, the materials come to about $2,000. Or - another way to look at it - about my yearly rent.

A fairly typical day.

I took a ride to work in a car. There's always the feeling that a gasoline-assisted ride to work is a cop out. On some level I actually believe that, but on a more important level I enjoyed a ride to get a breakfast sandwich with my baby. Egg, cheese and tomato on a kaiser roll - call it in; pick it up. They know me when I get there.

I took a pair of wheels with me, and shuffled some other miscellany in the interest of killing multiple birds. I stayed late for a social smoke, and pointed my feet toward home in the cold evening air. Smart layering made the walk an enjoyable one.

Choosing sushi puts my life in perspective.

Certain actions put my life back in perspective. I'm a reasonably pampered white kid (30-year-old), but sometimes it's too easy to frown and forget about the joys of life. Life gets too real-surreal sometimes, and it's tempting to complain. I always picture myself doing something better. I never picture myself in prison or a wheelchair. Things could be worse.

Things couldn't be better. I'm sitting in uptown Kennett Square, holding a pencil in my left hand, and writing little numbers next to the names of sushi rolls. These people? The staff here will bring me whatever I want - I just have to put a number next to. All I can eat.

I'm sitting across from my parents, and I'm conferring with my mother about exactly which rolls we should have delivered to the table. My father is here because somehow he was convinced. He doesn't like sushi, because he believes it all contains raw fish. I've explained that raw fish is not an integral ingredient, and it does not define sushi. You could make sushi with fried chicken in it. It's like a haiku with food - it fits a certain form, but any ol' word is up for grabs. Unless you have an aversion to small circles, there is a sushi you will love.

Say "la vee." Some people have no culture.

Alright, fuckface: Get a coffee from Wawa.

The weather is absolutely devoid of sun. For another day-in-a-row, I've been living inside a cloud. Not good. I drove to Kennett Square and stopped at Home Depot on the way.

Looking at wood was enough to overwhelm and confuse me. I went back to the van to regroup. Alright, fuckface:

1) Get coffee from Wawa
2) Take an Adderall to squash the brain moss.
3) Calmly picture how much of which types of woodshit to buy.  Make notes.
4) Quit being a fucking idiot: I don't have exact plans, sure - but I can return tomorrow to make returns or exchanges.

It worked. I made more shelves. The shelves look great, I made bonus shelves, and I made most of a tall backsplash to go behind my workbench. Backsplash isn't the correct word for what I made. It's a 4' x 5' board to display and organize my tools.

Driving to the grocery store.

Well, I lost it. No palm trees? Fuck this.

A person has the option to be walking around in a place with palm trees. It's a decision. It's not hard. You just stand up wherever you are, and start walking toward where the palm trees are. I'm severely affected by poor weather, and the air has been gray and saturated for days. Driving through Philadelphia just makes me wonder why ANYBODY would EVER choose to be here when the climate has the capacity to do this. It got to me. No wonder everybody is getting shot in the face around here.

I sat shotgun in Kristin's little beat-up car, and I got confused and angry at myself for being here. I'm miserable and I'd like to disappear. It's the weather. With a sliver of sunlight, I'd be okay. With a strong exposure to sunlight, I might even sprout or bloom. Right now I'm nothing. I'm a dead branch, and I barely care if I hit anybody on my way down.

Dinner date at Desi Village.

Kristin cleaned the kitchen with some help from the new guy. I hid in the room and pretended to begin understanding AutoCAD.

The kitchen is lovely. They spent hours, and it's cleaner than I could have imagined. They must have used a chisel inside the microwave, and a pump to muck out the fridge. I realized that I'd better slough off my frown and put on a fresh t-shirt for an impromptu date. I heard her say Indian food, and I took us to a table where they bring it to you. Delicious and a little bit spendy.

Grape leaves and simple systems.

The winter weather is moving in, and I'm beginning to feel sluggish. I'm slow to wake up, slower to smile, and customers are walking into the bicycle shop with much less frequency. I tackle a few minor repairs, make sure that the money made it to the register, and then I go home.

Kristin is teaching lessons in Delaware. It is only me on the wide bed while I watch a droll movie and reflect on the minor tasks which I will not be performing this evening. I will eat a can of stuffed grape leaves and try to understand the different inputs and outputs effecting speed and torque in different applications which use epicyclic gearing. Words, words, words. It's a struggle to grasp the math and engineering of simple systems. I can understand this stuff almost exactly as well as a French newspaper.

Buying weed and books.

At 7:21pm, I was buying some weed and socializing with friends. All I talk about is bicycles, and it's hard to imagine what I would be doing without bicycles as a hobby-job. I need to branch out and expand. Those were my thoughts as I purchased a thick learning manual for AutoCAD from Amazon.

Watching "Red Dawn."

I watched "Red Dawn." It was terrible.

The path of unnecessary resistance.

I spent the night in Kennett. I like this. I like visiting the big cozy house. There's coffee on demand, and the meals are catered. My parents have a high level of acumen and prowess when it comes to stability and comfort. Granite counter tops and a remotely controlled fireplace are examples of what you get from the long con. If you stay focused on the normal path, you can reap the rewards shortly after 60. You have to play the game for a long time, but the machine definitely pays out.

I'm still trying to figure out the meaning of life. The clock's running out if I want to take my chances at being programmed by a society I don't trust. That's all well and good. I'm going to stumble around both mentally and physically, because I'm stubborn and not easily convinced. I'm going to stare at trees and people until my body shuts down and churns back down to particles. I'll keep my eyes peeled for something funny along the way.

Cussing and building. Planning and drilling.

I don't always impress myself. Cussing and a near-breakdown are a possibility around every corner. It's genetics - you should check out my dad - but I have to live with myself, so I have to take responsibility. I'm trying to implement changes and stay productive. I'm trying to make goals and reach them. Realistically, all I can do is go slowly and try not to kick a hole in the wall.

I watched a seven-minute YouTube video about how to make a workbench. I went out to Kennett and started to cut up all of the fucked up old wood that's laying around in my folks's garage. There's wood from a futon that I pulled out of the trash and cut up. There's wood from when I built an apartment in the back of that U-Haul truck. I glued and screwed together a little workbench for my bedroom.

Shelves. We desperately need shelves for the bedroom. (Didn't I live in a van once? Where did all this stuff come from?) I got some long pieces of futon oak, and those decided the height. The width was decided based on what I could get five or six even shelves from without paying money: three feet.

I dragged my new workbench into the center of the garage, and it worked fantastically well as something to put saws and clamps on. I chopped out some plywood shelves, added some reinforcement to the undersides, and thanked Christ that it all fit in my van.

If I ever go to IKEA again, it will be to eat weird food, drink bland coffee and read a book while it rains outside. I'll shit in their bathroom, and I won't wave goodbye. The word "IKEA" being used in the house a few times was sufficient motivation to crank on a drill and read the instructions for installing a blade on my dad's circular saw.

Got AutoCAD running on my machine.

I didn't think it would be easy to get AutoCAD on my computer. First, I thought it was only for PC and I'd have to do some Mac runaround that I'm unfamiliar with. Parallel what-nots or what-have-yous. Second, it's expensive as hell. I assumed that if a program was being sold for thousands of dollars, then it would be difficult to pirate.

The real problem is this: any time I have to do something new, my brain creates hurdles and barriers. Time passes and I think about hypothetical boundaries between myself and what I should be doing.

AutoCAD is about as easy to download as the latest episode of The Walking Dead. As a bonus, I already doubled the RAM on my laptop a couple weeks ago, which will help run this powerful bastard of a program. Best of all, a version for Mac users was released in 2011.

It's 7:21pm. I'm watching a tutorial video which introduces the basic layout and options available when starting AutoCAD. I'm trying to make a circle.

Surthrival of the almost comfortable.

Bright striped socks; microfiber leggings. Not quite pants. I'm looking for a method of forgetting about pants and keeping my legs warm in shorts. I got some one-size mustard-color leggings, and managed to tug them all the way on. With sexxy thigh-high socks over top, the insulating quality was still not the same as cheap pants - but I did enjoy a quick return to faded black shorts. This climate is the pits.

It was Mike's surprise party. His 30th birthday is happening in a couple days. His girlfriend went all-out, and a shindig ensued. A bunch of good people who I like were there. I showed up about hungry enough to punch a horse in the mouth. Fortunately, it was only about an hour or so until Mike showed up, and after he was sufficiently surprised, I was able to start picking stuff off of a huge table of options.

I'm not getting drunk anymore, but I'm still sometimes talking about not drinking, and I did manage to dance in a very minor way. Beyond survival. I'm clasping the thin edge of surthrival, and I can picture myself doing even better soon.

Back home, we got a new roommate. More people is more traffic, and that's one step further from living in a secret pile of dirt surrounded by trees. But if you have to cut the rent down, then sometimes you need a roommate, and this guy seems like a reasonably safe choice. He's clean. He's nice. He has money.

Walking in preparation.

It's 7:21pm. I'm walking home from work, and I walked here earlier. It's about a 7-mile round trip, and I make it with quick springy steps. I do this sometimes. It's a new thing.

I've been walking to work to beat up my feet a little bit. I'm planning to hike along the Appalachian Trail for a month starting in March, and I don't want to show up to a hike with bicycle feet.

The walk today is great. My feet will be tired when I get home, but better to feel that now rather than on the trail. I could take the walk again tomorrow. Three weeks ago, my dogs were screaming by the time I turned the corner to West Philly.

Pop a bullet through my foot.

I have more "project bicycles" than bicycles which can be ridden - by a factor of holyshit. In fact, I have just one bicycle which you can hop on pedal. It's the Hoopty, and it's always open for business. I have at least ten bicycles that are in various states of completion. I work on all of them slightly and slowly. I build wheels and the bicycles and the wheels just stare at each other in a mechanical stalemate.

It's 7:21pm. I'm at the bicycle shop. We're closed. The register is counted, the floor is swept and the LED sign reads "closed." I'm holding two rims and a tire. I'm looking for something. A scrap of tube? Some zip ties? I'm looking for a good way to attach these items to the Hoopty so I can bring them home for more projects. The rims had messed up hubs, which I cut out. The tire has plenty of miles left in it. These items would go in the trash if nobody took them home. I'm one of several scavengers at the shop, and these are coming home with me. But about that... how am I going to get these home?

I end up using zip ties to hold the three items together, and I leave them at the shop until I drive a van or ride in on the trike. This is one example of how I leave a trail of clutter everywhere I go. I don't want to change my ways - not completely - but sometimes I think it would be less painful to pop an actual bullet through my foot instead of conceding to the arduous and prolonged figurative method.

Fish and dogs.

I got up and went to breakfast. I've been having salmon and cream cheese on a sesame bagel. I switched it up a few months ago, and it stuck. I had a coffee. Yesterday, Shelly asked if I wanted to have breakfast, and that's what I'm up to. Kristin is here, and Evan showed up a little later.

I hopped on the Hoopty and went to work. I was loaded with boxes of parts sold on eBay.

After work, Sara came over. Smoking as a social thing ensued, and dogs surrounded. Sara has an elderly rottweiler who can't make it up the stairs. Sara got the front and I got the back. Crash is the dog who lives here - Jim's dog. He isn't impressed when people lift giant old dogs into the house, but he was a good enough sport. Daisy was less of a good sport, but there's not much she can do about it. Seven-pound dogs love an idle threat. 

Winter hours.

I have another day off. As the air gets colder, and fewer people are riding bicycles, I am changing to Winter hours. It needed to happen, and I requested it now. I have many projects to work on, my savings plan is ahead of schedule, and now I can schedule a day off with Kristin every week. A day off together is a luxury we haven't had in the past year, and three days off in a row gives me enough free time to feel like a human again.

I spent the day in a very relaxed state. I watched a movie and sat with a small dog named Daisy. I smoked some reefer and ate a hoagie. I stayed inside out of the rain, and took the opportunity to build a couple wheels on my truing stand.

Sturmey Archer 3-Speed wheels aren't going to lace themselves. I have at least nine hubs in the queue, and I am reimagining every bicycle as a three speed.

I plan to build a workbench.

My room is a mess. There are four bicycles, and that doesn't count the frame that's spilling out into the hallway. That stack also has nothing to do with the 5 bicycles in my van. My room also houses rims and tires. A lot. Thingamabobs? I've got plenty.

This requires action. I want to be able to work on minor bicycle projects in my home. I won't be sanding or grinding or using excessively messy chemicals in a bedroom, but it would be nice to build wheels and run some cables without doing backflips and tap dancing on a tightrope. I'm building a workbench. I'm over-building it using instructions from a 7-minute YouTube video. It's going in the corner. I'll add shelving for parts organization, and I'll have a place to put my tools.

Today? It didn't cross my mind.

I'm 30 now. I turned 30 about a month ago. Life is great.

My 30th birthday was also the one-year mark for quitting alcohol. Less than a month later was my one-year mark with Kristin. Yes, it's serious.

I don't know what my 30's will be like, but they're starting off a lot calmer than my roaring 20's. I'm better now. I wouldn't trade this for anything.

I'm glad I started writing about my progress when I was doing interesting things. I was a sexually confused 20-something with an alcohol problem, and I had a lot to scream about. I'm no longer confused, and I'm no longer drinking. My girlfriend is the best. We share a room in an apartment. I'm trying to fuck up our room with a herd of bicycles, and she's using various plants to fill in the remaining space.

I have a great job, and Philadelphia - for now - is my home. I've started up an eBay business on the side. I buy bicycle parts and I re-sell them for more money. All of the income is extra, and it all goes into savings. I'm saving money to buy a little chunk of land in the area, and on that land will go a house. The house might be a tiny woodframe one, or it might be a big shuttle bus. Or both. One promise that I do have is that I will be building it - at least mostly. The house will be a physical representation of my essence. It will be a nutty structure, and it will be one of my greatest projects. There will be comfort and charm and there will be no unwieldy opulence. I will not be caught red-handed weeping into my gold-plated Corn Flakes. Above all else, I will seek to retain maximum control over every aspect of my existence. I will not exchange my ideals for appliances and a ticket to fit in.

I might keep writing here. I don't want to officially quit yet. I like to write. The issue with keeping this up is twofold: First of all, I'm way behind. My last post was months ago, and I just don't want to update with a bunch of information that I don't care about. It feels forced. The other issue is that I think the value of this blog was in telling the slowly unfolding story of a fucked up kid taking hip-shots at life while trying to figure out a proper way to live.

I'm growing up. In a way, I'm settling down. I know what it's like to live in a van, and I know what it's like to travel around on a bicycle. I know what it's like to be afraid to slow down. I know frustration, and I know loneliness. Discontent is tucked in my back pocket.

I'm not much smarter, but I have some experience. There is nothing left but peace in my heart. I have no fundamental needs requiring desperate attention. I want to take what I know and build upon it. I am at home and I am warm, in the most figurative and literal sense.

I bought a new watch today. It's the same style; different color. It looks just like the one I was wearing years ago. It looks just like the one that I accidentally set to go off at 7:21pm, but I haven't set the alarm yet. Today? It didn't cross my mind.