Called out sick-ish.

Stayed home from work due to hemorrhoid-like deal combined with general lethargy. Made excellent dinner feat. Brussels Sprouts, Veggie Fryup, Rice and The Like.

Tiny House eBooks

Another day off of work, and a hemorrhoid or similar is ruining it. I'm very uncomfortable. My butthole hates me, and my room is full of mice. How did I get here? The important development is that I got another new eBook. It seems like each one is better than the last: LaMarr Alexander's "Off Grid Guide" was a good display of how simple building a structure can be. The Tiny House Book by Jay Shafer is full of inspiration and information about the history of our zoning and code obstacles, and more importantly how to overcome them - but Jay's book is scant on building information, and his (admittedly desirable, worthwhile, and awesomely detailed) plans cost a small fortune at about $1,000. This newest eBook is the best. It is heavy on simple step-by-step design and building information tailored specifically to small houses. Each eBook purchase was a slight gamble, but each one paid off. I've grown a bit more confident with each new resource, and I believe that I have fair odds of being successful in building a small house that I can live in for many years - or sell for about the cost of materials if another structure takes over.

Forks have 3-4 tines. I'm going home.

I woke up on Kristin's friend's boyfriend's twin bed with a clear head. I'm ready for another year. Tape it right to the end of the last one, but draw me a line so I can see where it began. (These words are that.)

I got a nice lightly used Kelty backpacking-style backpack. It was at a Goodwill Outlet in town, and I paid $2.13 with tax. I'll never be homeless. If things get bad, I can just crawl into this bag and sleep.

7:21pm had me halfway home. Kristin and I were paused outside an Italian restaurant in White Plains. I was a step beyond hungry, but the look of the place made me want to don a jetpack and take the short way home.

I hated the place and I judged everyone inside. I judged a fast and accurate synopsis, and I wanted to shoot the guy with shingles. I wanted to flip something through a window. The man-sized ornamental fork on the wall had five tines. They're messing with me. I was handcuffed and slapped with a thousand lazy hands.

We fought on the way home about nothing. We're both so awesome that it gets too easy. We have to pry pretty deep and I sound like an asshole when I defend myself. It's my tone of voice and how I resist admitting fault due to rarely being wrong. It was nice to get home to a clean room. That's all anyone needed.

Celebrating New Years with suits.

Oh, I'm sassy. I put on my sassy attire because this is New Years. This is New Years and all these fuckers are wearing suits. Nobody told me about that.

Imagine my surprise when I stepped into a party full of young people wearing suits and I'm dressed like a jackass having sex with a clown. I didn't lose any points, because I don't know anyone here. I'm up in Boston at a house, and the people here in suits - kill me twice - work for an outfit called "Wine Riot." It's something to do with "tastings."

I would have danced at midnight. I would have smiled and sweated and acted wackier than I felt. But before midnight? I was a flamboyant mouse amidst heavy drinking. I was a man who couldn't squeeze into the corner far enough - a man pushed into the corner so hard that time almost stopped.

These cats and clowns couldn't get enough champagne. This fancy party would have been better if:

1) I still got drunk these days
2) I knew some people
3) Kristin was having an okay time

Fuggit. I would have been happier at home with copious dope smoke.

Spending time in Princeton MA

A day like this doesn't take much out of a guy. I woke up well after the sun had a head start. I emerged from a nest made under a down blanket, and the room was already up to... say... 50 degrees!

Waffles first. Actually, I already had a hot mug of coffee toasting my hands by the time I watched the waffles being made. The folks of the house seem like good ones, and I'm happy to have time to re-evaluate Kristin's friend. She seems great.

Vacation in and around Boston.

Vacation starts now. Kristin and I packed a few things and a small dog into her small car. We cleaned the room so we can return to a tidy den in 2013. Then we left.

The rain turned to snow, and by the time we hit the New Jersey Turnpike, it was increasingly clear that the conditions would only be getting worse. Apps confirmed this. I took the wheel and didn't let go until we were at our destination - about an hour west of Boston at the home of one of Kristin's closest friend's folks's place.

Many harrowing miles had passed beneath the balding tires of the beat-up white Echo. But we made it. I slid into a freshly shoveled spot in the driveway surrounded by deep white powder. Who said we wouldn't make it? I said we definitely would. I was bred for this. My family drives in poor weather just for kicks. We eat sandwiches full of rocks and cookies baked with broken glass. And if you won't believe that, then believe this: we don't hide in the garage when it snows.

I put it in park, snapped my fingers, and we were watching the glowing embers in a woodstove.

The count was off.

7:21pm: Upset about a till that doesn't add up after work. $9.80 short, and I can't manage to work out why.

Eating food that is real food.

Dear Journal,

It's cold, and I'm still a wuss about it.

This day was all about immediately taking steps toward healthier eating. Less poisonous eating. It worked just fine. Soda is out. Diet soda is out. Crazy manufactured fake food is out. I'm looking at food in a completely different light.

Eating better food starting now.

I didn't realize to what extent my typical diet is horrendous. Fortunately, a documentary filled me in. As the movie played, Kristin and I watched the experts explain the details about what I already sorta knew. The folks in the documentary didn't seem judgmental, just factual. I was left to scold myself.

The movie had a profound effect. The facts about corporate food and diet fads were laid out, and alternate suggestions were made. Eat more vegetables and fruits. Our eating habits will make an immediate and drastic change. We will be talking about this documentary for days.

Tiny House seems likely.

Dear Journal,
Spent last night at Kristin's. Went to Kennett for Christmas morning. Got popcorn. Lots. Got Under Armour baselayers and some books about the A.T. that should be very useful. Went to Kristin's folks's again for a second holiday meal and more gifts. Got a book on Alternative Building which is already an excellent read. I've been researching building so much recently.

I've come to the conclusion that a real Tiny House - Tumbleweed style - makes a lot of sense. I'd like to build one cheaper, though. That's the current plan, but as always the "current plan" is an evolutionary process.

I bought the "Tiny House Book" in PDF, too. I also talked to Karl [ed note: brother-in-law] about the potential future plan of buying land to build small houses on. But, like always, I'm the ONLY one saving money. So it's all on me for the most part - if I want to build a small house community, I'll have to work towards doing that by myself. I'll have to have most of it in place. If you build it THEN they will come - convincing people to think and plan in line with your own hypothetical dreams is impractical at best.

A pleasant Christmas Eve.

Dear Journal,
10mg of borrowed adderall gets me stiff-brushing dog hair out of the Waffle House carpet. Powerful stuff. Went directly to Kristin's folkses, where I am comfortable. It's nice. Snow on Christmas Eve, and I'm in a good mood. It's going to work out. It can't NOT work out. I'm invincible. The only way to stop me is to kill me. 

A fucked up lot and a slap that won't happen.

I was up until 3am reading about FHA-insured mortgages and HUD houses. I'm trying to collect and examine the marbles in my brain. I'm counting the marbles again to make sure they're all there. A stroke of genius one moment is instant lunacy in the next.

Am I one man? Are these my hands on the wheel?

I drove to a fucked up abandoned lot at 39th and Girard. I peered through what was left of the fence and took inventory of the interior. A beat up box truck, a pile of broken concrete blocks, piles of dirt, various vehicles and a resilient forgotten tree. The area is East Parkside, and it is right behind the Philadelphia Zoo. Access to the river trails is nearly immediate, and open land and parks are a block away; over the bridge. The empty lot is for sale, and it could be yours tomorrow for $10,000. You can do whatever you want there and nobody would bat an eye.

I picture a Truck House or a House Truck. I picture a structure to live in, a garden and a workshop. I picture conforming loosely to code and zoning. Above all, I picture two middle fingers to paying rent and anyone telling me where to sleep. My hands want to build something that looks like art and feels like home. I have two hands for hi-fives, or one for a smack in the man's fucking mouth.

Running low on drugs.

Dear Journal,
Freezing shitty no-Adderall day. Running out of weed, and don't know how to restock. Plus holidays might make that difficult. Not happy. Walked to work and back. Got home exhausted, hungry, and ... exhausted.

Mortgages | Walking

Dear Journal,
Home alone. Ate pasta. Watched some Twin Peaks, etc. Looked up info on mortgages and learned in detail exactly how much I CAN'T afford or EVER be expected to be approved for. I'll find some answer. Walked to work and back.

Work and whatnot.

Dear Journal,
Shelly is going away for awhile. I finished building a small 3-Speed for Nat at work. I got a ride in with Kristin and walked home.

Cleaning spills and meeting the new roomie.

Dear Journal,
Back to work after a 3-day weekend. A mystery spill at the shop left puddles of black water which dried to become caked on dirt. I spent a good portion of the day with a wire brush scuffing up the dirt. Rode home with Alex. Talked to Sean for awhile at home. He's into orgies and whatnot.

Obsessive and ready.

Dear Journal,
Went nuts trying to get the new watch band on the old watch face. Hacked off 16" of the workbench backboard. Meh. Shit's coming together. It's all coming together slowly but surely. I was up until 5am last night looking at little houses and watching shitty downloaded TV and such. I have a tendency toward obsessing about ideas. Right now I'm back into obsessively thinking about building a house. And getting land. Absolutely off-the-deep-end obsessive. And I'm frustrated that in the meantime I'm moving at a snail's pace. I'm ready now.

Christmas shopping.

Gift selection comes slowly and anti-consumerism muffles the prospects. I threw some money at it. Four websites and some PayPal payments will earn me a passing grade. I bought no gift too corporate, and hopefully I erred toward the accidentally practical. Did you know you wanted this? It's flavored salt. It's a clay snail from Etsy.

For Kristin? Colorful polygons in a row. Three rings from Etsy and a fourth from another artsy source.

Holiday party includes floppy shrimps.

Shrimp and seitan.
Pita triangles; various cheeses.
Two unidentified delicacies.

A smorgasbordette adorned a corner with my six foot frame hovering above. I'm not too shy to use my fingers.

I have ten friends here, and most of them double as co-workers. Drinks are included at this holiday party, and I track down a couple of Cokes. Smiles come easy, and I happily celebrate another successful year at the bicycle shop. This is where I am right now, and this is where I want to be.

I fish another shrimp from the hot sauce, and I wouldn't change a detail.

Social visits, heavy on the skin and smiles.

Dave stopped by my place. We talked. While we sat and chatted, the young friend of my new roomie decided to stop in. He was somewhat strangely shirtless in the cold air, and the contents of my shelves seemed to hold his interest. He asked for nail clippers. I presented two options: 1) I have the larger nail clippers that most people associate with toes. 2) I have small and precise surgical steel clippers which resemble tiny diagonal cutters. Maybe he had a hangnail? No dice. These were not the correct clippers.

Drugs. It must have been some kind of drugs. He read to us from some books which he was mystified to find on the sidewalk. Drugs?

After dinner, we tried closing the door. It almost worked.