Goodbye 2014

We're leaving soon. A few days to tie up loose ends should be all that's needed. I'll get my two backpacking packs out, and we'll fill them with a little bit of clothing and a few provisions. We'll invite the tiny dog to hop in the car with us, and we'll be outta here. Good riddance to the cold underbelly of the northeastern United States, and good riddance to 2014.

2014 was a necessary year. I view it as a stepping stone to better years ahead, and with that mindset I'm right on track. I built a house. Not the best one, but I'm looking at it right now, and I'm pleased. It's more of a toasty little hangout fort, and if you think of it that way, the whole project was a huge success. So I'll look at it that way. I'd say I got engaged, but that was actually 2013. In 2014, I had mental battles. My cynicism has cranked up a notch, and I continue to struggle with knowing where my place is on Earth. As my personal philosophies twist and cant, I recognize that my fears and frustrations are tailor made for my age. Once again, I'm right on track.

Business is good. As I reported on November 7th, a period of low output led us to a disappointing income. We ramped up our efforts considerably, and that situation seems to be greatly improved. I can't predict the future 100%, but I'd say we're in a good position to drive around with little aim for a couple months. I'm ready to begin.

2015 will begin with an adventure. Following that will be a marriage. Kristin and Daisy and I will also move out of Kennett Square and begin to work toward new future goals.

3...2...1...

Departure Date vs. Money

This next Amazon payout looks like it's going to suck. Our payouts haven't gone below $1,000 for awhile now. We've been getting about $1,200 to $1,500 every two weeks pretty consistently. That's what we're grossing before expenses. It's been good, but not great. Part of our comfort at this income level is because we aren't paying rent, and we will hopefully never have car payments. Well. The next payment is scheduled for the 8th, and it's just creeping over $600. Not so good.

We might push back our unscheduled-anyway departure date to save some more money. I have some meager savings, but I'm also trying to feed my Roth IRA, and I don't want to rob my own coffee can to pay for gas and food. I also have my van up for sale on Craigslist, and it would be nice to get that dealt with before leaving. (Anybody need a van for $900?)

I got an email from George, who has been reading this blog sometimes ever since the first time I went to Key West and was living in the aforementioned van. He said he's headed down to Austin TX soon and we're welcome to visit him at the living structure he's built that has a docking port for the step van that he's been living in for years. (Did I mention that this man is awesome?) Well, I don't have much of a clue what I'm doing on this trip I keep talking about, so stopping by Austin on our way to California sounds like a concrete idea. After exchanging some emails throughout time, it'd be great to finally meet more good humans and see what they're horsing around with.

Preparation for Ford Festiva Winter Adventure 2014-2015.

The time to leave is getting near. The Ford Festiva will pull away from PA, and we'll be off exploring and wasting time. There is still preparation to be done before we leave, and procrastination has left a to-do list with too few checkmarks. As our departure draws near, I'm happy to report that a couple items can now be removed from the list.

Item number one: seatbelts. When I bought the Festiva, the passenger side shoulder belt was missing the clip that attaches the webbing to the track for the automatic seatbelt. I called junkyards and checked with online auto part finder services. The part was not nearly as easy to find as I anticipated. After posting for the second time on the fordfestiva.com forums, somebody was kind enough to send me the clip. For free. It showed up in an empty cigarette box stuffed in an envelope. Sometimes life is awesome.

So I got the clip. Today, I found somebody to sew it back onto the webbing. I learned from the internet that shoe repair shops have the necessary heavy duty sewing machines for the job. Also, auto upholstery shops may be able to help. I called some places. Some would take over a week, and another couldn't offer an estimate over the phone. "I just want a ballpark," I said. "$5 or $500?" He couldn't guess within $100, so I decided that an hour round trip drive was not in the works. I called another number, and a friendly hometown Mexican guy told me that his shop was now closed, but he had the sewing machine in his house. He could meet me at the Italian American club in five minutes. I drove over. I showed him the seatbelts, which I'd unbolted from the Festiva, and he said he could have them ready in a few hours. Sure enough, a few hours later I had the sewn-up seatbelts bolted back in place. $20. Sometimes life is awesome.

One bolt to remove and install. Simple.

Item number two: sleeping arrangements. Previously, I had what I thought was a good sleeping system. With the back seat removed, and a platform built in the cargo area, I laid out some memory foam and thought I had a comfortable scenario. When I tested it for a night of sleep, I found it was not as good as I thought. My body sank into the seat too much, which left me feeling like I was tilted uphill too much. My top half rested on a table, as my lower half bent down at an angle. I made it through the night, but it would be hard to get used to this.

Today, I cut some 2x3's and 3/8" plywood to make a platform extension which fits over the front seats when they are fully reclined. Much, much, better. The seat platforms are fairly even and level with the cargo area platform, and when I tested it out, it felt truly flat and level. Comfortable, in fact. Kristin and I both laid down in the car, and Daisy joined us. Yes - I believe the two of us and our tiny dog will sleep fairly comfortably in a Ford Festiva.

I still need to prepare a few things. I would like to add cheap window tint, and get a windshield cover for added privacy. A system of curtains may also be in order.

The looming to-do's are being tackled, and soon we will leave. I am hoping for the best. An adventure to remember.

2x3 support cross; toe nailed joint (drywall screws)

3/8" plywood

Memory foam over all that.

Level surface for happy sleeping. Kaboom.

Certain Improvement of Circumstance

I started taking another pill. It's supposed to help with Seasonal Affective Disorder. I've always hesitated to take any medication for anything. A headache would have to be pretty bad before I'd consider an Aspirin for it. None of that stopped me from fairly heavy drinking throughout my 20's, which ironically was largely about self-medication of all the underlying unrest that I was so hesitant to take meds for. That's how I've come to see it anyway. That's my current mental framework.

Anxiety, ADHD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. It's a lot to overcome for a guy whose self image is that of a happy-happy goofball. I used to handle all those brain issues better before I was an adult. Before I was 18, I couldn't very well move to escape the malaise and discontent brought on by winter. ADHD was no problem, because I could easily scrape by in school. My aim was only to get my diploma, and I could do that in my sleep. I basically did. With my life laid out in front of me, and little choice about where to live or work, the anxiety issues were not as pronounced as they would later become.

In my 20's I began to have choices. ADHD is absolute hell when you have an office job. It is absolute hell to be employed doing anything I do not have a personal stake in. Seasonal Affective Disorder raised questions - like WHY AM I STILL HERE THEN? Meanwhile, I drank and drank and drank. I told myself I was young, and young men drink. I always knew it was bad practice, and I often thought I would have trouble hitting the brakes. At 29, I quit. Three years have passed.

I used to think humans were good. In aggregate, I thought there was more natural good, and that time and science would lead humans to repairing the damage that we do to each other and to the Earth. I no longer believe this. I think that view is naive. It's a nice story that we all use to justify our existence and make ourselves feel better. The truth, I believe now, is not uplifting. Humans are an invasive species. We are the greatest threat to our own planet, and almost every activity we engage in feeds a system of greater overwhelming destruction. I believe this, and somehow I have to be okay with this.

The sun is setting earlier every day. The fall weather is beautiful, and still I feel the deep rattle of uncertainty creeping over me. People take drugs for this. As I said in my opening, I've always been resistant to those medications, but now I am ready to reevaluate. I started taking something for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and so far it's a success. I feel like myself. Everything will be fine. I don't have to do a damn thing in life, I am basically powerless to fix our species' greatest problems, and for the moment that's okay. I can sit on the sidelines for a minute and think.

I want to take time out to research more philosophy. People have had all sorts of disturbing thoughts and theories about the Big Questions of life. I'm ignorant of the bulk of philosophical thought, and I think I have a lot to gain by exploring the questions and theories of the smarter people before me. I need to take time to sort my own life out before I can help others the way I have always wanted to. Somehow.

My views on life and Earth and god and humans have been evolving rapidly over the past three or four years. I've spent too much time rolling my eyes at myself. I've felt too disappointed that my species isn't as great as I used to believe it might be. None of that is the critical matter at hand. I have to continue in a straight line forward through time. Time will not speed up or slow down, so I am tasked with the mission of learning how I can pass my time with the smallest amount of suffering. I am better when I am positive. Happiness and positive thinking is healthy for me from a selfish perspective, but that same positive attitude is a necessary platform if I ever want to help others. I want to be the buoy; not the anchor.

Today, I am well. The leaves are half fallen, and the leaves remaining on the trees create a beautiful filter for the gentle fall sun. I have every ingredient I need for a satisfied life, and most of the work is either complete or under way. Everything is fine, and the future holds an almost certain improvement of circumstance.

5,000 Miles on a 3-Speed. (Why not?)

I made a personal goal, and I'm posting this post to hold myself publicly accountable.

The Goal:
I will ride my 3-Speed equipped road bicycle 5,000 miles by the time I turn 35.

The Purpose:
To stave off general lethargy with positive activity.

Difficulty Level:
Easy!*

Associated Blog:
5ksa.wordpress.com**

*But much harder if procrastination becomes a factor, which it almost definitely will.
**Because I need a dedicated blog for every aspect and detail of my life.

p.s.: I'm about to turn 32 on November 1st.

There are times.

There are times - Oh! there are times - when I feel like a pretty cool guy.

There are times (Oh!) - when it is a clear that I am not a cool kid.

Winter Adventure Plans 2014-2015

Our departure time is growing near. In one month, Kristin and I will begin a four month adventure of traveling around the southwest United States. My 1993 Ford Festiva will be our home and office. We will travel slowly through sparsely populated areas, visiting ghost towns, deserts, and wilderness. We will set our sights on oddities and unique places. The primary mission is to squander time, with the simple act of being away used as the measure of our success. We will escape what we can of the cold.

The trip is unplanned. We have only the thinnest outline. I have a short list of places I'd like to see, and even those are only vapors of an idea swirling like smoke inside my mind. We are leaving southeast Pennsylvania and spending time in California. The space and time between are as yet unknown.

The Ford Festiva is one of the smallest cars. I am tasked with figuring out how two people can sleep inside of one with supplies and equipment for four months of cheap humble living. Designs for customized interiors have been weighing on my mind for several months. I removed the back seat, which was a big step in the right direction. I sat for hours with scrap wood and a tape measure. Just looking.

I sat in the back of the car with the hatch open and tried to envision every possible way to create a platform for sleeping two people in a tiny car. One idea took the lead. The plan involved a cantilevered platform that would extend beyond the open hatch to create a sleeping area behind the front seats. Ideas for hinged plywood platforms swirled inside my head. Sleeping with the hatch partially open would increase our usable space, and our gear could be stashed in the front seats while we sleep. The downside is that the vehicle would look slightly more conspicuous, and we would need to find a way to fill the gap around the half-open hatch to keep out weather and maintain a minimum of privacy.

Without a final design plan, I decided to forge ahead in any direction, and hope that the momentum of building would lead to further inspiration. I built a small platform which filled the space from where the back seat used to be, up to the opening of the hatch. I made the top of the platform level with the opening, and hoped I could figure out the rest from there.

Months passed.

I will need to sleep in the car tonight, because I am attending a bicycle swap meet tomorrow morning. The swap is hours from home, and driving there before the break of dawn is not an attractive option.

Necessity is the mother of throwing something together. I adjusted my goal to simply finding a way to sleep fully inside the car tonight. With the back seat removed, the front seats can recline almost perfectly flat. In this position, the headrest is nearly in line with the platform. I knew this before, but the uneven curvature of the seat did not appear to provide a level and comfortable position for sleep. I reexamined this, and discovered I was wrong. Laying down along the fully reclined front seat with my upper body extending along the rear platform was far more acceptable than I envisioned. When I arranged some lengths and pieces of 3" memory foam along the seat and platform, it became downright cozy. Adopting this new sleeping arrangement would make the work remaining minimal indeed. All I had to do is affix the plywood top to the platform. I did so with hinges to make the space underneath accessible for storage.

I laid down again along the sections of memory foam, and I felt confident and sure that this would be perfectly comfortable for four months of travel. I hoped Kristin would agree.

Kristin has spent almost none of her life being a glorified bum. I've spent years of my time living in a van, months of my days sleeping in a bivy sack, and hundreds of my nights in improvised sleeping situations. For years, I worked a night shift job in an office where I would sleep up to four hours per night across three strategically placed office chairs. I'm pretty sure that during all of those times, Kristin just slept in a bed.

I feigned calm indifference and asked my love if she would like to lay down in the car with me and offer her opinion on comfort. She liked it. No problem. I rarely give Kristin enough credit. I see her choice of footwear, and I assume that she needs to be pampered. I notice how long she takes to get ready, and I equate that with a softness at odds with gritty adventure. There may be an element of truth to this, but to a degree far smaller than it would appear. In fact, it's usually me who acts like a big loud baby. I do a lot of complaining for a tough guy. Sometimes by comparison this girl seems positively stoic.

I think that after being together for a few years, I've gained Kristin's trust. My ideas are not simply daydreams cobbled from rough bits of hardship - as it may fairly appear. As unorthodox as my plans and activities may seem, I do have standards and a measure of common sense. To illustrate our shared status: we are living in an 8'x12' house and cooking on a camp stove. I think Kristin likes our house better than I do. And I think that's fantastic.

I'm ready to start driving in a month. Knowing that we can get a decent sleep almost anywhere has made me more excited about leaving, and less nervous that unfit accommodations may lead to an early return to the gray claws of winter.

$14 per day + compound interest = retirement

I could think hard about all the different ways to implement a savings plan. I know the mechanics of what I want to accomplish. The goal is to save enough money now to create a seamless transition into a continued future horseabout. The best approach for non-rich Americans with no career is to sock money away in a Roth IRA and invest in index funds.

The hard part would seem to be done. I did the research needed to plan my approach. I know more than enough about retirement savings, index funds, and compound interest. The only thing left is to get actual money into my Roth IRA.

First, I considered setting up an automatic siphoning of money from my checking account into a savings or money market account. I got lost in the details because my brain decided to continue on a different tangent, and getting my brain on track is like trying to get a locomotive on track once it's already taken a wrong turn.

OK - simplify. I need to get approximately $14 per day into my Roth IRA. Or $98 per week. Or $200 per pay period. Or $5000 per year.

$14 is a lot some days. For some stretches of time, that's way more than I'm spending to eat and walk around. At other times, I make a large enough sum all at once that I would hardly notice if a chunk of it disappeared. An average of $14 per day will have me on track for a retirement that is at least as comfortable as my current low-budget lifestyle: and it's an amount that I feel like I can manage.

The time to begin is now. The longer you wait, the less exciting the readout on a compound interest calculator. Once I had $14 per day figured out, I just had to figure out how to put it aside.

This is an explanation of why I have $42 stuffed in a jar with a little printed-out calendar with X's on the past three days.

Summertime Walk Along the Tracks.

It was a day of adventure. Overdue adventure. The plan has been in my mind for a couple years, but today I took action. I set out in the morning to take a long walk down the tracks.

Railroad tracks cut through Kennett Square. They go to West Chester in one direction, and disappear into Maryland in the other. They are still in use, but trains are infrequent and the goods they truck don't go far. The tracks can be accessed at Broad Street or Center - on Union the sidewalk goes over a bridge.

I started out with a coffee, and put on my hiking boots. I had two Peanut Butter Jellys in my backpack, and a yogurt so stuffed with oats that the consistency was lumpy clay.

The goal for the day was Oxford; about 18 miles down the tracks. I had no way to gauge if my legs were up for it, but I wanted to give it a whirl. The goal was a physical challenge and a curiosity to see where I live from the hidden perspective of the train tracks.

A cool morning fed seamlessly into a hot muggy day. Grasshoppers leapt the tracks, and summer sounds pulsed like a heartbeat. I was made to squint at midday when emerging from the woods.

I saw wide open spaces and some houses barely standing. I crossed back roads where I've never set rubber of any sort. I saw a thousand great places for a tiny house, because that's mostly all I see now. I see places to park a van for a good night's sleep. I haven't lived in a van for several years, but these secret spots always call out to me. The same is now true for tiny owner-built houses. My brain finds a way to put them everywhere.

I walked past the abandoned quarry in Avondale. A sign claims a large fine for any who dare to swim. A shotgun blast to the sign disagrees. A pavilion is so overgrown that a closer look would require bushwhacking or thorny cuts. I ate the oaty yogurt and pulled the last sip of coffee.

I walked above a particularly industrious mushroom house. That's what my area is famous for. Mushrooms. A pile of manure eight feet high was elongated and pressed into rows. From the end of the rows, dirty dump trucks are filled all day long.

I walked past where people sleep. I only suspect, but really I know. I'm familiar with the ways and means, and some places here are used for stealing sleep. I've seldom seen homeless folks and restless travelers here. We're too far outside the city. The presence of those with less can be felt along the tracks. Also the presence of destructive children and heavy drinkers. The tracks aren't well policed, and they're a fast path to the middle of nothing.

I resisted the urge to check GPS. I wanted an authentic something. I wanted to melt into the moment without looking at a reminder of the bigger world.

I checked the GPS to see if I should quit. My feet were starting to hurt, and my leg developed what I was finally willing to call pain. I was a notch past the halfway point, so I kept moving forward.

The railroad ties were uneven, as is their nature, and half the distance was covered with fist-sized gravel. The walking was mostly a challenge and vigilance was required to avoid a twisted ankle or similar. The final two hours of the walk were level on the ground, but straight downhill for me. A few miles from Oxford, my steps became tiny. My left hip felt like a hinge needing oil. I used my right leg pretty much as normal, but tossed the left one forward like a long sack of rocks. As is my custom, I ran out of water.

I entered the town of Oxford at a lame crawl, and drank about a gallon of water in the bathroom of Oxford Feed and Lumber. The walk took just longer than five hours. I took another nine hours to cross the street. I sat under a shade tree. I removed my shoes like I was pulling the blanket off a victim.

My next call was important. I dialed up Mom Cell and asked for a ride home. I only hoped that she was home and she was able to assist. Plan B was to live under that tree forever.

Thirty minutes later, a minivan pulled up. Both of my folks came to get me, and inside the black minivan was ice cold temps. My feet were sore for days, and I slept like a body under water. The sun cooked my back and left side, but left the rest of me alone. I got banged around a bit and it made me feel good.

Sleeping in a Bus Conversion.

I slept on a bus a couple nights ago. Kristin and I went up to Boston for her friend's birthday situation. On the way home, we stopped by to visit The Anne Marie - a bus conversion in progress.

I've known about John's progress with horsing around for years. In 2009 he converted the bus to run on veggie oil, and he drove around the USA with other people coming and going. The location of the current building site was only a few miles out of the way. With that kind of proximity, you have to put on your social shoes and pay a visit.

Plus, pizza. John and Nishi had pizza pretty much ready when we got there. Additionally, there was a small pointy dog with excellent behavior. Once you break the ice for about seven minutes, these sorts of drop-ins are really fun. In no time, we were up on the bus's rooftop deck. It was a beautiful night, which afforded the four of us the most comfortable space to geek out about building stuff whilst hardly knowing how to.

Me and Kristin slept in the bus. John and Nishi are mostly still sleeping inside a house. The bus was great. There was a futon mattress, and the night air was cool and comfortable. It reminded me of the best nights I've spent in my van. I love it, I love it. Without delving into the details or reasons, I think sleeping in a vehicle is the best thing we can do as humans.

Remember: just because most people think something or do something, that doesn't mean it is the best option for all of us. Oftentimes, conventional wisdom is pure debunkable nonsense. Examples abound. Said another way: consider a return to the drawing board. Consider fighting for your best interests. If a mortgage and lifetime car payments sound like a burden, then start stabbing your way out of the suffocating bag of conventional wisdom. If you get stuck, then stab harder, or try flailing. Contact me for details.

Systematically Destroying Minor Tasks feat. Reckless Abandon.

I have irons in the fire. I have so many irons in the fire, I've had to start new fires for some of the irons. In a way, that's a good thing, as long as I can manage to chill the fuggout about it. Staying calm is the difficult part. If I could zen-out my brainhole, the irons would be dealt with in turn - like the small, systematically-destroyable minor tasks they are.

Here's the situation today. Kristin has officially joined me in the online reselling business. We have an office in the large house - as a temporary necessity - and it's a hellhole. I have a backlog of items that should probably be thrown away or burned, but since eBay is part of the business, we're heaving crap around with shovels and trying to find the carpet.

Once that's dealt with, we can go back to cherrypicking valuable books at a series of locations, aka living the dream. Meanwhile: mayhem.

I also have to work on the tiny house, so:

 - We can spend more time in it, since it is awesome.
 - We can "live" there instead of just sleeping there.

This plan entails more work. Lots more building, and to be honest, I'm running out of steam. I usually run out of steam when I'm around 7/8ths finished with a project, and that's about where we are in the tiny house.

We desperately need storage to:

 - Put our belongings where we live.
 - SEVER ONCE AND FOR ALL our attachment to large houses.

What I've failed to do is realize the magnitude of this undertaking. In my brain, somehow, if it can be written in 2-3 sentences, then it should only take... say... a week at most. I can't accomplish anything with this ADHD business, unless I take Adderall, which stokes the fire under my irons, but also tends to whip my perspective on life back and forth like a vigorously waving flag. It gets worse around 5pm when I begin to daydream about ostrich-ing my head in the dirt.

But it is Not All So Bad!!!

In a bid to improve her workspace, Kristin turned to Amazon, and seemed keen to purchase this apparatus: 

"Hold the fucking presses!" I thought. HERE is an opportunity to save $17. After a couple hours, I was able to counter with THIS apparatus:

DON'T WORRY. This is definitely the most effective use of my time.

Waking up in an unmarked chapter.

The summertime is upon us, and this perfect weather puts a satisfaction in my heart, which I must admit is punctuated with an ominous question mark. I'm happy. I'm worried about how often I'm not happy.

This is a new chapter in my life. A book has chapters. Each chapter in life, however, does not come with a big convenient number attached. You wake up one day, and you realize that you're already inside of it. The transitions are vague.

Time passes with a plodding and almost frustrating pace. Time passes with an almost alarming swiftness. I am trapped and awash in conflicting perspectives. At times I find this almost rewarding in a perverse way. I am beginning to recognize that I need to find a way to exist in the present. I know by using logic that it is helpful to be in the moment. I know this, and I respect it as the truest possible fact. I fail at living this way, but I am relieved that I am at least able to recognize the value.

eBay and Amazon. Online reselling. I'm working hard at trying not to work very hard. I accept that starting a new business is difficult. I am aware that if life is made too simple, then there is little reward for progress and success. Still, I find myself regularly frustrated at the pace of progress. My income is a relative pittance. Even though I have plans to leave this area, I am still here for now. I wouldn't say that I'm trapped. I would definitely say that I'm biding my time.

You couldn't wish for nicer weather or prettier surroundings. (Not without being a greedy dick.) Biding my time here? I can accept this.

Daily, I am trying to line up my ducks. There are not enough hours in the day. There are even fewer productive hours. Maybe it isn't healthy to think this way. BUT: as long as I am growing a business to a low-reasonable income... as long as my tiny house is unfinished... as long as my savings goals are unreliable and abstract... I am having difficulty framing my status in any other way.

It's all up in the air. I have all of the ingredients (fantastic fucking ingredients!), and nothing in the oven. It's going to be good. It's going to be great. I think. I hope. I wonder.

For now?

I am.

Miniature Sprout Garden. Day 3.

Gardens are a huge pain. There are many variables to combat:

1) Having enough sun.
2) Varmint control.
3) Time commitment.

In spite of the current affordability of cheeseburgers, I've been wanting a garden anyway. Being that I'm heavily committed in many arenas at once, I didn't think it feasible. Then I remembered hearing something about growing sprouts and how easy it is. Being a fan of alfalfa sprouts already, I took a closer look:

1) They don't need much sun.
2) They can be grown in whatever; easy to protect.
3) They're quick n' easy.

That sounds like something I can handle.

I eat a lot of cottage cheese. I never get around to preparing any food. I wait until I'm so hungry that I have a headache and I'm angry at everything, then I eat half a pound of cottage cheese in about four huge scoops.

I bought half a pound of sprout seed mix: alfalfa, broccoli, radish. They said it was a good combination.

I poked holes in the bottom of a few empty cottage cheese containers using an ice pick. I put some soil in there, sprinkled in some seeds, and now it's three days later. I've been spritzing some water on the soil using a spray bottle - once in the morning; again at night - and today the first little sprouts started poking through. This is great. Free food is on the horizon, and I'm able to take credit for making an idea actually happen.


Note: you can also make sprouts without any soil. You just add water. Look it up. I decided not to go this route, because I get a huge bang out of anything miniature. Sprouts in soil is more like a miniature garden. I'm thrilled about this.

Time for a Psychiatrist. (Thanks Obamacare!)

Dear Brain,

Stop going crazy. Nobody is out to get you. Everyone doesn't hate you. Get a psychiatrist to help sort out your non-issues. You know you're not capable of much in the way or sorting. Stick to what you're good at and quit making up problems.

You are a ridiculous brain. Have a psychiatrist take a look. Most people with ADHD get a professional opinion about medicine dosage. Now that we have Obamacare, we can easily afford that. In fact, we're basically already paying for it. Times are different now.

Silly brain. You keep thinking you're in control. NO! There is no control. There is only matter of circumstance. Dummy. Just work on your easy little bits of work, and tell the mouth and hands to shut up.

Sincerely,
The Rest of the System

Feeling Overwhelmed. Feeling Unwanted. Feeling clobbered and destroyed.

I am feeling so unwanted. I am feeling like a burden carrying burdens. I can only shrug my shoulders so many times until my back starts to break. I'm trying to pull myself together, but I'm being crushed by responsibility that I'm not even sure is real.

Little comments are being made, and I am feeling that I am getting severely in the way at the bigger house. It's a work in fucking progress. It's a GODDAMNED work in FUCKING progress. Believe me. I will move out the moment it seems possible. I will leave everything clean and organized in my wake. Give me ten more seconds and I will have my figurative shit together and my physical bullshit out of here.

Slow progress makes me look like an asshole. I'm not a typical American son who is going to finish college fucking ever. I don't see that happening. Why? Because college is fucking stupid. It's also a huge waste of money. Look at me. College is not doing anything for me, and you're going to have to trust me on that. Believe me. I know myself better than you.

I'm a big weird elephant whose bullshit is clogging other people's personal space. I don't understand why I can't just throw everything away and have every single area I inhabit clean in a day or two. This shit is taking me FOREVER. I know that. Welcome to ADHD. Why don't YOU try sprinting in waist deep water? Give me one goddamned more minute. I'm unable to breathe. I swear I will fucking leave. I always do. Remember?

Worry not, Chris Harne. Just remember that everything is as fake as it seems.

This Moment is all that We Know.

At first I was afraid to die.

I could not comprehend the absence of being. The absence of everything. The house slept, but I remained awake and burdened. My heart pounded, and I began sobbing heavily. The room blurred, as my breathing became desperate. Tears became a flood, and I could taste acidic snot as my head began throbbing.

Though she might not remember this, my mother came to comfort me. My mom put her arm around me and spoke slowly. She told me to take a deep breath. This should not be a worry for children with a single-digit age. It would be a long time, she said. I would not die for a long, long time.

At such an age, a small person has a limited concept of time. Lack of perspective was most of the problem.

I am aware now that our lives unfold in chapters and surprises. My worst moments no longer occur almost every other day. I am aware of my inability to predict the future with certainty. I am aware more than ever of a looming ignorance which humbles me. Surprise is a gift from our lowercase god; ignorance is a blanket to cling to for relief. I take great comfort in my inability to comprehend.

I don't mean to say that I am not a curious fellow - I am in every sense - but I do not fret when I cannot possibly understand that which no human ever has.

It is mine to sit. It is my life to steer. It is all I have to choose any direction at will. I am moving forward toward the day I become mulch. I am suspended in space as I deteriorate.

I still cannot comprehend the absence of being. One day I will, or one day I won't. It is not my position to be the first-ever all-knowing. I would abhor such responsibility.

Relax, fellow human. Let out your breath. Look at your hands. At the absolute most, this moment is all that we know.

Say Hello To Skeletons.

In my middle twenties, I had fire beneath my feet. I had fire in my mind, and I could hardly sit down without burning a hole in my pants. I went on trips of all kinds and met a lot of people. I stayed low to the ground and associated with the easiest people to talk to. I met panhandlers, drifters, and people with a bag on their back. I talked to Rainbow Family, and sat with many chronic recreational drug users. Alcoholics and weirdos. I met the most and least intelligent people you could ever expect. I met people who I love today, and some who frankly scare me.

By thumb and train our paths met where I was by bicycle or van. These are not an exclusive bunch. If you quit expecting something of them and ask how their day is, you will see a skeleton populate flesh as an answer is yielded.

Desperate for human contact, I tried this trick many times.

Duck When You're a Target.

It's impossible to see your surroundings from every possible angle. It's easy to miss a glaring light if you close your eyes and turn your head. If you've lived in the same area all your life - there's a good chance that within a mile there's a stretch of road you've never set foot on. Not many roads? Then a stand of trees that you've never seen behind.

I don't have a cable TV package. I'm too smart for that. And by "smart" I mean "cheap," but in this case the outcome by any means is relief. I live in a tiny house, and by "live" I mean "sleep." For now, I spend a lot of time in the lumbering cacophonous home up the hill. The big house is a cable TV package. Between Cecily Tynan, Kathy Lee, and Brooke Baldwin: this house never shuts up.

After the morning and afternoon programming, then comes the shows about houses. How to buy them, how to fix them - and generally how to act like an asshole. I hope my brush strokes aren't painting too wide a berth. I'm nowhere above. I know about these shows because I've watched each and every one.

The lie I tell myself is that I'm better. I don't watch these shows; I sit in a room while they're on. You can tell yourself anything. Watching Mike Holmes retrospectively pinpoint the folly of a job gone wrong makes you no better than those who watch anything else. If you're on the couch when an ad squirts out for the series "Swamp Hicks" or "Fartin' Babies," they're talking to you. They have you pegged, and you are the target audience. I am the target. It's time to shut it down, lest we all get struck in the back.

I feel like I'm struggling to wake.

Furthermore;

My plans are a process. Until I am out on my own again, I will be subject to adjacent programming. Until potato chips are out of arm's reach, I will have them with soda. It's time to go, and I'm ready. Me and Kristin are going to take my little car to California. And Arizona. Colorado. Oregon. There and on the way, we're going to continue our business as middle-men, and watch the sun rise and fall. I estimate October, but gosh himself writes the schedule. No more winters, and a short stint presently to get our shit together.

And we're off.

Four More Words.

Hey! Congratulations! I hear congratulations are in order! Do you have a date set?

Weddings are an enormous to-do. I knew I was getting married. I knew who I was going to marry: Kristin. There wasn't any reasonable doubt. The only missing element was the official asking: four words.

People tend not to blurt the four words out. You don't spill the question over oatmeal. Usually, you go skydiving, and somebody spells the words out with colorful flags back on Earth. Or you can make up a phony reason to get on tv and ask the question there. Much planning goes into preparation and venue.

What a to-do.

I built a tiny house, and by the end of last year, it was mostly complete. When I installed the final propane heater, there was no longer good cause to sleep in the giant house up the little hill. I moved the mattress to our loft, and though incomplete, our tiny home was quiet and cozy.

We had been in the house many times, but shuffling down the small hill in the dark was the first time we were going home. Our home; together. We sat on our little sofa. It was December 15th, and the air was brisk and silent. This was the test ride, but the product was sold. The home became ours the moment we crossed the threshold.

We sat close and watched the tiny flames in our scratch-n-dent direct vent wall mounted propane heater. The dim 12v light pointed up toward the peak of the roof; it cast romantic shadows. I began to recount the changes in my life over the past two years. I told Kristin how thankful I was that our paths had crossed; how grateful I was for her insight on being. As soon as I finished my thought, I added four more words.

She was startled, but her answer was immediately YES.

The Complications of Simplification.

Everything is great. I have a tiny house that I built, and a plan to simplify my life. Naturally, it is much easier to say "simplify" than it is to make it so. To actually perform the act, I will need to throw away, donate, and sell a ton of stuff. I've begun.

Two trailer loads so far have gone to the landfill. I don't love hiding my mistakes and problems under a layer of earth, but it is an effective approach when it is not possible to travel through time and abstain from the initial acquisition. I have a tendency to hold onto items for later projects or other imagined uses. I've recently had to remind myself that I am full of shit. It is more important to be rid of this stuff. Some of it was big. Rotten siding and windows had to go; I'm not going to dismantle a desk to harvest the wood for anything. Got. To. Go.

I'm a collector - or at least I always have been one. I have half a closet full of Mad Magazines and ephemera. That was my first collection. Since then, I've started at least a dozen others. "Please Wash Hands" signs, from the time in my life where ripping signs off walls was funny. In that vein, I also have my collection of carpets with the logos of the businesses that I took them from. (This was a ballsy collection, but admittedly still a totally awesome one.) I also have about ten miniature guitars; none longer than 32" overall. I don't play guitar. Mini Band broke up in 2005. I have a world famous condiment packet collection. Most of them are preserved in plastic baseball card-style cases and sleeves. Thousands of packets didn't make it to the site before I quit. I had four medium boxes of full packets, some of which were starting to stink. I had unopened correspondence from admirers, and unanswered letters from children who love the site. It was heartbreaking to let this go, but those boxes had to go.

That might not sound bad. But - as you might guess, someone with that list of belongings probably has a lot of other shit lurking around as well. You would be correct. I do.

My belongings have become a burden. I need to let go to be free. I have an unnatural sentimental attachment to bullshit. I am hacking at these ties like a bushwhacker with a machete. 

By way of explanation for the last grim update here, I'll say that the ADD pills I've been taking might be partly to blame. I quit taking them when I suspected they might be making me angry-sad every time they start to wear off. The past few days have been better. My brain is still a muffin floating in cake batter, but at least I haven't been taking the fact so hard.

Call for help; take no action.

Call to action; take no help.

Bear with me while I cut out my guts and dissect this mess. No list of infirmities could explain this malaise. I trace in reverse to find where fantastic went astray. A definite and correct label would be a relief. Angles and facets, let alone the variables, sift through my fingers like sand. My task list strains buoyancy, as manic bursts vote to keep me afloat.

I know there's a pill for that. If the target is overshot, another pill can bring your brains back in range. If two pills mush your brains, then the third is to neatly congeal them. The fourth pill is free with the purchase of three, or you can exchange it for a frequent flier mile.

Vandwelling in Philadelphia

For awhile there, I was living in a van. I took that show on the road. I started out by wintering in Key West. It was great. I drove to Oregon and made that state and my van a hideout for a few months. Home was an anxiety attack, so I made my way to anywhere else. Soon I settled down slightly, and realized I was in Philadelphia again.

I found a remarkable parking spot in Philly. I was in the center of everything, but when I opened my doors in the morning, my view was a grassy paddock with grazing horses. I could park there forever; friends and amenities were mere steps away.

For a young man with desperation in his heart, a better home could not be had. I never took pride in my ability to build or plan. My decisions were a shot from the hip. Recognizing my Jenga tower for what it was, I never stacked my blocks very high. Philadelphia gets cold and hot, and I never managed the energy to build or afford a system to cope with the extremes.

At a lonely time in my life, I turned to Craigslist for human contact. The title of the ad was "dude wants to meet eccentric people thru email." I like to write, and I didn't want more. I found a girl who had a light rattling in her skull as well. We exchanged words and stories for years. After several years and many pages, we did meet. When the weather was at its coldest, we shared her bed.

The winter in Philadelphia is bitter. I operate at a low percentage for the duration. When I got a call around 7pm, my heart raced. Another human was volunteering to cook for me. We could watch television afterward. We shared a warm mattress on the floor, and we never had to talk about sex. I hope she is doing well today. We haven't talked in years.

After winter comes Spring, and soon after that are the dog days of summer. The van would be a steam bath, and soon after the sun would rise, I would be compelled to do the same. I would sit up, scooch my bottom to the side doors, and open them wide. The cool ninety degree air would be a relief from the stuffy interior of my home.

In the summer of that year, I was fixing bicycles. A friend and I rented a small warehouse space. We bought bicycles in the suburbs, brought them to the city, performed repairs, and sold them on Craigslist. I'd done this for money before, and I was showing her how. Today she owns her own bicycle shop. I couldn't be prouder to have helped, because frankly I was somewhat of a wreck at the time. I thought there was pride and amusement in being a wreck, and I celebrated life within an inch of an impending alcohol dependency.

It was hot. For an additional $98, I rented more space in the warehouse. I lied about what it was for, and I had to cut the arm off a free couch to fit it through the door. I got my lip pierced. I got bright hearts tattooed on my right bicep - a monument to not yet understanding sex. I woke up with hot sand in my eyes, and I never removed a single bottle until the weather got cooler and I cancelled the rent.

The van was an essential component in meeting people who I still love today. If not for the manner in which I rolled, I would lack a critical enrichment which I hold dear. I cannot imagine my time spent vandwelling as any less than necessary. Without those lessons, I would merely be alive; a pulse. I brought my energy into the van, and inside that vessel, I was afforded the opportunity to incubate.

The van sits today. My name is on the expired registration, and the house I built is 100 feet away. The van hasn't run in six months, and soon it will be for sale. I am ready to evolve as a person. I am ready to wake up without hot sand in my eyes. I am buying a new battery, and the van will belong to a different person.

Keeping my head in the frogs.

I built a small home first, and now I'm finally reading Walden. That's the book where Thoreau builds a little house and talks about how everyone is wasting too much time and money on everything. I'm barely into this book, and I'm hooked. Thoreau is the 1845 version of me. I already suspected this, but the similarities in our thought processes are remarkable. I find it even more remarkable that he could be speaking about our society today. Everything is the same. Nothing has changed.

I find great comfort in knowing that it is well beyond my control to reverse centuries-old norms. This book lends me a perspective I've sorely needed. Humans aren't headed into the gutter - we've kinda been wallowing around it the whole time. Our masses have been complacently accepting a status quo of enriching the few forever.

I can exist on my own terms now as Thoreau did in his time. I can watch lunacy from the sidelines. I can keep my head down. That's where the frogs are anyway.

Post Bicycle Swap Meet eBay Selling.

This is nobody's business but mine, but let me chirp about it anyway. On eBay I go by the handle "Good_Machine_Hunt_Bargain." I sell mostly bicycle parts.

I made fewer purchases than usual at the last swap meet. I focused on hot deals, and left the warm deals on the table. I had a limited budget, and I needed a quick return on investment.

I photographed 95% of the items the day after the swap meet. Within two days, I started to see my first sales. As a departure from past norms, most of my listings this time are Buy It Now with free shipping. This allows people to make impulse buys, while also not doing math. I think it's working.

All of my sales have been for a premium "hopeful" asking price. The first round of listings always starts with the highest prices. Interest in individual listings can be gauged by how many people are "watching" an item. When a listing ends with no sale, you will still know if your price is in the right ballpark. No watchers? Lower the price. There is one more factor to consider: some obscure items only have a small niche demand, and will take longer to sell. Don't slash the price. Just relist until somebody needs it. If you have the only one available, then you will get the sale... but it might be next year.

I spent just shy of my $1200 allotment. In the week following the sale, I've made back about $900 after fees. I've only sold a small portion of the haul, so things are looking great. After 90% of the sales are complete, I should have at least doubled my money. The percentage of money netted beyond 2x investment is a good measure of purchasing acumen.

Buying better quality in smaller quantity is saving me a huge amount of work. With Amazon selling to fill the space between swap meets, I didn't feel pressure to maximize profits at the cost of a lot of scroungy work. (Extensive fixing and cleaning of parts.)

Early sales report:
I have many examples of tripling my investment. A portion of the "bread and butter" are small items I buy for $1-$5 and sell for many times that. These deals are abundant and low-risk. Even when people know what the item is worth on the eBay marketplace, they don't want to go to the trouble of taking a photo, writing a description, and then shipping it out. I don't mind. I've made a big effort to streamline those tasks. So when I buy a pair of Campagnolo crank bolts for $1, and sell them for $24.95 - it doesn't take much effort. Items under 13oz can ship First Class, which is a bargain. Knowing these details means I can buy a Ritchey headset cable hanger for $2, and I know that when I sell it for $24.95, I will only have to pay $1.93 to ship. (And $0.28 for the packaging.)

Dura Ace downtube shifters? $5 makes $64.95. (This is a case where some people have no clue what the demand is.)

My best sale this round (so far) isn't a bicycle part. A guy was selling a jointer plane, new in the box. How much? $5. I sold it in under 24hrs for $99.95. Making the sale felt good, but it is becoming almost typical. This is America. Somebody bought a gun book from me for $99.95. I paid a dollar.

The goal now is to stay awake and keep hunting.

- Good Machine

Hey... Remember Bicycles?

I moved out of Philadelphia before the spring 2013 became real. Since then, I've ridden a bicycle about twice. Less than two miles each time. I've done a fair amount of thinking about bicycles... but not much pedaling.

I couldn't put it off any longer. My bicycle begged me for new shifters and cables. I got some old Suntour XC Pro thumb shifters at the swap meet, and resale-value-be-damned, I put them on my own bicycle.

I added cables, shifters, Nitto northroad handlebars, and most importantly: a new-old-stock "tall cool" quill stem with the longer extension. The Hoopty "Tall Cool" Bicycle is ready again.

In order to ease myself back into mobility, I set a small loop of a few miles with rolling hills. Short and sweet. I rode the loop, and got back feeling like I'd been chased by a vampire.

Riding a bicycle again literally makes me want to puke. I've grown incredibly weak and slow, but my brain forgets. My brain yells "PUSH!," and I do. Minutes later, my stomach gets annoyed because it can't talk.

I rode the same loop today, and the first thing I noticed is that my buns hurt where they meet the saddle. Right. I have a thousands-of-miles broken-in Brooks saddle with springs - and my butt was a tad sore.

I intend to get back into reasonable shape. I don't need to be the Tarzan of bikes, but I'd like to stand up and assault some hills again some day. That's the goal here.

Money For A Goal; Aspirations All-Told.

What does it take to make a thousand bucks on Amazon? I get earnings deposited into my bank account every two weeks. As a fairly meaningless measure, I set a personal goal of making one of those payments include four digits before the decimal point.

I have a lot riding on my Amazon business. Selling with Amazon's FBA program (fulfillment by Amazon) is the best way I've found to make money while still being a smelly fuck. All I have to do is buy cheap books and sell them for more on Amazon. If I'm buying books faster than I'm selling them, then my inventory is growing. If I have a growing inventory of good books (I do), my payments will get bigger. If my payments are getting bigger, then at some point I'll see a thousand-dollar deposit. That's what I'm waiting for.

This is getting pretty close.

Nope. I won't be rich soon. This is a measure which fails to factor in many variables. It doesn't factor in what I paid for inventory. It doesn't factor in any expenses. But it's a number that's getting bigger, and pretty soon - if I don't lay down across the tracks - it's going to hit $1000.

Today is the 10th, and it happens to be a payday. My hopeful goal was $860 to reach a personal best. But I sold an owner's guide for the M1911 pistol for a hundred bucks, and the payout tally shot past $900. Only chance will determine if I reach the 4-digit payout. The sales period will soon end - some time tonight, or maybe early tomorrow. They'll wave the checkered flag. Then we will see.

What does this mean?

I'm trying to get out of some sneaky recent debt. When I come up for air, I'd like to see that I have a semblance of a job and a method of making money. Finding books that I can sell for a profit is fun. It's the easiest job I've ever had, but it's not a passion. I want to make enough money to invest in some of the ideas that have been keeping me awake for years. As I advance my situation incrementally, I feel that I am edging toward the opportunity to create something that I am proud of. A business; a product; a community.

I am proud of my erstwhile travel, and I am proud of this little house that I built. Both have helped me grow as a human, but both have wreaked murder on my solvency.

It's the daydreams of product ideas that I want to see light. I have begun to recognize that I am capable of pushing a new idea into existence, and it is this itch under my skin that makes me fill big heavy boxes full of books.

A thousand bucks is a number. I roll my eyes that my mileposts have dollar signs, but the freedom to create and travel keeps me filling up boxes and clicking refresh.

Sleeping in a 1993 Ford Festiva.

Bicycle swaps are one way I know how to make money. I buy a thousand or two dollars worth of parts, take them home, photograph them, and offer them to a much larger audience - eBay. The velodrome in Trexlertown Pennsylvania has a big swap meet twice per year. Usually, I take my van.

I haven't taken the van anywhere since fall 2013. The battery is dead, and I have it packed full of bullshit. It is acting as part of a team of storage sheds which serve my needs from every cranny I touch. The Festiva is my new buddy. It's been repaired in detail, and it is driving much better than it looks like it ought to be. By preference and default: this was my ride to the swap.

Time to get ready.

With no van to sleep in the back of, I decided to get to work on the Festiva. I wanted to remove the back seat anyway to get more storage, and the weather seemed sunny and permissive. So I began.

The seat comes out with four bolts. Easy. I tossed in a cutoff sheet of plywood to make a level surface. I pushed the passenger seat forward, and fit in a smaller piece of plywood. I screwed hinges into the smaller piece, which can now swing out of the way if I want to slide the passenger seat back. The hinged section of plywood is supported by a water jug behind the passenger seat. The system went together so well, I didn't even have to use a saw.

With carpet-over-plywood base. Handsome!

I cut some castaway memory foam to the approximate dimensions of the platform, and tossed a blanket over that. Done! It's bed-like.

I felt confident about this sleeping arrangement, because Ghost Dancer made it sound so fun and easy. He's not the only one. Another couple made living in a Festiva sound positively idyllic. I've slept in and around some pretty dumb stuff. I stuck my thumbs in my belt and grinned. It feels great to be up to something.

My tape measure told me I had 5'1" to stuff my 6'1" body into. My hands on the wheel told me that my mechanic is an ace. I cruised north with my thoughts ahead of me; to the reverse loaves n' fishes.

I arrived to a tranquil grassy lot, and chose my position. A calm night misted intermittent suggestions as I relaxed thoughtfully between the seats and the hatch.

Daydreamin' & Gettin' high.

I had some laughs and company when Shelly showed up, but soon enough it was time for bed.

I slept alright, and I would do it all again - but an extra twelve inches would let me don the crown with confidence. The morning arrived, the nerds began squawking, and I knew: it was time to rise and buy bicycle parts.

H.D.T., B!

"This Ford Festiva beats the dick off my clown-assed scummy pond." 
- Henry "David" Thoreau

$6 worth of books in a Ford Festiva: How I almost got away with it.

7am! Gotta get up!

There's a book sale in Harrisburg today. You can fill a grocery bag with books for $1. My cash flow issues haven't evaporated, so the price is right. My car - the almighty Ford Festiva - just got a ton of work done. I want to see what it thinks about the highways again.

It liked the highways pretty good, I'd say. I haven't personally put many miles on this car, and today I noticed that it has cruise control. No tape deck, but it came with cruise control. Wild times. No cup holders... but cruise? Check. It's a nice touch.

8:30am. I look at my watch, and I'm starting to feel pretty good about myself. It was a rushed morning. No time for food. No time for coffee. No time to interrupt my fiancé in the shower. (btw, I'm getting married.)

Just as my brain was patting my body on it's back, I realized there was a problem. The address I put in the GPS was in "Lancaster," which is not the same as "Harrisburg." It didn't even bother me. I fixed the address and set out again. Maybe I should have taken the extra two minutes to get a coffee.

I was a little bit late, but I got there just the same. I entered the basement of a church and started looking for books that a sane human might want to read. I skipped over the fad diet books and the hopelessly obsolete computer books. I inspected one computer book: there was a 3.5" floppy disk still affixed in it's plastic sleeve inside the back cover. Nope. Gonna go ahead and leave that one right there.

All said, I spent $6 on books. Some of them are actually pretty good. My wireless barcode scanner found quite a few with a healthy estimated value. These prices are great. The snack bar was selling Cokes for a quarter. These folks had put commerce on hold.

I got back in the car, and set my sights on home. I'd stop somewhere and get a coffee. Finally. Maybe I'd get some food.

Instead, my brakes started feeling mushy. Then, when I was looking for a place to pull over, they felt downright fucked up. By the time I pulled over at the Choo Choo Barn in Strasburg, there was no hopeful wish that it was a dream. My rim was hot to the touch, and there was clearly some caliper malfunction afoot.

No matter. This is why I subscribe to AAA services. I got a ride the rest of the way, and I'll save the strife for another time.

Cash Flow

I've been floating by for nearly one year with no job. This has been made possible by several factors.

1) I haven't been paying rent. I started out staying at my parents' house, and now I'm migrating to the tiny house that I made.

2) I had a pile of bicycle parts to sell on eBay. Two swap meets worth; thousands of dollars in severely under-priced parts and ephemera.

3) I don't spend much. I have an inexpensive lifestyle.

I had two goals when leaving my job as a bicycle mechanic. The first and most important goal was to build a tiny house. The house needs finishing work, but the construction is done. I did it. Boom.

The second goal was to find a way to maintain a job-free existence. I want to set my own hours and make a comfortable income with room for savings and time for new projects and adventures.

I feel like I've made progress on the second goal, but I don't know if it's enough. I have the beginning framework for a sustainable situation selling on Amazon with their FBA program. I have the framework, and the methods and hardware are becoming familiar. The fundamental theory is simple - buy low; sell high. The challenge is in establishing an algorithm for exactly when to buy an item. If you spend too much on inventory, then it might not come back fast enough to cover your needs. Everything might sell, and the profits might be very good, but the speed at which the investments show a return needs to be fast enough to cover monthly expenses. That's cash flow.

If I had a reasonable amount of money in the first place, I wouldn't be as panicked about cash flow at such an early stage. As it is - I am. I look forward to honing my skills and algorithms. I look forward to understanding the math and economics which apply to this emerging market of niche interests, abundance, and the dirt cheap distribution which makes profit possible. But I've burned up some money trying to find my footing and get the equipment, software and hardware that I need in order to operate.

I've pulled a rabbit out of a hat many times over the last year. I've run low on cash and put building on hold while I photograph and list a new round of bicycle components. I've pulled myself out of a hole, and emerged victorious to begin building again. I've pinched pennies and stretched dollars far beyond where most people would assume a breaking point must exist.

Once again, the worry is setting in. Worry comes easy when I feel the threat of a traditional job breathing down my neck. I have some bicycle parts and other items to sell, but I've been getting closer and closer to the bottom of the barrel. The $100+ bicycle parts are long gone. The $40 bicycle parts are possibly all gone as well. I need to nickel and dime my way back to solvency.

I feel like I'm going to make it past this point. I don't know how it's going to happen, but I need it and I want it.

I am faring poorly indeed.

Dear Diary, 
I am faring poorly indeed. I fear the season has wrought the worst upon me. I am a withered vestige; a dusty vessel. My arms hang loosely like severed anchor chain. Unable to lift myself from despair, I vacillate freely between tears and frustration. How many more months can I go on like this? I am watching myself from above, and I cannot save the man I see. He is hopeless for the time being. His empty carcass drifts pointlessly in a labyrinth; slowly, for the exit is measured in time not distance.