Waiting for LSD

At 7:21pm, I'm sitting around on the porch over in Avondale. Where Rachel lives. There's a big blowout party tonight with fire and music and drugs. I have an order in for LSD, which should have arrived a couple hours ago. I would have liked to take it early with some sunlight still up so I could see the party materialize. Others started drinking beer early, and I'm not one to sit around when others are drinking, so I had a beer. I'm also not one to have just one beer, so I got another. I'm also one to drink fast and keep going, so I've had seven. The party started before the acid actually arrived. I'd quit drinking hours earlier, and wasn't really drunk when I took a tab and ate it at 9:30. This party would not have made nearly as much sense if Shawn wasn't there, also taking LSD. There were a few others tripping too, and the rest of the party was a fucking mess.

This was strictly an outdoor party. Talk of 100-150 people was heard beforehand, and even then I had an inkling that this figure was outrageously high. It ended up being fifty people max, and those who showed up seemed to be the worst possible. It was as though you took the fifty worst people from a party of 150. This is my perception. What I expected, and what I saw. I was very satisfied. When shit got wacky or uncomfortable, I stood back and watched from afar. When shit cleared up, I'd wander back to friends. I only knew a handful of people, and only got positive energy or had respect for about half a handful. Shawn's friends Ian and Tom stopped by. I got a great sense of calm from Ian. In the approximate five minutes I talked to him I was able to re-re-confirm that I think he is great. His presence was a grounding force of the whole party for me. That's what I told Shawn when he brought it up, and that's how I felt. It's not clear who all these party people were, or if anybody really knew who they were. It looked like a fucking mess with a strobe light to remind you. Someone tripped over an extension cord and the strobe light and music went out. It never came back on either. I'm not sure what that was all about, but I was completely happy about it.

I can't express how comforting it was to have my van parked around the front of the house. I knew the whole time that if I got uncomfortable, or dissatisfied in any way, at any time, I could just go home and listen to music or sit with the doors open and look out over a field or at some trees. I took advantage of my van's water supply, I dropped off my spectacles (unnecessary when trees are moving and faces look satanic either way), and I changed into my favorite long sleeve t-shirt. I had my house there for backup, and it made me feel like the luckiest person alive. But I didn't need to hide.

I was awake and around the fire long after the party died. The other LSD people either left or went inside, and the party drinking/drugs crowd all went home. Eventually it was just me and Shawn and Larkin around the fire all night long, and well into the morning. Larkin doesn't do anything that makes him hallucinate. He's jobless and on unemployment and has a critical drinking problem. He lives in a tent in his parent's backyard, and kind of just wanders the area. He's difficult to communicate with, and makes a lot more sense when I'm on acid. Seriously. I was glad to have these guys to sit around with. There were long comfortable silences punctuated by ideas and uproarious laughter. Then the sun came up for real. Shawn went home around 8, and I went to my van to hide in my blankets.

I'd been coming back to reality for a couple hours, but was still far from normal. I didn't sleep, but I laid down and rest-thought. I sat up around 10am and wanted to communicate with people who I like. I turned my phone on and called Danielle to see if she was relaxing for her whole Saturday. Then I had a brief and awesome explosion of tears because I'm glad that I know Gary and Danielle. I didn't feel like I was ready to look and act normal back at the big house. Danielle didn't answer, but I did get a txt message from my Mom, who never sends txt messages ever. "Aunt Beth's birthday picnic today, be home by 1." I don't like shit getting sprung on me, and I still didn't have any sleep yet. This did not seem very realistic. I was ready to drive by this point, but not at all ready to communicate or act like I was normal. I went home.

I tried slightly to weasel out. I was going to be honest about the facts, but my Dad has a tendency to be a little snippy which makes it easy to just shut the fuck up and go away. However, I know that aside from these circumstances I want to go to family events and know who my family is. I don't know them, and recently there has been increased opportunity to change that. I want to at least show up. At 1pm I was feeling like part of the world again, and I knew it would be fine. I went to the picnic. When I heard anyone talk about being hungry or tired, I couldn't help smiling to myself. I'd been up for nearly 30 hours, and hadn't eaten anything since early the previous day. Sandwiches, broccoli, and cheese n' crackers were perfect. Lemonade. I was ok enough to talk to people and be about as normal as I get. When we got home at 5, I went upstairs to the inside bed, shut the drapes, and didn't get up for 16 hours.

I thought that LSD might teach me something about myself and my current situation. It may have a little bit. What it really did was emphasize what I already know. I don't belong here. I definitely don't belong at Rachel's house. All that happens there is people get really fucked up all the time. It's her parents house, and her mom gets really fucked up with everyone too. Her mom doesn't like the 'F' word, but has no problem smoking weed and having kids drink and smoke and trip acid all over the place. I shouldn't really be hanging out with Rachel either. She can be fun to be around, but my interest in her as a person is purely sexual, and with getting crazy drunk that got kinda ruined too. Plus we can't communicate on any but the most intensely superficial level. If there was a venn diagram of our personalities and every intricacy and detail of who we are and what we stand for - it would look very much like the number 8. When I'm peaking on acid and she's walking around with glow sticks swinging all over her sexy body, I can almost forget the facts. The good thing is I'm not so sure she likes me very much either.

In addition to thinking about spending time at Rachel's, I also thought about being in Kennett in general. I know it's not the best idea. I made a big mistake by getting all of those bicycles over here. What I did was plant roots where I don't want to be. Anything that exists outside of my van is a root in the ground. I planted roots exactly where I don't need to be. I have possessions outside of my van, and I need to seriously work toward the cessation of that. I need to get rid of everything I own. The positive side of this realization is that I already own a van, and I already know what makes me happy. For those who don't live in a van, but who want to - the transition is quite a hurdle. They aren't sure they'll be able to cope with the lifestyle. They've already invested money in furniture and knick-knacky shit to fill enormous spaces. I'm lucky because I don't have all that. I'm happier in a van, and I need to move further to solidify that as the only thing I have to deal with. I need to purify my simplicity.

So - I learned to stay away from Avondale and not plant roots outside my van. I also learned that I am drinking way too much. Of course, I already knew that, and I didn't do anything about it on purpose because it's easier that way. I might still fuck that up - because I usually end up drinking. But I know I shouldn't. It's fun, and often I even feel pretty boasty about it, but overall I feel somewhat ashamed of the excess. Why would I do something so unhealthy - mentally and physically - that makes me feel ashamed? I don't know. I never have.

While I was thinking, I also considered this blog. Ever since I've been turning it less into a 7:21 project, and expanding it to include detailed context of my whole life, I've found some barriers. I want to tell the absolute truth and get to the closest descriptions of my feelings, actions and reality that I possibly can. One snag with this is that there are characters interacting with me, and they might not want their details to be shared. This could be unethical. Or at least uncool. I'm sharing thoughts that I wouldn't even say in person to the person who I'm thinking the thoughts about. That's the same thing as talking about people behind their backs. I hate this kind of gossip. So - I try to focus on my feelings and perceptions instead of making slanderous statements. I'm still not sure people need their business talked about though. That isn't the only reason why the path of full disclosure is difficult. Consider: my parents will read that I was taking LSD, and they might not know anything about LSD. How can the lines of communication be so shut down for 25 years, and now I just open this goofy portal of personal info that we can't even really discuss? How? A blog.

I'll go further and say that I don't believe in God, I'm not sold on organized religion being a very good idea at all, I always wondered why we never talked about God ever outside of church, and my computer screen still looks a little funny from that LSD that I took. So does my cellphone screen.

Complacent, lazy, amazing

I am an absolutely amazing human being. I can't make myself do anything. Anything at all. My day picks up around 11pm or something. I sit around and barely do anything until then. Then I basically just start drinking or something like that. I stay up as late as possible. I sleep out in my van, which is absolutely fantastic. The sun starts to heat up the van, and I open the doors and lay around until 11 or 12. I start moving around noon, and waste the entire day with a laptop or something like that. I have at least a dozen bicycles that need to get worked on or thrown out, and I just don't feel like it. I want to have $1000, and leave on this bicycle trip. That should be soon. And I'm very ready. Though I could leave in a few days if I took some action, I still sit here getting no closer to moving. At 7:21 - I'm on my laptop looking at sketches of Philadelphia characters. I'm getting kinda used to Kennett Square again. I like my parking spot, and I like crawling inside when the sun is too hot, and sitting around the big house. I take naps. I haven't driven the van anywhere in a week except to get whiskey.

I'm truly excited about this bicycle trip. I'm crossing my fingers and hoping that I'll wake up and take action soon.

Ants and bars

It's 7:21, and I'm outside making a little bit of money. Not much money - but on a beautiful day like today, making money is almost like getting away with something. This is my second pizza delivery that I've taken on foot. If you walk the delivery instead of riding the bicycle, it takes longer. That is a very good thing. More time outside. The foot delivery also helps if you like to look at a whole mess of ants doing ant-work. I did just that at 7:21, on the same block as the delivery. When it's nice outside, and you're watching a mess of ants, everything feels right like it should.

Headline: possible catatonic drinking scenario takes a swift turn for the best.

I went back to Newtons. The bar that exists where there used to be a "Newberry's" department store where, as a tiny little man, I looked at shitty toys and bought lighters for 50 cents. Now it's a swanky bar and restaurant, and as I said I went there again. It didn't take long for Hailey (dreadlocks, 26) a sincere and friendly traveler, to convince me that she is pretty cool. "Hard day?" she asked as I rubbed my head like it might have been just that. "Nope - easy as shit - every day is easy as hell." is something like what I said. Conversation followed. She introduced me to Tim the suited lawyer, and it didn't take long for me to be convinced of his genuine sincerity, and awesome views and ideas. I also met Matt, the guy who graduated high school in my sister's class, and was in a band that I liked a lot. I thought that meeting an actual plurality of people in Kennett Square who could hold a non-superficial conversation was unlikely. When I got to the bar, I expected to say "Lager" five times, and be done with it. But no. Talking and hanging out occurred instead. Hope is restored for future enjoyable social interactions everywhere. If it can happen in Kennett Square, then I don't have to move into a cave or under a pile of leaves.

However, this question remains: Is this type of scenario only possible at a bar? These people are also great outside of the bar setting, as I learned when we walked and sat and chilled and talked. But - how would I have met any of them if I hadn't decided to go into a bar? I know it's possible, but far less probable, especially at night in Kennett when I'm half desperate to do anything at all. Do I need to go to a bar to find people who don't hush up and avert their eyes? Should I be trying harder to dissolve pathetic social barriers? Should I get a big nasty tattoo that looks like a beard of black wispy flames? That was three questions, and I think the answer to at least two or three of them is yes.

Turn lane toward Wawa

I'm about to turn into the parking lot of the Wawa at Route 1 and Bayard Road. I have a mug, and I'm going to get a $1.15 refill of push-button cappuccino mocha express. First I'm going to get some van gas. After that I'm hanging out in West Chester, where I'll sleep in the same street parking spot I've used a whole lot.

I don't think anyone is living in vans around West Chester, and I don't think anyone notices or cares if I do. It's under the radar. My van kinda blends in, and I don't even really try to hide or find a great spot. I just stay wherever - same places several times, whatever. I threw the stealth van parking handbook out the window. If anyone notices me and has an anti-vehicle-sleep problem, I'll discuss it with them then. For now it doesn't look like anyone will notice or give a shit. Nights have been chilly, and I've been snuggling up in a sleeping bag. That's sleeping at it's best.

Also, let me tell you about these wool socks I have: they're the best. I've used them to keep my feet toasty in situations that call for this - but until recently I hadn't realized that they're good in reasonably warm weather too. And you can wear them for a week, and they're still comfortable and dry and don't stink. If I wear my cotton socks for one day now, they feel damp and useless. And cotton gets cold when wet - wool keeps being warm. I'm switching to all wool socks. They're expensive, but I think I'll only need about 3 pair. I've already got two pair with the third on the way.

Kennett. Laptop. Newspaper.

I'm sitting at the laptop that lives in the kitchen of my parents'es house in Kennett Square Pennsylvania. I'm trying to find out how many bicycle the Paris bicycle sharing program has. I'm doing that because I just read an article in the Daily Local about the effort to start a similar bicycle sharing program in Philadelphia. My folks kept the article for me.

I just ate chili with soup crackers, and explained to my parents how badass I am. I rode a 63mi cancer-benefit ride with Nat earlier, and I'm all pumped up and feeling great about it. I was worried that I'd fallen way out of shape, and I'm glad to know that that is not the case. I'm fine, and I'm decent on climbs sometimes. For this ride, I finished my KHS Professional 531 tubes & fork blades racing bicycle. It's a racing bicycle for sure, but a far cry from what 99% of the other riders were using. I was baggy shorts and a soccer jersey with wide 32c tires and convenient friction shifters. They were all expenso-carbon cycle spandexy clacking around with cleats and slim-tire-bumping trying to frustrate a derailer into position. In many ways, this is a rude and unfair characterization. Life continues. My bicycle is King of Bicycles.

Fking around in Kennett forever.

I just dipped a chip in some Athenos roasted red pepper hummus. I'm in Kennett at my folks'. They got me some really good hummus. I've been sitting around here doing nothing and feeling very slightly sick. Sick if you're a wuss, but perhaps "on the verge" of real sickness.

I'm not working on my huge stack of bicycles that I've stacked outside in front of the garage. Not a bit. I'm thinking about putting together for myself something that I actually want to ride: how about a really nice Trek 800? KHS Professional 531 racing cycle? These are works in progress, floating around half-assed and waiting for parts to materialize from thin air.

I got a Trek 800 21" frame in Burlington last June. 8 bux. I recently made a purchase of an old Raleigh "Mountain Tour" - from a response to my ad placed in the Wilmington News Journal. The Mountain Tour has SunTour friction thumb shifters, and some real simple DiaCompe cantilever brakes that I like. I could strip that stuff off and earmark it for me. I should. But the Northroad handlebars that I'm using have been drilled out to accept bar end shifters. Incredibly unique and badass. So I should get some bar end shifters. Instead, I just ordered some Silver Down Tube shifters from Rivendell last night. That's an aside - they won't work. But Rivendell has bar end 'pods' that fit them. Maybe I'll get them in the future when I'm rich again. Then I can have nice friction shifters for all my rides.

I'm also working on a really tall 63cm KHS Professional (w/ 57cm TT). This will be my road bike. It struggles to fit 700x32c Pasela tires. It's made to be race-y, and has very simple but thinned lugs (good craftsmanship). It also has forged SunTour dropouts, and full 531 tubing for the frame and fork. It's nice. I put a nice quality Campagnolo-hubbed wheelset on there. I bought that from another response to my ad. 8spd cassette included. Throw your hands in the air for friction shifting. Throw'em!

But I'm out of shape and I don't ride my bicycle much. Haven't ridden an inch since returning from Key West, except for the Peace a Pizza delivery bicycle. I don't have a bicycle I'm in love with, and I find any excuse to be a slob. Gotta work on that. Especially since I'm a nerd, and pre-7:21 today I spent a very considerable amount of time geeking around on the internet looking at the Furnace Creek 508 website, some "Rough Riders" website, and one I haven't seen before: The 3 Speed Adventure Society. Wow. 3 Speed Adventure Society... someone has been sneaking into my room and reading my diary!

Also: I didn't sleep in my van last night. I slept inside in a bed. That breaks the Dec 1 to Apr 25 streak of enjoying my sleep in a vehicle. Streak broken.

Let me continue to talk about how I spent $41 at bars in Kennett getting really drunk on Hop Devil. Completely ridiculous. Some lady was trying to prod me to 'smile' and seem real happy. I was reasonably happy, but my catatonic expression did not spell this out clearly enough. I told her I was being 'fucking introspective and shit.' I was sitting alone - obviously - right in the middle of the bar. She was flirting with some golf pro fuck across another lady. Maybe he wasn't a fuck - to be fair, he just looked like it. Well the joke is on her, 'cause I ended up smoking weed in my van with a girl from Scranton who knows Mike Quinn. Mikey. Life is not to be taken very seriously.

Two days after that, I saw Matt Emerson. Speaking in terms of physical appearance, the Army has turned him into an imposing figure. Always good to see childhood neighbor friends. Kennett is a fucking trip, g. I talked briefly with those who I have not seen in some time, then spent a lot more time drinking up a good tab alone. I think the combination of meat, beer, and weed has hurt my typically fantastic immune system. I blame meat the most. I think I was a lot healthier when I didn't eat meat. But that might have more to do with riding a bicycle.

Well I'm no scientist, that's not what I went to school for
And I'm not a doctor, so I don't know much about medicine - EL-P

$1,184.60 / drugs / stolen shit

I'm sitting at my desk in the upstairs back room at my parents house (my room for now). It isn't a desk. It's a card table with a ton of bullshit all over it. I've seen 7:21 creeping up for at least 45 minutes. I'm working on moving the whole project over to a blogger blog, so I can post from anywhere with the internet. I'm moving over all of the past entries, and I've even gone back to move some of the original entries that I made before quitting for a long period of time. I'll be happy to have everything in the same place in the same format.

Let me tell you what's on this card table. A folder on information about truck driving school. My computer tower and all that shit. A pint glass that I stole from the Half Moon saloon last night right in front of my parents, and I don't think they noticed. We joked about it, and I did say I was going to steal it. They'll think that's funny at Christmas when I give it to Cathy as a gift. She likes pint glasses, and gets them from all over. Also on this table is a mug that I swiped from the Waffle House when Shelly and I went to Scranton awhile ago. I have the DVD "the Game" that I'm borrowing from Jennie. There's the empty box that my awesome-ass 80gig iPod came in. There's two empty glasses that had water. There's a caffeine free diet coke can that I mixed with booze plenty of days or weeks ago. There's 5 regular empty coke cans on the windowsill to my right. I have a coffee can that I'm stashing my illicit drugs in. It's a pretty lousy hiding place. By drugs, I just mean weed. About 1/388th of a gram at this point. Don't arrest me. There's also loose change and 30 Canadian bucks in the coffee can. There's a deposit receipt from my credit union for a $1,184.60 check that is a refund for part of an insurance policy that I got when I started the official "Chris Harne's Bicycle Business" to get a wholesale parts account. Apparently they sent a check a long time ago that I never cashed. So they sent a new one very recently. I don't know how I let that sum of money slip by - like 10% of my average annual income. I'll chalk it up to being awesome. I have fingernail clippers that I owe to Nat from a long time ago, and haven't remembered to return, which makes me a dick since he brought it up at least a few times. There's other shit too, but you get the idea.