My goodness, you look beautiful today...
OUR BLOG
My coworker stopped by unannounced this morning.
This past week was the busiest of the year here at the office, with our the end of the quarter approaching and a major annual event just having taken place. The office was abuzz with preparations, littered with items from the event, boxes of manilla folders, and other speckles of miscellany. Hours have been unusual all week, with all the preparations being made at off-hours and outside consultants coming in and out of the place. For me, this resulted in extended hours away from my temporary home, dedicating a little extra time here and there at the public library or local park.
Needless to say, I was tired.
So I decided to reward my hard work and careful evasion by sleeping in on Sunday morning. Everything had been quiet on the day before, so I figured this was my lucky weekend.
I ended up sleeping until 10:30. A solid 9+ hours of uninterrupted slumber, thanks to a pair of earplugs and tremendous need. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.
When I awoke, I grabbed my morning juice, stowed my sleeping bag, and arranged the sofa cushions of my bed into their original loveseat resting spot. The plan was to ease myself into the day.
After all, what could go wrong?
About ten minutes into said day-easing, I had my answer. It came in the form of a strange female voice echoing from beyond the front door. Not strange in the way she sounded, but strange in the way the voice traveled. Normally when I hear a voice on the weekend, its sound is traveling in an east-west direction along the sidewalk. But this voice seemed to be directed in a southerly direction. Towards the office door. I didn’t recognize the voice at all–it was younger, perhaps that of an elementary student, and casual. It could have been any child, but it struck me as unusual.
I looked up from behind my desk to see if I could spot anyone beyond the office door.
Nothing.
Despite that, I had the sudden, overwhelming urge to run. To conceal myself in some place other than behind my desk, just in case this voice was in fact approaching my door. I was still groggy and a bit disheveled, dressed in Adidas pants and a mismatched old cashmere sweater, but my practice uniform look didn’t prevent me from taking game-time action; I immediately grabbed my chair cushion pillow and vaulted it over my cubicle wall to its proper place on my colleagues seat, leaving behind the pair of yellow earplugs as collateral damage. I grabbed my phone, shoved my shoes haphazardly under the desk, and turned to flee into the back foyer. That’s when I glanced at the front door and saw her.
It was Carla, our PR rep.
I was horrified. Carla must have been stopping in to drop off remaining files from this past week’s meeting, and the voice must have been that of her 10-year-old daughter. Carla was the worst person, aside from the building’s landlord, who could stop in unexpectedly because she was apt to ask the blunt question. What the hell was I doing here on a Sunday morning, looking like I just got out of bed? It would be a valid question, one for which my bleary-eyed ass currently had no answer.
In that moment when I saw Carla, I was both relieved that I had spotted her and panicked that I had no legitimate place to run. As she turned from the door to greet her daughter, putting her head down to fumble with a box, I paused momentarily and surveyed my situation. Hunched over the exposed corner of my desk, I noticed my cold, partially full juice jug standing in the middle of the floor. So I bent over to grab it, spun around, and sprinted to the back foyer. Successfully out of sight, I’d bought myself another few seconds to make a decision. Do I head to the back storage closet, curling up amongst the dusty supplies in the darkness? I started to make my way to the very back. But wait, if I did, what if Carla decided to go back there? What if the stuff she was carrying in had to be stored where I was hiding? The idea was too dicey. I turned around.
Then it hit me.
The bathroom. I’d run into the bathroom.
Let’s pause for a moment and remember that I am a 30 year-old man, gainfully employed and respected in the field, with an advanced degree from an internationally revered institution of higher learning. And here I am, playing hide-and-go-seek with a woman nearing 50 so as to keep secret the fact that I have been spending the night sleeping under the desk next to hers. It is, undoubtedly, the most absurd of scenes. And some people, legitimately or not, would consider this an indication that my life has plunged to a precipitous low. I, however, disagree. Because the way I see it, rare moments like these are what constitute my “rent”. What I pay in minor routine inconvenience and irregular moments of white-collar suspense, countless others pay monthly with large sums of money earned through scores of hours of labor. And while neither is a particularly luxurious way to exist, I can’t say for a fact that my situation is definitively worse than the other.
Concealing myself on the toilet in our office bathroom, I acknowledged that this was exactly the situation I asked for. So I waited, hoping that the loud lavatory fan (which comes on automatically when one flips the light switch) wouldn’t alarm Carla or her daughter into investigating the unisex restroom, even just to come and turn it off to save energy.
But that never happened.
I spent about twenty minutes on the toilet, long enough to actually make use of the thing, and to come up with an excuse for my presence if, when I finally walked out, the two were still in the office. Once I did emerge, though, they were gone. All seven boxes of stuff were piled neatly near the front door. Neither Carla nor her daughter had bothered to travel in as far as my desk. I probably could have remained undetected if I’d stayed behind my desk.
I’m writing this an hour after the fact, lounging back in my desk chair, reflecting on the absurdity of it all, wondering whether or not I have learned anything at all from this morning.
Of course I have. This morning was a mine of beauty and awareness, a time for self-reflection and humility. I can only hope I’ll store away its lessons for the long haul.
Anyway, after all that stress, I think it’s time for a nap…
I’ve been making a lot of improvements to the office since I moved in.
It started innocuously enough, with me organizing a storage closet to accommodate my stuff. People lauded me for my “proactive” approach to “organization”. Which, in a way, was right. Solutions undertaken for my own convenience benefited the company. Besides, everyone loves a go-getter!
Then I took notice of the transitional area across from the microwave, where I believed lay a perfect spot for my air mattress (although I’m thinking of converting to couch cushions soon…). What is perfect about this spot is that it reduces the likelihood that I’ll be caught sleeping there, even if someone barges in unannounced. There is a double-wide pylon often lined with reams of paper and other miscellany blocking the entrance to the door. Anyway, I cleaned that up real good, too.
My other self-inspired toolkit projects have included: fixing some loose table legs, hanging some artwork by the toilet, replacing a frustrating old, broken towel rack, etcetera. All during work hours, of course.
I’ve become a bit of a cult-status handyman around the office, fielding requests for minor tasks thanks to my little Bob Villa outreach program. Jokes aside, being in the office all the time does mean I’m more invested in what’s going on around here. And my colleagues couldn’t be more delighted.
I guess you could say it’s my way of “giving back”.
– TOH
“Good morning! How are you?” Carla walked in, the door slamming behind her, catching my keys awkwardly between the door and the frame as they dangled in the inside lock. “Oops! Do you want these?”
“Please, thank you! And how are you doing on this fine morning?”
I was in a chipper mood this morning, having just liberated myself from the final $900 of my car loan. All in one fell swoop, thanks to the luxury of rent-free living. I was a free man and I was sharing my happiness with the world.
“Oh, I’m wonderful, thank you,” she said, emphasizing the ‘thank you’ with a bow as the she passed in front of me, turning the corner to her desk. The sun shone brightly in through the upper reaches of the window, courtesy of the upwards-rolling shade. Since moving in again, I had repositioned the shade higher so as to maintain optimum off-hours privacy.
“Are you so excited about San Francisco this weekend?”
That was about as personal as we got at the office, paraphrasing our vacation plans and sharing excitement about little details in my life. Being a slightly more open person, I’d have preferred to exalt freely about my excitement for sleeping in a bed, but I held my tongue. One of the most challenging consequences of living in the office was keeping myself so distant from my coworkers. They were good people.
My Mission District weekend was upon us and I was thrilled. I was considering it a destination celebration weekend with friends, convincing a few folks to converge on the Golden Gate City to commemorate my 30th birthday. James would make the trip for the weekend and we’d alternate nights staying with Mitchell in Oakland and keeping a dual-bunk hostel room downtown. Escaping to my favorite urban paradise seemed like a fine way to spend the milestone day of aging. While relatively cheap for a vacation, it was my idea of splurging.
And frankly, there was an admitted motivation to escaping the office on what was supposed to be an important occasion for me. I didn’t care too much for assigning significance to age. The constant reminders I’d be getting from others, though, would make it hard to escape the reality that my life’s ambitions hadn’t led me to a more financially lucrative position. As independent as you become in your beliefs, the reminder that most people around you think differently is tough to ignore. Questioning those around you inherently leads to questioning yourself. No matter how staunchly you believe in what you’re doing.
The freedom that accompanied paying off my final sum of car loan, however, had me riding high. I’d started work early, making notes in my yellow Office Hobo legal pad before cracking through a series of work emails. As I was answering the last of them, my phone vibrated with a message.
It was face down. When I flipped it over and saw the name on the screen, my stomach dropped.
It was Shani.
I hadn’t spoken with her in months. My thoughts spiraled into a frenzy of counterclockwise questioning, retracing memories to a time when this arrangement of letters on my screen was considered routine. The power of the image transcends time; the lure of association its guilty accomplice. Seeing Shani’s name flanked by that green-boxed thought bubble on that shaded black bar background in the middle of my phone’s screen, even after all this time, that symbolized something profound, desirous. For one year that image accompanied me through my daily routine. This Pavlovian suggestion represented more than love, it represented the attention of someone you loved. When that person disappears, all that is left is a blank screen. This is when you realize the power of that image.
I opened the message.
“Hello. How are you?”
I read it over and over, searching for some clues of intention, examining what she was saying, the way she was saying it. The things she was not saying. Much was to be inferred by these four words and the punctuation therein. “Hello.” Not “hi” or “hey” or nothing at all. Hello. Period. A neutral greeting. But a greeting. And within the significance of the gesture to extend that greeting. There is effort here.
Part of the reason Shani and I got along (and much of the reason we didn’t) was because of our propensity for analysis. Few conversations existed free of evaluating some manner of speech or non-verbal suggestion. When shared enthusiastically this is a huge opportunity for bond. Analysis of details feels a lot like loving attention to those familiar with it, a lot like intimacy. But when turned on its head, open analysis leads to criticism and anxiety. If not treated carefully, the results can be toxic.
The memories, at the moment, at any moment, were too cruel for sitting still. I placed my phone in my pocket and headed towards the door.
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
– TOH
On January 28, I moved back into my office. It’s been going very well.
Mostly, anyway.
I am currently writing this post in the company of our bi-weekly office cleaning crew, a family of Mexican immigrants who has proven to show up at unpredictable times in the past. This evening was no different. Having been lounging behind my desk, updating my increasingly popular Facebook page (“Like” me today!) in the dark, I was fortunate enough to hear the first of my visitors fumbling the key in the door. Managing an acrobatic spring to action, I was able to place my open laptop on the desk and swivel into my chair in enough time for the door to open. “How are you doing?” I offered, cheerfully.
The small crew, led by Carla, is kind enough and asks no questions. But now that they’ve caught me here at an odd time, I know I can’t let them find me here again.
There is more weight to my tenure at the office this time. I have no apartment, having vacated last month and moved all of the belongings I chose not to sell into a nearby Public Storage unit. My address is a PO Box. At the moment, I have no plans to find a new place.
![IMG_1901[1]](http://the47thday.files.wordpress.com/2013/02/img_19011.jpg)
And at the moment, I’m not interested in finding one. Every spare moment is being spent on the Hobo project, catching up on writing past experiences and delving deeper into the revision process. And the social media thing. These are things I’ve never done. What better context to do it than the very environment where the project was born. It’s the domestic version of immersion. It’s method-acting for the writer. And it’s super cheap.
Today I printed out over 300 double-spaced, Courier New, 12-point font pages of yet-unpublishable Office Hobo writing. It is the first draft of a book, but it’s a book whose narrative is… in progress. Nonetheless, it’s making for some productive nights and weekends!
Meanwhile, I plan to be reformatting this web diary a little to serve that end. I still plan on updating the page regularly with what’s happening in the office, just with a little less depth of detail for the every day goings on in my life. Diaries of that nature are a project in and of themselves.
Anyway, thank you for stopping by and checking out the site. And come back again soon!
– TOH
At the beginning of this experiment, I wrote that one of my (painfully obvious) primary objectives was to embrace a lifestyle choosing personal freedom over material possessions. By completing the first phase of the experiment, I reached at least superficial achievement of that goal.
There were specific details I outlined in order to get there. I cited having recently overworked myself in undesirable conditions, compromising available time and energy I’d have preferred to spend with my art or with loved ones or on the road. I talked about the subconscious urge to conform, spending above my means to portray and attract the beauty displayed regularly on advertisements everywhere. I detailed my orbit around an all-encompassing gravity of an image with which, deep down, I wasn’t even interested in identifying. And because of all of this, I’d let slip away the high level of personal freedom that had kept me happy for most of my life.
Personal freedom. A concept that, in my definition, is an individual’s ability to assert his own free will in every area of his life. It is the capability, in any given moment, to act on behalf of desires designed to fulfill his conscious priorities and goals. (Provided, I might add, that those ends aren’t met at the expense of the rights of others.) Regardless of what those ends might be, to the individual they are valid and the effort put forth in reaching them is justified. Even when those ends aren’t common. Perhaps especially when they aren’t common.
When someone is bound by outside obligations, his personal freedom is compromised. These can be actual, as in the case of legal or contractual agreements… A legislature’s regulation denying an immigrant status as a legal immigrant. A supervisor’s decision ignoring an employee’s request for time off. A husband’s disapproval preventing a wife from pursuing a hobby. Or they can be perceived, such as the unwritten norms of social acceptability… A teenager committing suicide after being bullied about her weight. An honest working man’s girlfriend leaving him for a wealthy doctor. An athlete injecting illegal steroids to get an edge on an opponent.
Not all of these are permanent obstacles.
For this experiment, I declared impermanent an obligation many seem to take for granted as necessary–housing. Housing is secure. It is comfortable and it is stable. But it is also very expensive. Yet despite its expense, it is largely agreed upon that living without it is impossible. That those who do are somehow of ill fortune or worse, ill repute. We associate the homeless with those addicted to drugs, with the uneducated and criminal. We associate the homeless with the sidewalk peddlers and the mentally ill. Almost never does one hear the word “choice” used to describe the situation of a homeless person. And if one does, we are made to assume immediately that there is some element of the story that will confirm our suspicion that the person has somehow lost his mind.
But at some point, I started to feel differently. I started to question the massive financial obligation that I had hanging over me. I began to wonder why, when I felt so comfortable sleeping in my car on road trips or camping in the open air in the wilderness, why I would devote so much time and energy to ensure I had a roof available to me during the little time I had left to enjoy it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to live in a proper home. I just didn’t want to have to.
So, for some time, I didn’t.
In viewing rental housing as a luxury rather than a necessity, I freed myself from an obligation to need it. I freed myself from an obligation to pour so much of my monthly paycheck into something that frustrated me so much, it proved to act as an obstacle to my priorities rather than keep me secure from them. Whether or not you might agree with it, selective homelessness became the best way I could imagine for expressing one’s material independence. Aside from leaving society and running off into the Alaska wilderness, aside from quitting your job and fleeing to a rural commune, there are very few options for the active citizen who wishes to maintain an otherwise middle-class social existence. Particularly in the shadow of student, medical, and vehicle loans. So the selective homelessness option became my option. The option of finding a safe, reliable alternative for my sleeping and storage needs as a viable way to achieve my goal of personal freedom.
Indeed, part of achieving my goal of achieving personal freedom was in unearthing a more complete way of defining it. Living so simply over the course of six weeks afforded me a renewed perspective on life and how one could choose to engage its challenges. In the months following the experiment, I’ve turned that perspective inward, discovering a path to becoming a person less focused on self-image and more attentive to areas of my life that enriched my happiness regardless of my circumstances. Two in particular have stood out at me:
First of all, my well-being. It wouldn’t take long to figure out that, at the inception of this web diary, the main focus in my life was the struggling state of my finances. This dominated my outlook on life, and led me to a baseline of negative thought that I found hard to avoid. This has not always been the case for me. Only recently, since my investment in moving to Los Angeles, have I become preoccupied with personal budget. When I moved west, I gave up my bicycle for a truck, enduring stability for growing uncertainty, and loving friends for a lifelong dream. It was a difficult adjustment. This experiment shook up my routine and worked to simplify my life to the point where I often found myself with little to do but acknowledge the changes that got me to where I am today. Physically and emotionally.
In discovering the gaps in my life, I have been able to work to find ways to improve them. I have started to exercise on most mornings, reviving a kinetic element present in my life since I could kick a nerf ball around the living room, but one that has been missing since leaving the bike culture in Chicago. As I highlighted in a variety of diary entries throughout the experiment, I came to recognize the complicated nature of my emotional attachment to Shani, my most recent girlfriend. In acknowledging my struggles in processing the loss of her presence from my life, even after so many months since our breakup, I have allowed myself more space to exist within it. To allow myself to engage and accept her absence. And since then I have enjoyed more peace with the reality of our parting. Through all of this, I’ve gained a greater mastery of the art of letting go. Letting go of love lost, letting go of perceived needs unmet, and letting go of goals, desires, and routines that have become obsolete. I have let go of a slew of nagging negative thoughts twittering about my head, trying to convince me that I’m not measuring up. And thanks to all of this letting to, I’ve grown myself this killer beard. It’s a real bushy one, I tell ya. (I’d attach a photo here, but this isn’t that kind of post. Maybe later…)
In addition to my mental and physical health, I’ve regained a more intimate focus on my art. I have dedicated an immeasurable amount of time to writing, generating enough material for a novel’s rough draft, something I’ve never been disciplined enough to achieve. And I couldn’t be more thrilled. I have practiced my guitar to the point of recording my first original song (a ballad) and performed live–in the most humble of settings, a doctor’s waiting room–for the first time in my life. And I have accepted a lead role in an independent film, thanks to a well-researched and practiced audition. And all of this, I believe, is a direct result of the revitalized notion of priority. The ability, once again, finally, to devote time to that which I truly want to do, not that which I believe I should.
And there was one final goal I set out to achieve for myself. One that might have seemed silly to the casual observer, but one that I am extremely proud of making happen for myself.
That was the goal of following through on my word.
Back in August, I made a promise to myself to complete a task I’d had my heart set on for months. I told myself I would go through with something in which I believed strongly and for which I’d accept no help. I made a vow not only to go through with the experiment, but to document it as well with as much effort and detail as I could give. This was probably more challenging than the experiment itself–the creation, publication, and delivery of each day I experienced. Despite the support of many of my friends and family, occasionally I’d receive criticism from a reader who condemned my premise or a friend who thought I was wasting my time. And while their criticism might be valid in the end, the highest value I can take from reaching this point in the experiment is in the fact that I honored my commitment to a difficult promise. Even if it was just to myself. It is this lesson of accomplishment that I hold dearest.
Those who matter in your life will remain in it regardless of the circumstances. Your parents will love you despite your ridiculous choices. Your friends will encourage you despite their struggles to understand your perspective. Potential lovers will embrace you for the allure of your character rather than the state of your wealth. For those who sincerely love you, this will be true. Whether you are moving into your office or converting religions, adopting your fifteenth cat or tattooing your entire body. And the people who you welcome into your life for the first time, they will have been attracted to you for the very reasons that got you there in the first place.
So there it is. My full blessing to go out and do something you think is awesome.
You won’t regret it.
– TOH
At the beginning of this experiment, one of my primary goals was to avoid credit card debt. My financial situation had deteriorated in the weeks leading up to moving into the office, aggravated by an indefinite delay in receiving my income taxes due to identity theft, an organization-wide freeze of raises and bonuses at my work, and the arrival of a hefty insurance bill for an ankle surgery I’d had months earlier. Within a matter of weeks, I’d experienced a $5,000 swing for the worse in my finances.
My refusal to go into credit card debt has been a lifelong goal. I don’t believe in skating by on someone else’s dime, particularly someone whose fine print is riddled with swindles and exclusions. I’ve never been late on a credit payment, and my only debts to date have been “good debts”, for graduate school and my car loan. I wanted to maintain my streak.
Let’s take a look at how I did, using my initial tactical objectives as a guide:
1. Deposit every cent of my subletter’s rent into the bank. Promptly ignore it is there.
Achieved! Although I had a bit of an issue finding a way to deposit Jürgen ‘s cash into my account directly, I did for the duration of my office stay manage to dedicate all $1,000+ to my savings account. Most importantly, I avoided spending any of it erroneously on wine, women, or watches. That was an easy one.
2. Spend less than $20 on average, per day on meals. Start a spreadsheet to track daily meals and their net cost.
Achieved! As stated in my mid-month Finances Status Report, when I reported lowering my daily meal expenses to $17.59 per day, I had no problem reaching my initial objective of $20 a day. Through careful cataloging of meals, using Microsoft Excel to chart daily meal details and the costs associated with them, I found it easy to track my progress. In fact, having a running tally of meal costs appealed to my more obsessive side. I found myself updating the document on a daily basis–sometimes even more often–which motivated me to find creative ways to ensure my meal expenses were kept to a minimum. I negotiated free weekly lunches through work, courtesy of a loophole regarding how my organization rewards unpaid interns. I’d attend events with free food, sticking around afterwards on a few occasions to help “clean up”. I watched portions closely and purchased at sale price whenever possible.
But I did all of this while maintaining as healthy a diet as possible. It is not my prerogative to eat Ramen noodles for every meal, nor am I interested in greasy fast food options. Here is a look at how I fared over the 41 days of meal-tracking:
Evidence of my OCD-ness.
Click on image to enlarge.
Ultimately, I had averaged $16.48 per day on food, exceeding my initial objective by $4.52 per day, or $185 total. The tactic of creating an interactive spreadsheet to track my costs was the defining element in not only reaching my objective, but doing so in a way that cut to the core of a philosophy of frugal planning and informed consumer behavior.
3. Emerge from the experiment with no medical bills, no car payments, and a greatly increased cache of savings to ensure my future lifestyle is a more sustainable one.
Partially achieved!
My medical bills are being worked on and my car payment sum has been significantly dented. At the end of December, I put in my 30 days’ notice at my apartment. In doing so, I ensured that I would no longer pay $1,200/month in rental costs. And I promised myself not to pay a cent above $900 per month for a new place. At the moment, I have returned to interpreting that in the most extreme way, moving back into my office for a wallet-pleasing $0/month.
4. Learn to redefine my notion of comfort by living unconventionally.
Without a doubt, the abstract goal of redefining my notion of comfort was easily clinched.
I’ll cover this more in a future post, but one pares down life’s necessities with ease when he spends six weeks in a situation dictated by the whims and routines of others. Once particular about the routine of my morning, the organization of my bath towels, or the schedule of my showers, I now find myself guided more by the joy an activity gives than by the obligation I feel to complete it. Since moving back to my apartment, I have found myself unclean but without a care after a day of excitement. My fridge has been kept barren in favor of pastimes more intriguing than grocery shopping, and the amount of stuff I own has been slashed precipitously in exchange for more space and increased mobility. This will help me…
5. Emerge from homeless living in a financial position to institute a plan to be car-loan-free by September of 2013.
Obliterated!
At a rate of $200 per month, the new year rolled over to see me on pace to pay off my car by October. But frankly, that wasn’t good enough.
So instead of finding a new apartment this month, I moved back into my office. And in place of paying rent, I dedicated $1,000 to my car payment. As it stands, I owe only $900 on my truck before it’s paid off. That’s five months worth of payments in a single deposit. A major victory.
But my goal is even more ambitious. Since my payments are generally mid-month, I already have $200 set aside to lower that total yet again. By Valentine’s Day, I’ll be down to $700. By March I expect to have it paid off. Seven months sooner than my original goal.
So far, so good.
– TOH
1. Rise from office floor at 7:15a.m.
2. Look groggily about the place. Decide you have time for a shower.
3. Remember it is last day of trial gym membership.
4. Appreciate yourself for small victory.
5. Drive to 24 Hour Fitness, locate free parking.
6. Note especially crisp morning air, its sharp contrast to yesterday’s swelter.
7. Work out.
8. Revel in liberty of free, accessible hot shower; soon you won’t appreciate it so much anymore.
9. Dry off. Always do this after a shower; walking around the office dripping wet only draws attention to oneself. Have some respect for yourself, this is America.
10. Recite Pledge of Allegiance under your breath while opening locker.
11. Ignore the guy next to you. He’s Persian and may not harbor the same feelings for this great country as your patriotic self.
12. Leave gym.
13. Check your work schedule for the day as you leave.
14. Be reminded that you have scheduled yourself for a mechanic appointment today; you do not have to go in to the office.
15. Display bemused grin.
16. Remember mechanic is in Long Beach.
17. Remember that is where Shani lives.
18. Remember that you have loved.
19. Forget that the fundamental principal of love, as you have known it, is the unconditional cooperation of trusting, vulnerable souls, of shared passion and ecstatic discovery, of compounded certainty in faith of one another to support the individual as well as the whole despite consequence and reticence and, most of all, fear.
20. Question whether or not you have really loved.
21. Arrive at the mechanic’s shop. (You have been driving.)
22. Exchange pleasantries, key with mechanic.
23. Linger here. Mechanic is kind. We all need to share kindness.
24. Walk to nearby coffee shop to fulfill light work duties, such as email correspondence.
25. Field unexpected call from Rob.
26. Listen to Rob complain about neighbor who dented his luxury sport utility vehicle.
27. Explain to Rob that you understand and sympathize with his pain, but are not responsible for the damage to his vehicle.
28. Acknowledge pause in conversation.
29. Wonder if there has been a misunderstanding.
30. Nope, it’s cool, Rob just dropped the phone. But he will be out of the apartment by tomorrow morning. Or evening. Or…
31. Ask Rob to just give you notice as soon as he can.
32. Hear him agree.
33. Hang up the phone.
34. Mutter, “Fucking Rob,” under your breath.
35. Notice that balding man with turtleneck and circular eyeglasses is looking at you.
36. Smile politely in apology.
37. The rest of the day will go a little something like this.
(… to be continued.)
– TOH
It was a hot Sunday, the temperatures meddling in the high 80s with a callous easterly breeze.
I had started to take note of the weather again more in the past few days, preparing myself for a move back into an apartment without climate control. Office-dwelling is a unique brand of homelessness that brings with it the comfort of a thermostat, something seen as more of an extravagance in the low-end rental market of Los Angeles. In summers past, I had spent many a day opening all five windows in my flat, anticipating the rush of the calming crosswind. Sleeping under behind desk required no such faith. Just a click of the digital controls.
Today’s reminder of impending move-in came courtesy of a voicemail from Rob, assuring me that he’d be out in two days’ time. Appropriate, I thought, that Rob should endeavor to surrender my apartment to me on a Tuesday. One of the smattering of little known facts I picked up from my college education was that of the naming of certain calendar days for figures in Norse mythology. Tuesday, as it is in English, derives from the Norse deity Tyr, the god of war and victory. I wondered if my first day back as a common domestic resident would feel so victorious.
Looking around my office–a place I had on multiple occasions unwittingly but literally called “home”–the idea of moving again seemed like no small task. Duffel bags of clothes ergonomically crammed beneath my desk. Various items spread out inconspicuously about the office–my suits hanging deep in a storage room, a large suitcase containing shoes and belts tucked under a supply drawer, a tower of boxes hidden in the corner of the small, largely unused closet. A delicate balance of utility and subtlety. And after forty days of it all, I felt a sense of pride in making it all work. Never was I seriously questioned about my place there, and I trusted that was due in great part to securing that balance.
But despite the sentimental kinship I felt with the set-up, I was very much looking forward to the move. My back now harbored a familiar ache from the daily discomfort of sleeping on temporary bedding. My eyes seemed to take on the hazy redness of a marijuana smoker more and more with each passing day. The stress of constantly posturing to conceal my lodging there had taken its toll. I was no longer the peppy socialite I had been a month earlier. Once the party whip, I had slipped down the pecking order to a measly attaché.
As that thought crossed my mind, I felt a nagging urge to take a nap. Remembering being walked in on a few weeks earlier, and honestly far too lazy to manage the three-step setup, I opted not to set up my air mattress and instead retrieved a couple of oversized cushions from our two armchairs and arranged them side-by-side on the floor. Then I did something I hadn’t done since I moved into the office. I reached for the thermostat and clicked the air conditioning off. By the time my nap was over, I’d be just uncomfortable enough to wake up and move to make a change.
Which is exactly what I was looking forward to.
– TOH
I wrote a poem about Rob. It goes a little something like this:
plumber at my door
wants to get into apartment
needs the key
the key to the apartment
you know
to get into the apartment
just like we discussed
yesterday
just like I discussed with Rob
Rob, respect-er of repairmen
Rob, cooperate-er of contracts
Rob, agree-er of availability
availability of the (now) only key to the apartment
the (now) only key to a working toilet
the (now) only key to my sanity
Rob
fucking Rob
answer your phone, Rob
make good on your word, Rob
not even for me
don’t do it for me
no, do it for the plumber
for the punctual Plunger Proletariat
witness this water closet wonder at work
delight in his defecation disappearing act
claim concierge to this Copperfield of the Coriolis Effect
motherfucking Rob
you are the stubborn turd clogging my drainpipe
you are the foul, discarded waste
soon to be flushed with counter-clockwise velocity
forever into septic oblivion
– TOH
Woke up in car on side of road, next to stream. Nice morning. Clean air. Stretched. Listened to water trickle. Watched sun rise on mountainside. Gathered belongings and rode into town. Bought breakfast at local cafe. Sat. Ate. Breathed. Observed. Love has no pace.
Drove home. To office. Subletter called, said night went well. Place was okay. Lifted my spirits. Highway driving: meditative. City driving: jolting. We choose this.
No shower today. Too casual. Deliberate. Reading instead. Nap. Holding on to peace of mountain town. Sweet peace.
– TOH