The title does not say, ‘I woke up this morning, in my van.’ But when I read the sentence the first time my eyes saw “woke up this morning” as it were, filling in the blank space as if that is what it was saying.

“I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who I am. The reality of my existence is that my identity, if I ever had one, has dissolved. Goals. Do I have any? I can’t even conceive of the possibility. A purpose? To survive until tomorrow. I open the van’s side doors. It’s warm. I’m in a dirt turnout at the edge of a farmer’s field. Corn. Oh yeah, I’m in Iowa. Where? I have no clue. It takes me a moment to remember where I’m going. East? West? Where am I coming from?“

The passage is a snippet from a book Govt. Cheese by Stephen Pressfield. I sorely want to read it, but he wants $40 for the book.

My wife just paid $6 a bulb for four of them.

Prices are outrageous at this time.

Gas is $4.09 a gallon one day and $4.19 the next. $4.59 a block away.