I Woke Up In My Van

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.

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