"How is car living?" you might ask, if you knew me. (Although you don't, but I can pretend).
If you did, and had too much time in your life to deal with on your own, and needed to kill some of it in probably the worst possible way, then you could ask. Why ask is your problem, because you won't, so then I will never have anything to do with this question, like answering it, but you still have to deal with the why of it all, because you're thinking about it, aren't you? Eh? Or would be if you existed.
So anyway, if I know one thing, that's it right there. I'm on my own.
Yes, and living in my car. What separates me from the rest of the homeless population around here is that I have a car. I make sure to remind myself to remember that. To remember that I left my warm cozy life of waking up late and only trying to make it to lunch by noon and then doing nothing else all day except possibly buying some fruit and going for a walk, for this. I spent a bunch of money for this. For this living in a car, which has around two thirds the floor space of my former bathroom, which was in turn just large enough that if I turned around exactly slowly enough I would not bump into myself. Slowly. Not faster.
Counter, toilet, and half the bath tub. That's my car, but without the headroom, or the plumbing. I'm living in my bathroom without the washup option and can't also flush away what needs to be flushed away.
A plastic bag, paper toweling, and a bunch of those wet wipey-wipes do work, but your aim has to be accurate right up front, assuming that you do have room behind the driver's seat. And no one is looking. And after that, The Disposal Routine. Problems that it doesn't even occur to a normal bathroom to think about.
But that's life these days. Free as a bird.
A bird named Ed, for example. A bird with a cigarette-stained beak, one leg, a bad cough, graying feathers, a limited time horizon.
Or not. Maybe some other Ed.
The watchword is carefulness. That's it for now: Think first, then act. Move slowly. Don't spill. Especially don't spill. Anything. This car needs to be resold at some point. If that's in a few months then Pay Attention Now, Hear? But if I keep it and continue breathing for two or three more years, then it doesn't really matter unless I miss the bag, and lay my secret right on the floor. Probably best at that point to pull a cap down around my ears and burn the car and hitchhike back to Ecuador without saying anything.
That's where carefulness comes in. I'm practicing it.
Carefulness is like mindfulness but not dressed in black leather or moving to the music. Mindfulness is trendy now, and sleek and slim, but "carefulness" is barely even a word. It's doesn't go to parties or get its name dropped every 10 seconds. It means "Don't eff up, then, putz-face", and means to mean it, and will give you a slap across the forehead right now, not even one second from now, no time to even begin thinking up an excuse, just Whack! if you forget and let your attention wander and do something you shouldn't.
So, yeah, I'm having fun. Life is real fun now, sleeping inside a damp car 25 miles out of town, listening for engines in the night, remembering to wake up by 6:30 so I can get into town and have a shower before it locks up a 9 a.m., having a cup of coffee, buying food from the refrigerated section, and spending the day at the library, inside of which is has not rained. Yet. And then going in reverse in the evening and hoping I won't need to use a toilet until right before tomorrow's shower, and waiting for the car's title and registration and plates to arrive, and drier weather and all that so I can tool around and remain being a homeless guy but one out hiking in the summer.
Something like that.
Exciting to think about if you're the right kind of person.
The story of Ed: I rescue this dog. He rescues the bird. The bird rescues all of us in a weird sense and it's just a miracle. A different Ed.