Several months ago I moved to the west coast. I have spent the past few years perpetually moving all around the country in a semi, never staying in one spot for more than a few hours, maybe days at the most. I had grown used to never seeing the same face for weeks, months at a time, with the familiar knowledge that eventually, I’d get to return to see faces I knew and had grrown to love like neighbors, old friends, and the solace of the home which I owned.
I also spent 5 months being entirely homeless in this transition from the midwest to the west coast. I made preperation, mental, financial, physical, getting ready for the transition. I began to reduce my caloric intake and loading on carbs. I prolonged leaving Facebook because I needed social interaction.
Like everyone, I suffer from some pattern of depression, so I also prepared for that.
Despite all of my preparation, and anticipating all of the troubles I would have, it was still one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done.
For my first month of local work, I would sleep in empty semi trailers at work where the nightly temprature would drop to freezing. I would eat meals of one or two “dollar burriotos’ per day. I’d masturbate when I began thinking about suicidal thoughts because masturbation helps the body and brain create all those ‘feel good drugs’ we need to combat depression.
Now, two months into working, and over a month into my temporary home, I’m beginning to attempt to date, which is a whole new challenge upon itself.
Relating to strangers has never been one of my strongest suits. Nearly all of my friends have been a collection of electic “loners”, black sheep, and exceedingly intelligent folk who accept me for my various personaity quirks.
Trying to find someone with similar quirks has been proven impossible so far, but only for a lack of supporting evidence.
For most of my adult life, (since about 20 years old) I have been a serial dater. I’ve had several very good relationships as well as several very bad relationships. More often than not, I’ve deduced the common flaw is with myself and not with other people. I’m very picky in what I’d like from a partner.
They seem like things that should be a ‘given’ in most monogamous relationships end up being entirely too much to ask. Basic things like ‘honesty’, ‘patience’, ‘loyalty’, and ‘intelligence’, seem to come sporadically, if at all. Instead, I’ve gone an entirely different route and found ‘friends with benefits’ to subside my sexual needs and wants, and ‘just friends’, to satisfy my emotional and intellectual needs. It’s always lacked the passion in both types of relationship.
Part of the goal of moving to the west coast was to find substantial work, first in driving, second in computers, but it has also changed my goals from finding two sets of emotional partners to finding just one committed relationship.
So far, I’ve found equal disappointment in both finding a suitable job, and a suitable mate, driving me further into a depression. Of course, I have all the free porn at my fingertips that an adult male could ever want, but that’s not what I crave, nor do I crave sexual interaction, or emotional interaction, at least by themselves.
I moved here with the intent on finding higher meaning. That doesn’t mean that I’m simply looking to get high, either, altho, it’s an admittedly nice point of the west coast.
I know this is somewhat a shit-post… I don’t have much else to write about while working 60 hour weeks, commuting 4 hours each day to work, so I have little time to experience anything else.
My job involves delivering carpet to local distribution outlets and contractors. It regularly involves driving in extra tight areas for a forty-eight foot semi trailer. It also involves driving on the I-5, mostly in gridlock traffic. It takes about 3 hours to travel 30 miles. I drive to a specific area, unload 25,000 pounds of carpet and tile, turn around, and drive back into the gridlock for 3 more hours. It’s a job…
My roommates are foreign exchange students, and diligent at that. They barely leave their rooms, noses stuffed into books to maintain their 4.0 GPA, to make their parents proud and justify making already poor people completely broke. What little interaction I have with them, I ask them to teach me obscene phrases.
Because. It’s funny.