14,627 Days Alive
13 Years in a Transitory Environment
5-Level Purple Inbox Tray Assembled and Put to Use at Work
1 New, Upcoming, Well-Researched Rant
For the new or forgetful, I was homeless, couch-surfing, transient, or otherwise without a residence for a total of thirteen years in my youth and young adulthood. Bear this in mind when reading beyond this point that I have Great Big Feelings and opinions on things of this theme.
Also, that thirteen year period is disregarding any house-hopping I did as a child. Also not counting the cross-country vagabond-adventures that happened when my mother kidnapped me as a toddler/very young child and dragged me all over. That is a story for another time, maybe.
Refocusing! I despise the term “unhoused”. Like, it makes me angry; lights a fire under my breastbone and makes me want to tear things apart like a raging Marvel character. I reflexively clench both my jaw and my hands hearing or reading the word. I have many, many things to say in the matter.
I am going to write a self-assigned, well-researched essay of sorts, a treatise if you will, and nail it to the front page of Postmark Wonderland when I’m done as if it were Halloween night, 1517 in Germany. No, I have no idea when I will get it done. But know that I am writing it.
My ending statement, prompted by poor DW asking me my opinion on the word, was this:
“… “unhoused” is a term for people who are uncomfortable with the reality that poverty exists mere moments away.”
And I am listing it as a quote because I may use that line later.
Anyway, now that I’ve gone and intellectually riled myself up over eight fucking letters, I am going to bed.
Take your meds, folks.
Postmark Wonderland 