1/14/92

I've been sitting by this fire since sunset. That had to be 5ish hours ago, right? The cold is warping time a bit. That's Einstein's Theory of Relativity in action I'm pretty sure. Hopefully, this is short-lived. If not, I can at least consider the extra 10 pounds I've put on this year as sensible preparation rather than sheer gluttony right? Yea, I like that, "sensible preparation." I'm so sensible. I hope that leaving the car was the right choice. It can't be at-all visible from overhead, and I think I should retain a sense of urgency. This is not to mention that there is really no reason anyone would be looking for me. Having a few friends may have been advantageous. Yea well, these roads get some degree of use I'm pretty sure, and I know the direction I should head to give myself the best shot at running into someone.

1/15/92

Walking is tiring. I feel like this is particularly the case in the absence of apparent milestones. Each scene differs so minimally from the last. If I were able to view a picture of my surroundings today side by side with those of yesterday, it would be like playing one of those find the differences puzzles. There would be differences, but, 6 of them, all of which would be slight and uninspiring. Like, would it kill this creek to be a waterfall for a bit? Are any of the pine trees willing to differentiate themselves from each other. Some people really like nature. The whole thing feels a little overhyped to me. Being out here makes me feel like hour-long documentaries must be decades-worth of excitement hyper-condensed. I've seen like 3 squirrels, and they didn't really do anything.

1/16/92

I don't understand how I've not run into any traffic in two days. This is a mud road. It would grow over in the absence of adequate use I'd think. I should count my blessings though, as my elders always insisted on. I've got access to plenty of water here and a decent bit of 'real' food even, thanks to putting off taking the groceries in. I've begun opting for hunting/gathering when possible though, as I evidently spent the first two days excessively optimistic about traffic volumes, not that the terrain offers much. If I end up having to walk the entirety of the way back to civilization, I may be cutting it close on maintaining adequate caloric-intake towards the end. It should be about 3 weeks of walking if I figure correctly, and I have 1 decent milestone in the form of a four-way which should represent roughly 1/3 of the trip traversed. Ugh. On the bright side though, I shouldn't have to worry about being a sober survivalist in any foreseeable situation. Having a few weeks worth of food by accident and a few months worth of drugs on-purpose for what was planned to be a weekend getaway really makes you feel like a certain type of person. I've been at terms for awhile though.

1/17/92

It's a weird feeling actively seeking people, rather than avoiding them. I remember enjoying the company of others in my youth, but after only modest stints in collaborative work environments, I deemed myself a poor fit for traditional occupations and broader society. I'm pretty sure there's no love lost. Even now, I'm not so much interested in companionship, but utilities, securities, and furthered drug reserves rather, I simply need a few humans to facilitate. This view could fairly be described as callous, but not as overly callous I feel. I've had plenty of good-enough relationships in my life, but none that I felt were free from dictation by transaction. As a young person, I both sought and believed in non-transactional relationships. Slowly this belief died, and took with it my affection for humanity, as well as mostly any seeking behavior. I decided to deem the world personally-explored, and found nowhere I was interested in residing. My current position, where I may be genuinely in need of another's assistance, is riling up a bit of self-loathing feelings in me. I prefer to rely on food, water, and drugs. I can source them personally. There are no hoops to jump through. I don't even know what I'd do if someone were to come upon me. "Thank you" is not a common word in my vocabulary, and I wouldn't know how to go about making it appear genuine. I would certainly be more in-need than needed by anyone I'd see. I could jovially offer indica or sativa, but by the time I'd become adequately comfortable doing so, it would certainly qualify as an unnecessary expense. I didn't achieve the freedom that brought me here through nice-guy gestures. I guess we'll cross the bridge if we come to it.

1/18/92

Reading yesterday's entry has gotten me thinking about something. I've been marching ordered by nothing but necessity for almost a week now, and while it hasn't been my favorite week, I may prefer it to the marching I once did in the name of obligation to society. I feel that this framing is fair, as I did not do so with profitability in mind. I was content with break-evens for years before recognizing that I was setting myself up to never realize the freedom to sleep in or piss dirty. Now though, at every opportunity to do so, I choose to carry additional occupational stress in the present, in effort to reduce future financial stress and maximize present autonomy. Perhaps I should use the time on my hands to examine this strategy. The capital associated with my social security number is doing me no good here. More basic needs have become apparent through my errors. I didn't grow up in the sort of environment where food, water, or shelter were ever a concern, and it's been a very long time at least since the possibility of forced sobriety was a legitimate cause for fear. If I wasn't always so consumed with drugs and money to the point of delaying responsibilities, perhaps I'd have taken my car to the shop when I'd sensed there was an issue. Or maybe impulsivity is to blame? I didn't need to go on this trip. I didn't let anyone know I was going or invite them, and doing so may have provided a solution, or at least additional tools. Maybe the mundanity of my life facilitated this situation of improper planning and spurious decision-making? Perhaps these viewpoints are excuses. I think I prefer the view that this is my deserved fate as a procrastinator. I've been mulling beginning to write for five years now probably, and what I have to show for that is a probably-empty folder labeled "writing" on a computer at home. Force of circumstance is evidently what was necessary for me to take time rather than money for even a small period I guess. It's not that writing cannot be monetized like anything else though, so this may speak to my self-confidence I suppose. I'm not really sure about it, but introspection doesn't feel lucrative.

1/19/92

Something strange happened today. I wish I would have paid more mind to it at the time, but I was too focused on moving forward as usual. I haven't documented this here previously, because I didn't feel it was warranted. Now though, it's gotten me a bit stirred. I passed a clustering of pebbles today that really gave me a sense of Deja vu. As I've already bitched about here, this path is amazingly homogenous. It's almost exclusively coniferous forest, and I could swear right now that I passed that location previously. In fairness, I am spending 15 hours a day moderately intoxicated having conversations with myself. I should probably question my own perspective. Admittedly, I talked to myself for companionship before it becoming my sole option, but it didn't feel so necessary before. It feels like any other media now, an instrument for passing time. I began writing this diary as the same sort of instrument really, but as I sit here failing at my current mission, reminiscing over previous failures, and externalizing my thoughts, this externalizing is the only thing which 'feels' like a positive thing for me. Introspection and externalization are perhaps more therapeutic than lucrative? I still don't know though. I tend to read and reread everything that I write. Most often, I eventually develop a sense of disgust when looking over my creation, and decide that it is best destroyed. Papers are crumble and files deleted. I feel differently this time though, I feel proud, even while not weighing the words in front of me to be objectively good work or anything. I hope that I'm not a failed gardener who’s learned to love weeds.

1/20/92

With the possibility of my perspective deteriorating, I decided early on to spend as much of the day sober as I'd be able to stomach. I ended up calling it quits just before lunch to give my dry cereal a little pizzazz. Despite demonstrating very little capacity to self-regulate on this matter, I've been wasting very little time on lunch at least, rarely even stopping to sit. Planning on outside help is a recipe for failure. I should move forward in all daylight hours. Normally, I wouldn't begin doing drugs in the middle of the day, but I don't have coffee out here, so the losses need to be made up somewhere. These squirrels certainly aren't going to do the trick, although I did see 2 of them kind-of fight today. It was among the highpoints.

1/21/92

I wonder if anyone misses me, or has noticed my absence even. I don't speak to most of the people that I know, intentionally, but there are other people I know that I don't speak to, unintentionally. Some of the latter may be getting to wondering. I go to the same coffee shop most days of the week, but my relationship is more with the merchant/location than with any staff members. They have too much turnover there anyway. Me and my grandma are pretty good friends, but probably only communicate monthly and not on any sort of fixed-schedule. I would think that my dealer has noticed, as I like to examine inventory regularly for rare finds even when already stocked up on essentials, but he's likely too self-consumed to notice what others are doing or not doing. I believe this because I'm like this. I certainly don't know what else he's doing. He's basically a store. His name isn't coming to me even, but he takes great pride in his work though and can provide semi-regular access to foreign pharmaceutical luxuries. The shelves always have milk and bread. I kind of miss my drug dealer and my grandma.

1/22/92

Ok, so unless the pile of pebbles I'm looking at is the product of some geological forces I'm unaware of, I am indeed passing the same location. I also should have come to the four-way by now. I'm not sure what to make of this, but I need to alter my strategy. I'm driving sticks into the ground surrounding the pile, if nothing else, to clear my head, and picking up the pace. I was at this location previously, I believe, 3 days ago. If I am somehow circling, I should be back in 3 days. Until I get this straightened out, writings here will be strictly for documentational purposes rather than recreational.

1/23/92

I did not encounter the four-way or pile I'm seeking today. Nothing else to report.

1/24/92

I encountered neither the four-way or pile I'm looking for today.

1/25/92

I passed the four-way roughly an hour ago. I was joyous. Evidence of forward movement. I continued for a bit, about waltzing, and saw the pile, with my addition, in the distance. How is this possible. Where is my car. These aren't complicated road systems. My theory of maintaining constant forward movement clearly must die here. What do I replace it with? I can still see the four-way in the distance. I'd prefer to not stomach returning the direction I came. It would feel like back tracking, but evidently both intuition and logic should be ignored as indicators at this point. What else is there really. If things still made sense, returning to the four-way to travel the perpendicular wouldn't make sense. They don't though. I guess that's what I'll do tomorrow.

1/26/92

I went back to the four-way this morning, and decided to try turning right. I couldn't of walked much more than 3-4 miles. Why would I. These are the days where drug reserves dwindle. The last time leaned on drugs this hard, I was in college, away from a girlfriend I loved. Even then, I was able to anticipate and look forward to an end, graduation. I have nothing resembling that relationship to return to here, and no reason to believe that a return is possible. The world’s ceased to be logical. I’ll carry on tomorrow.

1/29/92

There's no light. Maybe no tunnel. This road looks like a tunnel, with trees branching out to meet in the center, but it's not a tunnel. The brightness in the distance isn't a light. It's a lie. Here I am. I'll be cutting through the woods tomorrow morning.

2/1/92

I never wrote. I never created. I never procreated. I didn't survive. I'm not survived by. I got by. I built nothing.

Please tell my grandma I'm sorry.

2/5/92

At least the woods don't pretend to lead somewhere. It's a favor really.

2/8/92

There it is again.