Welcome to a new post.
Welcome to a world where i'm living in my parent's basement.
Welcome to a breakfast at 1pm.
Welcome to the slow bore of life in a medium of words.
Hi there. It's Evan here.
So starting things off magnificently, i'm eating a carrot like Bugs Bunny, drinking Green Tea like always, and boiling rice like a bachelor. Can of tuna adjacent. Living here in the land-o-Lincoln has been pretty fantastic, considering that I no longer have pneumonia, and no longer have to pay rent.
The downsides of living at home: no cats, no late night parties with roommates, no leaving my socks shoved into the cushions on the couch. It is an acceptable situation. I can live without those things. But seriously, look at this little cute widdle itty bitty kitty cat!
I'm eating better. That's basically been the key component into the success behind reclusing to the basement again. My physiology has been a hacked up casserole of booze, weed, hot pockets, sleep deprivation, time management failure and tuna, rice, and green tea. Maybe all of those things aren't food items! That doesn't mean i wasn't sustaining myself on them! Which is, actually, the point i was trying to make.
The life of a hobo had better time management skills than me. In order to get free food, a hobo has to be at an appropriate place and time. In order to get a good sleepin spot in the park, he's got to beat the other hobos to that cherry spot that blocks the view of the street AND the wind from the river. Or at least the hobo needs to be in good enough shape to fight for his food and sleep. Living in Columbia, I was not in hobo shape.
This can stem back to the manic stage of life i was in coming back from Korea. The joy of seeing all of my friends again, the freedom of understanding the language around me and interacting with it, and the simple peace of not being the object of Korean racism. I was home! And it was a party! and then all my money was spent and i was working at a Foster Home where i was treated just as bad as the worst classes in Korea, confused to the point of disaster by both the clients AND staff, and working nights, therefore not seeing half the friends i wanted to!
This spurned the very depressing string of jobs that led up to my pneumonia. Shakespeare's being (far and away) the best of the bunch. Bartending was a great experience but working for horrible people. The theater had a cool benefit but no room to move up(to a lame management position). So now here I am, completely enveloped by a loving family and suffering from nothing
other than...
i still have no idea what i'm doing
help
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