I'm back in the van for now, so I'm not updating my profile yet, but I returned from Temple this afternoon after a week in the room I'll be renting.

To call this a stepping stone to the idea of the eventual commune hits the nail on the head. It's a multigenerational home where if something needs to be done, people just do it. And cook.

In fact, we were talking about placement for planned raised beds this afternoon (against the fence, but which part?) after the grandmother mentioned wanting to get a really nice picnic table.

I'm aware that I'm going to start tying myself into knots if I don't set the stage with characters:

• R - the woman I met through the burner community with whom I started interacting more because she commissioned me to write the copy for a GoFundMe for a queer activist who'd suffered a stroke and two brain hemorrhages. She's an elder, I suppose, in the Temple Pride organization.

• S - her husband. Generally speaking, when you meet someone, you expect roughly the same intellectual level, and R is not dumb by any stretch (she just has different interests and activities), but not ... oh, shit, how did one cigarette turn into an hour and a half covering current monetary policy, philosophy and the Late Bronze Age Collapse? He is an anarchist, which he describes by two tenets: Don't tell me what to do, and don't hurt anyone. He's cool with anyone who can actually live by that. He's also really funny and pulls all sort of obscure references that I generally get. We watch a lot of the same YouTube channels.

• K - R's mom. She's the cool grandma who tiptoes up to the line of swearing but never crosses it, even when she spills a full cup of coffee into a Rubbermaid tote with a vented lid (the tote was full of empty coffee cans upon inspection, and we were all racing to make the obvious "guess it wanted to go home" joke first).

• O and N - R and S' kids. For obvious reasons, I'm not going to say anything about them.

The plan was this: R and S, having hosted me a couple of times when I was working on Mike's story, had a room available they'd be willing to rent to me. I suggested I Lyft up and back and spend a week there so everyone could test the waters before we jump into something more permanent.

It's not that there were any red flags; I've just been living alone since 2019 and haven't had kids in my living space since 2016, so I wanted as much for me as for them to know this would work as a housemate situation where the only data points were "let's entertain a friend for the weekend."

The first couple of days, I was honestly spent. It took until day three for me to have the energy to take a shower. After months of warmer-than-average temperatures, my body just said "lie down and shut up" when faced with adequate climate control.

I spent most of the time in my room, with a somewhat erratic sleep schedule. I'd come downstairs from time to time, and engage if one or both were there (or when it was just K), but my energy level just wasn't there.

And so it was Day 4 that when I walked into the garage where S was smoking a cigarette that he said, "Hey, I want to talk with you" in a friendly tone.

"I've noticed you don't come out of your room much. Are you uncomfortable?"

"Nah, I just ... well, you know, you have your life, your family ... I don't want to be in the way. I've never gone from 'hey, we're friends' to 'I'm trialling being your tenant.'"

He laughed.

"Dude. If we need to talk about something and don't want you around, we're not going to do it in the kitchen. Your presence is not intrusive."

Things softened tremendously from here. I think S told R that I was worried about overstepping, because she starting texting me when she was making food so I could join them.

Yesterday, I went to visit in the garage, and he was like, "so, R says the plan was for you to leave tomorrow. I don't care if you stay another couple of days. What's your take?"

I stumbled over myself a bit because, well, after so many failures over the past year and a half, this felt so ideal that I didn't really want to say anything to fuck it up.

So I said, "well, I feel really comfortable here. Y'all are the sorts of people I feel like myself around."

He didn't say anything like "so, it's settled." Just "yeah, we like your [vibe]*."

Because of the unusual funding schedule I get, I asked if I could break rent into the first and 15th. R handles the funds, and she was fine with that. "Let's just say it's free until the 15th, then, whenever you get back."

I still have the key to my room, and my dirty laundry is there if they care to air it. S told me R would likely go into the room to see if all was well (it was not with the prior tenant) in my absence, and as I'm not paying rent yet, I see no reason that's unreasonable.

It helps that I pretty much sat on a bed for a week and precious little else.

Actually, that's not true. Yesterday, R got home and walked into the garage where S and I were chatting about something ... maybe that was the conversation about an Assyrian library that was torched to destroy it, but as they were still using clay tablets, all the aggrieved managed to do was make a makeshift kiln and preserve the tablets for millennia.

She asked S whether he could help unload "a shitload" of wood from her SUV. He's had some back issues, and it wasn't a good day. So I volunteered.

Now, I have some back issues, and a heavy piece of pecan -- with bark -- hit my Achilles. I had to nope out pretty quickly after the shock wore off.

I'm not going to break down the exact amounts, but given that I can discontinue my internet account and no longer need to retain auto insurance once I get where I'm going some 60 miles away and my food will be covered unless I want to buy something special for myself, this actually looks like a net positive in terms of cashflow.

I was headed to the washroom that's in a alcove between my room and K's as she stepped out. I told her she was welcome to take the washroom first, and she told me she was headed downstairs to start on a chicken, broccoli and artichoke fettucine alfredo.

"Do you have a minute, or is it urgent?" she asked.

"I've got a minute."

"Well, I just wanted to tell you how much we all like how you fit in here. This is what we've been hoping for for a while. There'll be plenty of food in an hour or so."

It kinda sounds cultish, but like, these are my people. And we're able to be honest with each other about such things.

I was already timing my Lyft, so I thanked her and said I'll look forward to it the next time she makes it.

R was already off for a Pride event, so I said goodbye to S and K, knowing I was getting in the car to drive to Austin for the last time as a resident, 11 years and 9 days after arriving.

I thought my time here would provide more opportunities for my family under the status quo corporate bullshit. It turns out, the plan was total demolition and rebuilding.

Perhaps coincidentally, I was born in Phoenix.

• it wasn't this word, but I don't remember what it was

And it was: Are there any spaces in town where I could work on building out my van?

A user directed me to Asmbly, and the night I was there for the orientation, a guy in a van with a tree-frog decal was hanging out in the parking lot. We didn't talk that night.

As it happens, he was (/is?) the leader of the vanbuild community at the space. We first started talking four weeks later, when the next event was scheduled.

He's coming by this evening with my new fridge. It's going to be nice to be able to buy perishables again.

Which is cool and all, but far more happened than that.

He's a burner. So after several months, he invited me to join him at the warehouse (he's also let me crash in his garage several times to avoid temperature extremes) for a workshop on safely using flamethrowers.

I'm pretty certain Naked Fireman led the course, but I'd not get to know him for over a year. On Wednesday, I was hanging out with him, his daughter and his granddaughter, with a pipe being passed around.

I knew a bit about Burning Man, mostly because an intern at the paper in 2005 was a burner. Amusingly enough, he reached out to my then-girlfriend online, talking about how he didn't know how the paper had done copyediting without having him on staff.

You might think this would be an issue, but it's a city of 20,000, so at some point, you're going to face that issue.

Instead, I called him up and invited him out to a bar. We shot some pool, and I casually mentioned that I'd appreciate him not trying to hit on my girlfriend, and also -- fuck you for saying I don't know how to edit.

I didn't bring it into the newsroom. He was really good, and this was a personal issue that he had no issues respecting..

We last hung out when he was in town for the eclipse last year. Part of his polycule came down from Utah for it.

20 years after first hearing about the burner scene ...

It appears I'm going to attempt commune life. Now, this doesn't inherently follow from my physical involvement, but rather posting -- again -- on Reddit, asking what the local Discord was for the local scene after my first burn.

It was crickets for months. And then one day, a guy responded to me with a link. Somehow, I ended up at his house, and we talked Street Medics, which he runs locally, and well as general stuff. This was the night of the Los Angeles ICE protests, and I learned a lot about how people handle these situations.

I even got to try out a gas mask. As one does.

The next day, I'm back in my van, and I've been elevated to an admin on Discord -- something I suspect most of you know is really one step above my paygrade. It didn't take long to be booted down to standard user, but even less time to split the baby and make me a mod.

As a result, I met new people through the server in addition to the weekly event. And I started talking with another mod ... I don't even remember how we moved to DMs.

They just had a boarder leave, and as such, they have an open room they've offered to rent to me. We're just going to try it for a week before committing to something longer term.

The commune has yet to start up -- indeed, they're still looking for land (I get along famously with her husband, who is oddly not a burner himself), and they need to sell their house first.

They're chill people who share my values.

But seriously, who would have thought being priced out of fixed housing would cause gestures broadly all this?

When I was 5 (AP Style) or so, us kids were sent back to a room to watch a movie. It was The Neverending Story.

Which, not unusual in 1985. This was at the Thunderbird in Taos Ski Valley, and it being the '80s, adults enjoyed drinking alcohol at 9300 feet.

It's 24 years before I end up on the stoop of someone who'd named her first son Atreau. She threw an umlaut on the "u" for no reason, and this has been fun over the course of his life.

This said, I ended up in Taos for work, and, well, it didn't end up the way I would have liked. First off, you don't want to be white. Also, I had two section deadlines swapped on me, and I kinda lost it.

For anyone wondering, I have the Powderhorn trail sign from Taos. This was not theft; rather, the guy who founded the place went to boarding school with my grandfather, so I got special dispensation.

But that makes one feel differently about childhood experiences.. I can go before that to chicken and rice in the Kinderkaefig ahead of nap time listening to Moonlight Sonata.

As these things go, life could be worse.

I forever associate this movie with that room. The only thing that would have been more on brand would have been a girl my age who wanted to hold my hand.

My ex has a new kitten. She's very cute and, at five weeks, as the kids like to say, "smol." I'm not certain at what point "small" became too difficult to type, but as an editor ...

At any rate, the cat is not the point. Rather, she invited me up, this time insisting I pay for the Lyft in both directions, which is not how we've done this before. I can swing $70, but $140 is too much. (She told me to call my mom and ask for more money, which is A) not how this works; and B) really fucking insulting when she used to berate me for having my parents willing to help out in a pinch but happily enjoyed the results.)

In addition to wanting me to cover all costs, she made it clear that she doesn't want to act like a couple if I visit (actually not plausible; that's how we've interacted each time I've visited since December) ... but ... she has expressly forbid sex and wants to get really drunk and stoned, at which point she may be more amenable.

The relevant consent conversation happened, with her being the one saying, "Look, if I want it at the time, that's consent." Except it isn't, by a fair country mile.

She was asking for it ... did you see what she was drinking?

Thankfully, the logistics worked in my favour. I've got a guy coming by in the next hour to pick up my broken fridge in the hopes of being able to repair it. He thinks he knows the right control board, but it'll take three weeks to source, so I'm just getting a new fridge.

How Amazon can take fully a week to ship something is beyond me, but here we are.

He'd been angling for this evening, which will happen, but also left the rest of the weekend open. I mean, he's getting a free fridge that partially works but drains battery like nobody's business.

The only way to make this a plausible idea was being able to Lyft to Temple from Killeen (relatively cheap at $20) to stay with another burner friend until she had to hoof it back to Austin, and at this point, she has so much shit going on that it was a nonstarter.

For context, this is the woman who picked up a few bags of trash Monday, then sent me pics and info about a piece of land they're considering for the commune they intend to start up (I'll be on growing food and solar). So it's not like she just knee-jerk said no, more "now is not a good time."

I got back to my ex, let her know it wasn't feasible, and she hung up on me. Her son is going to be on ESPN tonight, and she wanted someone to watch with her. I could not care less about cross-country, and watching it on TV sounds like hell.

I'm glad her kid is excelling nationally, but still, it's people running on a screen.

It means giving up a chance to do laundry, but it just didn't feel right, which I've not gotten from her since we reconnected intensely. Why invite me and then say you don't really want me there, you just don't want to be alone?

That's your fucking problem, not mine, and I'm sure as fuck not going to feel like I need to spend my limited resources on an aloof partner who doesn't want to act like we know each other too well to make it a platonic visit. That flew the day we met in 2009, but only for about 12 hours.

I guess I should be grateful that we got to see each other a few times over the past few months. I can feel my heart rate decreasing as I walk through the door and put things in the fridge. Within minutes, it's like we never got divorced.

That was nice ... this is unpleasant sounding.

This is a vent and probably a trauma dump too, although I'm probably asking for something despite my inability to word it. I'll try not to make it too specific but it needs to come out so bad. I'm so fucking lonely. It's a gigantic painful hole of solitude dug just under the sternum.

I'm slowly pulling myself out of a disastrous marriage. She has issues, I have issues, and we've been feeding each other's issues for years. I haven't existed for a long time. I haven't acted on negative or positive signals from myself in a long time. I just soaked it all up. There's still a lot of sorting out to do and it'll most probably be a whole bucket of pain all along the way.

We have a child. Our daughter's amab and she rightfully hates her mother, who's said horrible things to her throughout her life. She is predictably fucked up. She's only out as trans to me and has basically given up on life at this point. She lives at night, she dropped out of college, she's unable to cope with basic social interactions and it's become increasingly hard to get her to eat meals. She's shutting me out. I have basically no idea what's going on with her emotionally anymore. I'm ridden with guilt on so many levels.

Me and my daughter moved out of home and are staying with relatives. We have our own rooms but it's not an easy situation. We have our own psychologists and our own family doctors.

I knew my sexual orientation's fluid for a long time. I've admitted it to myself for a much shorter time. I've mostly come out as bi in the last days. What I didn't expect is how as soon as I've started to quit the heteronormative role of a cishetero husband, the gender fluidity would hit me so crazy hard. I've made some simple changes to the way I present which feel unbelievably intense and emancipating. I feel things I thought I would never feel again and others that are completely new to me. It's like permafrost thawing but in a good way.

On the other hand I also feel like a pet completely cut off from their species. I'm so. Fucking. Lonely. I have no friends, let alone queer ones. It takes a tremendous effort to maintain the faith that this is valid, that I'm valid. That I'm not being silly. That this isn't one of those mid-life crisis that men go through and that everybody laughs about. I mean I know buying an expensive sports car isn't like buying buttplugs and nail polish but still you know.

So if you read all that thank you so much and please don't be shy. I hope your day is bright! I'll go touch grass for a little while now.

I've been asked by a friend who was sexually assaulted at the regional burn to write up a piece about consent.

She has a meeting Monday with some of the higher ups, and writing is not her superpower.

I want to help, but I feel ill-equipped to write something of that magnitude. As such, resources would be helpful to combine into a coherent narrative.

She had a bag of snacks around her ass, and a guy reached up and grabbed her by the pussy. The Monday meeting is about identifying the guy, but we want a solid argument.

Well, it was Church Night again. The past couple of weeks had been uneventful given that Flipside occurred between them, and tonight was uneventful because I'm in.

I definitively no longer have imposter syndrome. I have long chats with people wherein we give each other shit, swear a fuckload, and then share a donut s'more.

Tiny Tim had brought s'mores makings alongside the burn barrel, and then another guy brought a 12-pack of glazed donuts. While this was unplanned, of course some burner is going to say "but what if we put the chocolate and marshmallow in the donut?"

The absurdity of it is what I love. We don't just escape default life; we get to act like kids.

Leonard gave me my customary ride home, and now I've taken my first dose of amoxicillin ahead of tomorrow's procedure.

In five days, I'll have new dentures that allow me to enjoy eating again. It's been a rough five years.

I've been enjoying TTRPGs for some time. A means to meet people. Have some fun. Escape the drudgery of life and get creative. Perhaps I've lived under a rock, or a boulder, but I've come across an entire ecosystem of Professional DMs selling table time. Literal pay to play in a creative world. Where, even with the cash grab of wizards of the coast or the negation of imagination in place of 3D extravagence, we now monetize play, too. Perhaps play isn't the right word. Something that combines camaraderie, enjoyment, a third space, imagination, and kindred spirits. Whatever that is, its monetization of the experience by a for profit dungeon master feels wrong in some way I can't quite place.

Why must everything devolve into this? What do we loose when we monetize creativity, community, meeting people to such a degree?

This isn't a something-just-happened screed; rather, I'm recognizing a pattern in past relationships.

And it has been in both directions. I'd posit from my rocking chair that this is a constant problem: You assist someone in a fundamental life change, but this inherently means your balance has changed.

I'm not saying there's sudden hatred or anything, but when you make a personal breakthrough because of someone else, you're often at least temporarily aloof.

In these situations, there is always an underlying teacher/student dynamic. In my experience, though, you don't see it happening. I never realized it was happening to me, and I basically told myself "well, fuck, someone has to help out."

And as such, you end up symbiotic for a sole purpose. Many friendships in life are like this, but it's a bit different when sex comes to town.

OK, I kinda lied at the top. I'm trying to convince myself not to ask my ex to let me crash at her place during a heat wave now that I've been made (financially) whole from a theft.

My ex called me last night to share the bad news: Despite seemingly getting somewhere with the corporate fixer brought into her complex after we eviscerated the property management company, she's leaving at the end of the month.

With nowhere to go.

The issues she faced meant 10 days not being able to work this month, costing her a promotion planned for months and instead resulting in a demotion. So, her request was half off this month's rent for her troubles. She doesn't have the funds for a full month, as she lost half her pay and still supports her adult kids.

The compromise the fixer offered was "no late fees, and we'll waive the junk fees."

So, some $200 instead of the $700 she was requesting. She's currently packing up.

"Babe, you did realize this was a plausible outcome, right? You did just fuck with the owners' investment."

Meanwhile, back in Austin, I'm finally not on edge after three full days at full adrenaline. I'd not say I'm relaxed, but I'm not on constant alert.

This said, I filed a police report, and the guy who stole my phone stupidly transferred my CashApp balance to someone, meaning I have her name. My friend in Temple kept the voicemail of the fake call he placed to convince me all was well before biking off with my phone, so we have audio and an accomplice.

However, this means my parking spot of two and a half years is no longer safe. He has a gun, and if that transfer is reversed, um, well, I don't want to be here for that.

But I have nowhere to go. I have a Monday appointment with an oral surgeon and need to stick around for that. Plus, losing the brewery means losing indoor plumbing and wildly outsized portions of food.

The beer isn't bad, either. I get a sixer from time to time.

Anyway, I headed over to 7-Eleven to grab some food a bit ago, and the guy who randomly brings me expired food happened to be working, gave me a few things off the roller grill and listened to my (abbreviated) story.

What you do not want to do in the homeless community is commit theft. I know it's a trope that we're all brawling in an encampment, but that's not how it works in this part of town. We look out for each other and help as we can.

So the thief will, in short order, be known as such in our little slice of heaven.

He also gave me a free donut.

As I am out of academia now I find the spare time I have rather overwhelming. I have 8 days left before rejoining my partner in Canada. I have an ereader and all my books are packed. I have an urge to read to offset the doom scroll tendency that rises now. I want to support good work and good writing; high quality journalism, and essays. Politics, History, Foreign Affairs, Urban Planing, Activism all interest me. But having been in pure read for work mode for...8 years? 10? Was it that long?...I don't know where to start.

I just want to read, any format, as I have plenty of video and podcast formats already. A format that was more white noise for working than anything else.

What do you recommend?

Majel Barrett's voice often was the intro into particularly tense two-parters wrapping up, usually spanning a season break.

My friend showed up at 10:15 p.m. with my new phone. Now the fun begins ... I swear, Google and Mint both acted like I was the first person to ever have a phone stolen. ("Just connect your old phone ..." No, you fucks, if I had my old phone, had it not been stolen, I wouldn't have a new phone in the first place.)

My home screen is shit, as I still need to set everything up, but Lyft and CashApp are installed and functioning as expected, which means tomorrow's dental appointment will proceed as planned, which was the whole point of this accelerated endeavour.

I got fucked out of $400, but dude didn't realize (or failed to execute) the lending leeway that I have. I'm going to have to pull more money out of my inheritance to cover bills, but all told, this was a three-figure problem sted four figures.

I suspect I'll sleep quite well tonight, and that's a good thing after getting two hours last night.

But I'm sure as fuck not opening the door if I see that asshole again.

Thanks to everyone for expressing concern and alarm -- it was both concerning and alarming on my end, and sometimes, commiseration means a lot in a crisis. So many moving parts at once in life can feel totally overwhelming.

It was with glee that after the grueling install and setup process, I called my college roommate. He's on Pacific Time, so when the time rolled around to be able to make calls, he was pretty much all that was left.

I thought my temporary ban from Beehaw was hell, but it turns out not having a phone for a day is far worse.

I've still got the anxiety of seeing a prosthodontist tomorrow, but one crisis at a time. Having no way to get there or pay was a bit much.

I hope y'all have a lovely week, and thanks again for all the support.

This ends my hour-by-hour dispatches.

So, new phone on the way, but the thief managed to drain my account to 53 cents in the time it took me to brick my old phone.

Given that he used my phone to steal all of my money, I don't really know what to do here.

I could get my mom to transfer emergency funds, but if he can bypass the security on my phone, it feels like she'd just be giving him more money.

Outside of Western Union, what are my options? I have no food and only learned about this development when trying to purchase said comestibles. I have no access to credit and would rather not starve.

The worst part is, I have a $350 short-term borrowing limit through them, and if he stole all my cash, it's entirely possible that he also maxed that out and took that cash. I can't find out what's going on because of 2FA blocking me from seeing my account without my phone.

I'd call customer service, but, you see ...

We could be looking at a $1,250 theft. That's not something I can just bounce back from.

Fuck, I wish I'd not answered the door.

I'm now in a full-on panic attack. I'd call 911, but you see ...

ETA: It turns out the "conversation with his girlfriend" complete with breaks to make it seem real, was a voicemail to one of my friends in the burner/mutual-aid community. She's giving tough love about the clear grooming and inability to think straight.

She's also posted the voicemail publicly such that others can start working on identifying the thief. Had I been smart, I'd have taken a picture of his birth certificate while it was still in storage here.

In slightly better news, my new phone has arrived at my friend's ... but it might be a bit late to get there tonight.

My post was removed, so I'll preserve it here for posterity. Come for the theft, stay for the stupid.

A mea culpa about the homeless problem

I've been unhoused for more than two years at this point. My van has been safe short of a couple of break-in attempts I was able to fend off.

Until 3:30 this morning.

I know a few homeless around me, and we generally work in a mutual-aid environment. As an example, there's a worker at a nearby convenience store who will randomly leave "best-by date was yesterday" food outside my door.

But this is where my patience ends. I'm woken up by a knock (you always have to answer a knock, because who knows what the situation is), and a guy I've helped a few times -- charging his phone, giving him water, that sort of thing -- asks to use my phone.

So, it's the wee hours, I'm disoriented, and I figure "what's the worst that could happen if his phone isn't working and he needs to call for a ride?"

I should mention that in one of his past visits, his backpack tipped over, and there was a handgun on the floor of my cab. I didn't feel threatened at the time, but it was certainly a data point to consider for future interaction.

I've actually been housing all his vital documents such as birth certificate, so I knew he'd be back at some point, but it had been well over a month since seeing him, so that kinda went to back of mind.

I'm sure you can see where all of this is leading: He takes my phone, places a call, and while I'm holding out my hand for him to give it back, he hops on his bike and pedals away. Of course retaining my phone.

So this theft is now my problem. I have a dental appointment tomorrow that I needed to order a Lyft for, which is rather inconvenient. But, being unhoused, it's not as simple as ordering a new phone off Amazon, especially as they demand 2FA to get back into my account, which requires a phone (the email option, for whatever reason, failed).

So, he hasn't just stolen a $500 item (I went cheap this time), but has complicated literally every portion of my life. And I don't think he has the capacity to feel guilt or shame. No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. I offered to let him charge his phone in my van after meeting him at the Allandale bus stop outside HEB.

In my experience, the majority of the homeless nearby are decent humans, but I now get why one excruciating experience can change mindsets.

Thankfully, I have financial assistance from family out of state and a friend from the burner scene who was happy to have my phone shipped there. So long as I can get a couple of apps and figure out how to get back into my accounts, the appointment tomorrow shouldn't be an issue.

But dude, you just fucked up my life for a phone I was easily able to brick remotely. You gained nothing and left me holding the bag with a bill for a new phone.

Fucking asshole.

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So, there's a guy I've helped out a couple of times who knocked on the van at 3:30 a.m.

He asked if he could use my phone to make a call, and I stupidly agreed. I was concerned that this would be the outcome as he was on his bike. He makes his call, and then bikes off.

I have no way of contacting the police, but even if I did, they wouldn't care.

I'm supposed to make it to an appointment tomorrow, but it required a Lyft. Which, without a phone, can't be done.

I have no idea what to do. Even if I had Amazon Prime, I have no address.

ETA: So, there's now a Pixel 10a headed to a burner friend who let me use his address, ordered by my mom (who, because she's not in Austin herself, does not have the option of the locker nearby ... I was going to show her a screenshot, but my Amazon account has been dormant, so now they want to do 2FA for me to order anything, which is difficult without my phone). The window is 5-10 p.m., which is cutting things really close if it shows up past his bedtime (he's about as far from me as one can be while remaining in city limits).

I'd have preferred a straight 9a replacement, but Google is being Google, and the 10a is currently cheaper. I give zero shits about the supposed "AI" improvements, but I don't have a shitton of price elasticity.

I recently wrote about an ambush we initiated six days ago (me working remote on this).

There is a lot to unpack here.

The New York owners showing up led to the third owner flying in from Austria to see what the fuck was going on.

Essentially:

• The office manager has been fired.
• The pest-control service has been fired.
• The landscaping company has been fired.
• The maintenance guy has been fired.
• The entire property management company has been fired.
• The military has finalized removing the complex from its list of approved housing.
• New companies have been hired to start fixing shit, which she says has made a seachange in the prior 48 hours.
• The fire marshal shows up Monday to do a unit-by-unit inspection to ensure that each has functioning smoke detectors and a functioning fire extinguisher.
• A mysterious dotted-lined-to-the-owners woman has appeared to handle the boots-on-the-ground problems.
• Several tenants on illegal leases (i.e., signed in someone else's name) have been evicted.
• Narcotics is looking into the complex.
• The Killeen Police Department is stepping up patrols.
• The roaches are gone for now, the hot water is working again, and her grandson could be heard in the background (the "little bug" uses my old phone for games).

I mean, not bad for a couple of plebs.

The owners seem to have been caught totally off-guard and seem genuinely alarmed by the state the complex was allowed to get into, and they are not holding back on fixing things even though they've lost all their soldiers.

The military determination can be reversed with corrective action, and you really don't want to own a complex in Killeen when you're blacklisted from service members.

All in all, could have been a worse result. The funny thing is, the local reporter didn't show up to the ambush as scheduled, but all of this is happening all the same.

As I well know, you really don't want to get on my ex's bad side. Machiavellian is a kind term for what she can do, and when she brings me into the mix for plotting, we are a destructive force.

The complex pissed off the wrong person.

That's right, folks, it was Church Night again.

I had all sorts of ideas for this story, but I increasingly believe that absolutely everything is said in confidence.

The guy who introduced me to the burner scene actually came out for once. We chilled in the parking lot, with his former garage dweller.

So, we're all drinking beers and passing around a joint. Said ex-housemate has gone full-on MAGA, which basically led to me remaining silent. If it's racist or misogynist, he said it.

After spinning our wheels awhile, we joined the group. I spent the better part of two hours accidentally chatting with someone who lived in a van for three years and is looking to do so again.

My friend drives me back to my van with a ladder, and climbs up himself to put my roof vent back on its track. Then, it's back to the warehouse.

All of it was pleasant ... but these nights remind me of what I don't have the other six nights of the week.

Imagine you've just met someone, but both of you know that you are meant for each other. This actually happens all the time.

Well, not all the time, but we aren't unique. Things escalate wildly in timeframes that are not accepted by others.

People said I was moving too fast with my editor in college. It was eight days from hating each other to me waking up in her apartment. You just fucking know.

This was glacial.

Except you don't. It's viewed as hate. Trying to figure out what the fuck is going on takes cognition. While everyone else in the newsroom is well aware of the trajectory.

It takes love to hate. I'd have liked to learn that earlier.

And thus, I became a journalist. Seriously, it was one woman, not an interest in the field. But you know how it goes with your girlfriend when she knows how to design pages better than you.

This means war. And I of course went raver because I was too scared of having middle-age sorted out at 19.

But let's say you're not needing a career. Now the concerns are different.

And then you find out why the term "soulmate" exists. As with porn, you know it when you see it.

The main issue is you can't see what you're looking for. No one in their right mind is looking for the other half of them.

I suppose a better term is "twin flame," and what we proceeded to do suggests this as a more valid label. We still support each other.

I realize why we can't possibly work, but that doesn't change the physical feeling when she touches me or I touch her. This was initially alarming.

In 2009.

So we got married, This was not a great idea, as neither of us wanted what had happened. Sometimes, wants have to cave to reality.

We've been divorced for a decade, but this seems irrelevant once one considers the touch. It's, uh ... not what you expect out of life, but what ever is?

She remains Mrs. Powderhorn. And we are scrambling to figure out how the fuck we still can't detatch. There's no world in which we act any other way than as decadeslong partners.

This has made looking for new partners over the last decade difficult. When you have irritating, challenging perfection, what the fuck's the point of anything else?

I should likely stop here, as this sounds insane unless you've felt it.

To be clear, I am not asking for sympathy, but when I was very young, I talked about my life in Texas.

Problem was, I grew up in Arizona and had never been here short of a Dallas layover. Some 11 years into being in Austin, the fact that I could talk about living in Texas but could not provide details is to be expected when one first starts talking as a toddler.

Thing is, I don't really know much about the state outside of its climate and politics. This all feels rather circular.

One explanation is that not-quite-reincarnation is real, and I've hit the end of the cycle and will end up back in Phoenix in 1979, a la Groundhog Day. Do I believe that? No. But Occam would suggest such an explanation, because it's damn specific.

I sort of feel as though I've done what I was meant to do.

If I get towed tomorrow because of the paving being done on my street, where No Parking signs were erected Friday alongside heavy machinery being parked here all weekend, I no longer have the home I built out. My sole hope is that being in the van will mean I can't be towed, as it's illegal to tow an occupied vehicle.

I actually had a knock on the van today, and upon emerging, a guy asked me if I was interested in selling my van. I said I actually was. He asked how much I wanted, and I answered $16K, which was too rich for his blood. I personally designed and installed $8K of upgrades to a $12K vehicle that I only put 1,000 miles on, so that's a deal.

I'm not really sure what he was expecting. I pointed at the solar panels, the R-15 insulation on all sides in the living space and the 600Ah of LFP. I think he just wanted a tool truck, but seriously, who goes up to a van in the middle of a rainstorm and asks if you're looking to sell a 26-year-old Class 5 commercial vehicle?

One thought that occurred to me was offering to sign a waiver for any damage, and as I'm about 30 inches (~75cm) from the asphalt, having looked at the equipment hanging out roadside, nothing looks quite wide enough to actually do much damage.

But I have nowhere to go and my starter batteries are dead (I have a jump box, but also, have you seen diesel prices lately?).

To say nothing of the fact that I've been running a fever for a week and a half and have not been legal to drive in that time. I was actually, at my mom's urging, considering going to the ER, but once the temporary towing signs sprouted up, if I leave my van for that, I may have no home to come back to.

This is an ideal time to self-medicate.

I have altered policy in many places as a writer and editor. I interviewed (several more times than necessary) a queer activist and wrote the copy for his GoFundMe last month. I saved my ex from a decaying complex just this week.

I'm really good at saving others, but this isolation and shit continuing to go wrong while feverish is not an ideal circumstance.

Over the past 18 months, I've gotten now 22 direct offers of help and solutions, and zero have panned out. It's like job applications, but applied to mutual aid.

I'm exhausted, my sleep schedule is totally fucked, and god only knows when the paving starts in the morning.

I usually know how to pull off miracles, but there's too much here at once in a compromised state. I have six figures of debt, my dad died last fall, my fridge hasn't been reliable in over a year, and my roof vent went off the track last year, so if we have a south wind and rain, I have indoor rain. It also appears my insurance was canceled, which saved me $150 this month, but when I started my policy, I hadn't let my credit go to shit yet.

Oh, and I learned the place I had an appointment with for new dentures doesn't, you know, well, actually do dentures.

I'm sick of having hope. The geopolitics don't help. I live in a constant state of fear and anxiety, having been told by society my skills don't count. That's why I implored the admins to give me the U.S. News community when it started up three years ago. It's not exactly the same as being an editor, but selecting stories off the wire and presenting them to an audience is just ... what I know how to do. I just have more sources now.

I don't know what comes next, but as I said, I feel as though I've done what I was meant to do in life. Years in a choir, a semester as an exchange student and then winning national awards for editorial and column writing, hed writing, design, graphics ... you get the idea. I had no intention of going into journalism, but it tends to find you if you're the right person.

At least, it used to.

I hope my worst fears here aren't borne out, but I have too much data of late to believe otherwise. My little oven is squalor, but it's my squalor. Losing it won't end well.

This too shall pass, they say. And it would take a miracle. I'm too exhausted to storm the castle.

Im traveling to visit my parents next month for a few weeks, unfortunately home for them is Texas. It’s been three years and I’m not exactly thrilled to go back (only happy to see them & my sibling).

I’m stuck between having a list of things we need to bring back (ie: can’t buy abroad/cheaply), wanting to eat international food that can’t be found here, and really really really not wanting to support the government. I know it’s a drop in the bucket, but everything sounds so… expensive and destructive.

She's as hard-headed as I am, so when she asked me to help last month with the issues at her apartment complex by demanding I do nothing, I had to rely on the communication style one can only read decades in.

"I don't want to talk to a journalist."

Babe, what the fuck do you think you're doing right now?

The original issue was her water being about to be turned off in her apartment complex, and while she is my ex-wife, I can't just let her go without water.

After contacting two news outlets in her city counter to her explicit request, the water stayed on. No stories were published that I'm aware of.

Well, the situation has worsened, and the woman I fell in love with is back to her shenanigans. She's sleeping out on the porch tonight because of the German roach infestation that had been solved a few months back, but pest control does unit-by-unit spraying, thus sending the unwanted roaches into someone else's unit.

She does not have hot water after the maintenance guy broke her water pipes "fixing" a leak. As such, her grandson can't stay with her, as is customary for a weekend.

If you think pissing off a mother is bad, it's worse when it's Oma.

When we were together, years ago, and an emergency happened, we could handle it with blinding speed. Basically, triage, and we'll figure it out later. Just without the time in the waiting room.

Things have further deteriorated (roaches were not an improvement), and she has an appointment with her lawyer (via the EAP) at 2 p.m. today. At 4 p.m., the Herald reporter will be showing up. Meanwhile, she went so far up the flagpole that two of the complex's owners flew down from New York and will be there from 2 to 5 p.m.

This is not by accident.

It is, however, a reminder of why her independence and grit was such an attractive force. I mean, her manic-pixie look got my foot in the door, but when I realized she was just as manipulative as I am, I think the deal was sealed. We'd already agreed to lie to her brother the night before I met her, so this has a rich and storied tradition.

Some 15 years later, she has the city investigating multiple violations like not having smoke detectors or fire extinguishers in units. My initial work on her behalf last month meant this was a folo, not a random story for the Herald.

So, now it was time to plan the whole interaction. She smartly told the reporter to meet her at the leasing office instead of her unit. If they bring a photog along, that's not particularly useful, but she's now happy to let them in.

She has been amassing fellow residents beyond pissed to participate in this mutiny. The complex is 80% occupied by military, unsurprising given that Killeen essentially exists only because of Fort Hood. The military pays for off-base housing in certain situations (not my wheelhouse) and has decided the complex no longer meets their standards.

So, we've got the lawyer coming, the press coming, the owners coming and base commanders coming -- all at the same time. It almost sounds like a porn.

And, in a way, it is: competence porn.

Over the course of a two-hour call, I managed to steer her in the directions I thought would be most useful. First off, they have a community grill, so I asked if she had hot dogs and buns. The fastest way to a journalist's heart is through their stomach (she's assuming the reporter will be male, which exposes her latent bias, but I'm not going to gender ahead of time).

And if she's got at least six residents along with everyone else, it's always good to break bread in order to break the ice.

I also told her what part of the story to lead with. There are several concurrent problems here, and she was doing the whole manic thing of "oh, my god, the roaches!" Well, there are multiple lease violations, including forcing fees not listed in the lease.

"If you want to bring them down, babe, lead with the lease violations. Sure, being unable to bathe and the roaches is human interest, but that's not near as strong of a story as 'hundreds of people have been paying junk fees for months.' Make it a widespread issue."

The Herald only publishes a print edition on Sundays (I looked it up, trying to figure out what timeline to expect). So Saturday at 4 p.m. is about the sweetest spot you can hit. They may hang out for an hour or two, but if they're headed back to the office by 6, there's plenty of time for this to become Saturday for Sunday (newsroom jargon).

She assumed that meant it would have to wait a week. Well, I mean, they publish online daily, but a print edition still carries weight, and why the hell she thought a story couldn't go through the sausage machine in five hours is beyond me. I mean, I was married to the woman for years, and she still finds journalism to be a black box. To a certain extent, this isn't all that surprising since she doesn't care how a newsroom works.

Just that she can pull the strings.

Sound like anyone else you know?

I don't really operate in default society, which is important to note going forward.

I was totally on the fence about going to Church Night, a weekly event at the burner warehouse where I totally whiffed on getting involved. This week, it was RGB LED testing, and that's not something you walk into.

This places me outside, which isn't the worst. I'm watching the hot dogs grill, and then comes the unexpected item in burner area.

Apparently, as with the admins here, I've been identified as a rogue actor in a stable community. In both cases, we move forward.

I end up talking with a woman who happened to sit next to me for an hour. She teaches fifth grade and, well, she meets my physical interests. But we've talked before, so this is just shooting the shit while I'm getting weed from the right-hand side.

Then, it's back to the person tending the fire. Tiny Tim informs me that they've both flagged me as a risk within the community and subsequently de-escalated. "I got you wrong," they said.

We are still at the fist-bump level of physical interaction, but I doubt much more would be useful. It's a step up from vitriol.

From here, we head off to gallows humour. And by this I mean Gallows' humour. Oh, yeah, we all have burner names. There isn't much point in having you guess what mine is.

Anyway, Gallows is one of the leaders of the space. He's very much neurodivergent and has been encouraging me to explore that, because, once again, I'm being told my behavior only makes sense within that context

This is another hour or so wherein he give me a couple of cigarettes.

So, we're drinking and smoking, and Leonard comes up. We chat for a bit, he said he's tired, and would I like a ride home?

This always ends the same way. He knows where I'm parked, some three minutes away, but we talk for at least 30 minutes.

This week, Leonard brings up Young Sheldon. I leave it as an exercise for the reader as to why this is amusing.

You know you've truly become part of a community when people are basically fighting for your time when they see you idle. Hopefully, I won't wake up feeling the loss of community, but this was the first time I just pinballed from connection to connection.