I'm not sure what to do with myself. I haven't slept in the same bed for more than two nights in a row (excluding my four nights at C's in Salt Lake City and three nights at E's in Toledo, of course). There's a part of me that's glad the constant travel is over, but there's part of me that wants to get back in the car and keep on driving.
In the safe cocoon of my car, my world is small, known and safe. I have everything I need within reach -- my backpacking stove, a duffel bag full of books, crossword puzzles and notebooks, my sleeping bag, a tent, four changes of clothing, two pairs of shoes, a couple of fleeces and a shell. I get in every day with a purpose: to get to the next town. To leave the embrace of my trusty car would be to re-enter the "real world," the one where I have to acknowledge that as of today, I will have existed for 365 days sans income. That after 12 months, I am STILL unemployed. That I currently have no home, no future and no job, and I don't quite know where to start obtaining any of the above. That I am now in a place where I have very few friends, no professional contacts, and no idea of how to get around. It would be to admit that I am starting from zero, that there's an ocean in my way, so I can't run any further. I guess this is it.
Welcome to California.