The Fridge Was Still Full of Decaying Food When I Left – Pt. 1

ceiling fan

I want to thank everyone who has been following my journal. This is a strange time for me and I’ve been feeling very dissociative, so it’s good to have some fans. I guess I’m reaching a few people, at least. But I’ve left something out in telling you this story. Initially, I didn’t want to spill my guts all at once for fear of turning readers off, but in avoiding doing so, I feel I’ve brushed over a few very important details and missed the point all together. So to fill in the gaps, here’s the context of my couchsurfing journal. I hope it provides a bit of clarity.

Over the summer, I lived with my best friend Aaron. I’ve mentioned him before. He was great. He was the kind of guy that really got you fired up about stuff. He was a guy with schemes and plots in mind, and when he said Let’s tear some shit up tonight, you didn’t question it. You never felt at risk around him because he’d done it all. He looked out for his family, and if you were his friend, you were in his family. That’s how it was with him. He was older and wiser, and God was he bad, like your older brother just released from jail or something. He’d light up a smoke and talk about revolution, covered in tattoos from wild days. Bad as hell, but more kind and gentle and generous than anybody. And man, his sense of humor killed me.

All summer we scuzzed up the avenue called Milwaukee and rambled on about getting the fuck out of Chicago to find a new home for our group of friends. Me and Jamie and Molly and Aaron, it was. The midwest is fickle, Aaron would say, and son of a bitch I’m sick of this place. Thick sweltering wet heat turns to bitter awful windy chills without notice. We all needed a new place for our group to call home base and we settled on Seattle, a rainy oasis at the edge of the world where weird lost folk all finally find themselves giving up their search for someplace better. This was where we all would go, we said, just as soon as Chicago turned again.

When the summer soon ended, it all got fucked up a ways into September when suddenly Aaron died one terrible night and left us all wondering if somehow we could have done anything to stop it from happening. It hit me and everyone pretty goddamn hard, and I swear it’s still kicking my ass. Death is a weird one, and what an ugly way to go.

With Aaron gone, I couldn’t afford all the rent anymore and my landlord kicked me out of the apartment. And so began my couchsurfing story. I had nowhere to go so I rang my friend Jamie (aka St. Holiday). She was close with Aaron, too, so I figured she’d be willing to help me out, and she was. She agreed to let me crash on her couch. At least temporarily. I briefly touched on this earlier, but I’ll elaborate soon. Get the full story of that first homeless night in The Fridge Was Still Full Pt. 2.

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