All (shopping) carts are not created equally

See lots more art like this at OaktownArt (CA)

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Sometimes the pieces come bit by bit, warm gooey marshmallows just a little crisp on the outside, roasted over an open flame. Inspired by dreams, or imaginary WordPress challenges: “Write about a time you felt too heterosexual.”

Most times I know how the pieces are going to fit together, and sometimes it is like so much confetti after a particularly rowdy political win.

This is one of those confetti times. I need to tell you this so I can tell another part of the story later.

I was sleeping here and there and living out of a shopping cart. I had a little housing mishap and little money, but I did have a few things most homeless people aren’t privy to, key things like showers. I was able to obtain showers at the dorm because the guards at the gate didn’t know I was no longer a student, also because they didn’t actually guard anything but stood their post to impress the rare visiting parent.

My roommate situation went to crap overnight. In typical “take this job and shove it” fashion, I grabbed my most important possessions together. How telling is this? My guitar and no, no practical survival stuff, but the sentimental: hand-made items from the two French girls and my make-up kit. You gotta look good if you expect to survive, right?

I thought I would make peace with the roommate and get my stuff back but that never happened. I looked at the shopping cart as freedom, freedom from an anal-retentive roommate telling me what kind of kitchen sponge I was allowed to buy, freedom from a man that wouldn’t kill the spiders for me.

(Later I would only remember the good times, staying up learning to sip scotch while listening to his massive album collection and yes, even some 45’s. Or waking up to a pair of men’s shoes strewn about the living room, shoes that were not his and realizing that he took to bed a a guy who did not know how to put his shoes away. Egads!).

Folks offered to help me during this time. But it was Michael who was always there, with no strings attached, just unconditional love. Michael who would choose being with me over a one night stand, Michael who would stand somebody up for me.

So I parked my sentiment-filled shopping cart, loaded with the hand-made wool cape that kept me warm through a London winter, into a hot Florida dormitory hallway alcove. My stuff took up half his closet and I suppose, helped him come out of one, all at the same time.


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