Another journal entry from day one of studying homelessness.  That is what I was doing, I guess.  There’s no good politically correct name for it.  If I call it a project, that seems to distance me from anything I feel or learn.  An experiment would make it sound like I’m joining a pack of lab rats.  Posing as a homeless person for 2 weeks will never give me an understanding of what it’s like, as I’m not and I have an exit date.  I’m glad I did though.

What am I doing here?

Again, this is not feeling right.  I can’t quite pinpoint why.  Maybe I shouldn’t have told anyone what I was would be doing.  I have now placed these expectations on myself through this process.  Can I really make people rethink homelessness?  Why not focus on the things I know or things I can do differently, like change my shopping habits or downsizing my material possessions?  What if God didn’t really call me to do this?  I could have made it up.  I make up stuff all the time.  This whole thing feels uncomfortable.  Not from the standpoint of being homeless, but from the fact I’m faking it.  I didn’t expect this feeling.  I guess homeless people should be offended at what I’m doing.  I don’t know, maybe I’m just too close to it right now to be objective.  Is this much different from the guys that did this in the book Under The Overpass? 

Where do I go now?  I want to get a razor.  If I get one, where will I go to shave my legs?  As a homeless person, I have already learned to appreciate the one-room restrooms.  You get privacy with a sink, but you can’t stay in it too long.

After one night, I thought this would be the start of feeling something different.  Right now, I don’t feel any more appreciation for the things I have.  I also don’t feel any worse for people that are really homeless right now.  What’s up with this?  I feel like a fake, similar to the way I feel a lot of the time.  I’m trying to fit into a world that I just don’t get.  This just happens to be on the other end of it.  Instead of trying to fit in with the rat race as a productive member of it, I’m trying to fit into it by being invisible while working toward membership.  I’m living as a poverty-stricken homeless person, trying to fit into a wealthy suburban town.  In my real life, I’m trying to live frugally and be environmentally conscious in a town of excess and greed.  I know.  I am stereotyping here and I do know that not everyone is this way, although it seems as if the majority are.  I think this is the first time I’ve thought about what I’m doing, posing as a homeless person, might not change anything.  Not me, not homeless people and not the minds of the people that could make a difference.  Yeah, I know, I’m being Eeyore.

I guess I’m used to typing in a computer, as I’m handwriting all of this and I just tried to save it.  Seriously.  (I had no computer access and this is my handwritten journal, typed in afterward.)

I want to go to the restroom, but I’ll probably loose my comfy chair.  Maybe it’s time to move on, but where?

I just had the desire to pull out my iPhone that I don’t have right now.  Normally, I would check my email, catch up on Scramble, play Words With Friends and then send a text or two.  I doubt I would have an iPhone if I was homeless.  I can barely afford that with a job.

I’ve caught a few people glancing my way.  Do I fit in here at Starbucks?  Are these just people-watching glances or do they see something different about me?  Do we all people watch?  It’s fun to do, but it’s such a judgmental thing to do.  We guess a story based solely on a person’s appearance.  I wonder when people watching became such a popular sport?  I think my first experience with it was when I was about 5 or 6 years old.  I was with my parents at a furniture store.  They were busy looking at new furniture and I was free to do pretty much anything, as long as it wasn’t bothering them or distracting them from selecting the new furniture we didn’t need.  I sat in a chair, then climbed on some other furniture, watching other people as they watched me.  I’m sure they were thinking, “Where are her parents?”  I don’t remember what conclusions I had about these people I was watching, but I do remember studying them.

Starbucks is not a peaceful place to hang out.  The music is loud enough to muffle out the buzz of conversations and the sound overflow of the many headsets people are wearing.  I don’t know exactly what I expected, but this isn’t it.  I just lost my train of thought.  Look!  No squirrel, just people with fancy coffee drinks.

It’s time to surrender my chair.  I can’t ignore the need to use the restroom any longer.  I miss my kids.  Off to the restroom…

Yep, my chair is occupied by a new tenant.  As a matter of fact, there are no more open seats right now, unless of course, I go sit at a table with someone.  That would be weird.  Back to the car.

I just poured my leftover coffee back into the 7-11 cup.  These paper cups don’t last long when liquids sit in them for any length of time.  After emptying it, I dried it out with a napkin, as to save this valuable cup for future use.

Oh, how awesome is this!  My 7-11 cup leaked earlier and now I have a huge coffee stain on my t-shirt.  How’s that for blending in?  Is this going to wash out?  Where will I wash it out?  Time to go figure this out, then go seek some assistance.  I’m getting hungry.

Why am I here?

I suppose if I were really homeless, I would be asking myself that question.  What happened?  How do I get myself out of this?  There’s no guide for being homeless.  You have to learn by experience what to do and what not to do.

A homeless friend of mine read my first journal post.  He said sleeping in an apartment complex was a bad idea due to the trespassing laws.  He’s right.  I knew I shouldn’t be there, but I didn’t think it was worse than anywhere else I shouldn’t be.