I do not feel guilty for living indoors. I was raised in captivity...indoors. I have lived almost all of my life with a roof over my head, and with indoor plumbing too.
I don’t believe in landlords. I’ve never been one. I believe every person born should have a place to be that is irrevocable. Having no place? How damaging is that to a human psyche?
I believe in rules. I believe in privacy and quiet. I believe in birth control too, and shoot me for pecking this out...I believe in reproductive choice.
I have given up much to be living in the hills in the doublewide. I have compromised to live indoors. I am fearlessly optimistic, but deep down I fear having no place to go, and no money to pay a landlord.
I’ve been there, but not really. In the past there was my mother’s house, and when I ran out of luck, I knew I could go back to where I was raised. I always thought of that place as my place...and then she died, and then family decided to sell what I had thought was my place, twenty two years ago. My share went towards the double wide in the hills.
The doublewide is ours, and the first built property I have ever officially owned in name. After four decades of field work, I officially own a doublewide and a share of a mobile home park.
I am not home, I am far away from what I know best, and know that I never liked winters there, ever. I’m ok until May, then I want to be home, and not indoors, but on the estuary down river from the fort. The fort is gone too, but the racetrack is still there. I get home sick.
I do not know how to fix the homeless, or convince the MIC to provide every person a place. Hell, I’m lucky they let me live at all. I’ve mostly been nipping at their heels for decades. I don’t make them do tricks, and don’t want to.
I had a barracks to myself at Sea Girt a few times after the fort closed; the state was kind to let me bunk in. I felt right at home. I was home, indoors, on an estuary, but not my estuary. I did not feel guilty.