Hotels. The road to homelessness.

I wanted to write about Slack and my new project, The Human Family Foundation, but I landed on my admin page and was smacked in the face by my reality. 

I'm homeless. 

Yeah, well some people might not consider being in a hotel the same as being homeless, but I assure you there's little difference and a great deal of anxiety. You see, we only have enough to stay here a week, and we're already half way through that. We've got two cars and three cars worth of stuff to carry around, and our storage is already full. 

We were getting help. Our GoFundMe campaign really seemed to be ramping up and I let myself believe we might be seeing the light at the end of the long, dark, damp, forbidding tunnel that has become life in America. Then it just stopped. We went days without a donation, then $15 came in last night. It's nice, but you want to scream. 

You want to scream that it's not fair. You want to scream at those who read your plea and do nothing. You want to scream at all those rich assholes and slippery bankers that screwed up our economy. You want to scream at all those politicians who want you to believe their lies about those terrible homeless people and the need to destroy social programs. But most of all, you just want to scream. 

I've got more things to do. My life isn't yet over. I can still contribute. I'm not worthless trash. I deserve a chance. 

Yet, it seems like the only people who hear me are the ones whom I share my lifeboat with. They feel bad, and they fully understand, but there's nothing they can do as they wait to see if, the next time the boat capsizes, they're are the next ones in the water. 

So, I remain homeless. For now. It's not hope, really. It's more an embrace of the inevitability of change in the wrong direction. The house always wins, and I'm just about out of ante.