For over a year I was floating IT. I crossed between Whitefish, Montana to LA, California, picking up gigs off Craigslist. I'd probably have done better if I'd checked more with the smaller towns in between, but as it was I'd sometimes be checking my email at found wireless along the highways. I took buses, trains, and ride-shares, focusing on cities where I had places to stay when hotels weren't an option. My text messages filled up with 'are you in town?' notes and the people I stayed with seemed unsure of my presence even when I was there.

I became hyper-aware of my surroundings wherever I was. I learned not to indulge my cravings for entertainment that would make my time less available and flexible, because if I missed an open door it might not open again for me. In that case I walked all night. I've never been one for carrying a sleeping bag, but it was a close consideration. My nerves began to fray, spring, snap. I began to focus on ethereal considerations and when I got to location it would sometimes take me two or three days before I could meet with anyone, to bolster my inner reserves enough to hold a conversation, doing my projects hard and fast and with many hours of forethought to win the time to vegitate. Then it began to take even longer to recouperate.

The residences and people began to go by like the trees on the highway. No one really knew where I was, or could be counted on to remember if I'd called to check in this week... or was that call last week. I was completely out of place everywhere and I could fall away at any point. The only person who definitely knew I (as a unique personality within this character) was alive every day was 3000 miles away, and I became obsessive about looking for signs that my presence was still accounted for. Even a nasty phone call was a sign that, were my phone in mud next to my festering corpse, someone would have noticed.

The rides became pretty equivalent to the jobs. I'd work hard because of the few people who respected my effort and took that into consideration financially. A few considerate people made the next few who wanted a second 'date' from a distant town or a meal I couldn't deal with into hardships. Likewise, some projects didn't go as well and the impulse to uphold professional integrity got confusing. Can I charge full price when asked for something completely different than previously established? How long could I argue for my money with a small company that wanted to offer me things that I didn't want and couldn't carry, and without the will to argue? How many small basements or men's home offices could I stride into with my bag slung before I got confused? In the end I was monosalabic. Beaten. It was a fool's errand to begin with, a poorly thought out business model (if you will).

Early on I actually carried a mandolin case full of spare gear and tools. I was trying to be a rock star without a band, or manager, or set performance. I still have the case though. Now it holds negligee. I didn't know what else to do until I did it; I got an apartment I couldn't afford and settled into a search for a real job. I began to try to enlist, to join in something positive, some kind of organization that might help me survive. My IQ, my friends, having gotten a degree, and having dealt purely with with artists and engineers (for years) hadn't prepared me for the games of business life. The lifestyle didn't fit anything at all.

The first day I walked up to the shrink's door, the front of the building shivered loose into facade and fell around my shoulders.