06-09-11 I can’t keep from crying Sometimes

06-09-11
Well, my momma, she’s dead and gone
And I’m left here on my own
I can’t keep from crying
Sometimes
0 miles
Not a lot happened but rain all day. I had been getting electricity from neighbors in the tent next to me but they cut me off twice…so I took that as a sign their hospitality had worn out.
I worked a bit more on things, but I was feeling miserable and questioning just what the hell I was doing and if it made any difference at all.
Being out of funds and being next to a major river overflowing it’s banks just two blocks away and of course the non-stop noise of the train yard 100 feet from me - day and night.
It wore on me and I broke. I depressed and typed…and dialed too.
I needed to talk to somebody. To get a since of my impact, if any, on the world at large…and if “Large” was even applicable as a description of my “readership” following.
I questioned what I was doing in the tent in the cold and the rain in Montana of all places. Was I being as stupid as that kid in “Into the Wild”
I was feeling raw and empty and alone and with just 12 minutes left of battery power last night I posted this:
Sending out an S.O.S.
by Rik Converse on Thursday, June 9, 2011 at 6:07pm
When i was in Iowa, at me nieces, i saw the movie Julie & Julia (again) It reminded me of the journey I'm on. She cooked a meal a day for a year based on Julia Child's cookbook. I'm spending nearly a year out traveling Steinbeck with my dog Mischa. I've already surpassed his time on the road. It is lonely and arduous and at times unbearably challenging not to mention dangerous. I recall the moments in the movie when she wonders if anyone is "listening to her blog". I feel like that at times. I'm in a tent with pouring rain and cold and broke and wondering...wondering if i can go the distance. If i should go the distance. Is my writing worth a damn. Will I have what it takes to finish this or just cop to being another of the homeless and unemployed. I've taken inventory of the people who have supported me so far on this Journey. 13 benefactors - 7 patrons - 6 supporters and 2 subscribers. 28 great people have gotten me across 21 states, nearly 12K miles. And there are maybe a dozen people who have take the time to like or comment on my posts on a regular basis - you cannot believe how much that has meant to me. But 40 people...it just seems like I'm not making an impact. Like what I'm doing is less significant than making a recipe of Julia Childs in my home after work. This was a road trip for Steinbeck. It's my only place to go. It's all that's left of my life. And it seems...to effect few. I hope I'm wrong...but it doesn't feel like it. Not here in the tent, in the cold, in the rain.
I tried to call my niece - to voicemail.
I called my sister Cindy in Florida. - She answered.
And I couldn’t talk. Heaving choked sobs were the best I could manage. I haven’t cried like that since my mom died. I fought to talk. But words came out like air bubbles from underwater, popping before any discernable since could be made of the sounds my mouth formed. I was afraid she’d think some pervert was dialing her, but her phone had pre-announced the caller. And that made it worse. I couldn’t help it. And I didn’t even know where it was coming from…it was just rolling out of me in waves like the incessant rain.
But we eventually talked. And remembering the place she lived and the days I spent with her months ago helped ground me. A since of normalcy…whatever that means to me these days. Maybe what I hope will someday be again. I got grounded and felt less alone and the call ended. Then my niece, whom I referred to in the post called me back. And we talked about my post and my breakdown and why I was doing it.
The rain continued and the air was still cold. But I felt a little less alone. I felt like tomorrow was another day, another chance and I was willing…to be moving…forward.