«Sleeping on the Floor»

02-10-2309

     I can’t tell you how much it thrills me to be able to sleep in a comfortable bed tonight. For the past 7 weeks I’ve been making nests of various piles of blankets and sleeping bags, ever since I got kicked out of my last apartment. In almost two months I’ve jumped at every chance I’ve gotten just to lay down on someone’s bed and prayed I could get a couch wherever I crashed. Even when I went home to Earth, I had to sleep on the floor of my old room cause my brother commandeered my bed after my cat pissed on his. I was too amused by the situation to care at the time.

     All that time tossing on unsporting floorboards and thin carpet just reminded me of when I first moved to Mars and had no where to stay but Linda’s house. Hell, even after I moved into my first apartment with Pashan, where I just had that broken futon, I still spent almost every night sleeping on the ground in my girlfriend’s bedroom. Even this past summer I spent a lot of time on Allan‘s floor because I still lived half an hour away from my life. But now that’s all over.

     Yes, now I am coming to you from my new apartment on the other side of Costa Mensa. I may have mentioned a complex I looked up, last year while I was first trying to move, called Villa Venusia. If not, it’s a beautifully spacious gated community with an artificial lake that runs through the entire complex. Even in between the rows of buildings where walkways and driveways would belong, deceptively shallow streams and tributaries meander about, trickling over boulders or spewing with fountains. The fortunate residents that live within the inner units even have balconies that rest on the water where one could sit on the edge and dangle your toes if you so chose.

     I may not be that fortunate, but I’m still lucky I got the place I did. It’s a small 2-Bedroom on the second story of one of the units in the back, but far from a shabby residence. I found the room online through one of those sketchy classified services, so I was expecting the worst when it came to the roommate I picked. It turned out for the best, thankfully.

     Witt is a nice Ganymedean woman and we share a few things in common, including a birth sign and roots in Keret, where she grew up and where my father‘s family is from. Although, there is definitely a generation gap pervading our conversations, though deep and insightful, what with her being my own mother’s age. She does like to drag me into these long talks as I’m trying to get back to my room or out the front door, but I don’t mind cause sometimes I do actually want to respond, and any other time her busy schedule keeps her out of the house.

     It only took me a couple days to get all my stuff from Manna and Justene’s garage up to my room and unpacked, and now I’m surrounded by the familiar knickknacks and images from parts of the Solar system I’ve never even been. My portable workstation seems relieved to be unpacked and has been successfully integrated into it’s new homesphere–no need to buccaneer my way into a random unsecured network. I remain seated at it most of the day and night since I don’t have a teli to keep me inebriated, but sometimes when my back is hurting from being hunched over a keyboard and computer screen, I take a few minutes to thumb through one of my books or pluck a few chords on my guitar.

     Actually, now that I mention it, I’ve been on the nets all day researching tourism on Jupiter and Saturn, instead of looking for a job to pay for such a holiday. My back is murdering me and I feel like I’m starting to get sick, so I’m gonna go turn in for the night and lay down on a fluffy, inviting mattress.

«Where Did I Go Wrong?»

01-25-2309

     I sit on the plastic bench outside my temporary home smoking a cigarette by myself as the question returns to me. Is there a specific moment in my life when everything went array or has it been a slow and gradual decline?  Was it fate that I turn out this way or was it a choice I made, and could I have made it differently?  I’m not even sure if I suddenly feel like I’m at the bottom of the ladder or if I’ve noticed each rung as I’ve descended–I don’t even know if there isn’t another step beneath me.

     If I’m gonna begin by trying to pin down a date, it makes perfect sense to pick a stereotypical fall from grace, say: starting to smoke cigarettes. Now I know that’s a cop out since it obviously leads to destructive behavioral patterns, so maybe I should hone that one better. Starting to hang out with Osker could have done it, the little Europan hooligan sure did get us into some interesting situations. I’d say spending time with him lead me to develop most of the bad habits that are still my favorite to this day. Blaming him may work exceptionally well if you consider the time he introduced me to Eon. I highly doubt she and I hung out often enough then to have any influence on each other, but there was at least one important time I remember.

     It was late in a humid day sometime in the middle of August. During the summer after I graduated, I had recently met someone, a Martian that I didn’t know was about to change things forever. Eon and I were sprawled out on her bed in the afternoon sun, probably exhausting our phone books in search of drugs to fill remainder of the day. Then I brought up the question of mushrooms not expecting an affirmation, though it sent her reeling towards her bookshelf ecstatically. She retrieved a green paperback book entitled Food of The Gods and placed it in my hands, boasting it would change my life. To her honor, it did help to change my life, revolutionizing the way I looked at religion, esotericism and fungus, and sparking my ongoing journey of spiritual discovery–currently simmering on the back burner.

     Maybe I shouldn’t assume that any of them lead me here. Who knows, I’d probably have turned out smoking and drinking by now anyway, I can’t blame Osker or any of our punkish friends, and Eon ended up going to my high school the next year, so I‘d have met her either way. Speaking of school, what if it started when they placed me in accelerated learning back in elementary school. Some bullshit analysis had been taken of my 2nd grade class, and I was one of three students chosen to be uprooted from the only friends we had known and transplanted into an advanced curriculum, with other gifted and talented students taken from across the county.

     I figured out very quickly all that meant was more busywork to do, and learned from a young age how to never turn in a piece of homework and still ace the test. We were deep in the school but always separate from the rest of students, a much nerdier microcosm of the world surrounding us. And at the bottom of the geek’s pecking order was the shortest little Earthling boy in the school. I could have very well developed a napoleon complex from it all. No, that would be too easy, blame a life of debauchery and villainy on an awkward and lonely childhood, I can do much better than that. And, you know, once I was through with a middle school which had the same program, and I was finally given choice over what kinds of classes I would take, I took all regular ones anyway.

     Perhaps my first step on the path of darkness was taking up acting. I know, right, go ahead and blame the devil’s work of magic and theatrics, but it’s seriously lead me down some strange paths. For starters, any girl I’ve ever had a serious relationship with I have gotten to know through theater . For that matter, most of the not serious and downright momentary relations I’ve had were because I was working on some aspect of a show she was part of. Piper was first girl that broke my heart–though we never even really had a relationship at all–but if I had never stepped onto that stage maybe I wouldn’t have walked into her web. I shudder suddenly, dreading for a second to think of how many hearts I’ve since shattered compared to that fracture.

     Hmm, maybe I really should consider placing it all on acting. If I hadn’t have gotten sucked into it I wouldn’t have kept at it so long and gotten so good. If I hadn’t have been so good I wouldn’t have been recognized by award. If I hadn’t have been recognized by award I would have never stuck to the stage for another summer and gone to the national workshop they invited me to. If I hadn’t have gone to that national workshop I would have never met Linda, date her, or fall in love with her, and if I hadn’t have done all that I certainly wouldn’t have packed up and started my life anew on Mars for her.

     I take a puff off my cigarette and decide to shift gears. I squeeze the butt, bursting a capsule hidden deep inside and releasing a blue liquid into the filter. The next drag I take is cool and mentholated, the smoke I exhale now icy fresh, it hurts my teeth a little bit. Maybe I’m not going about this the right way.

     What is it that’s so wrong with my life right now that I could have only come to this point by taking a twisted path? Are things really as bad as I’m making them out to be? Right now I’m in the paradise I’ve always wanted to live in, though I’ve been here so long I can’t remember if I’m not just telling myself that I’ve always wanted to. I don’t have to clean up and clock in for work every day, though a Solar recession threatens an economic depression and I have no real source of income. I’m not worrying my ass off about homework and grades, rushing to get to class in time, even if I can feel my mental acuity and my grips on a career slipping further each day I remain stagnant.

     The transformed cigarette begins to singe the top of my knuckle before I quickly shake my hand and dash it to the curb in a panic. I sigh and kiss my fingers for a second. Of course things are bad, how could I even try to wax positive on this. I should at least be involved in a college community, networking and making friends, enriching my life beyond my small social circle and pushing for a degree that will support me. I could be saving up money to do what makes me feel good, or maybe so I can be able to get off this planet for a while when I need to, or at least see the rest of it before I’m burned out of this red world.

     I shouldn’t be having to worry about all of this catching up in the first place, I should be focusing on enjoying life to the fullest. Instead I’m wallowing in the mess I’ve made for myself and can’t find the shovel, even though I know I was just using it a second ago. Where I am in life and all the problems that surround me are no one’s fault but my own: I create and feed the issues that dominate my field of vision, and it’s within my will to conquer or look past them to get what I need for myself. I can’t blame any specific event or person–though they may have helped in turn along the way–I’m the only one who’s been digging the whole time.

«Eviction Party»

12-22-2308

     The news was inevitable. There was no way that Tohm had come up with the money, and Eon had moved out three days prior, knowing as well as I did what was about to happen. It was a rather expected notice, and well prepared for, but the news was still shocking.

     ‘Notice of Eviction for Tenants of Apartment Γ-1. Effective as of 12/18/2308. Sincerely, OC Properties Management.’

     I sighed and crumpled the paper up, making sure to pick off the last threads of celluloid tape that affixed it to our front door. I had been putting off the first cigarette of the day so I wouldn’t have to be the one announcing it to Tohm; not that we didn’t see it coming anyway. I didn’t even want to light the my factory-rolled tobacco stick, but I suddenly needed it.

     Tohm had lost his job, serving at that family restaurant in Newport Beach, about five weeks ago. His irresponsibility and propensity to sleep until the early evening eventually overcame any good standing he had with his bosses or the clientele. Being a corporate chain, they took the two warnings for similar slip-ups into strong account when they terminated him, and the effects were immediate.

     We had already turned in my portion of the rent, and used it to finagle ourselves a 15 day Promise-To-Pay extension on the rent, but with eight days in and not a dollar from Tohm for what he owed, it didn’t look like there were any options out. The day he lost his job, all my hopes of starting my life anew in Costa Mensa were quickly siphoned off. That was until it flooded in the day before our last scheduled eviction.

     A surge of hope named Eon flowed in that day. She had come to hang with us just as she had last week. And, expecting consequences as disastrous as her first visit, came prepared with a weeks worth of clothes and her beauty supplies. Lou had only intended on chilling out for a couple of days while she was suspended from her retail job in NA, but when our plight dawned on her in the early afternoon, it seemed her plans had changed.

     She was the only reason we were able to keep the new place. She sacrificed every dollar she had saved up working all summer long, money she had wanted to use to get herself a crawler out here, or maybe just spend on girly things that would make her happy. Instead it disappeared faster than a cockroach in the light.

     Keeping my home wasn’t, of course, the only pro to the situation. I had been infatuated, if not enamored, with Eon since we went to school together back on Earth. The fates had never allowed us to become close in the past, but I felt like her first moving to Mars, then falling upon my doorstep, and having enough money to keep us afloat another month were all the orchestrations of invisible hands I’d never paid much attention to.

     Granted, at times I wanted those invisible hands to wring her soft little neck, but that’s just a con of living platonically with someone you have such a strong attraction to. She was never farther than arms length at any time during her occupancy, we even shared the same bed. You’d think I’d have gotten sick of what was apparently unrequited love, but instead the feelings grew in my gut like a tumor. So much to the point that I didn’t even feel upset about losing my home as much as I was distraught about not living with her.

     I also don’t have any qualms with outing Tohm. He had, and continues to have, a major drug problem. I drink alcohol and smoke cannabis almost every day, but these are the days I can afford it. He was addicted to Venusian Coca; a habit that cost him 60 dollars a day even when he didn’t have the money for it. On top of that he also consumed everything else that wasn’t nailed down in the house with such fervor it made me wonder if the devil worked as hard for what he wanted.

     I blamed him for losing my home. I blamed myself for not realizing this would happen the day we moved in and he started chatting away on his touchi in Martian with his dealer when I told him I had a little cash to get booze. I blamed Allan for setting me up with his co-worker in the first place, knowing him and his problems far better than I did. Mostly though, I just blamed Tohm for being too hopeless to ever recover.

     I spent the last day in my brand new home carrying all of my possessions out of it. Luckily our neighbors had agreed to let us keep our stuff in their garage until we could find new places to live, so it was a short trip down the flight of stairs–but like everything, I had to do it on my own. It’s only fitting though, that the captain go down with his ship. I surveyed the damage one last time, the rooms barren and fresh as the day we moved in 2  months ago. I stepped back, tipping my hat to emptiness and locked up, closing the door on this chapter of my life.

     At least I was going home for the holiday, and it worked out that my flight back to Earth would occur the same day I had to vacate the residence. As I started my crawler for the first and last time in two weeks, I thought of my dear Eon and hoped to feel the warmth of her embrace soon. I lit a cigarette and watched my old place disappear in the rear view mirror.

«Everyone Comes Here»

11-25-2308

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

     I wished goodbye to my three Earthling neighbors as they left my apartment. Then, after shaking my head in amusement, I turned to sit and light a Martian Spirit, almost choking as I took that first drag. I pulled up my scarf, leaned back and closed my eyes to the night’s brisk coastal wind as I pondered.

     In the two years I’ve lived here, I don’t believe I’ve ever been drawn to any group of people as much as those not from this place. Whether my friends were Venusian, Saturnian or Jovian, it never mattered as long as they were not a native born Martian. Within the past few months, though, I’ve noticed a startling empathy for the people of my world, Earth.

     They say birds of a feather flock together, and I could never have denied my attraction to like-minded individuals, especially ones who’ve felt just as lonely and alien on this planet as I. Somehow we could tell, there was just a raw magnetism between our kind, and I found it more than coincidence that every time I’d end up vibing off someone I had a conversation with, they turned out to be from home or Luna almost every time.

     My roommate, Tohm, was a lanky Earthling from New Tros who came out to Mars, ironically, to sober up 2 years ago. Our neighbor, Charae, was a stacked Lunarian that wanted to be a wealthy star but ended up a weekend dancer instead. Duke, a friend I still had from my last job, was born in Earth’s cold north and never complained about the weather here, though his family was from one of Saturn’s more tropical moons. Allan may have been the only Martian on the planet I didn’t want to bludgeon yet.

     What I found absolutely tickling, though, were the amount of people I’d run into not just from earth, but from the suburbs of DT where I grew up. A week after I moved to Costa Mensa I helped a group of girls carry furniture into our apartment complex. Justene was born in Chesapeake and lived in Dominia until she was three, and Manna was born and raised just down the street from me in McLean, leaving the Earth about the same time I did. Eon, of course, was a high school friend that came to Mars 6 months ago who now, by some sort of luck, came to be my second roommate two weeks ago. Manna even knew little Lou, having been a friend of her poor brother. 

     A half dozen other friends already came and went, either back to Earth or on through the rest of the solar system. And I asked everyone I knew the same question, why did you want to come to Mars? Startled, I found out each person had a very similar reason to mine.

     Everyone came here to follow a dream, whether it was success or fame, wealth or power, or just taking control of the life that was rightfully theirs. Each person felt like they’d never have accomplished their goals where they were, and some light drew them in to this place like a co-dependant moth. Everyone held this magical esteem of Mars, be it projected upon us by movies or teli, handed off from the prosperous antenna-clad travelers who came to Earth, or if it was just a figment of our collective imagination.

     I never gave up the hope that I would achieve what I set out to do here, but I’ve conceded that I may need to start on the other side of the planet. I snuffed the cig out and went back inside to discuss travel with Tohm and Eon.

«Costa Mensa, Mars»

10-30-2308

     I finish walking the block back from the convenience store to return to my apartment. I put out my brand new cigarette and use my free hand to search for my key. Accessing the garage, I take a short cut by walking under the rest of the complex. The main courtyard and two stories of units skirting it are held aloft by great pillars, protecting residents from coastal flooding while creating an ample parking situation.

     My unit is in the back though, separate from the proper structure. Past a row of locking garages and up the only set of stairs, the new apartment rests on top of two other 2 bedroom homes. To one side a small group of Martian students and directly below a single Europan family. I keep them in mind as I walk softly up the steps to our place, glancing at the empty parking lot next door.

     I use the sliding door, since its open to the ocean wind blowing up in the early day, and slip off my shoes inside. My roommate, Tohm, is lounging on my big comfy couch with the tube of a vaporizer to his lips. While he holds his breath I set down our breakfast and cigarettes and then hand him his coffee while he exhales. Before I get a ‘thank you’ or an ‘I appreciate you getting breakfast’ or even ‘good morning’ Tohm takes a sip and nearly spits it out.

     “You messed up my drink again,” he exclaims wiping his lip, “it’s too damn sweet. I can’t drink this!”

     “You’re overreacting, you can still drink it,” I half-heartedly try to calm him. “And I got it the order right today, they screwed it up,” I blurt before shoving a bite of breakfast sandwich in my face.

     “No, I have to go back and fix it now,” he shouts standing up and grabbing his wallet and the cigarettes. He takes out a cig and drops it on the table, taking the pack with him as he storms out the sliding door. I chuckle to myself as I finish my breakfast, washing it down with the simple black coffee they couldn’t mess up.

     Snatching up the smoke he left me, I grab my shades and step back out on the balcony. It’s a warm weekday afternoon and the pink sun radiates nonchalantly overhead.  I sit down in the satellite chair and light up, slumping back into the soft pad and closing my eyes. The wind and a sporadic birdcall tug at my peace, the intermittent drag and puff of smoke the only unnatural interruption. It’s a relaxing day.

     Or at least, it is until they arrive. Out of nowhere three clamoring Broadsides descend  upon the empty parking lot my balcony over looks. I grumble as the oversized economy transports land and their engines begin to unwind. My roommate and I suspect it’s a sober living house next door, as not one of the 30-or-so residents but the obnoxious staff is allowed to drive and they all smoke more cigarettes than us. There are a lot of establishments like this all over Olympus County, especially right by the shore in Costa Mensa and Newport. Apparently Mars is a haven for recovering addicts and alcoholics from all of the inner worlds, contrary to everything I’ve ever learned about this place.

     Even louder than the now stagnant skippers are the patients they unceremoniously unload. Gabbing and chatting about the most inane bullshit, the two dozen yelling twenty-somethings slothly make their way to their dorms, only shutting up for two seconds to light a cig. At least, by the time they get to the other side of the facility near the entrance, I can barely hear the din.

     Now it’s the staff’s turn to start shouting about pick-ups, drop-offs, rebounds and fall-offs. It’s as if they’re attempting to carry on a conversation across the whole parking lot as they stock the vehicles and check the engine’s fluid levels. Between the clangs and thuds and their ear-piercing conversation, two-way communicators chirp like a pulley on a flag pole, incessantly banging away. They respond to their calls even louder, practically screaming at the poor voice at the other end.

     As I wonder when exactly it was that sober people became this loud, I hear a familiar stomping up my stair. My lanky Earthling roommate returns somewhat satisfied with his new drink. Taking a seat on the stool next to me he throws another cig at me.

     “I ‘ought to punch you in the nose,” he says half serious in his New Tros accent.

     “You ‘ought to just be the one who goes out for coffee the first time,” I snicker lighting my cigarette. He simply shakes his head, glaring at me as he lights his own.

«On the Right Track»

10-06-2308

     The fresh coastal breeze blows up my balcony, sending my long hair wild as I take the last drag off my cigarette and stub it in the tray. I stay locked in a staring contest with the neighbor’s feline for another minute before blinking and turning around. Swinging open the heavy old door, I step into my new apartment and lock the wind out. It’s only been a week since we moved in, but already it’s settled and feels like home me. I’m not sure how to express my excitement about leaving Fender for Costa Mensa.

     Sorry about the last few weeks, there’s surely been an upsetting amount of radio silence from my end. But you’re aware how much free time one has when they’re rushed to get their feeble belongings on the road and running before the end of the month. This past week has been spent catching up for the last season or so of buffoonery.

     I’m almost all caught up by now though. My new address has been uploaded to the Martian DMV, bank, post office, vehicle finance and comm companies and updated on all my social networks. We had the utilities switched into my name, our personal sphere activated and still have a good name with the rental agency that supplied the van and our new fridge. This week I’ll have the registration paid off on my crawler and finally be an enabled, functioning member of society again.

     Now, please excuse me for not being more lengthy, but the day is so short and my quest far from over. I’ll tell you more about my new home and my roommate later, but there’s much business at hand still. This is simply the first step of the Job Odyssey.