I'm at the Tucson Mall. Locals have informed me there are better malls in this city, but I haven't seen them. Driving in a city with no interior freeways is tedious and fraught. It's less stressful to stay in one area, and that area for me is Northwest Tucson. I like this mall. So far, no shootings, and the food court is amazing if you want burgers, pizza, pretzels, and rofles. What's a rofle, you ask? I have no idea but the pictures make me drool.
My other two power stations are smaller, more like 250 watts. The infant versions of power stations. They take longer to charge because they are old technology.
You might be wondering why I don't recharge with my two solar panels. Thanks for asking. I will tell you why. It is considered a faux pas to deploy solar on mall property. They don't want you setting up camp in the parking lot. Visitors to the mall are there to shop, not make themselves at home. Not only that, it's brutally hot in the sun. No sane person spends time in the sun here. You are asking to be dead. If I were camping in the forest, and if I could have a combination of sun and shade, then I'd pull out my solar panels and get busy soaking up the free juice. The next best thing is to rub against the hoi polloi at the mall.
I'm learning to make peace with this odd lifestyle. I will say, it's a challenge at times. I'm called to a new level of consciousness about the most basic activities of daily living. The other day I thought I had lost both my phones. You can imagine the frantic search that ensued. One day after I finished pumping gas, I almost left my debit card in the pay machine. You can imagine my utter horror. Now when I get gas, I have a mantra, essentially, "Carol, don't be a stupid girl, be a smart girl, don't be a stupid girl, etc." So many things can go wrong because there is a lot more to keep track of.
I've been visiting my possessions. They are stored in a 5 foot by 5 foot cubicle at a storage facility across the street from Lowe's, one of my favorite shopping destinations. I get sad when I visit my stuff. To avoid constant sadness, I'm getting rid of it. Well, most of it. The shelves I built, the drawer units I bought at Target with such hope, so much household stuff, my two gray IKEA rugs, even Mom's old flattish-screen TV, long obsolete. I feel deep chagrin and regret when I think of the many many dollars I have spent transporting and storing stuff I don't need anymore. It's so humbling to realize how little I really need to survive. It's not a badge of honor, though. I've never been bombed. I've never walked a thousand miles to emigrate to another country. I've got a minivan. Living in luxury, compared to many. No complaints from me.
The other day I was parked at a park where nomads often park. A park ranger dude drove by in a little green cart and stopped to make sure I was okay. He knew I was in my car. He said if I ever need water or anything to let him know. His name is Jerry. He said he was homeless for a short time, living in his car. I'm guessing he's probably not voting for the candidate I voted for, and yet, he was the soul of kindness. This is how it is these days. Mobs cannot be trusted. Group think is real. And yet, when you have one person talking to another person, sometimes the humanity in all of us comes out, and I think there might be hope.
I try not to think too much. Thinking is less productive than doing. I plan, don't get me wrong, but I try not to weigh the value of one thought to the next, one moment to the next. Thoughts are like moments, they come and go and have no power on their own. I admit I sometimes have opinions about the value of certain thoughts and moments, but I have accepted the reality that I don't control anything—not people, not the weather, not neurologists, not traffic . . . it's no use wasting time thinking about it. I focus on doing the next thing on the list. It's never sit here and think. It's more like go get water, get gas, get food, go to the mall, recharge batteries, write a blogpost. You know. The activities of daily living, the Hellish Handbasket way.
