Technically Homeless 🫥

Right now I’m writing while living out of the car with bunnies and staying at a motel. All my lab, business equipment, manufacturing stuff is all in storage… even my collection of favorite swimsuits (still didn’t manage to count them all but they filled a solid 4sq ft box 📦)

We booked into a motel so I could use the pool - only to find that they wouldn’t un-padlock the gate and allow access for some reason. After all this stress I was looking forward to a nice swim.

But right now, we have to find a place to live, and the jobs to afford it. My silicone making business is going to be on hold until I am able to get a lease and move in somewhere.

Somewhere that I can finally settle down and make my sex devices lol. But even that will now be hard after I find the work I need to secure a place to live.

My life has always been insecure. I don’t think I’ve ever had any stability and security of income to settle down anywhere. The last 5 years have been utter hell. Burning out from an overseas job in Austria, to the point where I was mentally unable to look after myself.

I then managed to make enough income off Patreon and my underwater movies to start regaining a sense of self. And my new business venture finally brought me back to health and the ability to work again. It’s taken me 3 years to recover from cognitive decline from inflammation on the brain that caused me to loose how I came to be. I simply existed and could not remember or foresee contingencies and plans beyond the day or hour I lived in.

I was in a permanent brain fog, unable to recognize myself, speak, or remember the last hour. I couldn’t understand time, nor discern objects around me. It was surreal.

Now I am aware how fragile the brain is when it comes to stress, that it can literally wipe itself out with “adjustment syndrome” leading inextricably to a complete mental shutdown. The parietal area of the brain where one stores associative learning becomes scrambled, and words blend into incomprehensible phonetics. Objects cannot be categorized between cup or bowl. Texting on the phone becomes a fearful anxiety of whether one is writing privately, or unintentionally bleeding oneself into the world.

Symbols swim, written words become Tetris, and sentences become poetry that lack assignment, order, or context.

Personal hygiene becomes an impossible task of marathon energy that one has to sacrifice, if one has to keep their head above water, look after their pets, recognize their is a need for purpose and direction in life in order to recover from a huge insult on the brain.

And there is no support for this. With no income or health insurance, I could have slipped away.

But the pandemic rescued me and gave me a place to hold down in, house-sitting a decrepit delapidated house for a relative, as refuge until post-pandemic markets would open the house up for sale.

Now that refuge is sold, and I am lucky I now have the energy and drive to survive being thrown back into chaos.

Days are limited, there is a count down on the credit that can afford motels until… I don’t know what will happen. But while here, I’m knuckling down hard to launch a crowdfunding campaign to find a new launchpad for my productions.