Homeless | The Habitation of Justice

The Curse of Valentine’s Day!

Lincoln Adams | February 13, 2008 @ 3:34 pm

This post is part of the series titled, "Death to Valentine's Day." The table of contents for this series is listed below in chronological order:

Happy Anti-Valentine's Day This might come as a shock to you, but I hate Valentine’s Day.

Ever since Donna Costello kicked me in the shinny after giving her a Valentine card back in the third grade, I knew this holiday was going to bring me nothing but grief.

It got worse during my high school years when some evil bastard of a bastard came up with the brilliant idea to have flowers and Valentines delivered DURING CLASSES. So I’m sitting there at my desk minding my own business, trying to learn the intricacies of the periodic table, when lo and behold there’s a knock on the door and in walks this delivery guy holding a huge bouquet of flowers, meant of course for the ONE girl I happened to have a crush on. And then when class is over I get to watch her throw her arms around her darling love while I grab my chest and try to endure the agony of having my heart get ripped to shreds as I made my way to Spanish class.

Year after year it was like this, even as I continued to hope in vain that maybe, just maybe, next time things would be different. Nope. Unfulfilled love, loneliness, pain and anguish continued to rule my Valentine’s Day.

Then a few years ago, something happened that would forever seal Valentine’s day as a day of infamy for me. I came home one night to find an eviction notice had been posted on my door. An evil relative had stolen the house that my family bought and paid for, and then had the courts rule in his favor to get us thrown out so his granddaughter could move in with her skank boyfriend. My family unfortunately had no money for an attorney, so we were left defenseless against this onslaught of pure hatred. And, (almost like it was his parting gift), our relative poisoned our pet cat, who died shortly before our eviction.

The worst act of hatred that had ever been commited against me (and left me homeless for the first time in my life) happened precisely… on Valentine’s Day. That experience changed my life forever. I no longer had a place to call home, and the ruinous trials that resulted in that destructive aftermath left all of us with no assets except the cars we drove and the clothes on our backs. My parents will never be able to retire, and even with our resources pooled together we had all been effectively priced out of the housing market. Even years later, I can still feel the dull impact of that devastating day.

So yeah, I f*&#ing hate this accursed holiday.

The only way I’ve managed to survive in the years that followed was to basically hide under the bed and pray the demon-spirit of Valentine wouldn’t come get me. Then when the morning of the 15th finally came, I’d come out and breathe a sigh of relief in knowing I would live to see another day.

Of course, last year I made the mistake of thinking it was finally safe to come out again, and met someone online (on Valentine’s Day) who seemed to be the perfect girl for me. Educated, funny, intelligent, had a good career, loved to travel, shared the same political and religious beliefs I did, and most importantly, had blonde hair .

The perfect girl ended up stringing me along for 2 months, and then after sending her flowers for her birthday, I get texted a terse “thank you” and never hear from her again. I mean sheesh, if you’re gonna be like that then at least pay me the difference for the flowers I bought you cheap miserable mother#*&%ing bi___

I hate Valentine’s Day.

But… you know, whether it’s because I’m a glutton for punishment or because I’m just a dumb schmuck (or both), there’s a part of me that’s still holding out hope that this Valentine’s curse will someday be lifted. That maybe, just maybe, there’s a special girl out there who can finally break the hex and make this day a day I no longer have to fear or despise again.

Until then, I will continue to hide under the bed and rage against the pink machine.

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Tags: anguish, anti valentine, evicted, evil, hate, homeless, loneliness, pain, pet cat, unrequited love, valentine card, valentines day
Categories: Romance and Relationships

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A Desire For Fire in My Life

Lincoln Adams | October 24, 2007 @ 12:41 am

The Californian fires got me thinking about how much worth people place on material possessions, and how quickly it can all be lost through circumstances beyond our control. It’s so difficult and takes so long to build up our material wealth, and yet the cruelties of life have shown us that in a mere moment it can all be taken away.

I certainly learned that lesson when I lost my house and found myself utterly homeless for the first time in my life. The feeling that you suddenly have no place on earth anymore to call home is simply indescribable. It was surreal for me, and the shock of that experience changed me forever. These days I no longer place any value in owning a home, and I continue to wittle down my possessions in order to make myself more mobile. Nowadays I place my value in my independence and the freedom of not being tied down to one location. I want to be able to move any where on a dime’s notice, and as a result I’ve been making it a rule of mine to ensure I don’t own more than what I can fit into my own car. Fortunately though I own a SUV.

For the longest time I’ve romanticized the idea of living a nomadic lifestyle, and whenever disaster strikes somewhere in the U.S., I liked the idea that such a lifestyle meant I could just hop in my car and go to lend whatever helping hand I could. I hated to watch these kinds of events unfold, (such as the fires happening now), while I was stuck on the sidelines, tied down to a dead end job, suffering from poor health and with bills that never seem to stop coming. I haven’t entirely proved myself useless though, since I’m using my income to help provide for relatives in need, but there was a part of me that always held on to the notion that I was meant to do more. Not merely token gestures of charity, but the capacity to truly help those in need in ways I’m either incapable or have been unwilling to do now.

To me this felt like the real way to live. It would feel right. It would feel JUST.

There’s a Hebrew word that describes my feelings here, down to a T. The word is Tzedakah, and while it is translated to mean “charity” in English, in truth the meaning is much deeper than that. According to Judaism 101:

“Tzedakah” is the Hebrew word for the acts that we call “charity” in English: giving aid, assistance and money to the poor and needy or to other worthy causes. However, the nature of tzedakah is very different from the idea of charity. The word “charity” suggests benevolence and generosity, a magnanimous act by the wealthy and powerful for the benefit of the poor and needy. The word “tzedakah” is derived from the Hebrew root Tzadei-Dalet-Qof, meaning righteousness, justice or fairness. In Judaism, giving to the poor is not viewed as a generous, magnanimous act; it is simply an act of justice and righteousness, the performance of a duty, giving the poor their due.

When I first started this blog I was under the belief that I would eventually attend law school so I could help find justice for those in need as an attorney, and when those plans fell through, I felt like my life was basically over, and as a result I sunk even further in my depression. Before the thought of law school I once had a lifelong dream of establishing a career in law enforcement, but after 7 years of working in one of the most corrupt law enforcement agencies I’ve ever witnessed in all of creation, that dream was pretty much derailed as well.

Law enforcement didn’t pan out, the legal profession didn’t pan out, so where was I supposed to find justice?

Then I thought, maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong. It’s a given that God never sees things the way we do, and maybe there’s huge part of a picture in all this that I’ve just haven’t been able to see yet. Maybe the kind of justice I’m looking for can’t be found in a courtroom, or from wearing a badge. Instead of letting myself completely unravel and succumbing to my depression, it might be time to consider that there really is a life being prepared for me that will end up being better than anything I’ve ever imagined, and the kind of justice I seek and find in that life will prove to be more profound and far more rewarding. I just need to believe it again.

I still have a long way to go before I can finally consider myself ready for such a life, but it’s time I broke this cycle of despair and began my own personal basic training program.