June 12th, 1973
At work– not much to do. Idly sitting, waiting for the day to go back. Talking to Allen. Eating licorice– worrying that the vague pain in my left jaw may be a wisdom tooth.
I just sat here and figured out that if I just very calmly devote myself to the idea that getting a VW van is clearly the most fulfilling project I could currently undertake– and work and save $50 out of each check– that, with the $230 I currently have saved– by the end of the summer I could have $500 saved.
All summer long! And $500 is just a drop in the bucket– a good down payment.
Escape fantasies flood my consciousness. As comfortable as life is becoming for me– as content as I feel about so many elements of my life–
my job
Richard
the apartment/home
saving money
determination (an end to the aimlessness)
there seems to be a simultaneous undercurrent of discontent. “Is this all there is?”– the wanderlust.
That’s why I want that van so much. To provide a way to feel my wanderlust and at the same time avoid the loss of a home– being on the road without being on the street.
Sort of a middle-class hobo.
A bourgeoise tramp.
I really am sick of working though. I long for something new and interesting and exciting.
Oh, I should shut that dialogue up.
No, I shouldn’t shut that dialogue up. I should feel it and explore it.
I want a VW van! that’s the next step I want to have happen.