From the Atlantic Magazine....

"Celibacy had never been a problem, thank God" I thought as I pushed the cart which now contained all of my worldly possessions. "I must be naturally celibate"....

I started up Bergh's hill toward Robby's place. Robby had digs at the top of the hill in an abandoned garage. No heat, but a roof and warm companionship with cheap wine thrown in. The hill was steep and, something I hadn't noticed when I'd thrown my stuff into the cart, the carts right wheel was locked. It hadn't been much of an issue on the flat ground but now every few steps I was forced to kind of hitch it along.

I carried on; Me: step - push - "UH!" the cart: slide - stick "BANG!" up the hill.

The view at the top of Bergh's hill was usually nice but today the sharp fall air tore my breath - what breath I had left - from my throat and teared my eyes until they ran.

I blinked looking for the trail into the overgrown ditch that would lead to Robby's.

When I finally found it, the trail was even worse than I remembered causing me to curse the stupid cart. I kicked it, cutting my shin through my jeans on the sharp edge and that was it. I grabbed the cart and began pushing, shoving, throwing and shouting "f*ck YOU, you STUPID CART!!!! I F-nnnn HATE YOU!!!!

I shoved it with all of my might and it tipped over - spilling my black garbage bag protected belongings into the overgrown weeds at the edge of the forest. I was crying in earnest now. No longer blaming the bitter wind for the tears streaming down my face. I kicked my black trash bag and my things flew out of its mouth -- retching my life all over the place.

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This piece is actually inspired by a novel I'd read a few years ago called "The Longings of Women" by Marge Piercy. If you want a good read about becoming homeless and relationships we find ourselves in as we age, pick up a copy.