Well, in the past two weeks I've managed to accumulate 10 (giver or take... actually no, literally 10) parking tickets. In my life, I have never before received a parking ticket, but apparently Victoria is harsher than most cities (apparently parking infractions are the city's sole source of revenue), and I also began work this week and, it would seem, have lost the ability to correctly read and comply with city parking signs.
At first, the tickets were causing me distress, then I began to see them as a game being played between myself and the 'meter-readers,' and this was simply their way of saying 'hi.'
(Note to future van-dwellers: when your fiscally conservative father asks about van living and tickets, jokingly tell him you only received one valued at $20, then assure him you have since learned your lesson.) (Note to future van-dwellers who start a blog and send their blog's address to their fathers: don't.) (I'm just kidding, Dad. I've only received one ticket, valued at $20. And I have absolutely learned my lesson.)
I have officially become a professional, who dwells in a van. Every morning I rise, pee in my pail, head to the YMCA to shower, don my suit and heels, and head to my office. So far? It's going along swimmingly.
Working again has affected my sleeping patterns, I'm having trouble putting the job out of my mind at the end of the day, so I was pretty worn down this week. Last night I slept for a minuscule 13 hours, and awoke in a state of bliss that was only amplified when I turned on my wipers to four tickets under the blade. I was flattered that the city of Victoria parking violation enforcers cared so much for me. Truly. (Not truly.)
One other incident of note, one night I was tucked in, all cozy-like, and had just drifted off -- still in the zone of not quite full asleep -- when around 2am, some hooligans were coming home from the bars and (even though I was parked in a fairly residential neighborhood) were having some kind of altercation, and someone hit my 'bedroom' with some part of their body, causing a bang and me to jolt awake in a state of fear. They had some sort of short conversation before running off. Nothing of the like had happened before this night nor since (that was at least a week ago).
Quinn took off yesterday. I was pretty concerned that that may be the end of her van-dwelling experience. I was transporting some furniture for my office and left the door open by mistake in front of the building. She scampered off and explored the bushes and grasslands of the apartment complex across the street. I set out a bowl of cream and treats for her to coax her back, but I was mostly concerned because I didn't know what she would try and return to: I had to move the van to an appropriate parking space half a block away (lest give the parking bastards another point in the game) and she'd never been to my office before.
For over an hour I would catch glimpses of her across the street, and even the neighbors got involved in trying to win her over (I wished them luck in their endeavor). But ultimately, I just sent out a prayer to the universe, because I had to get going to a meeting. And, lo and behold, it started to rain and the little kitty's sensibilities were threatened causing her to race back to the van's awaiting open door to use her own facilities (opposed to squatting in the dirt and rain like any common stray)... where she then indulged in a dish of the finest whipping cream the local Indian Cuisine restaurant could provide.
Til next time,
Pam (Van Dweller)
Lady Quinn (Reluctant Van Dweller, but van-dweller none-the-less)