Barnacle

It's official. I think Jim is a moocher. Thirteen months have passed since he folded up the shop, and he hasn't tried to get a real job. He does part-time here and there; that's it. I'm just not interested anymore. He takes up two spots in front of the house; he doesn't pay rent; his stuff is stored on the back porch, in a big tent in the backyard and in two bedrooms.

It's good, though. I quit making dinner when he quit work, and I'm very happy about that. I've also quit buying group food, which has given me a lot more cash on hand. I buy my own food, and I dumpster dive.

It's fun to get free stuff, and it adds a challenge to my day, to see if I can eat free only. Today I had dumpster juice with dumpster protein powder, dumpster yogurt, dumpster carrot chips with dumpster hummus, a dumpster gluten-free muffin, a dumpster egg, a dumpster bell pepper, and even a little dumpster chicken. Eating meat from the dumpster is pushing it a bit, I admit. It was frozen solid when I got it, though, and stayed that way until I cooked it. So far I'm okay.

What is gone is gone

What used to be important to me? It's gone now.

What is plucked will grow again,
What is slain lives on,
What is stolen will remain—
What is gone is gone.

What is sea-born dies on land,
Soft is trod upon.
What is given burns the hand—
What is gone is gone.

Here is there, and high is low;
All may be undone.
What is true no two men know—
What is gone is gone.

Who has choices need not choose.
We must, who have none.
We can love but what we lose—
What is gone is gone.