Dear Survival Journal,

What a week! I’ve been everywhere, and I got there by bike or foot. I often laugh at slobs in cars. If only they could remember how to walk. Vehicles are for lazy people. I’m glad I bike. I have two bicycles operational right now. I get them tuned up every once in awhile, but they are still way cheaper to own than a car.

I was taking my friend’s dog for a walk this morning, when he started eating poop! No dog, you are suppose to go #2, not eat it. Puppies. I was trying to get him to stop, and get back in the house when I stepped in dog crap with my Vibram toe shoes on. The mutt missed a pile. I was dreading this day. I knew I’d step in poo, or crush a giant slug on accident one day. I’m rethinking wearing Vibrams outdoors now. Gross times ten! I will spare you further details, but I was not a happy camper. Luckily I had a change of shoes nearby. Now I’m trying to forget that happened.

I ate so good yesterday. I wasn’t feeling myself, so I made sure to take all my vitamins, and refuel with superfoods. I made two power smoothies with raw whey, raw rice protein, maca, raw chocolate, spinach, blueberries, and vanilla hemp milk. I also trekked to the store for spring water, which I promptly pounded. I had a buzz off all the different superfoods, and vitamins. I would have felt even better if I juiced. Maybe today.

I’ve been hustling so hard, they are about to name a street after me. I’m not rich, but I get money. I’m starting to think rich people are the lower class. They look down on the poor, and use them. I’m so happy to be blue collar, and not some spoiled, weakling that has never earned his kill. I’m on the streets, and in the woods, working on my skills, and my body. Rich people don’t work. They shop. Shop for things that make them smell good, or look better, when they are actually scum. My DNA thanks me for not being pampered. Poor people are much stronger than the rich. If I ever made it big, I’d give my wealth away.

It’s getting so cold out at night! I’m still in a tent. I really don’t care where I sleep anymore. The other night I had to wear clothes, and my jacket, while in my sleeping bag, just to make it through the night. However, it’s kind of fun, and challenging to find a new place to crash every night. When I’m couch surfing, I feel like it’s too easy. Like I’m royalty or something. I don’t know when I will get an apartment again. I could survive an Oregon winter in the wilderness. My home is the Wild Wild West.

More soon. Time to make paper, and turn it into food and silver. It’s a great day to get outside, in the wild, where I belong. Forget technology.

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