Chapter 1: Born to Run

Welcome to my little corner of the internet. If you’re wondering who staked out this domain name in the middle of nowhere, let me introduce myself. My name is Addison Rex — no relation to Tyrannosaurus or Oedipus, as far as I know, not that my parents would have admitted to either appearing in the family tree.

The A. Rex Can’t See You If You Don’t Move

That’s me there, in case you needed a face to go with the name. Please don’t judge me for my lack of fashion sense. There are practical reasons a guy like me might run around in a get-up that consists almost entirely of pockets, but I’ll get into that more another time.

Before that, I should probably explain how I got here. Not “internet” here, but “real world” here. I mentioned my parents earlier. They’re no longer around, but back when they were, they had done pretty well for themselves. Cars, boats, perfect little trophy kids, the whole deal. OK, I lied about the trophy kids. I was never anyone’s pride and joy. Frankly, I don’t think Mom and Dad ever knew how to deal with me. I was poorly-behaved, rebellious, and prone to wandering off on my own at every chance I got. After about the third missing persons report, my folks made me start wearing a GPS tracker on my wrist to make it easier for the police to find me, in whatever god-forsaken wilderness I’d decided to explore this time.

I always felt like a bit of a disappointment to them, so frankly, I was surprised as hell to learn that, in my father’s will, he had left me the home where he had grown up. The man wouldn’t trust me to walk his dog, but there it was, all on paper and signed at the bottom and everything. The house, and the land it sat on in Del Sol Valley, were mine. This was a good thing, because I was still living in his last home when he died, and that went to my step-mother. She’d never cared for me much, and saw my father’s death as the perfect opportunity to kick me out.

Irony: My Home Ran Away From Me

I discovered, however, upon traveling to the DSV to move into my new digs, that there were complications. The house, apparently, had fallen into disrepair after years of neglect, and the city eventually tore it down and carted off the scraps after the neighbors complained about the eyesore on the hill driving down property values. The land, however, had fortunately not gone anywhere.

The grand total of my other options totaling exactly zero, I’ve decided I’m staying. I’ve never needed much more than an open sky and the wind in my hair, and I’ve definitely got both of those here. It’s a particularly chilly wind, unfortunately, what with winter having just set in, but in a pinch maybe I can make some warmer clothes out of palm fronds. They’re falling off those pathetic half-dead trees everywhere.

Skirts. I’m thinking hula skirts.

Or, instead of trying to go with the island look, maybe I’ll go with Plan B. That plan involves finding a job so I can afford life’s little luxuries, like food. I’m also going to need to find a place to bed down at night; I attempted a quick nap on the grass but the ants here are some mean little bastards.

As much as I love the outdoors, and living on my own terms, when that starts including full-body rashes and uncontrollable itching, I think I’m going to nope out. It’s starting to look like my only option is going to be to find gainful employment and become a contributing member of society, which sucks.

Plan B

The job hunt has already started, and I think I might actually have a decent prospect or two. One of them in particular sounds really interesting. It’s an intern position so it’s not likely to put quality food on the table, but I’ve never been the fine dining type anyway. At this point my standards are hovering right around “edible,” or slightly below.

I’m waiting on a call back after my second phone interview, but I’m cautiously optimistic.

Update: I got the job! Go me. I think I’ll celebrate by seeing if I can find somewhere with a shower so I don’t smell like road dirt and angry ant crap on my first day.

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