There is a terrifying and chilling finality to that one single word. When a person becomes homeless, his entire life comes unhinged. His connectivity to his world is severed as if by the blade of an axe. He at once becomes dependent on the kindness of others and how well he fares then depends on how lasting that generosity may be.

I have been homeless most all of the month of June.

The apartment building in which I have happily dwelt and struggled for the last 9 years has been taken under the protective wing of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency under the very reasonable auspices of cleaning up a mess left behind by someone called "The American Creosote Company." Apparently those industrious folks coated telephone poles with creosote to keep the bugs from dining on them while in the service of Ma Bell.

I am not in disagreement with The Fed in this regard. Creosote is poison and the Superfund site in question surely needs cleaning up. To accomplish that, the cleanup guys (The US Army Corps of Engineers) will be digging in the dirt in my back yard and that of several of my proximate neighbors. They will be digging to a depth of 3 feet and removing every plant near and around my building; shrubs, trees, hedges, flowers and etc. The result will be big, dangerous holes, heavy machinery rumbling everywhere, men working, dust and debris temporarily piled for removal and a general atmosphere of chaos roughly resembling the rebuilding of Berlin after WWII. During that period of upheaval, I must go elsewhere and remain there until the "all clear" sounds.

A "G" Man came around the other day for a conversation with me, a briefing that would set the parameters for my impending homelessness. Nice fellow. Keith was his name. He explained that the "G" was, in fact, sympathetic to my upcoming displacement and that he was authorized to lessen my anxiety at becoming homeless by granting me compensation enough to seek temporary shelter, or temporary shelter that was under federal contract to do so, or a third option that seemed to me to be reserved for those meticulous record keeping types who save everything. According to Keith, I can spend the entire period of my homelessness in a motel of my or the government’s choosing with a food allowance for good measure.

It was a reasonable offer and I accepted it.

I was going to be displaced by this construction and cleanup no matter what. So I thought it kind of the "G" to cushion my shock over becoming homeless by providing a safety net to protect me from the concrete beds under the Interstate. As a matter of fact, I was instructed to not find a tent and camp out in a hobo jungle during my period of displacement, by Keith, who ascertained that I might suffer unnecessarily if I attempted to do so.

Easy victory for him.

But I am, nonetheless, homeless in a sense that my home, my apartment, into which I could previously lock myself to write or read and chill or drink blackberry wine, is under 24 hour guard by Pensacola’s finest, a Police Patrolperson. His duty is to keep the bad guys away while I am also away.

What must it feel like to have life throw a real curve ball like homelessness? I have faced uprooting and starting over in the past with a sense of adventure and confidence. Never have I experienced the desperation that the truly homeless face, or that uncertainty of when I will eat again, where I will sleep tonight.

The anxiety created by this temporary and necessary dislocation is tempered by the EPA’s contingencies in place. My relocation will be seamless, my repatriation inevitable. My emergency is a tempest in a teapot when compared to the life and death struggle faced by whole families across America, men, women and children for whom no safety net exists beyond this or that shelter, or this or that food bank.

I am not wasting time during the days that I am homeless. I am preparing the next magazine (which you now read). That is my job and the purpose of my life in Pensacola. But I cannot help but remember that there are others homeless, who also did their jobs. They now wander and they are lost. Unlike me.