Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library, Flagstaff, Arizona

Can we all just agree that everything should be made in the image of a ski lodge and have done with it?

As a certified victim of Terrible 80s B Movies, I totally bought into the idea of skiing and all its accouterments to be the summit of human achievement and acquisition. If you and your family ski, have skied, or go skiing on the reg, you have Made It. And also I hate you.

I've recovered from my venomous jealousy honed to stabby perfection back in the 80s (especially at Isely, a place I loved but taught me about Jordache Jeans, Tupperware lunchboxes, and a level of covetousness so depraved there should be a supervillain conjured in its honor. I suggest Envious Evy, "She'll Bitchslap that Bubblegum Lipsmackers Right Off Your Face"...we'll work on the tagline), but I'll never really be over that ski lodge aesthetic, especially since it often combines with my much beloved Tudor designs.

The Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library is huge and very, very lodge-y. With snow capped mountains in the distance, it makes complete sense, and as a library I was very into it. I found a space near the window to set up shop and stayed there for several hours. I was pretty tired (as I've mentioned) but the act of writing managed to perk me up a bit and, no doubt, that lovely building made a difference, too. I got so used to the Barnes & Noble but especially Borders aesthetics that the oldster lodge feel seemed fresh and new.

Since Flagstaff itself is a sort of international house of pancakes (I haven't heard such a wide variety of languages since leaving NYC), it stood to reason that I would not be the only tourist utilizing the space. People from all walks were there to take advantage first and foremost of the free wifi, while many others were set about research, writing (like me), or looking for books or DVDs to borrow (locals). It was a very busy library.

With it's temperate climate and influx of tourism and dollars, it should be no surprize that Flagstaff has a burgeoning homeless population. Almost all of the indigent people I witnessed were very, very young, as well--early twenties and teens. They were stationed at the usual spots (by entrances/exits for freeways, Wal Marts, food shops) but there was also a small group gathered at the library. This particular group seemed to know each other and were, at least in part, representative of kids living, half-living, or fleeing foster situations. One girl in particular was looking for a place to stay that night and seemed to know a lot of people that came and went that afternoon. She looked about 16, but as a person who looked 30 at 16, I couldn't really say for sure.

I am staying with my mother while I figure out my Next Chapter (yes, we must say it in caps), and my licence says I live at her address, so technically I am not "homeless." But I am aware that this is a temporary situation completely dependent on my mother's good will and whatever decisions I make next. I don't have a mortgage and I don't pay rent. And right now, my car is my home in many ways. It probably sounds dorky as hell, but I am grateful for it every time I unlock the door and get behind the wheel. It is an incredible luxury to have a car and to have the ability to go where I want when I want and to be at the beck and call of exactly NO ONE.

For now.

I've mentioned the incident at the main library in Wichita, which was the beginning of my trepidation about homeless people (and let's be clear, 99.9% of my fear is directed toward men), but my fear intensified into something even more personal after living in New York, and especially after living as a "functional" alcoholic for six solid years. When I was spiraling, I could not help but see myself in their shoes. After all, the "functional" part can't last, can it? I would watch shows featuring alcoholics and cling to the idea that sure, that could be me, too (I am thinking of Meredith on The Office, but there are so many more). Surely I won't end up like that homeless woman by the Flatiron, right? It couldn't really happen? But in the brittle morning light, hungover and watching her antics as I fled toward work and away from the Truth of her, I knew it was a lie.

Speaking of The Office--love that show. LOVE it. But it's portrayal of Meredith the "Functional Alcoholic" was a disservice to the problem and all the people who suffer from it. I found her last appearance in the show (the finale, "oh let's all toast to the future and ha ha Meredith still has a bottle in her desk") both delusional and grotesque.

The fear is still there. Obviously from that first encounter when I was a teen in my own hometown main library...but the fear that grew in NYC (alcoholic reflections and all that) has turned into something else now. I no longer have that anchor around my neck, and things are so much clearer and controlled, but it also means that this is really It. This is the best version of me I have to offer...and whatever I decide to do with that, what if it is not good enough? Where will that lead me? Not down the dark path I've tread before, not if I can help it. But where?

I don't look at the homeless as a group of people who can't get jobs--if only it were that simple. I know that they are, for the most part, the uncared-for mentally ill cast out to survive (or not) on their own. And a portion of them (with obvious overlaps) are suffering from alcohol and drug addiction. But this is where catastrophic thinking takes me...and my creative slant fills in the all the color and depth to where it becomes this 3D Reality that is impossible to completely shake off.

Plus I hate relying on anyone but myself--and I hate asking for help. The only person I'm comfortable relying upon to any degree is my mother...and that's because she owes me $5.

Cough it up, lady.