I May Just Move Away From Her

I am in Riverside, the the "willow" branch of the library. It is a small branch, commensurate with the branches of the tree for which the branch was named.
I am over my 3 day drunken binge, which I undertook after thinking that I would not be able to obtain my new ID, nor work ever again, nor have enough money to get out of Jacksonville before becoming a wanted person.
My guitar strings are rusted. Every time I go out and play, I am risking being seen by one of the half dozen cops who have told me that they would take me to jail the next time they saw me playing.
I thought that Nina would give the the promised 500 bucks for signing the divorce papers all at once. I foresaw a new backpack, new eyeglasses, and a bus ticket to freedom. Instead, I have been wallowing in Jacksonville, making mere peanuts before being run off by cops, who are now all privy to my exploits.
I wake up in the morning and drink caffeine shots, which I get for free out of the Kangaroo coffee rack. I listen to the radio, and then bag up trash and hang up dirty clothes, after pouring liquid laundry soap on them so, in the event of a rainstorm, they will become washed.. I then throw the trash away and ride my bike to the Gate station, where I pick the ashtray of half-smoked butts.
Then, I try to snif the air and decide where I might play for a while and not get arrested. I play for a while and then go look for food in the dumpster. I return to camp and start a fire. After the office building closes, I go and fetch water. I eat and then go off to sleep. I wake up depressed many times.
There is no room for Karrie in this situation. She would burden me and slow my progress out of the camp each morning, by opening a debate over what should be done, and where "we" are going to go and what "we" are going to do, and usually, do "we" have enough for a 4 pack of beer...
I woke up early this morning and felt as though I didn't want her there with me. Somehow I have withdrawn from the addiction to her, in a sense. It seemed to me that there would be nothing to gain from having her with me.
The cuddling, I recalled as clinging.
The feeling of sheltering and supporting the weaker sex, impressed upon me the feeling of being sucked dry by a leach.
The fact that I need to go in a whole new direction, and that living in the woods has become old, given the fact that I am not working and saving and hoping for a better life, and that in the new life there will be no room for her, and her ability to make a "home" in the woods; gathering wood, doing laundry and dishes, etc.
She needs to get into a shelter, or a program, because the panhandling well is going to run dry, sooner or later.
I need to get into a shelter or program, and/or find a way to play music legally. The rampside spots are going to run dry, also.
I don't know what to tell Karrie now.