One of the problems with all the logistics that blood-dependent immortality requires is that it frequently gets in the way of the very life it supposedly gives you. While a decent student, I was too distracted by my differences to do things like figure out if I wanted to go to college. There were a few others in my boat and we all just got menial jobs at local businesses. We discovered pot and folk music. The year after high school passed quickly.
I was still on raw meat at the time but had a methodology. I would store a few days' worths in the garage freezer my parents didn't really use but kept around anyway; I would move a slab onto the rafters before going to bed, or into my room during the winter; then I would consume the defrosted raw meat in the morning. It didn't really matter what kind of meat it was, so I just stuck with cheap cuts of beef. As long as it was a couple of pounds, I would be okay and only go to bed moderately hungry. Chewing was annoyingly difficult despite my abnormally sharp canines, so I typically sucked the meat dry and then spit the rest into the bushes. Once my father wondered out loud about why the crows always seemed to gather by the side of the garage.
The need for human blood was just starting to rise up by way of increased hunger. I wasn't quite putting it together in regard to exactly what would properly satiate my hunger. Still, this daily routine took a lot of time, money and planning.