Homeless, Again? (Part 2)

     I can't count the times I heard, "God comes, but in His time." What does that mean? God created man and man created the means of telling time through calendars and clocks and such, so how can He come in His own time? Is there another time that humans are not familiar with? I understand that in the Old Testament, since that is when God created time, it may have taken more than a week to create the world and the accounting is more for something so that even the feeblest of minds can comprehend, but is there an entire different dimension of time that only God follows? It just never made sense to me. Until the morning of October 4, 2012.

     I had been awoken around 9:30 with a loud knock on the door and a sheriff's deputy (who was kinda cute, by the way!) accompanied by the manager of the apartment complex and the locksmith changing the lock on the door. I was being evicted for non-payment. The day before I had received my first disability check from Social Security and got a money order for the amount of September's rent, which was past due. I tried to give it to the manager but he refused because the eviction process was too far along. After having been homeless from November 4, 2010 to April 21, 2012, I was about to be homeless again. Not even six months after getting my own place, I was going to be a nomad, moving every other month or so. And my poor cats. Cats are not like dogs; dogs crave adventure while cats crave stability and routine. In the time I was without a home, they were first being taken care of by a couple, who then split with the main caretaker moving 600 miles away. The secondary caretaker was not good at taking care of cats and it showed. So in February 2012, after staying in one place for almost a year, they were taken to another place that already had two cats. It was kind of funny though; the second place was the neighbor of the crazy house I stayed in and their two cats names were Mickey (after Mick Jagger) and MeMe (because it was all about her). My two cats were Ming (a Siamese mix) and Mowgli (the girl-cat version of the Jungle Boy). Four cats all starting with the letter M. They could have monogrammed the entire cat collection of bowls, etc and it would have worked for all of them! But back to the issue at hand. I was going to be homeless, but what was going to happen to my senior cats?

     After finding out that the apartment complex would not accept my back rent the day before, I had rented a U-Haul and bought some boxes. However, I couldn't bring myself to put the boxes together. I had done some laundry the night before but they locked the room before I could get it out. (The week before I had put $30 on my laundry card, so I wanted to use at least some of it.) I put on my robe and went to the laundry room to fetch my clothes. While there, I saw a young family and found out they had just moved in. I tried to sell them my card, but they didn't want to buy it. I warned them about paying their rent on time, as the landlord didn't mess around. They didn't even care that I was at the mercy of the federal government as I waited for a lump sum from Social Security. After folding my clothes, I went back to the apartment to start my day and somehow move as much as I could out of my apartment and back into storage. 

     After reading my Bible and saying my prayers (as I do every morning), I sat down to have breakfast. About halfway through my yogurt, the phone rang. It was Jason at my bank. He was calling to tell me a large sum of money had been deposited in my account overnight. I told him that, yes, I know that Social Security had put my first check of $1510 in the account a day ago. He told me that there were two more deposits totaling more than $10,000!  I asked him where it came from and he told me  Social Security. The lump sum had come! In God's time.

     Because I couldn't comprehend in totality all that Jason was telling me, I asked what he was doing the rest of the day because I would pay him to help me move. He suggested I ask how much it would cost to stay there. Wow. I had not even thought of that. I would end up paying all of those costs anyway plus have an eviction on my record if I left. I thanked him and hung up the phone. 

     The day before, as I was leaving the apartment to go get the U-Haul, I met a lady who gave me a bag of groceries. She didn't know me and I didn't know her, but she said that she helped at the local food bank and brought extra groceries home for her neighbors. I was flabbergasted. Here I was, a perfect stranger, and she was giving me something she had worked for. Although I had plenty of food, I knew a lot of people who didn't. I figured I would give it to them. I thanked her and told her of my pressing issue of homelessness. She said she would pray for me. Later that evening, I went to her apartment and we exchanged phone numbers. When I got off the phone with Jason the banker, my neighbor was the first person I called to thank her for her prayers. Towards the end of that call, another call came in. It was the California Highway Patrol asking if I would like to come in for an interview as a 9-1-1 dispatcher. Yes, my life was full of cliches that morning. 'In God's time' and 'when it rains, it pours'. 

     My next phone call was to the apartment office where I asked if I could stay. I wasn't enamored with the place or its managing methods, but I signed a contract stating I would stay for a year and I don't like to break my word. I know it's old-fashioned, but I believe in a person's word. That is why I wanted to stay. That, and I would be able to stay in a place longer than six months. Six-thousand dollars later, I was paid up until the end of the year and in my apartment until April 30, 2013, as long as I paid the rent on time. I am waiting for a Section 8 voucher, so I would only have to pay $500 a month, but they have none available right now. But that's okay, because I am not homeless. I am where I am supposed to be, in God's time.

Footnote: I just realized, while writing this, that October 4, 2012, is exactly 20 years to the day since I was baptized. 

In His time.

Homeless, Again?

Now where were we...oh yes, that's right, self discipline. At least a blog a week. And now that I have the Internet at home, there are no excuses. Though I am certain I could think of a few.

     July 26, 2012 was the day I didn't pass probation as an Experienced Level Clerk (ELC) for the Welfare to Work Department of Contra Costa County. They don't need to tell you why you didn't pass, but I asked anyway. The main reason was that I was gone and tardy too often. If you know me, you know that I have been struggling with that last issues all of my 48 years. My mom used to say the only time I was on time was when I was born. My 7th grade English teacher wrote in my yearbook that I would "set the world on fire if I could only get there on time". What can I say? Her class was right after lunch and I like my food to settle a little bit. But more of that in another post. This was even worse. Since being T-boned by a careless driver in February, my left hand goes numb without notice. My back does the same. Imagine waking up at the normal time, but not being able to move too well because your back is numb. And dropping everything in your left hand because it decides to go numb whenever it wants. Things take a little longer. But you don't have a little longer. So the next day you wake up 15 minutes earlier and nothing happens and you could have slept that 15 minutes. Needless to say, I was late. That was if I could move. I called in sick way too many times because I could not move well enough to get ready for work, let alone drive 40 miles and work. The second reason I did not pass probation was my personality-too much of it in such a small space. I worked a full ten months after being out of work for three years. I didn't know what I was going to do.

     A few weeks earlier, I had received a letter from Social Security telling me I had a hearing on my disability case coming up August 8th. I went and stated my case that I essentially lost my job due to my disabilities. I hobbled into the room and hobbled out. I received a call from Social Security about three weeks later telling me that I had been deemed disabled from the date I originally filed-October of 2010. I needed to send in some paperwork, but would be receiving a lump sum from the back payments. Meaning, that if they had not denied me the first time, I would not have spent a year and a half being homeless. I was happy and asked when I would get the back payments. The lady told me as long as I turned in the needed documents within the next ten days, I would receive it in September. What a relief! I now had a way to pay rent and not worry about being homeless - AGAIN. All I had to do was wait.

     I was able to pay August's rent with my last paycheck, but September came and the third week into the month, I had still not received the lump sum, which I figured to be about ten-thousand dollars. I could pay a few months in advance! If only I had the money. The first week of September, after I had not paid my rent, I got a three day notice to quit or pay rent. I told the manager the issue and he said there was nothing that could be done about it. Then a knock came on my door one Sunday morning and I answered it, thinking it was the lady upstairs whose grandson loved to throw things downstairs onto my patio. Instead it was a process server. See what happens when you don't go to church?  I thought I had 14 days to answer the complaint, but it was only a week. See what happens when you don't read? The last week of September, a note was nailed to the side of my door letting me know that the sheriff's office would be by on October 4th at 6am to kick me off the premises because I did not pay September's rent. During the final week of September, I left a message a day  with the contact person at Social Security and did not hear back, so I went down to the office to ask in person what was going on and how could speed things up. She told me there was nothing she could do except move my payment from the end of the month to the 3rd. I told her about the eviction and that I finally had a place to live after being homeless for a year and a half and now I was going to be homeless again. (By the way, I could not go back to the crazy house because they have me labeled a "violent drug offender who can't follow rules". I have no idea how to get that bullshit off of there.) The other thing she could -and did- do was write a letter stating that I was waiting for the money from Social Security and there was nothing more I could do until I got it. 

     I came straight from the Social Security office to the apartment office and gave the letter to the manager. He asked if I had called the lawyer's office that was handling the eviction. I told him I had just received the letter and that I would. Two days later I called the lawyer's office. They didn't care. Come October 4, 2012, I was going to be off the premises one way or another.

     As October 2nd turned into October 3rd, I checked my bank account on my phone. My first check had arrived! There was $1500 more in my account! I was so excited I couldn't sleep. When I finally got up around noon, I went to the bank and bought a money order for the amount of September's rent, with the late fee included. I raced back to the manager and handed it to him. He refused to accept it. He said I was too far along in the eviction process and that nothing could be done. I offered to clear out my bank account with just enough to keep it open if I could stay. (Just to let you know, it wasn't that I was in love with the place or anything like that. I was just tired of moving. I lived in the same apartment in downtown Suisun City for 15 years before moving into a house with my upstairs neighbor. I was there only a year and a half when she gave me notice to leave. In the next year and a half, I moved four more times. I needed stability.) But the people who own the apartment complex didn't care. In their eyes I was a lowlife deadbeat who didn't pay her bills. I asked the manager to call his boss and tell him the unique situation and ask for more time. He said he would and that he would contact me later that day with the decision. A few hours later he called back. The answer was no. If I did not leave mt apartment the next day, I would be forcibly removed. I rented a U-Haul truck and bought 10 medium size boxes. I would get what I could in my disabled state and put it into my storage unit and rent a room at a cheap motel until the money came in. And I had just put $30 on my laundry card. I had gone shopping the night before. I wonder who I could give my food to? I called the cats' last caretaker and left a voice mail for her asking if she could take them in until I could find a place. These are the things that ran through my head the night of October 3rd. I did some laundry because it needed to be done and I wanted to use the money on the card. But the security guard locked the laundry room ten minutes early so my clothes sat all night in the dryer. Just another thing I had to deal with in the morning when they locked me out of my home and I once again became homeless.

     But I couldn't bring myself to put the boxes together to start packing what I had barely just unpacked. I was frozen. I prayed, but I still felt hopeless and lost. Many people who are homeless got that way through their bad decision making. Was that me? Was I always going to be chronically homeless because the industry (radio) that chose me to employ had lost more than 50% of its jobs? Was I a bad person? If I wasn't, then what went wrong? I escaped the crazy house, on their terms, but I escaped anyway. For what? To have dreams of being self-sufficient only to find out I wasn't? And what about my girls, Mowgli and Ming? They wouldn't leave my side since I brought them home. Now they were going to be homeless again too because their mommy couldn't make the right decisions. They were going to be homeless again because their mommy was a failure. I couldn't put the boxes together because I was falling apart.

     Because my clothes were being held hostage in the laundry room, I fell asleep naked on top of my bed. Six o'clock in the morning of October 4, 2012 came and went and no knocking at the door. I finally allowed myself to sleep.

     BANG! BANG! BANG! "This is the Sheriff's Office! We are here to let Lynda McMahan know that she must vacate the premises!" It was 9:30am and my front door was wide open as a locksmith changed the locks and the manager just stood there. I yelled that I needed to put something on, could they wait a second? I tossed on an old nightgown and went to the door. The sheriff's deputy explained to me that I had until 5pm that day to get my stuff out of the apartment. If I was unable to get it all, the apartment manager would store it for me at a reasonable rate. If I failed to vacate the premises after 5pm, I would be arrested for trespassing by Suisun City Police. The locksmith has changed the lock and my door was to be left unlocked for the remainder of the day. Did I understand this? Yes, I answered. They left and I closed the door. It was really happening. I was going to be homeless again.

Self-Discipline Can Only Help So Much...

     Another long time no see post. But that is going to change. Who says one has to wait until the New Year to make changes? I am making a pledge to you, my readers, that I will post at least once a week. I would like to do that three times a week, but as I am still not hooked up to the Internet @ home and it's not easy to write a post on my BlackBerry (I'm on my fourth one in less than 10 months), I will promise a week.

 

     In order to make one's life better, changes need to occur. I know my weak spots, my main one being lack of self-discipline. I always joked that if I was self-employed I'd be homeless because of my lack of self-discipline. I've already been homeless and I think after that journey, self-discipline ought to be a piece of cake. Speaking of which, were you going to eat that last one? Look at a picture of me and you will know I have self-discipline issues with everything, including food. Remember the See-Food diet? Where you eat all the food you see? It works! Except that you gain weight instead of losing it.

 

     I just came back from my first airline trip in four years and the bigger me had an effect on my comfort and the comfort of my seatmates. I felt so bad on the first leg out, which was a four hour flight from Sacramento to Minneapolis, that I told the person sitting next to me if he wanted to eat anything, I would pay for it. He wouldn't let me do that. It was the only thing I could think of to make up for my flab encroaching into his space. The second leg, which was only an hour and a half, was not as easy. The lady sitting next to me was above average in her late fifties or early sixties. I made her the same offer and she just about had a fit. As if I had no right to breathe the same air as her because I was so fat. The entire flight she sat there with this angry smug look on her face. Poor woman. Being angry like that only hurts you, not the person you are angry at. On the flights back home, I tried to upgrade to first class because those seats are bigger, but both flights were sold out. The agent did allow me to sit in the exit row, which is bigger. Many airlines won't let anyone who uses a seat belt extender to sit in the exit row. Something about big people not being able to help others out. Sorry, but when my adrenaline flows that hard, I can do anything. Well, most anything. Don't think I could acquire self-discipline.

 

     I have been in my apartment for more than a half a year, but still have not: Put my bed frame together; put my dinette set together; or emptied out my storage unit. All of those things take more than self-discipline, they take physical strength and I just cannot do that. The medication I am on for my aches and pains puts me to sleep 18 hours a day. I hate it, but if I don't take it, I am in pain and cannot function the time I am awake. According to the federal government, I am disabled, yet I cannot get health care until March of next year. Well, I do have Medi-Cal, but there is a $1978/month share of cost. Yeah, I essentially have no health insurance. Which means I cannot get the spine operation I need until next March. I cannot get the knee injections I need every six months until next March. I cannot have my left ovary (I have never hated a body part as much as my left ovary. The pain it has caused me since puberty is worse than all the other aches and pains put together) removed until next March. So I take my pain meds, sleep 18 hours a day and wait for Medicare to kick in. Meanwhile, I have brand new furniture that is not being used because there is nowhere to hook up a television set in the living room for the time being. My couch serves as a place to put stuff until I can get someone to help me put it up, such as the cat door and the automatic litter box. Do you think self-discipline would help get these things done? I am willing to pay people at this point to come help me, as I know my limitations right now.

 

     So look forward to reading a post a week from me at the least. In the meantime, know anyone who can help turn my apartment into a home? All the self discipline in the world won't do it.

Me and Pain Don't Mix

I am a drug addict. According to a friend of mine, since I am taking narcotic pain relievers, I am a drug addict. I am no better than the homeless person begging for food but really wanting money to pay for his/her next fix. Because I am a drug addict, I am also a liar. Even though I have admitted many times over the past few days, since this subject came up, that my body is addicted to the pain medication, my friend insists I am lying to myself and others by not coming clean. What?

In 2011, I lost a friendship that I had cultivated over the course of six or seven years. Why? I made a joke about drugs. Having grown up in the 1970’s in Davis, illegal drugs abounded. Heck, most of the ceramics waiting to go into the kiln at my high school were bongs and pipes. That’s just the way it was. We wore red t-shirts that said “Enjoy Cocaine” instead of Enjoy Coke. There was a place set aside in front of the school for people to smoke cigarettes and anything else one might have. My brother was the biggest weed dealer in town. I had tried most illegal drugs before graduating high school. A good majority of the kids had. It was part of our culture. Think “Fast Times at Ridegmont High”. I graduated the same year that movie came out. Joking about drugs was just part of our DNA.

But this particular friend had served as a prison guard for almost 30 years. In her mindset, anyone who even thought about marijuana should be locked up for life. I know you are wondering what brought us together. We had similar thoughts on politics, though I leaned libertarian and she leaned right wing. She had told me that people who talk about drugs do drugs and therefore should be in prison. She didn’t even take aspirin. Which was fine with me; if she wanted to be in pain, well that was her problem. Me? When I was fertile I joked that if I found out I was pregnant I would get the epidural then and there because I am such a pain wuss.

One day at a meeting we were both attending, I made a joke, loud enough for everyone to hear, about pain medication. Most of the room laughed. She didn’t. In fact she took me out to lunch and told me off, that she did not want to be around drug addicts. Because in her mind, if a person talked about drugs, they must be addicted to drugs and need to be in prison. She didn’t want guilt by association.

Fast forward to my current friend. Once again, we became friends because of similar political views, though I am a little more libertarian. I ran out of my narcotic medication early yesterday and started going into withdrawal symptoms of shaking and sweating. It is not pleasant. Plus, I am still in pain. I mentioned that to her in a text message and the next thing I know she wants me to go to Betty Ford because in her eyes I am a junkie. Like I said earlier, I know my body is addicted, but my mind is not. If it was, I would be going house to house stealing whatever wasn’t nailed down in order to get my fix. Instead I am waiting for my doctor to split up the prescription because I have no insurance right now (so much for checking “urgent” on the box when I applied for Medi-Cal) and $40 to my name. My pharmacy will not sell me 40 pills now and the rest when I get some money, so I am waiting for my doctor to split the script. In the meantime, I keep getting texts from my friend telling me she knows that I am a liar, but that it’s the drugs that are making me lie. She said she doesn’t take any pain meds because she wants to live a long life. That’s great- for her. For me, a long life in pain does not sound like a whole lot of fun. A short life, lived pain free, is more my option. But in this cookie cutter world, we all have to be the same.

It’s sad, really, that people can’t just let people be. I know my issues. I know that after I deal with what is causing the pain and I am no longer in need of pain medication that I will have to wean off of it. But in the meantime, I just want to be out of pain. For now.

What's Going On

Where has Lynda been? What has Lynda been up to? Not a lot, really. Just work and finding a way to pay the rent.

When I moved in, I honestly thought I would have enough money for rent. At $875/month and me making $32k a year, it would be tight, but it could work. I thought I would bring home close to $2200/month, considering my gross is about $2700 or $2800 a month. At least I would bring home $2000, right? NOT. Because I am older, $400 comes right out for retirment. Add the $300 I pay for medical - that's not including Dr. visits and prescriptions - and $500 just to get to and from work, as well as the other various taxes and I end up with about $1400.

I signed the one year lease where I am currently living because I thought I could make it. And I didn't really have time to look anywhere else, considering I had to find a place in less than a week, all while I was working. My credit wasn't that great before I became homeless; since it has tanked. I figured no one would even give me the time of day, let alone me move in for around a thousand dollars total. But life is not always what it seems. In addition to the $875 a month, there is the $15/per pet per month fee. First, of course, there is the $500/ for the first pet and $250/for the 2nd pet deposit. The main manager said that I could pay that over four months; the other manager said it had to be paid in three months. Since the main manager is rarely there, I now have to pay over 3 months instead of four. If you are a day late on your rent, there is a $50 late charge. Oh, and something else I didn't realize when I signed the lease; there is a $56/month fee for water/sewer/garbage! In an apartment! Adding it all up, this month I owe $1333. For a $875/month apartment. I haven't even had a chance to pay my P,G and E yet. Although there is a place in town that will help, that is the same place that kicked me out of their program (and housing) saying I was a violent drug abuser.

I have been looking for part time work. At this point anything to help pay the bills. Hell, I don't even have television because I can't afford the converter box. Radio is all but dead; I did find some audio of me doing the "Helping Your Hometown" series, but that is the only digital audio I have. I am trying to get a part time gig back in the city, as I believe those are union wages. That would be a big help. And then there was this accident that took the life of my car and exacerbated my spinal stenosis.

I tried to settle the insurance suit since my health insurance is paying for the treatment, which is none so far, just a bunch of CT scans and MRI's-all of which I have to take time off work and drive 50 miles each way for-so I hoped the kid's insurance company would pay for it. No going, said the guy I have been working with. I asked about the time I lost from work because I didn't have a car. That comes out to $2100. He said there is no judge who would find the insurance company at fault for me losing my job, even though it was due to the negligence of his client.

So that leaves me a three day notice to quit or pay rent. I called the office at the beginning of the month and the person who leased me the apt told me that if I paid half of the rent by the 10th and all of it by the 15th, they wouldn't kick me out. Then a day later, they put a three-day notice to quit or pay rent on my door. I don't know if they just don't talk to each other or what. I do know that I will give them my entire check on the 10th when I get paid and hope it's enough to stave off the wolves.

If only I had video of my life from the past few years, even a glimpse, to put on YouTube so people could set up a donation fund for me. Then I could get past this most recent hurdle. In the meantime, send me your suggestions. Better yet, send a check made out to Village Green Apartments.

Change is Inevitable

     Back when I was around 20 years old, I picked up a book at a second hand store about how the human race hates change. It spoke of how change is inevitable, but it's the one thing we just can't seem to handle. I so get that.

     I haven't blogged for awhile because I have been busy. Uber busy. After losing my job at H&R Block, losing my car to a crash that as none of my fault,  I was kicked out of the program and was truly homeless.

April 16th, I woke up with a bad stomach ache. I called in sick to work because if I was sick I did not want to share. Although others are not as, um, understanding as me, there are things I don't want to share and sickness is one of them. After sleeping as much as I could, I got up and started to feel a little better. I think it was some food I had the day before that made me feel that way. In any case, I went to the library for awhile and then in the afternoon, had an appointment with my shrink. I told him everything was going well, that I hoped to move out of the madhouse by the 11th when I would have enough money for the first and last month deposit. I asked him for another script of Ativan, because I was still anxious about life, what with getting a new job, going off food stamps and finally being off Uncle Sam's Plantation. He gave me a script (not for the Ativan like I asked. but something less useful) and I dropped it off at the pharmacy on my way home.

     When I got to the house, there were extra cars there, so I had to park in the street next door. I walked in, carrying all of my groceries that I had bought while at the store. I put them on the counter while I went to get my Sharpie to write my name on them all. Sitting at the table was the Case Worker and some other woman-the same woman who was with the Program Manager the previous Thursday night at 10:30 when they came to collect fresh urine.

     That woman, handed me 2 pieces of paper, stapled together and folded up. I unfolded the paper and read where I was being kicked out of the program for A) Using illegal drugs; B) For being a violent person and threatening other residents and C) For not following the rules. Mind you, the shunners eat in their room all the time because they have their own television up there. They steal toilet paper and paper towels. They stay up as late as they want and do whatever they want when they want. And I was being served with a paper full of lies. On the paper it said I had 5 days, until April 22nd, to leave the premises with my belongings or they were going to call the police and have me arrested.

      What?

     Anyone who has known me for any length of time-including the Case Worker, who signed the paper-knows I am none of these things. Yes, I speak my mind, especially when my or someone else's rights are being violated. But violent? Because I grew up in a violent household does not make me violent. I abhor violence. Yes, I have lost my temper a couple of times in over the year I was in the program, but have never harmed anyone on purpose. I had to add that last line because when I had to call the police the time I was assaulted by the crazy woman, the deaf shunner begged and pleaded for me to show her what the woman had done to me. I told her that she body blocked me. Because she doesn't like wearing her hearing aid, I had to keep repeating. Finally, she told me to show her. I told her no. Then she begged and pleaded for me to show her. Bad decision on my part. Because my adrenaline was pulsating through my system, I was stronger than I normally would be. When I showed her the body block, it hurt her back, which was already messed up. I guess that's where they get that I am violent. That and the fact that I am a big person, so I must be violent.
    

     As for the illegal drug use, the only thing I could think of was that they gave me the urine test an hour after I had taken my evening meds, so it was the highest concentration it would be. It must have looked like I took more than the prescribed amount. I even asked the woman, who I didn't know, does she know that I am on prescribed narcotics? She said it didn't matter. I suppose anything outside of an aspirin to them is considered "street drugs". Which I find quite funny since they take the deaf shunner to get her high every morning at the Methadone clinic. She has to take so much it's in liquid form.

     And the not following the rules? I followed all of the rules posted on the fifteen pages of them in the kitchen/dining room. Apparently, some pigs are smarter than others. (see "Animal Farm" for the reference)

It was through prayer that help came my way and I was able to get into an apartment by Saturday, one day before I had to be out. I still haven't been able to clean out both my storage units; I really want the smaller one cleaned out, but I can't lift it all myself. I need friends on a Saturday and or Sunday to help me. Are you available next weekend? It would be great if I didn't have to rent a U-Haul, but will. I am not supposed to be lifting anything heavy because of my neck issues, which I go to the Spine Surgeon on the 23rd. But it kills me to use what little money I get a month to pay for both storage units.

     Yes, I did cry when I was served with the kick out papers. I have worked too hard and come too far  to be labeled a violent drug abuser who cannot follow the rules. It hurts. I don't yet know what I am going to do with the organization-who I refuse to announce because I don't want to give them any leverage in court-for writing and signing lies about me. It is a little thing called libel, but I might not have a case on that alone. I have plenty of evidence of other things though, such as being verbally abused by staff as well as threatened by other people in the program who were not kicked out.

     I paid my $300 on time. Since there are 30 days in April, they still owe me $80. But how do I go about getting it without them saying I am threatening them? If they are willing to sign a paper with lies on it to kick me out of the program, I don't know what else they are capable of.

     I asked Blondie to come over last week to help me put together a dinette set. We got to talking and she said that it was this blog that got me kicked out. Really? All eleven followers called the place I have yet to name and tell them I was saying bad things about them? But I have reason to believe her; the Case Worker (CW) has a bad time keeping secrets and she keeps plying Blondie and asking her what I am doing, how is my apt, etc. I told Blondie the next time CW asks about me, tell her to go to hell. She knew those were lies on that paper and I don't yet know how, but I do know she will pay.

     Change is inevitable. Sometimes it seems it's for the worse, when it is for the best. I don't have any rules but my own to follow now. And those are pretty tough...

Urine ON Demand!

     As I stumbled into our bedroom because I was so darned tired, my roommate-an 87-year-old minister of the Southern Baptist Convention, Grandma wanted to know if I was okay. I'm just beat, I tell her. I didn't get a lot of sleep the night before because it was payday and I was busy taking care of all the bills and didn't get in until around 10pm. I get up around 5am and anyone who knows me knows I need at least 8 hours a sleep a night to function properly. I told Grandma that it's  good thing I wasn't pulled over by a cop; they would have sworn I was drunk by my stumbling. Nope, just very tired. I even fell asleep at Starbucks after I posted my blog and played around in Farmville. I was beat.

     I washed my face, brushed my teeth, took my medicine, brushed my hair, put moisturizer on my skin and got into my bed. Grandma was already in her bed, reading another Reader's Digest "Abridged Stories" book. We both drifted off to sleep...

     BANG! BANG BANG!

     I jumped up. What was that? The only person who knocks on the door that way is the Program Manager of the program I am in. I hear voices then banging on my door. I sit up at the edge of my bed and say, "Come in". Sure enough, it's the PM. She says, "Good, you're up. You have been chosen to do a pee test." I asked why me, again. The last time she came around, at a more acceptable hour of 7 instead of 10:30pm, she chose me. Outside of Grandma, I am the only obvious clean one there. So why harrass me?

     I asked her why I had to do it again. She said "because you are up." I tell her the only reason I am up is that she pounded on the door and woke me. I didn't have any urine in me and there were three other people (she had the youngest roommate also pee in a cup) that she could ask-all of whom do not have permanent jobs that are an hour away and they don't have to be up in less than 8 hours to get to. She said they were asleep. But when I went out to get more water from the garage, one of the Shunners was doing laundry. Guess she was walking in her sleep.

     So here it is, 11pm on a Wednesday night. I barely made it home alive because I am so damned tired and all I want to do is sleep. But I am not allowed to. Apparently being homeless is a crime, because I have not committed any other ones in this century. And actually doing something about it - getting a fulltime, permanent job - is not enough proof that I am not a criminal. So give me your pee, dammit!

     I drank a half gallon of water and still could not produce urine on demand. By midnight, the PM was pissed (pun intended) because I could not -and in her mind would not - produce urine on demand. She asked what time I got off work and I told her. She said she would be waiting at home for me the next day to get my urine.

     Since I was so rudely awakened, it took forever to get back to sleep. An hour after I did, I had to get up and pee. And every hour after that until I crawled out of bed at 5am to get ready for work. I fell asleep saying my prayers. And fell asleep again while driving to work. Heaven forbid if I don't pee on demand-maybe they can get some from my corpse. I could just hear the PM, "Yes, it's sad that she died because she fell asleep at the wheel, but I really need you to stand aside while I take a urine sample."

     I so had to pee Thursday afternoon, but remembered I had to pee on demand when I got home, so I held it. For three hours. I had errands I needed to run, but couldn't because I was told I needed to come home right after work so I could pee in a cup. I got home, but the PM was not there. I was doing the "I gotta pee" dance all over the house, asking everyone if they had seen her and they said no, that she was supposed to be there at 2pm and still hadn't shown up at 6:30pm. I hadn't peed since my break at 3pm and drank a lot of water on the way home to make sure she had a big enough sample.

     I texted her this: "I have to pee. I didn't go @ work and have been holding it for 2 hrs because you said you would be waiting for me. I am going to pee in a clean Starbucks disposable cup. I am not going to put my health @ risk." And I did just that. I showed Grandma the cup, so she could see it was clean, I went into the bathroom, filled it up and still had more pee to put in the toilet, flushed, brought out the sample and put a Ziploc bag over it. Then I wrote on it what it was and what time and day it was taken. Then my phone rang.

It was the PM who told me she would be there by 8 and that I needed to hold it until then. I told her I had things to do and that I held up my end of the bargain. If she couldn't do what she said she would, that is not my problem. She said that if I wasn't there at 8 that night when she showed up that she would come in and wake me up in the middle of the night and make me pee again. I don't get it. I have done nothing wrong. I follow all the insane rules (you are not allowed to have tools of any kind-even to fix your glasses!) I am not a criminal. I don't have a drug or alcohol issue. In a few months I will be self sufficient if they would just leave me alone. But the PM could care less. She is the boss, I am the criminal in her mind. When she says jump, I am to say "how high?" and then jump that high. She keeps reiterating that she will wake me from a sound sleep and I will give her urine on demand if I am not there at 8pm. It is already 7 and I have errands to run. The phone reception at that house has never been good and we get cut off. Oh well. Too bad. For her, because I call up her boss-the second time in that day-and leave a message on her voicemail that I do not appreciate being treated as a criminal, that I agreed to give the PM urine on demand at a certain time and she wasn't there. I told the boss that the PM threatened to wake me in the middle of the night, like she did the night before (even though one of the shunners lied and said I was up and walking around before the PM pounded her way into the house. An hour before I might have been). I let her boss know that if she keeps this up, I will lose the job I fought so damn hard for because I cannot function on no sleep.

     At 8 o'clock the PM calls wanting to know where I am. I am at the library and will be home a little after nine. I will pee then for her. I kept my side of the deal earlier and she didn't. That is not my problem. I call her when I leave the library at 9pm and she says she is in Vacaville so we should be at the house about the same time. I drink 3/4 of a gallon of water this time because she will gt her damn urine on demand and I will go to sleep. Except guess who is NOT there when I get home? She doesn't show up for another hour and a half! At 10:30pm, she bangs on the door with pee test cups in hand. I grab mine, go into the bathroom and...can't pee. My bladder is full, but I am pissed! (Pun intended once again) Who does this bitch, who was fired from the only police job she ever had and then sued the police department and lost, think she is? The madder I get, the harder it is to pee. So I try to calm down. I run the water. I think of water and finally, I can pee. I fill that cup up as far as I can, spilling some over the edge. And I still have some for the toilet. I clean off the cup (I should have accidentally spilled some on the bitch) and give it to her and turn to go to bed. But no, I am not allowed to go to bed until she does the testing,. What, to find out I only have the medicine in my pee that I have reported to them?

     Needless to say, I did not get to sleep Thursday night before midnight either and was up every hour peeing. The other person they pee tested was kicked out Friday. She told them she had THC in her pee because she was at a friend's house and they were smoking pot. She was upfront with them and they kicked her out anyway. Well, it was that and more lies from the Shunners.

But that's another column. I have to pee now.

Still @ the Loony Bin w/ Kleptomaniacs

(Note: This blog was actually written before th previous one. I just didn't want Easter to be a total downer)

Where to start? Am still at the insane asylum. The organization has still not decided whether they would help me or not. I spoke to a lady at work about this and she told me to get ahold of Catholic Charities, that they would help me with last month's rent at least.

I still refer to it as the insane asylum because it turns out that the deaf 56-year-old (one of the shunners) is also a kleptomaniac. I rarely go to K-Mart after an incident almost a decade ago at the Fairfield store, where I will never shop again, so when I went to the one in Antioch to buy some coffee they had on sale, I was amazed at the coats they had in the lobby as I walked into the store. First off, because I am a big gal, it is hard to find a coat/jacket that fits me. Second, if I do find one, it is usually a color or style I don't like. Third, if it does fit, and is in a style/color I like, I usually don't want to pay as much as they want for it. Imagine my surprise when I found a warm jacket, in OSU (THE Ohio State University) colors, in my size for only $14.99! It was marked down from the original price of $89.99. They practically gave it to me. In any case, I brought it home and hung it in the front closet where we are allowed to have 2 jackets each. By hanging it there, I would have three jackets, but only until I could put the KUIC one in storage. That's a warm jacket but I am real tired of advertising for a company that I no longer work for. That was about a week ago. Fast forward to this past Tuesday (actually 4/3). When I went to get the new jacket to wear, I noticed the KUIC jacket was missing. I know I live with thieves, but c'mon, I would know that you were wearing MY jacket because no one there is as big as me or ever worked for KUIC. I texted the Case Manager on my way to work and she said she would look into it. I thought for sure the other non-deaf shunner had taken it and hidden it because I had three jackets in there (I am the only one with jackets in there) and we are only supposed to have two. It's something she would do. She thinks she is the boss of the house.

When I came home, I mentioned the missing jacket to the non-deaf shunner, who said the deaf one had a jacket just like the one I described. When I asked the deaf shunner about it, she insisted it was not mine. I told her it was a 4X and my gloves were in the inside pocket. She contended there were no gloves in there and it was a 3X. She insisted almost to the point of tears. The other Shunner walked up the stairs to their bedroom and brought the jacket down. I showed her where it said 4X and the gloves in the pocket. I also showed her where-on the black jacket-there were the call letters "KUIC" along with the slogan of the station written in gold lettering. She knows I worked at KUIC for 17 years. She said she found it in the stack of clothes that had been collected in the garage for a garage sale. I asked her why then, since she knew I worked at KUIC, she did not ask me if the jacket was mine. She just stared at me and reiterated she didn't steal it. The last time I saw it, it was hanging in the front closet. A little later I realized she had done the same thing with a scarf of mine.

When I was fully employed and gave a damn about the GOP, I was a delegate to the State Party, which meant I went to all the conventions. I would always come home with something from there, whether it be a t-shirt, jewelry, bumper stickers or scarves. I have two of the latter-one with a black background and the other with a purple background, both with elephants on them. I was wearing the purple one one day and she mentioned she had one just like it, except it was black. She showed it to me and it was my scarf. The last time I had seen it, was in my closet. She maintained it was in the pile of clothes. I just want to know who is putting legs and feet on my clothes and enticing them to walk off. I told the Case Manager about both incidents and she said that the shunner might not even know what she was doing because she is on such heavy painkillers. I don't care whether she knows or not. I do know she needs to stop stealing my stuff.

I have told others in the house about this incident so that they would make certain she comes nowhere near their things. I can no longer hang any coats/jackets in there for fear that they too will get legs and feet and walk off to die in the pile of clothes for the garage sale. I still do have a coat in there that I will be washing tonight. She apparently sprayed some body spray on it because it smells like the body spray that she and I use. Unfortunately, one of my coworkers is deathly allergic to such things and the day I wore it to work, my coworker had a massive asthma attack.

Yep, I have one foot off Uncle Sam's Plantation (I am no longer eligible for the food stamps I have been on since becoming homeless in November 2010). Now, for the sake of both my sanity and articles of clothing, I need to be all the way off and on my own.



One Foot Off Uncle Sam's Plantation

Almost a month and I was going to do this three times a week. I must've gotten married or...

March left like a lion. The saying is true as she came in like a lamb. Now on to April and her showers.

I was able to get a rental car and started work on the 12th in Antioch. That's the last time I listen to someone at the Unemployment Office. When I was applying for the job there, I would've checked off Mars as a location if it meant I would get a job. I asked the person at the Unemployment Office, since I couldn't choose all three sites (East County, Central County, West County), which one should I choose. She said the first one and if they called for an interview, just tell them my preference. Well, I did just that, but what was on my application was what they went by, so instead of working out of Pleasant Hill on the 7th of March, I began working in Antioch on the 12th. I spoke with my now supervisor on the 6th and she said they weren't ready for me; they didn't even have a computer set up. I came in on the 12th when they had a computer and a cubicle ready for me.

I was able to get a rental car at $400 a week from Budget (funny name for such an expensive car!) for the first three weeks of work. Since they wouldn't accept my Walmart Money Card (works just like a debit card my ass), a friend loaned me her debit card. I got the first two weeks paid by my college instructor friend, but she used all her savings for that and I had to pick up the tab on the last week. Total that the insurance company owes me for three weeks? Close to $1300, which if I had right now, I could move out. But I don't so...

The insurance company gave me $4600 for my beloved Bonnie Bleu II (my last blue Nissan was the original Bonnie Bleu). I had to take the Thursday of my second week at work off so that I could clean out my BBII, take the stuff to storage, run up to Roseville and get the $4600 check, come back to Fairfield, buy a car and return the rental. All of that could not be accomplished by Speedy Gonzalez in an entire 24 hours, let alone 8 hours, so I had to take Friday off as well. By Sunday, I had a 1999 white Nissan Altima GXE. It was two years older than BBII, but a step up in the Nissan line, so I think I got a decent deal. Blanche gets about the same mileage as BBII. There are a few things that need fixing, but nothing major - so far. I am keeping my fingers crossed.

Last Thursday I had to leave work early so that I could get an MRI on my neck. Not only do I have spinal stenosis, but now - because of the accident where my head hit the ceiling and compressed my neck - but my C5 and C6 vertebrae are toast. I so didn't want my boss to know any of my physical issues until I passed probation in nine months, but I had to tell her because of all the damn doctor appointments that are taking me away from work. I just wanted to go to work for at least nine months with no problems, get hired on permanent and then deal with the physical issues. But that is not what the fate gods want for me. I will find out this coming week what the spinal surgeon says needs to be done. I need something done soon; my neck hurts like hell. I would love to go to my chiropracter and have him crack it, but that would be taking my life in my hands as it could very well lead to paralysis. No thanks, I'll walk.

The beginning of April marked my independence from food stamps, which I had been on since I became homeless in November 2010. I have one foot off Uncle Sam's Plantation; I cannot wait to take the other foot off by no longer living in HUD housing. I wanted that to happen before my birthday on the 30th, but it looks like it won't come until the middle of May. It needs to happen before any neck surgery; I need my girls (cats) to help me recover.

Buddy, Can You Spare a Credit Card?

We are already in March. She came in like a Lamb so beware March 31^st…

I still don’t have transportation and I begin the rest of my life Wednesday. I am really glad that they allowed me to start a week later than they originally wanted me to. Because it looks like I will need every single day just to find a way to get there.

Police report has still not been written. They have up to ten business days to write it. So that puts it about…March 6, 2012-one day before I am to begin the rest of my life. I was able to get a hold of the police officer-after three tries-who is responsible for the report. Come to find out the “kid” who hit me is just that, a 16-year-old. The police gave me his mom’s name and cell phone number, the name of their insurance company and the policy number. When I got off the phone with the police, from my BlackBerry, I Googled “Allstate Insurance, 94585” and called the first office that showed up. I told them my story and they gave me an 800 number to call. I did, but was put on hold for 10 minutes and couldn’t wait anymore. I called the following day and it turns out that “the kid” or his mom did not even file a claim! Could be The Kid didn’t want to get into trouble and didn’t tell mom what he did, or it could be that they are just not real responsible folks. In any case, I was on the phone for an hour with this real nice lady who is a New York transplant in the Daytona, FL area. I could tell by her accent. In any case, I told her my situation and she just kept saying she was sorry. Thank you, but what I really need is transportation. Because I could not get to work Friday or Monday, I was fired from the first job I have had in three and a half years. Because I had no transportation to and from my follow-up doctor appointment, it cost me close to $30 for a cab ride (and I found out I need back surgery for spinal stenosis). Because I don’t have transportation, I am unable to clean out my car and all of my personal belongings are sitting in my car in a tow yard outside Travis Air Force Base. All I need at this point is transportation. She said she was sorry but there was nothing she could do about that and that I should rent a car and if they were at fault then it would be reimbursed.

When I got off the phone with her, I called Enterprise because they pick you up. (Note the $30 cab ride to the doctor.) In order for me to rent a car I need a - drum roll please – credit card! I have a debit card, but no credit card. See, I have been homeless for a year and a half and they don’t give credit cards to homeless people with bad credit and no job. Enterprise told me I could rent a car with a debit card, as long as I had two utility bills in my name to show I am a local resident. Hmm, I have been homeless for a year and a half, why wouldn’t I have two utility bills in my name? I called a good friend, a professor at Solano Community College, and she wanted to help, but her husband, also a professor at Solano, had been burned by car rental companies in the past and did not want to be burned again. Hey, I understand. If it were me in his shoes, I would probably err on the side of caution as well. In the meantime, I have no transportation and a job that starts on the 7^th.  My younger sister told me I need to get the kid’s insurance to pay for it, but they won’t do a thing unless the police report says it is their fault. You know, the police report that by law does not have to be written for ten business days after the crash. Yeah, that one.

I did receive a call from their adjuster who on Thursday took pictures of my car. They are still not certain as to whether they could fix it or it is totaled. It is a 2001 Nissan Sentra GXE. I think if the front axle is toast there is a good chance the frame is bent in which case it is totaled. The adjuster said they might pay close to four grand for it. Which is fine, but I don’t have time to car shop. I start the rest of my life on March 7^th.

For the lack of a credit card or a friend or family member stepping up to help me, I am stuck at the insane asylum. At least I am not being threatened anymore. She moved out yesterday. She is now someone else’s problem. She was able to get transportation.

Hey buddy, can you spare a credit card?

Change Is A Comin'

                I did get written up last Monday, though it was for things I did prior to the first write up. I told her (the boss) so and she asked if I was calling her a liar. I told her that no, I was just telling her the truth. Didn't matter; if I didn't sign the write up I would be fired. Right there, on the spot. Whatever. Mind you, this is less than a week after she gave me and our office 2 awards for outstanding numbers. Hmmmm....

                By Wednesday afternoon, that didn't matter, though, because I was offered a job with Contra Costa County as an experienced clerk! YES! I took the test in October and got a 90%, the highest I have ever scored on a civil service exam. I have interviewed with at least 20 agencies and this one-Health and Human Services-liked me enough to hire me. I told them I would be perfect for the job because this past year I have been going through everything their clients, who I will be working with, are going through. Well, except for having kids out of wedlock with different men. Never did that. But being homeless? Living off of food stamps? Getting General Assistance for only 3 months? Been there, done that, do not wish to go back. So instead of being on Uncle Sam's Plantation, I will just be working there, free to go home after my 8 hours a day. No one will call me at 10pm to tell me we are short on coupons. No one will call me and tell me I have to come in to work because someone else didn't show up. No more 12 hour days without overtime. A permanent position with medical, dental and vision insurance. And a pension. And hopefully back to a boring life where I can get up, feed the girls, shower, have breakfast, go to work, come home and work on my book or maybe watch television or a movie with one girl on my lap (Mowgli) and the other on the top of the back of the chair (Ming). The good life. I begin on the 7th of March. If I have transportation, that is.

                My old roommate-Blondie I call her-and I were headed to the Outback Steakhouse for their Tuscan Rib eye that I received an email about and to celebrate my job and that she was going in for ankle surgery the next morning for hopefully the final time. We came off I-80 in Vacaville, onto Bella Vista and turned left, heading north on Davis Street. I and my car know the route well-we used it for the 8 years I worked a KUIC. As we approached the intersection of Hume Way, I mentioned that the widening of Davis Street was great, now they needed to widen Hume. That was the last thing I remember before a mid sized white truck smashed into my driver's side front panel, blowing out my tire and trashing my front axle. I pulled over to the side as best I could, while the other driver parked on Hume Way. He came over to the car and I rolled down Blondie's window. He asked if we were okay and Blondie said she was fine, but the top of my head was pounding away. The impact must've tossed me out of my seat and into the ceiling of the car. In any case, he said he was sorry and that he was a new driver and said it was "totally my fault". After he walked away, I asked Blondie if she had heard what he said about fault and she said yes. I told her to remember that because I would need her testimony in court. She got out and had a cigarette and I tried to get out, but the door wouldn't open. It was smashed shut at the top towards the engine. Then my neck started hurting. I called the police on the regular line since I wasn't bleeding and they put me on hold. Finally I hung up when I heard 2 cop cars coming down Hume, sirens blaring as they went through the intersection and kept going. I couldn't figure out why until I found out later there was a non injury crash at Alamo Drive and Alamo Ct. I called the police again and told them I was in a different crash, that I was injured and they needed to send help. About that time, a lady with flashing yellow lights on top of her truck came over and held up a "slow" sign so I wouldn't get hit again. The dispatcher told me to me to move the car to the side of the road and remain in it and that she would send someone out. A motorcycle officer showed up as did the paramedics. As the paramedics were trying to get me on the board-not an easy task with my jumbo size body and all-the officer was asking me for my driver's license. As I tried to move around to get my license to him, the paramedics were asking me to stay still. Here I am, my fat ass halfway on a skinny board hanging out of the driver's side of my car (the big he-men paramedics were able to rip my door open) while a police officer wants to see my license. No problem, dude, but I am kinda in a predicament now. I was able to get it for him, though. Then onto the hospital for tests. I looked around for my "Hottie Doc" (really, chief of surgery @ this health care system) but no such luck. Harrumph!

                When they said they would give me pain meds, I am thinking hey, cool, they are going to hook me up to some liquid Dilaudid. Instead the nurse tells me he has two pills-one is a vicodin and the other is a Motrin. I start laughing as I go through my purse to show him my more powerful pain meds. I told him to save the candy for someone else, but he asked me to humor him so I did. Of course I didn't feel a thing-my body is accustomed to much more. They offered me a scrip for Vicodin when I was being discharged but I told them to save it for someone it could help. I got home through a taxi voucher and went to sleep.

                Was unable to go to work Friday because of no transportation. I didn't know the kid's name who hit me or his insurance, so I called the police. They said the police report would not be done until Monday at the earliest and the only thing she was able to tell me was that my car was towed by Ramirez. I called my insurance guy and left a message, the same thing I had done the day before so I could pay my bill since I hadn't heard from him since we moved in December. Was unable to get a hold of anyone, except my friend Debra, who gave me a ride to a U-Haul place so I could rent a pickup overnight. I still had to get my headboard, foot board, amplifier and keyboard that I had left at my friend Lori's house last year when I first became homeless. Will do that in the morning because I ended Friday evening with what I had set out to do Thursday evening-have a steak. Though my company was another roommate this time and Blondie made it through her operation and will not have to wear a cast.

                Now, onto Monday, when in the afternoon, I am to meet with my current boss-who I already gave my resignation to-to go over any improvement I have made since my last write up. Yep, I have made excellent improvement. I have decided to take my talents elsewhere.

But I Don't Wanna Be A Diamond!

This was suppopsed to be done on the 19th but I decided to actually stay home because I am beat. And this early spring or lack of winter has my sinuses all in an uproar so I sound like a cokehead needing a fix. Sniff, sniff.

I picked up Ming Friday night from her former caretaker's home. He said she came home Thursday night, when his wife was there, and hadn't stopped meowing since. Once I held her in my arms she stopped, then she started up that wonderful motor of hers. She was well taken care of; her nails were trimmed and she hadn't lost any weight and she had been brushed. I wish I knew who had her so I could thank them. That's a letter to the editor, I suppose. She is now with my former neighbor in downtown Fairfield, where Mowgli is being nursed back to health. I spent some time with both of them Friday night while watching the 2nd episode of "Lillyhammer". Anita has me hooked on it. It's a Netflix production and stars Little Stevie Van Zant of E Street Band fame and also The Sopranos. It's pretty funny.

I still need to pick up the girls' things from their former caretaker's home. It was something I was supposed to do on Sunday, but didn't get to. I still need to clean out my car, which means I need to stop at one of my storage units and get stuff out. I can't wait for the day when I have everything with me and no more storage unit. But I can't do that until I have my own place.

I met with my caseworker on Thursday and the Director of the program asked if she could sit in. Of course, I said. I played for them a recording of GB (look in earlier posts to get the explanation) where she told me to "stay right there". That was after she went on her tirade of calling me all sorts of names and telling me, no yelling at me, to clean up the bathroom. Which is funny because she is the one who ate crackers in there and left one hell of a mess. When she is not on her medications, she grunts and can't stop eating. Needless to say, she wasn't on her meds. I told the caseworker that at the meeting and she said that GB says she grunts after taking her allergy meds because it gets stuck in her throat. Hmmm, she must be taking those meds 24/7 then. At the beginning of the meeting, the director wanted to know why I looked so sad. I don't know, could be because you are kicking me out by the 29th and I have nowhere to go, crappy credit and a temporary job? I mentioned that I wasn't looking forward to sleeping in my car and then went on to explain the circumstances. I think she rescinded the notice she gave me last Monday, but am not certain, so since this last thing is NOT in writing and the notice is, I will have to go with what is on the notice, which says I have to be out by the 29th. I think the director should be checked for Bi-polar as she goes through periods of euphoria and makes no sense and then has periods where she is down. Oh well, like both she and the caseworker said when I was talking about the grunting, I am not a psychiatrist so I cannot diagnose.

I looked for rooms Wednesday morning and Thursday in between interviews with Contra Costa County. One person with a room answered, but that was when Ming was missing. He said one cat is okay, two is too many. I called around about apartments, too, even calling the place across the street from where I lived on West Street for 15 years, but he won't have anything available until April. I need a permanent job; although I will get unemployment when this job ends, it is only half of what I get now, which would be $1400/month with no subsidies. The interviews I went on Thursday went well, but the morning one said I was overqualified and I was late to the afternoon one because the printer at the library took 15 minutes to print out what should have taken 2, so I was 10 minutes late. Oh well. I can only do what I can with what I have.

Tomorrow (Monday) is going to be interesting. I meet with my boss in the afternoon to go over any improvement I have made at work concerning the write up she gave me a few weeks back. It is mostly about being unprofessional, and it's true. I have allowed my home situation to leak into my work situation and that cannot happen. When I am at work, I need to focus on work and work only. I think I am doing better. But it doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what the boss thinks. I showed her the letter they gave me that says I have to be packing by the 29th, just so she knows where I am coming from. I did not choose to be homeless; but I am ultimately responsible for choices I make at work. It was and is a hard lesson to learn.

God wants me to be a diamond; I am content with being a lump of coal. Guess who wins?

Focus, Focus, Focus

Long time no write. It's been exactly seven days. Am at the Cordelia Starbuck's writing this as Suisun City closes at 9 or something. We certainly need a 24-hour Internet Cafe here...

On to my life. Mowgli is still alive. I have apologized to her immensely. She looks at as if to say, "Mommy, what did I do wrong? I will never do it again. I promise." Her crying meows say the same thing. I can't cry or get upset around her because then she would use her strength trying to comfort me instead of getting better. Although she has special food, with other cats in the household where she is staying, it is hard to keep the food separate. So I picked up the medicine for her ears and her former caretaker was correct-it's expensive. A hundred dollars a month in fact. When I can get a place, we are going back on the food because she will be the only cat. Then when that is over, we will go back to the pills. When she starts to feel better she will equate taking the pill with feeling better.

Dr. Cole did take some blood and the test came back what it would for any cat who has hyperthyroidism. She was surprised that other organs weren't harmed. I am relieved. Anita, who is taking care of her, is an awesome human being. I can't thank her enough. She is not only making sure Mowgli has her medicine but also takes time out of her day just to giver her loving. She missed that with the previous person. He is and always be a dog person, not one to cuddle up with a pet, but rather play with one.

Ming still hasn't shown up. I have her listed on Pet Harbor.com, put an ad in the paper and put posters out at the vet's office as well as around the neighborhood she walked away from. She had a hard life, the first nine of them being with my brother who shouldn't have pets as he has a hard enough time taking care of himself. Then she had a good life until I became homeless. I just feel like crap not knowing what happened to her. She had a hecka good purr on her and although it was painful, I will miss her jumping on my full bladder to gt me to wake up and feed her canned food.

As for my living situation, still the same. Although I think it's bogus that the rules are not applied to everyone equally. But I cannot think about that. I need to look ahead, to get out of there. Even if I live in a house for a few months to get enough money saved up for an apartment, that would work. The roommate who threatened me actually spoke to me today, so I suppose she is back on her meds. Before she would either yell or grunt. I do find it disgusting though, that she left cracker crumbs all over the bathroom (It had to be her because the other roommate who shares the bathroom with us is out of town this weekend.) as well as a rolled up used sanitary napkin. I tell myself to be grateful that she wrapped it up. It could have been worse. I stay away from there as much as I can ion order to keep my sanity. Anyone know of a room for rent in Suisun City or Fairfield that is NOT furnished and will accept a cat? Drop me a line if you know of one.

As for the job, I was written up on Wednesday. I am still short staffed because I had one person quit a the beginning of the season, another person got a full time job elsewhere and can only work weekends and a third person got into a car crash and is still out for three more weeks-Dr.'s orders. Needless to say, last Tuesday my boss and her boss came by at the most inopportune time; I was on the phone in the back dealing with a client who had not received her money yet (Thank you IRS!). When I made coffee that morning, I accidentally spilled some on the counter in the back and hadn't had a chance to clean it up. And in walks my boss and her boss. In any case, I was given a written warning for not being the "leader" they hired me to be and I must agree. My mind has been on other things than work, but it needs to be focused 110% on work. I did tell my boss that I was sorry it looked so bad and what had happened to me the Saturday prior. Unfortunately with my not always indoor voice and the thinness of the walls, apparently her boss who was out front helping clients, also heard what happened to me. I need this job. I need a permanent job but this will work for now. I cannot afford to lose a job, no matter what. I need to focus.

It's like my younger sister Maureen says, "How do you eat an elephant? One piece at a time." When I am at work, I need to focus only on work. When I am not at work I can concern myself with finding a place to live, locating Ming and getting Mowgli healthy. But since I need to focus on work at work, I am no longer allowed to bring this netbook to work. So if I am missing a blog for a day or two it just means I can't get to a wi-fi place to get it out. Because I am focusing. One piece at a time.

The girls in happier days. Ming on the left and a healthy weight Mowgli on the right.

Too Damn Sad for a Country Song

I am sitting at Starbuck's at the corner of Sunset and Merganser in my city, Suisun City, CA writing this missive. My shoulder still hurts, I am killing time until my cat's foster person gets home so I can take Mowgli to the vet. I will probably have to put her down to end her misery. No such luck for me. Ming ran away last Friday and hasn't come back. They have been staying with a friend in the country. Ming was 16 years old. I just hope her death was swift and painless. I wrote on my Facebook page last night that I was underserving of them and I still believe that. I got mad at Will Smith's character in "The Pusuit of Happyness" for dragging his son all around to different homeless shelters. How has my journey been any different? I should have pt them up for adoption but didn't for the same reason Smith's character did not allow his wife to take care of his son during that time in his life. My cats were the only "children" I have had. And becuase of my actions, they have suffered.
I am still shaking from Saturday morning's incident, where the roommate I previosly wrote about assaulted me. They moved her into another room-right next to the one I am staying in. The person in that room was gone for the weekend, so GB (Ghetto Bitch) spent most of Saturday night banging on the wall to keep me awake. I did nothing and said nothing. She will not get the best of me, no matter how many knives she sleeps with or how many threats she makes against my life.
My shrink gave me some ativan and I just took one. I hope it stops the tremors. All I wanted was the door closed for a few minutes so I could read my Bible and pray in peace. But being the GB she is, she insisted that the door stay open and I could not have any peace and quiet. She slammed the door open and even left a huge mark in the wall and broke a piece of wood off the door. Then she got in my face, balled up her fist, and yelled at me that she was going to "fucking kill" me. When she was yelling she was spitting and I asked her to stop. She said she wasn't spitting. I stepped back, but she body slammed me, hurting my left shoulder and hocked up some nasty stuff and spat it at me. I walked away out into the living room where the 911 phone is located and dialed. I was shaking then as I am now, a little bit more then though. She continued to yell from the bedroom, calling me "a big fat bitch" and such. You should be able to hear it on the 911 call.
The police came but told me that writing a report would just be a bunch of work for nothing. She lied to them, saying I assaulted her and-get this-that I was a racist because I was afraid of black people! (Yep, Kelvin, you scare the BeJesus outta me!) I can't remember the last time I hit anyone it has been so long. And I wouldn't touch that skank with a 10-foot pole. Police left and the Program manager just moved her into the room next door. When that person cam home yesterday, the GB didn't complain about not having the door open. What more proof does anyone need that she is harassing me?
GB has turned her smoking buddy-who was a friend of mine-against me, saying I am a liar and just doing anything I can to get my own room. I have less than 30 days left to get out of there and I care about whether I have my own room or not? I am working 12 hour days. I come home only to shower and sleep. The only meal I wat there is breakfast but can't do that anymore unless there is a witness. She won't do anything to me as long as someone else is around.
Work is kind of tough, but that's what I signed up for. I am blessed to be working. I know that. But when I get off I just want to go home and be in peace. But as long as GB is there, she will do anything to try and annoy me, up to and including assault.
When she complained that all she got was a small pillow, I gavce her one of my personal pillows as well as my own personal pillowcase. I mentioned that in a note to the previous friend-GB's smoking buddy. When I came home last night I found the pillowcase thrown on the ground outside our door. She is still allowed in the room-why I don't know since she has no possessions in there-but that is what the program manager said. So GB took advantage of that to throw my pillowcase on the ground, outside. Not neatlty folded like I handed it to her.
If I was only allowed to have my cats with me,. They comforted me. Mowgli, how can I ever repay you? You loved me like no one in the world and I abandoned you and Ming. That was the whole thing-the carrot-I was reaching for. To get my own place so we could be together again. Instead Ming has vanished and you are probably too far gone to save. A month ago the person who was supposed to be taking care of you ran out of medication. He didn't call me to let me know. So your thyroid went crazy and I understand why you haven't kept yourself clean. Your organs are shutting down and you can barely move. And it is all my fault. I am so sorry, Mowgli. I didn't mean to to cause you or Ming harm.
My life is just too damn sad right now. Even a country artist couldn't sing about it.

29 Medications

The last time we spoke I told you of my new roommate and what could be done for people like her. Because I am a kind person, I wish no ill upon her. I just wish she would take her meds so I could sleep.

That's right. When she doesn't take her meds, she is up all night, pacing back and forth like a caged animal. She has taken to putting blankets over all the windows then complains because I would rather not sleep with the light on. There is a light outside of our sliding glass door that is on all the time because most of the outdoor lights at the residence do not work and have not worked since we moved in 2 months ago. I do believe it is a violation of HUD Housing rules, but I cannot do anything about it because if I turn the organization in, I will have nowhere to lay my head at night. Being homeless sucks.

But back to the roommate situation. She announced Sunday that she was no longer going to take her 29 medications. She didn't like the way they made her feel. She said they made her sleepy and she didn't want to sleep her life away. Instead, she is up all night. Because there is a rule that states a program participant can be written up and given a strike (three strikes and you're back on the street) if they are in a common area between the hours of midnight and 7am, she has taken to eating in bed. Loudly. I woke up Monday morning around 2 because she was clanking dishes together. She had warmed up the leftover breakfast from that morning and was having "breakfast in bed". When she finished with that, it was time for her to sing. Poor thing has a beautifuol voice, but even Pavarotti at 3am sounds terrible. I finally got back to sleep around 4am only to be woken again at 5 with her durmming her hands on the kitchen table. She had opened our door, which is why the other people in the house didn't hear it and I did.

Earlier in the day she had decided to mop the bathroom floor. There has been a problem with ants since we moved in and they had come to the bathroom. I bought some of those ant traps that the ants go into and bring the poison back to their nest. I was able to get rid of the ants from our bathroom in the old house that way. Thing is, you have to let the ants be. I explained this to her, yet she threw away the ant trap on Saturday, so I got two more. During her mopfest on Sunday, she slopped water all over the traps, rendering them useless. She refuses to allow the traps to work. They do, when you let them. I already got rid of ants in pantry using this method. I have since run out of ant traps and the program refuses to purchase any, which I am certain is once again against HUD rules, but we visited that outcome earlier. The ants rule the bathroom now.

Loud noises, ruined ant traps, wow, seems like nothing will make me happy. Actually, a good night's rest between these 12 hour workdays might do the trick, but Monday night came and once again, loudness. The other roommate-who has her own room-decided the whole house needed to hear her radio at 11pm. She probably didn't realize she did it because she was stinking drunk, yes, another violation of HUD rules and even the house rules, but unless the Program Director sees it, it doesn't exist. And we are not allowed to contact the Program Director or the Case Manager outside of the hours of 9am and 4pm M-F. Because we all know that is when disturbed people decide to try and ruin other people's lives.

In addition to the loud noises at 11pm, the roommate decides it's time for more food in bed. Apparently she wants everyone to know she is eating because she smacks her lips at every chance. She turns on her computer and decides to play computer games, which would not bother me in the least if she either turned the volume off or wore headphones. She does neither. I ask her to turn it down and she tells me I cannot tell her what to do, that there are already too many rules in this place. I can't take 2 sleepless nights and work 12-hour days. My mind cannot process it. I text the case manager and ask her what she is going to do about this situation, that it is 11pm-actually midnight by this time-and I cannot sleep because the roommate refuses to take her medications and she is acting irrational. I had sent an email to the case manager, program director and Director of the organization Monday, explaining my concerns. I heard nothing back. Which is why I texted her. Still no response. Two nights without sleep and 12-hour workdays with angry clients (Thank you IRS).

Tuesday night I have had it. I don't care if she doesn't want to take her medications. She NEEDS to. Her lack of judgement is having a negative affect on my life. I cannot sleep because she is once again loud. Another roommate, who is the same race as the one who shares my room, and my roommate are no more than 10 feet away from each other, but yelling at the top of their lungs at each other. They are not mad; in fact they are having one hell of a time. I am told that is how persons of that race communicate. I disagree. I know many people of that race and they do possess and utilize inside voices. I try to get to sleep, it is now 11:30pm, after working my 2nd consecutive 12 hour day and my 12th consecutive day. I just want to sleep. But I can't. She has decided she wants Christmas lights on all the time in the room and wants these dark blankets over the window. I feel like I am in someone's bizarre nightmare and since I have no control, I cannot wake up. (Yes, I would love to wake up from this nightmare. Unfortunately, it is my life right now. Yeah, I get the irony). I ask her to please take the blankets down, that having them up makes me on edge. She says NO. She is a rape victim and I have to do what she wants because she is paranoid. I ask her if she has taken her meds and she says she doesn't have to. Well, let's see, if you were on your meds, you wouldn't be so damn paranoid. I, too, have been the victim of rape, but I still deal with life. And I take my meds.

I NEED my sleep. I am going crazy because my brain cannot process this life without rest. My roommate could care less. The world must conform to her whims. Around 11:30pm, I text the case manager again asking if she is getting any sleep because I am not due to the actions of her organization. Still no response. Until midnight that is.

All of a sudden someone slams through the door, orders the roommate out of the room and starts yelling at me. It is the program director telling me I have no right to text the case manager outside of the 9am to 4pm M-F hours. I try to tell her that I am unable to sleep and my work is being affected because this roommate will not let me sleep. When she is not eating, singing or yelling, she is grunting-a symptom of her not taking her meds. But I am unable to get through to the program director because she hates me. All I can figure is that she is jealous of me. Because I have done nothing wrong. All I want is a good night's sleep and I am being deprived of that. She continues to yell at me and tell me that I am going to get "another" strike (I was unaware I already had one.) and that I was going to be kicked out of the program for contacting them outside of work hours. She will not let me get a word in edgewise because her focus is punishing me. I am doing everything I can in my power to get out of this situation. But the Mantra that she chants to us weekly-"If you don't like it, you can leave. There are plenty more where you came from. You won't be missed." is once again yelled at me. And I pay rent for this treatment.

She apparently tells the roommate that I have been bitching about her computer being on-I mentioned it once to the case manager the morning after she first moved in but don't have a problem if she uses headphones-and that she is no longer allowed to have it on. The roommate now starts yelling at me and threatening my life because I just want to sleep. But since she can't have the computer on and wants a light on, she opens the door and says it has to stay open because she is a rape victim. (Gee, perhaps if you took the medications that were prescribed to you, you wouldn't bve so damned paranoid) Then she starts playing with one of those plastic bags that are still legal in CA (but soon to be banned) because it makes noise. She starts with the grunting and clearing her throat and playing with the bag and it is a caucaphony of noise and my brain just can't take it anymore. I start to cry and I can't stop. No matter how hard I try, the tears keep coming. She starts yelling at me because-get this-she can't sleep with me crying! Mind you, she has no job and has lived off of yours and my tax dollars her whole life because she is a "rape victim". I finally doze off to sleep, but because my nose is stuffed, am unable to use my CPAP machine. I must have been sawing logs-did you hear 'em?

This morning I get up late because I needed a few hours of sleep before taking on another 12-hour day. I write down what has transpired since she decided to go off her meds, so there is a record of it. I move all of my clothes out of her side of the closet-she didn't have much when she moved in and told me I could use it-and in the process accidentally knock down a pair of her pants that she has stacked up in the closet. She told me I dropped some clothes and I say I think it's yours. I put all of my clothes on my bed and go out to have breakfast. Next thing I know, she comes out of the bedroom threatening me again. She threatens to harm me for "touching" her stuff (actually my clothes touched her stuff) and says she can't wait for me to go to work so she can throw all of my stuff all over the room. I try to apologize and she just continues to threaten and yell at me. I give up. It is no use.

When she is on the 29 medications, she might be a little tired some of the time, but is okay to get along with. My question is, how do we make certain these people take their meds? Is there some sort of gene therapy where a surgery can be done to turn a gene on or off in one's system so they automatically have the effects of the medications? If not, I hope one emerges soon. I need some sleep.