Sunday, January 29, 2012

Not Always on Time

Okay, so it's been a few days since posting. Yes, I was going to try every other day or at least MWF, but there's that job thingy and ants in the bathroom. I have a new roommate (the people who run the program I am in will not allow me to have the same roommate as before. Maybe it's because we actually got along.) who has some real mental health issues. Like many people in California who cannot afford healthcare, her doctors just keep prescribing her pills and more pills. She showed me the handbag she has to keep them in. Instead of taking care of the problem through psychotherapy, they just give her more drugs because it is cheaper. But is it better?

No one will disagree with me when I tell them I need my Prozac. Prior to taking Prozac, I was a mess. I would throw a hissy fit if anything didn't go right. I grew up in an atmosphere that was very much the same; if you spilled water on the floor, my mother acted as if you had just burned down the house on purpose. That was how I delt with life before Prozac. Even though it subdued my creativity somewhat, it is still better than being on the edge all the time, no one knowing when-including myself-I would jump off. But my roommate's issues go much deeper than that.

My older sister, who lives in Columbus, Ohio, says that Ohio pays for Mental Health much the same way as Medi-Cal, or what I am on-CMSP-pays for physical health. If my roommate lived in Ohio, she may not be subjected to so much medication and would probably receive some psythotherapy. But she was born and raised in Los Angeles, California and now resides in Suisun City, CA.

Should this be a state's issue? I do not know what is in Obamacare, but then again neither does my congressman or U.S. Senators. They passed it because, they said, they needed to. But will that law now make certain that people like my roommate get the help they need? She is anxious when there is "too much" around. Which is why I am certain they made her my roommate. (The program director has it in her head I should only have 7 outfits for work. She doesn't get that as the boss, I have to set the standard. I don't get to work in t-shirts and jeans and tennis shoes like her. I honestly think she is jealous because of my vast wardrobe.) I try to accommodate my roommate as best I can. I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable around me or because of me. However, I am the only one in that respect, as the same program director saw fit to fill the entire blank space of our kitchen/dining room with lists of rules. They are also all over the refrigerator, which is quite funny because it discusses rotten food, when it is they (the program) that delivers liquid salad, sour milk and moldy bread. In any case, now when my roommate goes into the kitchen/dining room, her senses are assaulted with all of it. Which makes her quite anxious. While each of us in charge of our own emotions, anxiety cannot always be controlled. The program knows this, yet does what it can to antagonize her. Heaven forbid if we mention it to the program director. She will just tell us if we don't like it, we can leave. That there are plenty of people ready to take our place and that no one will miss us. How nurturing of them.

But back to my roommate. She is smart, but unable to care for herself because of her conditions. Her family can't take of her. So where does she go? Can she ever get back to where she can live on her own again? She survives on what little Social Security disability she gets and used to spend half of the month in motels until she had no money, then slept on the streets. What can we, as a society, do for people like that? I am a social liberal, but a fiscal conservative. I feel whatever people want to do, as long as they are consenting adults and no one's civil rights are being harmed, they should be able to do it in their own homes. But I don't think that hard-working people should pay for those who refuse to work. So where does that leave me?

It sucks being homeless. It must suck more to be disabled and homeless, whether that disability is physical or mental. I think I would be fine with helping out a non-governmental agency house and help people like her, when I get back on my feet.

In the meantime, I will work my way out of my situation. And who knows, I might just be on time.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

My Life, Interesting?

Today, my pain management doctor told me I had an interesting life. Me? I don't think it's much different from others. I wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep and do it all over again the next day. Okay, maybe she means my life prior to the BIG CHANGE, and I am not referring to menopause.

I suppose I have led an interesting life. I have met some famous people (Donovan, John Phillips, Elvin Bishop, Jay Leno) and not so famous people (Members of th KGB, boatloads of both television and radio newscasters, the Chairman of the California Republican Party). I even once was kissed twice in the same day by two millionaires. I suppose it has been somewhat interesrting, but mostly I think it is due to my view of life-sideways. And while I enjoy a good Pinot Nior, Merlot is my fave. (If you don't get the connection, look up Thomas Hayden Church on imbd.com) I enjoy finding oddness and irony in life. Like the package of cherry wood smoked bacon. That proudly proclaimed it was "gluten free".

Gee, I certainly hope so. I will take my pancakes and toast separate, please. Or the sign in front of the red light at the corner of Holiday Lane and Travis Blvd in Fairfield right in front of Peet's Coffee. You know, the sign that says "No Parking or Stopping". So when there is a red light, am I supposed to obey the sign or the light? I mean, that's a cash cow for the city. Since I saw and took a picture of that one, I have found many around town. They must've gotten a discount by purchasing a lot at one time.

Thank God for cameras on our phones, eh? Now the world is a comedy stage. Which reminds me, there is something else I have done that many people haven't. I have done stand-up comedy where Robin Williams got his start-The Holy City Zoo in San Francisco. It's not there anymore; apparently, there were riots when I wasn't performing and...
Okay, back to reality. Actually, the downturn in the economy in the early 90's claimed the Zoo as one of its many victims.
As for irony, I LOVE IT. Unlike ironing. Whew, HATE THAT. Mom hated ironing too. So it baffled me one day while she was ironing sheets (yep, back in the days of real linen sheets, they had to be ironed) she was complaining about having to do it. I asked her, if she didn't want to do it, why she did. She said "What would your grandmnother think if I didn't iron them?" I told her grandma wasn't there and wasn't coming by anytime soon. My poor mom never could get her mom's expectations out of her mind. And it passes down the generations.
Maybe that's why I have cats. They won't have offspring as I spay or neuter them. I can end this cycle with me.
My life, interesting? Maybe. But there's a lot more interesting stuff left in the world and I intend to find it and maybe taste some of it too. I mean, I wouldn't want to let my Dr. down, now, would I? She keeps my pain at bay...

Monday, January 23, 2012

Funny, you don't LOOK Homeless...

I get that a lot. I tell someone I am homeless and they look me up one side and down the other and say, "Hmm, that's funny. You don't look homeless." As if there was a "look". Because my hair is not greasy, because I shower at least once a day, because I am wearing clean clothes, I don't have the "homeless look", whatever that is. And just in case you are wondering, there certainly is nothing funny about being homeless. In fact, it sucks.
When I was in my early 20's, I thought it would be cool to "suffer" for my art. I was going to be a rock star then. I needed to feel the pain of the down and out person in order to write about it, correct? I mean, didn't Bruce Springsteen suffer for his work? Didn't he know people who worked in factories and then were laid off only to become alcoholics because they no longer had any dignity? So I spent a week sleeping in my car. In Reno, NV. In the winter. It only lasted a week because I knew far too many people that insisted I stay with them. And I was cold. No songs came out of that week, just an appreciation for civilization.
Fast forward to 2012. I am now in my mid to late 40's, not near as spry or adventurous as my 20-year-old self was. Yet, I find myself without a home. I have a place to stay, but it is not home. I share a house with 5 other women. I share a room with a woman who has been through hell and back. I have to write my name on anything that is mine, though that doesn't always stop people in the house from stealing.  I have taken to putting blood on the ends of my toilet paper roll so no one else will use it. Yes, I share a house with five other women, all older than me except for my former roommate. Yet they-the ones in their 50's-are the ones I have to protect my belongings from. If I complain about the theft, and I have, I am told there are plenty of other women waiting to take my spot and if I don't like it I can leave. But they know I can't leave, otherwise I would.
When you are homeless, everyone else holds the cards and you are stuck with the joker. And he isn't wild.

But I am doing what I can to keep up the spirits. Looking through rose-colored glasses because one day I know I will be free from Uncle Sam's Plantation.