I'm in Fear For My Life

            I had come so far from being the person I had to be when I was in the homeless house. I was getting on with my life, every day doing something more to improve my life. That was until my neighbor, who suffers from myriad mental illnesses, went ballistic this past summer. He decided to get drunk and take other medications as well. Prior to living in these apartments, he was a meth head and homeless. He got himself clean and got SSDI for his mental issues and moved in six months before I did. Prior to this outburst, we got along great. Both my other neighbor and I gave him our recyclables so he could augment his income. In return, he would sweep the carport every week to keep it clean. He also stopped some other meth heads from stealing my small refrigerator I kept outside because there was nowhere else to put it. But after he apparently received notice last July that his lease was not renewed, he went on a binge, threatening to kill everyone in the 5 unit apartment complex.

            I called police because I feared for the safety of his girlfriend in his apartment as he was throwing things around and screaming and yelling. Police came, and he tried to come outside of his apartment and harm them. He kept calling the female police officer names, such as “cunt, whore and bitch”. But she and her partner remained calm, telling him he had to stay in his apartment or they would arrest him on public intoxication. They eventually came over to talk to me and my other next door neighbor and we just told them what we heard. They said they were going to leave because their presence there is what was setting him off. As soon as they left, the neighbor got into his car (his girlfriend had left by then) and drove off. I called police because he was drunk and on other drugs as well.

            He was stopped less than a mile from the apartment. I don’t know exactly what happened next as I wasn’t there, but my other neighbor accessed the police report the following day to find out he had tried to run the female police officer over with his car. Either she or her partner had to shoot out his tires to make him stop. He was subsequently arrested on drunk driving, driving without a license and attempted murder of a police officer. That last charge was dropped by the District Attorney because Black Lives Matter and he was unarmed, except for the two thousand pound vehicle he used to try to kill an officer of the law.

            Later that week, I found out from my neighbor, that he had filed charges with the Housing Agency against everyone in the building (even though I’m the only other one who is on Section 8 Housing and would be affected) of harming his civil rights. All I did was call the police because he didn’t belong on the road. When you’re drunk, you have no right to get behind the wheel of a car. It was then that I decided I would no longer help him out with recycling. As far as I was concerned, people who tell lies about me don’t deserve to know the time of day.

            When he noticed I wasn’t giving him my recyclables, he began banging bottles underneath my window at 4:30am to wake me up. One day in September, I had enough and called police. I told them that I needed my rest and that he was being a nuisance by banging bottles underneath my window at 4:30am. Then went to speak with him and he denied doing anything. Thing is, my neighbor’s boyfriend heard him because it woke him up too. After the police left, the bottle banger began threatening to kill me and said things such as “You’re so fat I’m going to have to find a piana box to bury you in, you fat ass, lying bitch.” I called the police again, who told me to ignore it. Ignore this man’s booming voice? It’s the second time he’s threatened to kill me, yet nothing is being done. The police told me it was a matter for the Property Manager to take care of. I called the Property Manager who said that part of the deal was that he’s not supposed to have recycling in front of his place. I asked him what was he going to do about the death threats and he said he’d talk to me later and hung up on me. That was the last time I spoke with the Property Manager. Because now when he sees my phone number come up, he sends it to voicemail. He refuses to answer my texts and refuses to answer his phone at work.

            From then on, it just got worse. Every time I would leave my apartment, he would get up, come out of his apartment and start calling me “fat lying bitch! You so fat you need to ride that tricycle of yours, ya fat ass!!!” Then he began turning his music up real loud so that the wall between our apartments would move. I asked him one night to turn it down and he just turned it up louder. I was forced to purchase an air horn as a way to fight back, so I blasted the air horn. He just yelled, “blow that horn fatty, blow that horn!!!” I finally pounded on the wall that was moving and within a few minutes he was pounding on my bedroom window, all wild eyed, trying to break in. I called police AGAIN. And AGAIN they told me it was a matter between the Property Manager and him. I called the Property Manager. I texted the Property Manager, but the Property Manager doesn’t care. Because if he did care, he would take care of the issue.

            I was gone for a night with a friend a week before Thanksgiving, and came back the next day, only to be assaulted once again, with him yelling fat names at me. I suffer from PTSD. The thing that sets it off is yelling and loud noises, such as the loud booming stereo, which the police say he can have it as loud as he wants as long as they can’t hear it in their squad cars when they drive by. So the apartment I pay rent on is utterly useless as my PTSD has kicked in overdrive and left me just a bluthering ball of nothingness. I can barely hold on to what mind I have left.

But no one cares. I know no one cares because no one will help me. That last time I called police, the officer said he was going to tell the Property Manager to kick us both out. Because I’m the only one calling police, they think I’m making this up. But I’m not. I made such great strides after being subjected to this kind of crap in the Homeless House, run by the Fairfield Suisun Community Action Council, that I’m back to where I was the day I had to call police because my roommate spit on me, body blocked me and held a knife up that she slept with, threatening to kill me. She lied to the police and said I hit her. They told me the only way that they could arrest her was to arrest me. I had just landed a job at a Fortune 500 Company and an arrest would cost me my job. I had no recourse. Even though, for right now I’m not homeless, I am emotionally and mentally back at that same place because PTSD has taken over and I have nowhere to turn.

            The Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I applied for a restraining order against the neighbor. It wasn’t granted, but there is a hearing on it on December 12^th. My friend is going to serve the papers to the neighbor this afternoon or evening. I fear for my life. If he went as ballistic as he did when his lease wasn’t renewed, how is he going to respond to a restraining order?

            I just pray I get to update this blog again. Someday…

Christmas Letter: 2010, 11, 12, 13 and 14

Christmas Letter: 2010,11,12,13 and 14

      Yes, it's been that long since I've written a Christmas letter. And it wasn't for lack of things going on in my life, quite the contrary.

Let's start in 2010:

      In April 2010, I accepted a job as a census taker. I lost that job two weeks later when my fingerprints came back that I had been a very bad person. Unknown to me at the time, a crime I committed while I was 21 years old (my friends and I were drunk and they were going to teach me how to hot-wire a car), had not been updated in the FBI database and I was listed as two-time felon. I was only found guilty of a misdemeanor tampering with a vehicle. In any case, in this day and age when background checks are so cheap, I was unable to get a job. As my 99 weeks of unemployment loomed to a close in August, 2010, a textile recycling company, USAgain, hired me to find locations for their "mailboxes on steroids" so people could recycle anything doing with textile - even underwear! Unfortunately, out of the 8 of us that were hired, seven of us were let go the same day. They pitted us against each other to see who would work the hardest for them. On October 5, 2010, I received a 30 day notice from my roommate and by November 6, 2010, I was homeless.

      I spent the first 4 months with a friend who allowed me to keep my cats, Mowgli and Ming, with me in an extra bedroom in her home. Because I didn't have a job by mid-January and I told her when I moved in it should only be a few months before I landed back on my feet, as I have never had a problem finding a job, she asked me to leave by the end of February. 

       March 2, 2011, I was in a homeless shelter. My sister used her Hotel miles and put me up in a Homewood Suite on the 1st, but then I was on my own. I stayed in the homeless shelter for 2 weeks while I waited to get into "transitional housing" with the Fairfield-Suisun Community Action Council. Mowgli and Ming were staying with a couple I met while I was emceeing a Boy Scout Banquet.
       March 15, 2011, I moved in to transitional housing. I didn't know the woman who I would share the master bedroom with, but she seemed pretty straight forward. I'll call her Blondie. We became friends and totally understood each other.  She said it was due to the fact that I was a Taurus while she was a Scorpio. I do know I could leave ten-thousand dollars on the dresser and she wouldn't touch it. And she knew that if she asked for some of it, I would share, so there would be no reason for her to touch it. In April 2011, I noticed what I thought was another hernia - I had a hernia operation in December 2009 and my stomach was poking out again - so I went to the surgeon who did the previous one. I'll call him the "Hottie Doc" because we just seem to click. I wanted to make sure that the county insurance I had would cover the operation, so I had to go back the following week. That's when the abscess under my belly showed up. Instead of having hernia surgery in May, I had to have an abscess drained in the O.R. On June 1, 2011, I had hernia surgery. That was the same day my aunt found out she had pancreatic cancer.
      After I healed, I resumed my job search. I was also making some headway into clearing up the FBI mess. I think that was taken care of in May sometime, where they got it right. I kept looking for jobs, going to interviews, with nothing on the horizon. Meanwhile, outside of my roommate the rest of the women, the other four, were raised by wolves, I swear! The Program Director was also a mean person, telling us once a week, "If you don't like it here, leave. There are plenty more people where you came from. Believe me, you won't be missed." She says that to homeless women trying to better themselves. It was hell. Read my previous posts for an idea. I am writing a book on my journey through homelessness called "Homeless...But Not Hopeless". Then I had a nervous breakdown.
     My sister, who lives in Midtown Sacramento, had offered me her couch to sleep on, but at that time, Sacramento didn't have insurance for the indigent and Solano County, where I've called home for more than 20 years, does. My doctor referred me to a psychiatrist to deal with the breakdown. I didn't want to commit suicide, I just didn't want to live that life, with those people. That may sound snobbish, but I was taught differently than the people I was forced to live with and was comfortable with the way I had lived for the past 45 years.
      In October, I received a call to ask me if I wanted to be the next Office Manager of the H&R Block in the Target Center in Vallejo. Although it was a temporary job, it was a job. Of course I accepted! On the home front, the house we were living in was foreclosed and we moved to a larger house in Suisun City. That's when the real fun began. Read previous posts of this blog to understand what I mean.
       Because this job was temporary, I continued to look for permanent work and was offered a position as a clerk in the Welfare to Work office in Contra Costa County. I was originally assigned to Pleasant Hill, but there was a need in Antioch, so that's where I went to work. The day after accepting, Blondie and I were on our way to celebrate with a steak dinner when a 16-year-old boy, who had just received his driver's license, ran a red light and t-boned my car, totaling it and injuring my neck. Now I was homeless, without a car to get to my permanent job so I could lift myself by my bootstraps. I had no credit cards and not even a bank account. Thank God I had friends. One of them let me use her debit card and another paid for, a rental car, so I could get to and from my new job. Although I had given my 2 weeks notice to H&R Block, they fired me because I didn't have a car to get to and from work and to and from meetings. (I didn't get the rental until 10 days after the crash - H&R fired me a week prior)
     To add insult to injury, in California, if you are not insured and get into a car crash, even if it wasn't your fault, you cannot sue for pain and suffering. I ended up losing 2 jobs because of this crash, but I couldn't sue because my insurance ran out two weeks before the crash. I didn't pay my bill because I didn't receive a bill because my agent, who has since been fired due to negligence, didn't change my address. In fact, the afternoon, before I left the office to pick up Blondie for dinner, I called and left a message for my agent because it seemed like it was time to pay my bill. The kid's insurance company did reimburse me for the car that was totaled and paid for the rental, but that was it. I was on my own.
        I did lose my job with Contra Costa County in July 2012 because I was late too many times and took off too many days due to the neck injury. My left hand would go numb without warning, which my spine surgeon said was normal with that type of injury. Prior to becoming homeless, I applied for Social Security Disability because I couldn't stand for long periods of time due to the arthritis in my knees and the only jobs available required one to stand for long periods of time. They kept rejecting me, I kept appealing and the first week of August 2012, I had a hearing. I hobbled into the hearing room and told the judge all that had happened. The following month, I was awarded Social Security Disability and have been surviving off of it since.
      It's better than being homeless, but I really want to go back to work. I had neck surgery in June 2013 and my left hand no longer goes numb without warning. I have medical bills up one side and down the other because Medicare doesn't pay for everything and although the health insurance when you are an indigent is great in Solano County, if you bring home more than $600/month, you have a share of cost of the extra multiplied by 1.5. So in order to activate my Medi-Cal, I have a share of cost of over $900! I need a home health aid as I don't get around too well, but don't have $900 a month for one. My food stamp worker told me that if I worked I could get one cheaper. Hmmmm....
     Radio lost over 50% of its jobs in the recession and they haven't come back. In November 2011, I met a literary agent who told me that if I was serious about my writing, he could make me a best selling author. He was the one who suggested I start a blog. In 2015, I need to get to it, and assemble the book as it is already written in bits and pieces, through this blog, Facebook postings and my journal. Then I could finally get a new car, as the one I have can't seem to pass CA Smog standards and the tags ran out in September 2013.
      So that's been my life in a nutshell since 2010. My Aunt passed away from pancreatic cancer in December 2011. I found out via text from my sister while I was training for H&R Block. Mowgli passed away in October 2013 due to hyperthyroidism.  Ming likes the single life, so since she's now 17, she gets what she wants. I hit the half century mark this past year and need to get on with the second part of my life.
      Have a wonderful year!

I've Got A Name (Remembering Mowgli)

     Many people name their cats on what the pet looks like. That's how we get names like Shadow (blue or gray) or Patches (usually a calico or tortoise shell) or Snowball (usually a fluffy white). Others name their cats because of things their cats do. We once had a cat that wouldn't shut up. We named him Sounder. We didn't learn until years later that he was probably deaf.

       I had just gotten a teenage cat from the pound and wasn't sure what to name her. She was a cross between a calico and a tabby, something that is now known as a Caliby. I began like most and named her after her looks. I was going to college at the time and the night before in Economics class we had been talking about Matisse. I thought that would be the perfect name for a Caliby - Matisse. She had just about all the colors that come in a cat and was 'painted' with those colors by God. Matisse was it.

     We went to the vet before going home, Matisse and I, to make sure she was all well before introducing her to her new sister and companion, Maggie T., who herself was named after Lady Margaret Thatcher. Maggie was a stray who had her four kittens under my then neighbor's porch. I named the kittens before I named her. The neighbors called her Shadow, because she was a blue (actually gray) cat. She had two tortoise shell cats, both female. I named the more outgoing one Socrates and her sister was named Aristotle. There was a male Himalayan I named Confucius and a wild tuxedo female I called Monet, after my favorite painter. I thought to myself, what woman could have given birth to such Greatness? Only two names came to mind: Lady Margaret Thatcher and Golda Meir. Since 'Shadow' was not a gold color, Maggie T won out. Many people name their cats Maggie, which is why I made sure she had that T after her name. She wasn't just any cat named Maggie. She was Maggie T, the mother of Greatness. Although I wanted the tuxedo cat, Maggie won me over and by the time I moved, she was mine. When Matisse received a clean bill of health, we went home to meet her sister. They soon became best buddies.


     I called to Maggie T and she would come running to me, but when I called for Matisse, the new cat just looked at me. She was not responding to Matisse at all. A week after I brought the new cat into our home, she needed a name she would respond to. Someone suggested I name her after the lead character in my favorite book. Since my favorite book was "Atlas Shrugged", I called her Dagney. Maggie T came running to me, but the new cat just looked at me. Hmmm, I thought, they sound too similar. How about I name her after the author? So my new cat became Ayn. She still wouldn't respond to it.

     At work I was mulling over names. The new cat didn't respond to either of the first two names I had given her. She certainly was energetic, though. She REALLY wanted to go outside, but I wouldn't let her until she was spayed. She literally climbed the walls. She reminded me of the Jungle Boy. What was the name of the cat in the "Jungle Boy"? I asked my co-workers. They said it was Panther, but I knew that wasn't it. (I later found out it was Baghera, but after watching the movie, this cat was definitely NOT Baghera, the worrier. No, this cat was an adventurer.) This cat was the girl-cat version of the Jungle Boy.

     When I came home that night, I called for Maggie T and she came running to me. Then I called "Mowgli!" and the new cat came running to me! She looked at me with eyes that said, 'Gee, mom, it's about time you learned my name!' And for the next 14 years, Mowgli was indeed, the girl-cat version of the Jungle Boy.

                               

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.

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.

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.



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.

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.

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.