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.

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.

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.