Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Not Even An Astronaut

This morning I sat a stop sign and watched people board a city bus, most of them dressed for work. And I thought, "Wow, I bet they have no idea how big and valuable their day is." I drove on and saw many more, walking toward cars and bus stops, doing "the trudge." I know it well. I used to be employed.

Three and a half years now, I can't find a job. Not as a grocery packer, a baker, a candlestick maker, an astronaut. Nada. I apply and apply and hear nothing most of the time. Every once in awhile I hear something, every once in awhile I get an interview. But nothing has come of it. For three and a half years.

It's said that the only way to really get a job these days is through someone you know. I know a lot of people. They do the best they can for me too. Alas...

Yesterday I asked for a job that I knew was opening up in the company I work for part-time and got a no. They don't have it to give. Gads.

So on the way home from taking Sasha to the hospital this morning I thought, "Well, this could well be it. This could be all I'm going to get, this part-time job and social security and food stamps." Although soon my food stamps will cease too. I guess my next job is to find a way to live within what I already have. Which would mean abandoning my house. Again. Everything else is really quite gone.

It's looking like a tiny future. I'm gonna have to make it work.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

I Would Hum For You If I Could

Last Wednesday, my friend and co-worker, Casey, disappeared. She was last seen leaving Barnes & Noble at 10:30pm in her white Outback wagon. Over the week following she was in the newspapers, on the television news, had her own website built to help find her. They showed pictures of her, of her car, of her two little sons. Please come home... We waited. We prayed - and we hoped for the best.

This morning her body was found outside of Lake Tahoe. They say, "no foul play was suspected." Well, I beg to differ.

Suicide or not, it's foul play. No one should ever feel that alone. Ever. And if they do, we're not doing our job as fellow travelers on this planet. There are two little boys without a mother, not to mention a husband without a wife. Seriously, not to mention him, but that's a story that I am not qualified to tell.

We all drop the ball somewhere. It's hard to keep track of all the balls in one's life, truly it is. But for the sake of our fellows, we must try to stay mindful. The world, particularly right now, seems mad enough as it is without remembering to care about our friends and families. Or even making a small, little effort every day; to smile at a stranger on the elevator who looks down, or to tell a co-worker that they're doing a good job, or maybe even tell a barista that you appreciate what they do for you every morning. The will to go on should never be taken for granted, but it is - it probably has to be or we'd all be living a bit too close to doom for comfort.

Too close for comfort: It was three years ago when the man I was just about to leave, my husband and the father of my child, became catastrophically ill and lay in a coma for four months with no skin, no ability to breathe, eat, pee or think on his own. Our daughter, who was almost phobic about illness already, was only 10 and in need of a lot of extra care. We had a new puppy that I couldn't bring myself to let go, as it would further traumatize our child. I showed up at the Burn ICU every single morning, washed and sterilized my hands and arms, put on a robe and some days a mask and went in to sit with him for hours on end, mesmerized and dumbfounded, just listening to the 13 machines he had in him whir and beep and alarm and hiss - only to leave and pick our daughter up from school and go back home to try to provide some semblance of "normal" life for us. Make dinner? Train the puppy? Then I'd wake up the next morning and do it all again. It was a sick time, and I was sick, and every morning I would wake up and stare at the ceiling, listening to the blood pump loudly in my ears and feeling my heavy chest swirl in what felt like impending insanity, beginning to sweat - my anxiety about simply existing through another day at a fever pitch. How on earth was I going to stay alive, much less function, for another day? Much less be a mom, or a friend, or a health advocate, or a collector of the social services I now needed as our income had ceased, or on and on and on. The buzz of insanity almost, ALMOST, outweighed the hum of the will to live. Many times.

Why did I survive and Casey did not? Crap. I don't know!! I just don't know. I would've hummed for her if I knew.

What I do know is that I'm sad, so heartbroken for her, for what must have been her last hours, feeling alone and choiceless, knowing that buzz and that hum, and how each works and works harder, crashing up against each other, only one to win out.

Sweet, beautiful Casey. I'm so, so sorry. We will miss you.

Please. Practice kindness.

Desiderata

-- written by Max Ehrmann in the 1920s --

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Insufficient Funds

I continue to be astounded by how underdeveloped the financial lobe of my brain is. I wonder if it just didn't get enough oxygen during childbirth.

Oh, wait, I was a C-section...

Regardless, one would think that with as many times as I've heard the term "insufficient funds" said to me I would find a way that would work for me to keep track of what I spend. I mean, I'm on welfare, it's not like there's a lot to keep track of. It used to be that I'd $10 myself here and there into insufficient funds. What with inflation it appears that I $50 myself there even faster. But that's what things cost, dammit!

No matter what I've earned, I've always gotten lost down the road of solvency. I've even been a member of Debtor's Anonymous, which was a valuable experience and got me out of credit card and IRS debt and on the way to learning how to be an adult with money. But even that didn't close up the windtunnel in my brain through which tumbleweeds of money blow and never stick to anything. I can write down every penny I spend and it still doesn't mean anything to me. It's like a foreign language - why?

Today I went to the mechanics to pick up my car, the 22 year old Mercedes with 197,000 miles on it. I had to throw in the Mercedes part, right? I thought it was dead, unresuscitatable, right? But no! YAY! He saved it with a distributor cap and a couple of rotors! YAY! It cost under $400 and the average car repair is $750! YAY! And yesterday I had $700 in the bank. YAY! Or was that Saturday...?

There was PCC and PetSmart, then the compounding pharmacy and the fixing of the dishwasher...the gas station...the cable... aaaaaaannnnnnddddd - it's gone!

Seriously, this is nuts! They say food is mommy and money is daddy. And both those substances baffle the hell out of me, as did both of those people.

I guess here I need another Higher Power, right? Does God deal in cash?

Help!!

Monday, September 13, 2010

Cherish Is A Word

Here it is: Yesterday I ran out of the gas at the end of the freeway ramp. What am I, 15? What adult do you know who doesn't go to the gas station when their "empty" light goes on? Well, I don't. I reset my mileage and wait until it reaches 31, because that's the proven mileage I can get on an empty tank. Please.

Today I get up late. There are signs in the kitchen that my thirteen year old, Sasha, has made a balanced breakfast for herself and gone to school. I eat the first thing I see - Wheat Thins, and heat up old coffee. Please.

I walk about the house and wonder who the hell got it so messy. Of course, it's the dog's fault, he's like living with a goat - my world is covered in Gus, be it his hair or the crap he's dragged out of the garbage can, which I haven't bothered to find the top to since it disappeared. Please.

I go into the bathroom and the plants are dead, and have been for several weeks. I take a shower and just how many bottles of empty shampoo did I try before I found one with actual product in it? Three. Please.

I get out and there are no towels - where are they? Downstairs in the laundry pile. All of them? Please.

Where are my clean clothes? Why is there no toilet paper on the roll? Where are my keys? When did my bangs start blocking my sight line? Why don't I have any cash? Why am I wading through grass to get to my car? Do I still only have a cup and a half of gas? Is that going to get me to the grocery store? Why is my bill so high? Why did I run out of absolutely everything at once? Or did I...

I get home and I prepare to sit. I'm going to meditate but I can't because I'm not in the right chair. So I sit in the rocker. Wrong. I sit in the leather chair and it's too close to the computer and I can still hear the hum. I sit on the couch and Gus jumps up and wants to sit on me. I sit in the red chair. Okay.

Here it is today: mucho grande chatter, chatter, chatter, relax my feet, calves, shins, knees, thighs, etc., etc. hit the third eye, really bright. Blinding. Chatter, chatter, less, less, okay now there's my breath finally, steady, steady -

I'm sitting cross-legged and cross-armed, pouting, in my extremely messy bedroom back on Mumford Road and I'm in gradeschool. My mom is already flying on her speed - excuse me, diet pills - and cleaning the bathroom as though there is going to be a performance of major surgery in it forthwith. Singing loudly. She has just chastised me for my messy room, but done it in a passive way, as though it's not really part of her house - and, to me, as though I'm not really part of her family.

I've seen this scene before. But today there's something new. There's my thoughts added. And they are: "I wish she'd just ask me if I needed help. But she won't so I'm not participating. Period."

There's me in my pajamas, heading for bed. I'm in junior high. "Good night, mom." She looks up from her gimlet and waves little wavies at me - "Toodles." And here are my thoughts again, "I wish she'd just say goodnight and maybe even...I love you...? I could sleep forever."

I'm in the airport, about to head back to New York from a visit to see my mom. There's a lot of people about and a lot of hugs and kisses goodbye. My mom looks around, taking it all in and here I say, "Bye mom. Thanks for everything." She looks at me, but this time I see it. She looks like she's five and scared to death. She grabs me like I think she's going to hit me, but instead pulls me in close to her - too close and way, way too tight, almost violent. "I love you, dammit," she says. Then walks away.

And now I'm an adult, 53 actually, and I've run out of gas and eaten crap for breakfast in a messy house where I can't find anything, with no groceries in it and where the lawn hasn't been mown for a couple of weeks. And finally, finally I wonder: why don't I love myself anymore?

I've been waiting. Waiting for things to straighten out. But the problem is, I've been waiting for that "thing" to straighten itself out and make itself known for 53 years. But she's gone and she's not coming back. And she did love me...as best an addict could.

She should have cherished me. But she didn't. She couldn't.

A lot of people love me today. A lot. But I'm still waiting to be cherished.

How much love can a person miss out on? A lot. How much would I love to stop missing out on what's already in front of me? A lot.

It's becoming clear to me that perhaps in all this waiting - this time for a job or for enough money or for some "right" man - I could actually take care of myself and my surroundings. And love myself again. Maybe then I'd stop missing out on what I already have.

Please.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Never Forget

Nine years ago this morning, I was driving to work in the dark with the radio on, thinking that the morning drive shock jocks have gone too far this time with their joking around: planes have flown into the WTCs. Not possible. But - I did feel a panic in my chest and flew the rest of the way to work.

When I got there, I found out it was true. I stood and watched the towers burn on TV, speechless, while those around me ran commentaries of their own - some between each other, others aloud and to themselves. How can this happen?

The minute I knew it was for real, I knew it was no mistake. Having lived in New York City for 25 years and flown in and out of it numerous times, I knew that the airspace above the island of Manhattan was tightly controlled and tuned to a fine art. That this could be no accident.

And then they fell...and were no more. I unknowingly sat down on the floor and prayed like I had never before prayed.

And I knew that any chance that anyone had of getting out was gone. Having previously worked in WTC Two, above the crash site, I wondered how many of my former mates had fatefully had the misfortune of showing up for work early, or even on time, that morning. I was later to find out that it was many. Too many to bear.

At work, we watched with the sound off, thank god, because I was to later go home and stun myself into trauma with the playing and replaying and replaying of the entire catastrophe - like many, I couldn't tear myself away.

Sitting here with my candle burning next to me, I feel the shock and extraordinary sadness of that morning again. I hope that, out of respect for those fallen, they're not replaying it over and over again today.

But most of all, as I get ready to do my daily sit, I pray that the world has not gone mad - what with all the blind belief in the shallowness of FOX soundbites and ignorant religious hatred. Those who downed the Twin Towers represented madness, not Islam, and their insanity should have gone down with them. It only lives on through Qu'ran-burning fanatics and bigoted persons who show they don't really believe in the freedoms we've fought so vehemently for by denying a simple community center within blocks of Ground Zero.

In the soft light of today, remembering 9/11, I have to say that I am so profoundly grateful for the luxury of my sophisticated problems. My gorgeous and talented daughter. My devoted and sometimes pain-in-the-ass dog. And in the simple yet profound idea that I have the ability to hope for a future. Any kind of future.