Childhood Indoctrination

image by http://domnx.deviantart.com/art/True-Blue-79805814

"Me and darker days, we're old drinking buddies"

I just can't stop thinking about this post:

Hey you. You self-aware crackerjack person you. You know what is important to you and still sometimes you find yourself behaving as though you don’t care about it at all. If this happens to you, I can relate. I set my intention to honour my values and over and over again I steamroll right past those intentions with what looks like rebellion. Why do I keep doing that? I ask myself. 

Or, on darker days: 

There I go again. I’m a total hypocrite. I keep saying how important it is for me to be (gossip-free, eating healthy, balanced) but then I go ahead and (bitch about my co-workers, binge on cinnamon buns, take on more social commitments when I’m already burnt out). What’s wrong with me? I must secretly hate myself and be sabotaging my happiness…. 

Honey. I know those darker days. Me and darker days, we’re old drinking buddies.

and also

The way you phrase a question can make all the difference. Ask not, “why do I keep doing this to myself?” (bound to get you some self-loathing answers) and instead, ask:  

By dishonouring my value of ____________, what value am I choosing to honour instead? 

Another way of finding out is to take a look at the behaviour (in my case, drinking and eating to keep up with others) and ask what am I getting out of this?... 

...What value was I honouring when I joined in unwanted drinking and dessert eating? Connection. It’s huge. I want to be connected to others in conversation and shared experience. I want to be on the same wavelength. 

Sometimes you read the right thing at the right time and it's like fireworks in your head.  This happened to me when I read this.  Why do I choose unhealthy behaviors even though I know better?  Because I'm getting something out of them.  


For example, I smoke because I like the way it breaks up my day into manageable pieces.  I smoke because I like the way that people don't expect me to smoke, and it also creates instant community.  These are desires that I can satisfy in ways that are way less likely to kill me.  


It's so helpful to think about these behaviors in a positive way instead of beating myself up over them.

Creeping Vines

O, poor neglected blog.  I hope you've been able to feed yourself in my absence!

I'm kind of in a quandary.  I have this amazing, awesome, powerful job that I love so much, and generates so many feelings and so much fucking amazing material... and I can't write about it.  Not that I can't write about it, but that I can't write what I want about it, because I respect the confidentiality of our clients, and this is a small town, so even the most general characteristics might identify someone.

But I can say that I've been working full time at an agency that provides low-barrier services for homeless and very low-income people in Portland.  It is simultaneously the hardest job I've ever had, and sometimes doesn't even feel like work (work to me is sitting at a desk for 8 hours in front of a computer.  I get to talk to people all day and I'm lucky if I get to check my email once a day). I am fully engaged with my whole person in this work, for the first time in my life that I can think of.

It's the clients themselves who provide the richness of the job, though.  Working with them is making me a better human being, for sure.  Every single day I see both the very best and very worst of human nature, and I am learning how to radically accept these things, and in turn myself. And after years of cynicism and coolness and worrying about what other people think (and, OK, pushing away my own feelings), it feels good to care, really fucking care about the people who use our services, to try to be genuine and present in every moment, to learn how to set boundaries with love.... I am growing by large leaps and difficult landings.

And I leave every day exhausted and with a heart full: or worry, of hope, of love, of frustration, of empowerment, of pride, of sadness.

Figure skating duo wins competition with Mario act

Figure skating duo wins competition with Mario act: "

Watch this video of Russian figure skating duo Tatiana Volosozhar and Maxim Trankov, who won a silver medal at the World Figure Skating Championships this past weekend. The competition was supposed to take place in Japan, but it got moved to Russia after the earthquake.

(Thanks, Paul!)

"

Real life mario

Awesome real life Mario trailer from SXSW: "

Impatient

I am feeling overwhelmed by a lot of stressors, so I'm trying very hard to consciously change the focus of my thoughts from the negative (so fucking easy to get stuck in) to being present and remembering positive moments.

Some of this week's:

Sharing unexpected sunshine and peace on a warm concrete step with a mostly nonverbal client.

Watching the tips of the branches pinken and swell.  There are leaves in there.

Finding the first shoots of the bulbs I planted last year (daffodil, tulip, and iris).

Seeing a badass tough guy client help another one who is extremely physically ill.

Waking up to heavy wet snow that is melted in an hour, and imagining all the maple syrup that is coming.

A cup of hot coffee at exactly the right moment.

Irish whiskey buttercream.

I don't think it's a coincidence that so many of these moments involve being aware of seasons/the natural world.  Remembering plants' steady process of growing helps me connect with my own slow and steady processes, and know that it is a process, and be OK with that.

It's coming

Spring Thaw || Photo by @AndrewAKessler via

It's not a new idea

via

Do You Have What It Takes To Be Working Poor?

Try it out:

Playspent.org [Official Site]

via

Oh right

Things have been moving along at a steady chug for a few weeks... I'm working and adjusting to the work schedule, taking care of business with the Teen and some of her teachers, hanging out with the Princess and the cat, playing a lot of Super Mario Bros.  I felt like I'd reached some kind of balance, and felt, for the first time in a long while.... content?  sort of happy?

But then, for the past few nights, I haven't been sleeping well, and have been running around the house baking and cooking and cleaning as though I'm preparing for something. This morning it clicked for me--this is my aunt's birthday... the one who passed away in June.  Of course, I knew it was her birthday; my extended family is planning to get together later today specifically because of the date.  I baked things to take to the potluck.  For some reason, though, it didn't really click.

In fact, I had been observing my response to this sort of milestone with detached approval--look at how well I'm handling all this!  I can calmly organize a family gathering and clean my house and cook brownies and lemon bars and cleanthehouseandcookdinneranddoallthedishes...  Right.  Ok.  I need to stop for a minute and stop observing and detaching, and just follow this day where it leads.

I do have a treat set up for myself later--a friend with an infant is coming to town, and she's a great listener, and holding babies is a cure for just about any psychological ailment I can think of.  And I have knitted presents for this baby.

Also, relatedly, I've been thinking about some new ink to help me remember not to do this shit to myself.  Something like this:

via*

except definitely not on my chest and without the birds.  Maybe across my shoulderblades, since that's where I carry the weight of the bastardes (including myself: I can be the worst bastarde of them all when it comes to grinding myself down).



*It reads "Nolite Te Carbarundrume Bastardes," which yes, I know isn't real Latin, but is significant to me because of its literary and feminist connotations.

Employed

Two weeks ago, I got a job at the same homeless shelter where I've been working per diem.  This is wonderful. I am thrilled, love the work, love my co-workers, love the agency... and I'm also exhausted.  This particular kind of work is draining all by itself, as you can imagine, and making the shift from part time to full time work is also quite a transition.  I remember the days (just six months ago! imagine!) when I would work 8 hours and come home with energy to do other things, but I am out of practice, I guess.  I work and come home to cook and be with my family for the minimal amount that is decent, and then I go and sleep like the dead.

via

When I'm not doing these things, I don't have the energy to concentrate on reading much, so I've been playing video games.  The Princess and I are about 80% of the way to solving Super Mario Bros for wii, and that represents many many hours of playing.  Since Christmas. No matter; I'm sure I'll get my brain back someday.  My supervisor estimates that it takes new caseworkers about two weeks to adjust.  That would put me back to "normal" at the end of next week.

Yeah, I'll keep you posted about that.

via

When I was in high school I had a serious love affair with Mario 3.  I played it constantly, for hours and hours at a time, until I finished it.  And then I started all over again.  In some ways, this new obsession with playing reminds me of that time: I was the same age that the Teen is now, going through some life difficulties, looking for an escape that was interesting but didn't tax my mind too much, nor make me anxious.

Some other things I'm up to: trying to watch all the Best Picture nominees before the Oscars (4 to go!), trying to cook all of our winter CSA veggies before they go soft, buying the Teen some supplementary Xmas gifts because I have basically usurped hers (the wii).  And working. Yes  But every day I've been taking some time to hang out with Mario, and feeling pretty OK about it.

via

In Sum

I never have seen the point of doing a year in review post before the year is actually over.  What if I did one on December 20 and then something HUGE happened on December 26?  Like I could win $250 in a scratch off ticket!  And then my year in review would have left out a really significant and important part of my year.  So I wait.

Here it is.  2010.
Organs removed: 3
Visits to the ER: 6 (4 for me, 2 for the princess)
Funerals: 1

And also:
Employers: 2
Months spent unemployed: 3
Number of unemployment checks I've received: 1

Books read: approximately 50

Movies seen in the theater: 6
Cell phones ruined: 2
Cell phones purchased: 3

Plus:

Boxes of peanut brittle eaten: 2

Pairs of glovelets crocheted: 4

Sunburns: 3

Visits to the beach: 4
Dollars spent on car repair: 1000
Weekends as auntie: 3
Babies held: 4

I remember this

There are a lot of things going on in my head (and my life!) right now.  Most of them have to do with disappointment at my current lack of permanent work; I'm working per diem at the homeless shelter, with no benefits and no guaranteed hours at a significantly lower hourly rate than I had before.  There is just very little work available at the kind of job I have had for the past five years, which forces me to apply for jobs that I am dreadfully overqualified for or in a completely different field.  The salaries at these jobs are similar to the salaries I had ten years ago, before I had any degrees (or the debt I incurred getting them).  Hence the disappointment.

And I was reminded this week of how much work is involved in being poor.  An example:

I reluctantly went back on this state's version of Medicaid, because I can't be without medical coverage or I will have pre-existing conditions that will keep me from *ever* getting covered treatment for the moderately serious health issue I've been dealing with for the past few years.

This state insurance became effective December 1.  Let me first say that I am incredibly grateful to have this option, as I have already racked up almost $8k in medical bills over the last six months, and that was *with* the insanely expensive insurance coverage from my last job.

I saw my doctor yesterday, and she gave me a refill on a couple of prescriptions, which I dropped off at my local chain pharmacy.  When I returned to pick it up several hours later, they told me that they couldn't fill my prescription because the state insurance system thinks that I have another form of insurance that needs to be billed first.  This insurance ended 11/30, which I did tell my caseworker at DHHS, but no matter, accidents happen, and this information was not entered in the state system.  What I needed to do, they told me, was call the Medicaid system and have them correct the problem.  I paid cash for one urgently needed prescription and went home.

I called Medicaid today during a 15 minute break at my per diem job.  I spent a long time on hold and eventually spoke with someone who said that they could correct the error, but some computer irregularity means that it can take several days for their system to update with the information.  If I gave the pharmacist another 1-800 number to call they could verify my coverage and I could get my prescription filled.  I was only five minutes late back to work.

After work, I returned to the pharmacy and spent a solid 5 minutes trying to explain the situation to the very harried pharmacist.  She called the number and spent a long time on hold with the system. I went and picked up a couple of other items at the store while she was waiting on hold.  Back at the counter, Harried Pharmacist told me that she was eventually able to verify my coverage, but that now they had to actually fill my prescription, and I would have to return later in the day to pick it up.

I went and did some errands (picked out the cutest tiny Xmas tree for our apartment, actually--super deal at $12) and went back to the pharmacy and picked up my prescription, which she'd had to break into *two* prescriptions due to the slightly odd dosage the doc had given me.  Total cost was $6, which was much more reasonable than the $45 I'd had to pay under my old insurance plan, and the for-now-insurmountable hundred-odd I would have had to pay if I'd been without insurance.

But add onto that the time I spent on four trips to the pharmacy and calls during my only work break, and it gets frustrating.  If I'd been working full time all of those trips and calls would have taken days to accomplish, or would have required time off from work.  That's not even counting the initial 3 hour trip to DHHS to have my eligibility evaluated or the small mountain of paperwork I had to mail in after the eligibility assessment.

None of this is anyone's fault.  The caseworker, the pharmacist, the state computer system are all functioning to the best of their ability I'm sure.  They are working, like me, with few resources and many many needs.

And let me reiterate: I am grateful that this option exists. Without it I would have to give up this medication entirely, which would leave me in a terrible situation for sure.  Because of where I work, I can't help but imagine what it feels like for someone with little education (which makes it very difficult to speak with bureaucrats & professionals, all of whom have their own language) or no access to a car or phone, or just a low tolerance for frustration.  And even I, with all of my education and experience and my car and my phone and my job, am expending great effort to do something that is easier for people with more resources.

This is what it means to be poor.

Poor people eat

A Picture Says It All:

With the new cuts in food stamps scheduled, this is what someone is supposed to survive on in a week:

How is that in anyway healthy? If unseasoned potatoes, rice, and oatmeal is all I ever could eat, I’d probably sell my food stamps and buy liquor and cigarettes, too.

Rising Tide Neurosis

I have this recurring dream about the ocean rising up to the level of my home and basically washing everything away. Feeling overwhelmed?  Me?  What?

Anyway, I had this dream again last night, and it was the first time it had been set here in this apartment even though I've been living here for two and a half years.  And my family (which apparently now includes my 13 year old daughter's boyfriend of six months) spent a lot of time trying to decide what to carry out of the house and save, and then we all went to an emergency shelter and survived to return to our muddy, soaked house when the tide receded.

Which I'm trying to see as a positive sign, right?

Oh, Christopher

I'm spending my time unemployed by doing some responsible things, like applying for jobs and volunteering and knitting holiday presents and working per diem at the homeless shelter. But that still leaves a fuck of a lot of time doing not much. Really. Who knew there were so many hours in a day? So the Princess and I are re-watching the Sopranos. This is my third full time through the series, and I still love it.

Some Sopranos wisdom via Slaughterhouse 90210:

“He loved her because it was his nature to do so, but there were times when he could not endure her love for him. There were times when it became nothing but pure idiot mystery…”

— Flannery O’Connor, Everything That Rises Must Converge

Body

I've been having some health problems.  In deference to those who get squicked out by medical things--and because the problems have to do with my lady parts, which some might not be inclined to learn about--I will be vague, but I'm happy to provide more details if you contact me directly.

One of the worst things about having trouble with the lady parts is that it's hard to talk about.  I will sometimes mention to an acquaintance (to one of the teen's friend's parents, for example, to explain why I can't come pick her up) that I had surgery, and they will inevitably ask what kind.  And I have to hesitate, especially if it's a man.  I don't think they really want to know.  But then again, they asked...  I generally defer, as I will below, to a vague description and squirming discomfort.

Let's just say that it was fairly major surgery, and that I should not be having any more of the trouble that I've been having for the past four years.  I finally found a doctor that I like, and he was able to perform the surgery in the least invasive way possible--for which I am extremely grateful.  I hope I'm on the last pages of that particular story.

It's been 11 days since my surgery, and while I am making definite progress, I'm not as recovered as I would like. When the cat showed up the other day with a nasty abcess on her back I was able to bring her to the vet; going across town felt like an adventure into deep space.  I still have pain when I'm moving around, but sitting is OK.  I've been reading a lot (although not consistently updating my Twitter book list, sorry), bingeing on TV shows, knitting, and doing crossword puzzles.  I get tired very easily and I can't walk far without the help of painkillers.  It's hard to remember what normal life and wellness are like, though I know I've passed the lowest part of this and am on the upswing.

Observation

Week #3 of unemployment brings news of impending surgery next week, and some free time to observe the urban wildlife.

Just a few minutes ago, the Princess and I were sitting on the front steps, watching the ferries go back and forth in the harbor.  Our front yard is a common space between two rows of townhouses, and a pair of birds squeaked like rusty springs in the the almost-bare oak trees in the courtyard.

But I couldn't see any birds, and on closer examination we saw that the squeaks were coming from two squirrels, each perched in its own tree.  They shouted back and forth to each other, creaking and clicking from their separate branches.  They reminded me of my neighbors here in this low-income housing project, whose personal lives often spill out into the courtyard and prompt police intervention.

These squirrels are used to people, and will take peanuts and almonds from the fingers of a person who holds very still, and then shallowly bury the nut, pat pat patting down a thin dirt cover with their hand-like paws.  I watched one today place a peanut under a decaying plastic grocery bag and smooth the material over it like the squirrel was putting it to bed.  They will go through an open apartment door if its resident isn't nearby.

But the squirrels are not tame.  They are fidgety and darting in their travels across the courtyard, and always mindful of the human residents.

I don't like feeding wild animals: I think it's a bad precedent to set.  And yet, I have succumbed to the temptation to hold out a raw almond, keep very still, until the squirrel approaches and grabs it from my fingers.  It's hard not to anthropomorphize them.  They are so like us, with their trusting/terrified approach, their wary eyes, their courtyard squabbles.  Last week I was in my small, fenced backyard when a squirrel darted under the gate with a treasure to bury clasped between its teeth.  Our joint surprise at finding each other there was so familiar--"Oh, excuse me! I didn't know this one was occupied!" "Not at all, excuse me, I didn't realized you'd be coming in!"  But the yard is mine and the squirrel left to find another shallow hole for its meal.

Like a household pet, I am soon to be neutered, my ovaries and uterus removed and my shaved and de-sexed body sent home the same day.  Unlike a household pet, I will be given hormones to replace the ones that are missing, so I will not likely become overweight and complacent.  At least, not from the surgery.

This surgery is for no one's convenience (except possibly mine--who has been tormented for years by problems with those lady parts); it's not so that my wild behavior will stop or so that I will not come home full of unwanted babies.

But I can't help likening myself to the squirrels.  I am certainly human, with a thinking mind and thumbs to turn my thoughts into actions.  I am also an animal with a body that must be obeyed.

Pat pat pat.  Cover over the treasure.  I can find it here later.

D.A.R.E.

Back in kindergarten (this would have been the early 80's--pre-DARE), my teacher's husband was a police officer in our small town. The teacher herself was a carefully coiffed and very uptight woman who terrified us all--not least because the angrier she got the wider her smile became. Woe on the 5 year old who sees her smile-bared teeth turn in his direction. She was nice in that fakey fake way that kids see through in a second, but that fools grownups who don't remember what it's like to be a kid.

I was almost a year older than most of the kids in my class due to the luck of my birth date, and I'd been reading since I was three. So Kindergarten was mostly about socializing me to the school environment. This was quite a change from the one-room house without running water I'd been raised in. My parents were hippies--quasi back-to-the-landers--and my early childhood was a luscious green dream of woods and leaves and fairies and pine needles and bugs and unicorns. No, really.

But, I had a hard time adjusting to school life, and my family didn't exactly fit in with the kindergarten teacher's ideals (although ironically she and my mom ended up being friends years later when my mom headed up the PTO. Another story.).

A favorite family tale of those years is when I went to school and informed my teacher (wife to a cop, remember) that my parents smoked "buzz-butts." The teacher was puzzled by this phrase, so she asked her husband, who I'm sure snickered at her and reminded her of my parents' counterculture leanings. But it was the early 80's, and to my knowledge nothing ever happened to them or to me. In fact, my parents ended up being very involved with the school governance and fundraising right up until I hit middle school.

Which is all a very long way of getting to this piece in The Agitator that points out the uselessness of the DARE program--and not just because turning your parents in for pot can now literally destroy your family, but because its methods just aren't good. I remember as a teenager looking eagerly at the DARE officer's drug "sample board," ticking off the few substances I'd tried or seen, and salivating at the new possibilities. Which, I think, was not the officer's intention in showing it to us.

Anyway:

D.A.R.E.: Ripping Families Apart Since 1983

When it comes to its stated mission—keeping school-age children from trying illicit drugs—the D.A.R.E. program has been a failure. But D.A.R.E. does have a fun history of teaching kids to turn their pot-smoking parents in to the police.

It happened again last week

Unemployment, Week 3

Yep.

EDIT, 10/14: It is only actually week 2.  Fuck me.