A Longish Discussion About Poverty, Personal Choice, and Circumstance

I've been poor for a long time, and I one would think I would be used to it. I never get used to it.

I grew up in a one-room house in the woods of Central Maine; it was built by my parents, with help from my grandfather, out of reclaimed lumber from someone's old barn. My parents had a vision for the land, and with several others built a land trust. Our property was at the end of a very long dirt driveway, so long that if we arrived home before the plow guy came to poke a hole we'd have to park our car at the end and hike in 1/3 of a mile.

I read a lot of books, because books are free entertainment. I read about Laura Ingalls Wilder and Anne of Green Gables. Their lives seemed a lot like mine: I lived closely with my family, spent a lot of time outside, and knew what it meant to haul water, and how to poop in an outhouse (pro tip: don't look too closely at the spiders in the corners. They eat the endless flies). My mom made all our food. Scratch bread, yogurt, and tofu. She grew sprouts in a mason jar and bought bulk from the co-op. My dad worked for the State and gardened for us in his off time. I played in the woods in all weather. I named the special areas around my home: the Clubhouse (a large boulder sheltered by drooping pine branches), King of the Mountain (a grassy hill), Big Stream and Little Stream (Big Stream had better bugs, Little Stream was seasonal).

I didn't know we were poor until I was a pre-teen, attending that great American leveling experience of middle school, when things like new clothes and store bought food became suddenly important.

Even as a single-parent college student I was better off than I am at this moment in time. Before I returned to school in 2001, I worked as a secretary at a mental health clinic in mid-coast Maine. That year I earned $19,000. I just filed my 2015 taxes this week, and between five jobs and one month of unemployment I earned a little over $18,000. I don't have to tell you that today's dollar doesn't go as far as a 2001 dollar. The Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates that $19k of 2001 buying power would equal $25,428 in today's dollars.

The folks who would like to blame poor people for their problems would point to personal weaknesses for my lack of advancement. It's true that I chose to have a child out of wedlock, and also (sort of) true that I chose not to have a long term partnership that would have provided another stable source of income for our family. I often make decisions about finances based on short-term needs rather than long-term goals.  I smoke cigarettes. I studied humanities.

I have done a lot of things right, though, as well. I graduated from high school 11th in my class, and filled up my schedule with academic extracurriculars. I learned a trade (typing), which led to my earliest jobs. I started working when I was 14, and I worked the whole time I was in school. I've never had subsidized rent, though I've used food stamps to supplement my income. I was the first person in my family to get a 4 year college degree. I went on to grad school. I followed my dream of becoming a writer, because I naively thought that if I went with my dreams the money would follow.

Then I graduated, in 2008, into a market gouged by the financial collapse. I got really (unrelatedly?) sick, and it took about four more years to find a diagnosis. My ability didn't return to pre-sickness levels after my diagnosis. I'm half disabled, and working more than 40 hours in a week has become a failing endeavor, causing more illness and making me fall further behind.

Unfortunately nobody recognizes partial disability. I've subsisted with the help of my generous father and stepmom, food stamps, a gofundme campaign, and the Earned Income Tax Credit. Because of my childhood my DIY skills are amazing, and I am willing to go without a lot. But it's exhausting, and it's never enough.

This is what my parents hid so well from me, through their hippie idealism and careful world-building: the unending grind of poverty.  The unanticipated expense that knocks the whole precarious system spinning out of reach. The cost of having too little in your bank account. Rationing your prescriptions because you won't be able to afford the $5 copay until next week.  The raw knuckles of hand washing your clothes with dish soap. Brain constantly calculating the bank account balance, deciding which bills to pay and which to put off. The panic when your only pair of work shoes breaks or the aging car needs more service. The weight gain from eating cheap, filling food. The constant fantasizing about the day the squeeze will end and I will be able to wear clothes that fit, eat food that is fresh and healthy, pay for my prescriptions when they're due, and have some money in savings. I'll let you know when that happens.

Re Boot

Hello! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted here. In those three or four years the internet has largely moved away from blogs. I can’t keep up; I’m now an Old instead of a Young. That’s ok. I feel pretty good about making it this far.

I now have nearly 40 years in this bright beautiful world, and I’ve learned a few things. One is that if I’m not regularly engaging my intellect, I become a monster-napping lazybones. Another is that facebook sucks my creative juices dry. Contrary to what I was assured, student loans aren’t “good debt.” I don’t have a natural talent for networking. I have natural limitations, and I pay attention to them.

Things have changed pretty drastically since my last post in 2012, and also have stayed very much the same. I’m still poor--even poorer than before, although I didn’t think that was possible. I’m still sick, with health issues that won’t quite go into remission, but less sick than I was then. I put on some weight. The teen has grown up and become a legal adult, living at home with me while she finishes school. I’ve fallen in and out of love a few times. I got a dog, he died, and I got another dog. As Kurt Vonnegut says, so it goes. Still have the same cat, though.

My intention is to now use this blog as an exploratory writing space to talk about my own intersectionality, particularly in terms of class, race, gender, ability, and sexual orientation. I’ll also complain about these things a fair amount, I’m guessing, because that’s also how it goes. I also want to talk about books, TV, movies, articles, social justice, farming, and other randomness.

Hope you’re down for the reboot. Hope I am too.

Still life from this weekend:

the chair capital of New England, singing, Olivia Newton Longjohns, squeaking creatures in the night, truth, greek yogurt, dog parkour, 8 hours in the car, snoring.

Jolly Green Man

Anybody else look at The Green Giant and see the Green Man?

From Jung.org:
One of these ecological myths is the story of the Green Man. He has been part of our Western heritage for centuries. Depth psychologist Carl Jung says that archetypes are embedded in our collective unconscious and these archetypes are shared by all. That is why we find very early images of the Green Man in Iraq and all over Europe. His face, which has leaves sprouting from his lips, eyes, nose and ears, can be seen on buildings and signs throughout Europe that date back to the Middle Ages. He is a combination of man and nature; he shows us that we can never be separate from the natural world, that we are part of the earth. He signifies irrepressible life and represents the human longing for the natural world. He is an image from the depths of prehistory and his origins are much older than our Christian era and he is still honored today in England and Europe in May Day festivals where he is evoked to bring in a bountiful growing season.

Jolly Green Giant in a dickie:

Uke-ular Power

And may I also add:

Agreed.

Ability

I have been resisting defining myself as disabled, even temporarily. I have no doubt at all that this is because of ableism on my part, with a hefty dose of good old New England Puritan work ethic thrown in: those who can't do for themselves are lazy; not working is sin; anything other than complete self-reliance is weakness. Well, that last bit may be some of my own issues as well.

I've been working since I was 14. The only time I have not worked was because of layoffs. I returned to full time work after 7 weeks of maternity leave. I've worked up to three jobs at a time to make ends meet. I work.

But when my short-term disability claim was denied, I had to reconsider. I reflexively thought, "what are these people thinking? I CAN'T work right now, even though I want to." And then I recoiled against the truth of that thought.

Can't.

It's the truth. I am temporarily unable. I am lucky in that this is not (I hope) a permanent situation. I will get better, with time and care.

But for now, I can't, and now I need to prove that for an appeal. That means embracing my status without judgment or shame. It's not easy, and it adds to my stress and depression, but it's the absolute truth.

When I used to do anti-oppression trainings, I used to say that if you don't see some kind of -ism as a privilege, you probably have that privilege. It's easy to recognize your own lack of privilege: ask a woman if sexism exists and she'll most likely tell you a dozen stories that prove that it does. Ask a queer person if heterosexism or genderism exists and they could open magazine and show you six examples in six seconds. But while I have recognized ableism as a sort of abstract problem, I had never experienced it on my own, and never had to confront it in my own self.

And here it is, another lesson sent to me by the universe to be learned the hard way. I am learning, I am getting better, and I will carry this lesson forever.

Truth

The last two posts may have given the impression that I am despairing and lost or whatever. But the truth is that, while I am going through a tough time, I think that this time serves a purpose.  The last few years have been tough, and it's catching up with me. I have been given this grace period to recover both my body and mind and soul. It's a gift, and I'm grateful for it. Thank you for the support of my friends who read here; it means a lot to me.

Moving right along... here's some handy info if you find yourself in a bad situation during, say, a demonstration (with the caveat that NOBODY should DEFY the POLICE, of course, and also there has been a report that police zipties use metal clips and that this method is much harder in that situation. Not that you would run away from the police, OF COURSE. Because that would be ILLEGAL.)

All The Things

I do seem to be living under my own personal mercury retrograde. These last two weeks have been not just a shitstorm, but a shit pancake with a shit cupcake for dessert served on the nice silver.

I made a list tonight with my bro (not a relative, my bromance bro) of things that I don't want to talk about tonight and they include:

1. My atrophied intestines*
2. My ex-fiancee and the circumstances surrounding the end of our relationship
3. Celiac disease
4. Facial tattoos**
5. Money
6. Disability insurance
7. Medical records
8. Nonpayment of child support

I of course want to avoid these subjects because my mind does a crazy squirrel dance around these things all. day. long. I think about almost nothing else, and none of it is under my control, which leads me into a crazy stress spiral.

This is my brain.

Instead I would like to talk about

1. Occupy Maine. I spent a little time down there on Monday (was it Monday? I have zero sense of time/day/time of day right now). I'm excited about the movement, while simultaneously leery of the effectiveness of demonstrations. They were still getting organized on Monday, and seem to have made some progress, but I still feel burned by the lack of effectiveness of the GLOBAL demonstrations against the war in Iraq in 2001-2002.

And also, because of the nature of the demonstration ("occupation"), most of the people occupying are college-age people, because many people, myself included, have families, obligations, and/or chronic illnesses to care for. I'll spend some time there this weekend, I think... maybe I can convince them that being shunted off into a park is less effective than, say, occupying One City Center, where the Portland branch of Bank of America has its headquarters.

But I digress. I hope that this is a sign of real changes to come, but I'm an old, jaded activist these days.

2. Caramel Apple Dip:
Why is there even "apple" in the title? You/I know you/I just eat it with a spoon.

3. Amanda Palmer
I'm pretty much always willing to talk about Amanda Palmer. Seriously, any time.

4. Hanson Flash Mob:
I'm going. Are you? I spent some time flailing around in front of a youtube tutorial today. I'll probably do some more of that tomorrow.

*these are not mine because thank goddess I do not have cartoon intestines, but they look like this. Except not cartoon. I'm a 3.

**Just. Why?

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.

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.

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.

Mayhem and Crime Against Nature

I had the opportunity to visit the Crimes section of the State of Maine Revised Statutes today for work.

If you haven't done so, I urge you to check it out.  It's quite entertaining... and I must say that I'm a little disappointed that the crime of "Mayhem" has been repealed (although equally relieved that "Crime Against Nature" has been removed--I suspect I know what that one was).

Marxist Until Graduation

When I was at Sarah Lawrence I'm pretty there were as many MUGs as BUGs and LUGs (Bisexual Until Graduation and Lesbian Until Graduation).  

And all apparently interested in Katy Perry, these days:

via mental floss

Administrative Note

Just a quick process note: I've disabled anonymous commenting.  Your opinions are welcome here, but please be prepared to stand behind them.

Shame shame

How do you shame a bully?

Last week I came across a new Portland blog, and I've been trying to figure out how to address it ever since.  Monument Square Has Eyes the new-ish (since February of this year) blog of a person whose office overlooks Monument Square.  "Brusox" snaps photos of people and happenings in the square and, for the most part, snarks about them.

The thing that bothers me isn't that s/he posts pictures of unsuspecting people online: they're in a public place, and it's therefore legal to take photos of them.  Unethical maybe, but legal.  Although I suppose if you see a photo of yourself and/or libelous remarks on the blog and want Brusox to remove it, you would be within your rights to ask.

Now y'all know I'm not opposed to a little snark.  I appreciate clever, cynical commentary, especially when it's directed at people who have social power and have chosen to live their lives in the public eye.  Ahem.

But:
1. Brusox's commentary isn't especially clever, so it comes off as mean rather than funny.
2. The focus of the blog tends to be mocking the severely mentally ill people in and around the Square.  They clearly can't help themselves, which makes the commentary about them not humor, but just bullying.

I suspect there isn't any good way to address this.  The writer of the blog is totally within his/her rights to post on whatever they see fit, and if they think this stuff is funny I'm sure there isn't anything I can say that will change their mind. In fact, the bullying behavior demonstrated on the blog makes me a little afraid to post my thoughts, because I don't especially want that focus on me.

But more importantly, I know that there are folks being targeted on that site who can't defend themselves, and that really pisses me off.  What do you think?  What's the best way to address this behavior?

Promo

I also blog at work.  Just FYI.

Absinthe Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

As always, when there are really big things going on in my life I am reluctant to write about them.  So here is a list of small things that are happening in my life that are totally unrelated to the big things, which also perpetuate the idea of blogger as chronicler of minutiae.  Which I totally am.

1. My body continues to age EVERY SINGLE DAY.  Evidence: I had to switch to half-decaf coffee, I bought callous cushions for my feet, and I am ready for bed (I actually literally just typed "dead" instead of "bed," which, well, there you go) at 9pm.  Also, I might need a hearing aid, which proves that I should have listened to my mother when she told me to wear earplugs to all those heavy metal concerts.
2. The Tween has been home sick for a couple of days with a sore throat and a fever.  Because of this she missed dissecting a freeze-dried frog in science class.  Since I had to buy the frog anyway, I wonder if we could dissect it at home? Now THERE'S some family fun time.
3. I quit Facebook.  I don't even miss it, except as a thing I used to do to kill time inbetween doing other things. Sort of like smoking. Here is my reasoning, only tangentially related to Mark Zuckerberg's desire to help us all unintentionally spill our grossest secrets:  I just got tired of it.  I started to feel weird about the passive sort of friendship that FB encourages.  The people who are my actual friends are pretty much up to date on what's going on in my life, and constant status updates were ruining any conversational opportunities I might have with acquaintances... plus sucking my creative energy away from other, more literary, pursuits.  Case in point, here I am writing here.*
4. I bought a coffeemaker.  It has a timer that lets me set it to make me coffee BEFORE I WAKE UP in the morning.  So exciting! Next I'm thinking about one of these newfangled "Refrigerators" to replace my old icebox.
5. The Princess brought me up to visit her family upcoast.  I had met Mom and Sister over the winter, but Dad and Grandparents remained a mystery.  I wanted to check out the childhood haunts and see the settings for all the stories.  I did.  It was lovely; I got got sunburned and fly-bitten and disappointed by the changes to Perry's Nut House, and also got fed barbecue chicken and strawberries, and I think we're going to go back next month.

Ok, and we're done.  Safe areas of conversation fully explored.  

*Yes, the blog is literary because I said so, and just for the record your passive consumption of my thoughts is totally fine.