citysky's Blog

Sometimes when I drive into work I am so deep, deep asleep inside myself that all my motions seem under water. I drive, make turns, wait for some person or other to cut me of. This morning it was a truck with Georgia plates (no offense) spewing dirt out the back. On good days like these when I've turned off before I've begun not much can get through my shell.

Lately I've had to grow a great big one.

Found out last week that after 19  years, a full caseload and 15 months to pension I am, well WE are, no longer needed. Private companies in the community can do our job cheaper and better than we can. We have until January 1st when the budget runs out and we are officially layed off. This of course is the opinion held by the State. Such private companies do not yet exist though the politicians believe they'll get up and running once they hear about all the money in the pot. Where is this money? I didn't get a raise in four years.

I tell you without a doubt there are patients who will die. I've had clients come to me for that whole 19 years and you can't just tell them sorry and close a door. I have an elderly man who call's me Mama and a young man who calls me Mama too. I guarantee the homeless population will rise by 50% because I know I am the only thing keeping a great deal of my caseload in housing and there are 50 other caseworkers like me. I know hospital beds will be overrun because when my clients don't show up for an appointment or two I go looking for them in homeless shelters, camps and soup lines. The private companies close clients who miss two appointments. What if they're in jail?

And my pension. My retirement. After all this time and the brass ring right there it's taken away. I was hired all those years ago when healthcare was taken over and paid by the State at retirement. I would receive a yearly pension equal to 2/3's my annual salary. In other words, with careful management I would be able to live my life in a less than poverty existence. 

This just begins it all. It promises to be the most painful year of my life for losing my job is not the only thing in God's great bag of heartache. It is perhaps the smallest compared to this. Lou is sick. He is dying. And I can't help him.

Never, ever go into a Home Improvement store when you are high. Not just high on pot or hash or something. Not even high on...life. Or in my case a complete and utter crashing high while taking Percocet and some type of crazy steroid. Because once you have it in your head that you can improve your life, reach the highest of highs by simply upgrading a shower head, it's all over for you. 

I now own one of the most decked out backyards in my neighborhood though it's only about twelve square feet and I live in the middle of the city. I am also in debt to the tune of $502.00. 

So now I can lay on my hammock and stare up into the night sky. Straight up because buildings on either side block everything else. The cars going into the city noise out whatever birds or wildlife may lurk about and stars are lost in sodium vapor. I also have two little chairs, a tiny table, a massive umbrella on a  wobbly stand, a flower pot with some kind of trailing purple flower and a weed whacker. 

That's right. I own a weed whacker and I freakin' rock. 

Driving into work my first stop of the day was in the opposite direction. I had to head out towards the really poor areas of the county. A half hour of driving brings me to moldy trailers pitched precariously in overgrown backyards. Leaning concrete block steps and lights on in high half windows. A woman standing in the middle of a small kitchen. I can see her ratty bathrobe. She simply stands and stares at the floor. The walls are orange.

Now I can't help but look. Each mile or half I go, another dank trailer under dripping trees. Poor brown dog - he looks cold and miserable. I don't suppose his owner feels much better. I know the hopelessness of living where you are only a lesson of the bad things that could happen to someone else.

For now, school bus stops are no different than those in the more affluent neighborhoods. The six year old making that high first step into the bus carries glitter pencils. Everyone has a lunch box and a backpack. There is no disparity yet. Let them get to be around 9 and it will begin. Suddenly there is a different line in the cafeteria for those with free breakfast tickets. The rich kids laugh and poke each other because they eat breakfast at home. They have a lot to choose from. My kids once ate leftover baloney sandwiches for their free breakfast. They never used those fucking tickets again.

My children would ride their bikes where they shouldn't go. Their only view of the good life was the one they got while the houses were under construction. I can't imagine how close to death they came while ramping those great mounds of dirt. They'd come home covered in clay but what could I say really? What other challenge was there for them in a half acre of brush and kudzu? The weeds so thick we could see rat trails at night.

By the time I was headed back into the city there was some light in the sky. Instead of a drizzle a simple mist off of roadways. I roll down my window to taste freedom and arrive at work with my hair half damp. There will be no one to notice for at least an hour.

My coffee is black and strong. I'm on my second cup before the tears lift from my eyes. I should have saved something. I should have stolen that old brown dog and wrapped him in a warm blanket in my backseat. He is not my child though and there is no going back.

There is a leak under my sink. This strikes fear in my heart because I am afraid of plumbers and have no money.

I wiped everything up and wiped everything off and it appears to be somewhere in the vicinity of the garbage disposal. That whole area under the sink is scary to me. It's dark and it goes back farther than I can reach without having to stick my head way back in there. Who knows what leggy thing will drop onto my hair while I search for the Mop n' Glo. Just another thing falling apart in my life. I will have to go the dollar tree and get some sort of plastic thing to catch the drips. 

I had my friend the vet come over and look at my dog Susie. She is my little 13 year old. She has lost some weight and has congestive heart failure. Some nights I sleep upside down in bed so that I can lay my head next to hers and rub her belly when she is fitful. She still has more good days than bad. She still eats well. Greets me with a smile and a wag, She can get down the step to go potty and usually manage to get back inside. But I feel this hysteria building inside of me. I know the time is coming when she won't be here. I want to run around the house and bang on the walls with my fists. Or my head. Something to drown out the fear in my heart. I don't want to lose her. I can't imagine a life without her. And Lou is but a year or two younger. Too much loss to contemplate. 

I need to paint my kitchen.

I have put up and taken down several hundred blogs and half that many stories. It's sad really, so many wasted thought and ideas. I'm often afraid that I'll be found out. That someone I know will REALLY know the real me. We can't walk around being ourselves, letting all our piercings and scars and phobias hang out.
A while back someone put NA literature on my desk. A few weeks later it was an AA chip. I have no desire to stand up in stale room and tell you my name. It's just not me. In fact on most days I chew on the inside of my mouth so hard it bleeds. Smile. Always smile and modulate your voice. That's so important when you work for Social Services. Most days I truly DO care about you. Some days though, I'm just tired.
Feeling a little weary these days. Sitting on the back stoop just makes me sad. House falling down around me and I can't keep up. Not a good way to start a new blog but hey, I am but the least of you. Imperfect and worn out today.