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Thursday, July 24, 2014

Tagged under:

7.17.2014

My grandfather passed last night. He turned 90-years-old last week. He spent his birthday in the hospital. I don't know all the details. If my sister hadn't come here to pick up her mail, I wouldn't have known the viewing times or the funeral details. That's how it is here – that's how I got to be such a great mindreader.

My last remaining grandparents lives with us. The pity in this is that she and I used to be really close, but she got mean in her old age and I'm so tired of being hurt – not just by her, but by so many people who don't seem to understand cause and effect, or how far reaching their actions can be.

Don't get me wrong, I've got a mouth on me and a trigger temper, but I recently watched as a grown woman told a 14-year-old young man that she refused to refer to his mother's wife as “wife” because that kind of relationship is wrong, and managed not to give her the vicious tongue-lashing I thought she deserved. Thing is, this woman then called two days later and tried to convince Jeremy to leave me because we will never be able to get married, and therefore are living in sin.

I will never understand how people can use the Lord and their religion to be so hateful and destructive, and have absolutely no idea that their behavior is unacceptable.

That's why my phone has a “block caller” button. I was hoping to find love and acceptance from this woman. I put on my best behavior. I didn't cuss (which is kinda a fucking miracle in itself!) and I tried not to bring up controversial topics. And she said I was a blessing, and “such a treasure” and then told Jeremy that he should move back in with his grandparents... leaving me to...

That's the thing... if Jeremy leaves me I can't stay here. I cannot get around in this house. I gave up my apartment for him, and finding another one where I can survive on my own is going to take some time. We are almost ready to start apartment hunting again, but even then I'm taking Jeremy with me. We are a couple, and even though we can never make it legal, our relationship is like that of a married couple. It ENRAGES me that someone so supposedly Christian would have the balls to try to break up something so incredible.

Jeremy and I are fucking solid. We belong together. In a world of couples where women snoop their mate's cell phone, and hack emails, or men who refer to their woman as “psycho” behind her back, Jeremy and I should be gazed upon in wonder. We have a relationship that others should aspire to create with their own significant other.

Maybe this divorced woman who prays to her Lord pretty much daily for help being patient and understanding with her own (second) husband should be looking toward the cripple and the unemployed man for hope. Because I prayed for someone who would love me, and along came Jeremy. And I'm supposed to be like, “Oh Thanks God but I changed my mind. Not him. Someone else” ? Because I truly cannot imagine anyone better suited for me than Jeremy and I wish that everyone else would just stop poking at him and his soft spots.

Because I'm used to not measuring up, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let anyone make him feel like he's not the best guy ever.

And it's up to Jeremy if he wants to continue to have any sort of interaction with his mother, but I'm done with her. I'm tired of plastering a smile on my face as she goes on another one of her wispy lectures about how we have to make room in our hearts for the Lord when I feel certain that He's been there for almost 40 years. Because that's TWO of my relationships she's judged and found lacking, when both are stronger than her own.

I found my forever-mate, when she acts as if she's making due with her's. I have a great relationship with her son, when she's on the brink of losing him (again). And, when we die, and we're standing at the Pearly Gates I truly believe that Jeremy and I have lived a much better life than someone who claims that Jesus died for her, and therefore she doesn't have to do anything else to deserve to go through those gates. Sorry, but MY Bible (you know, the same one...) says that Jesus is The Way, and to follow him. As in, do what he did. Jesus didn't sit back and judge and watch while others struggled. Jesus didn't raise his hand in church at the end of service and brag how he had been saved, then keep all his money/possessions while others were homeless, or hungry or in need. When it comes to me and Jeremy, we are saving each other (and others, in smaller ways). We own next to nothing, but we give our love, support, etc to many others. So I'm not so sure that her relationship with the Lord is as solid as she seems to think.

Anyway I look at it, Jeremy is a gift. Either the stars aligned, the Lord sent him to me, or it's just some big spectacular lovely coincidence but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let him go.


And I'm 100% certain he feels the same about me.

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Tagged under:

What Doesn't Kill You...

My grandfather is not doing well.

My maternal grandmother died the same month that my sister got married – eight (approx) years ago. I can only remember this because my nephew is seven. I am terrible at remembering anniversaries and dates. (I have no idea when I first met Jeremy, or when he officially moved in, or when we became a couple.)

Maybe you need this background information: my mother's parents moved to the Eastern Shore of Maryland around the same month that my mother married my father. I only know this because my mother brings it up all the time, suggesting that they abandoned her. My grandmother didn't work and my grandfather had either lost his job or retired, so it's not like they had a financial reason to stay in Baltimore. They took my mom's younger sister (by eight years, who was still a minor) with them. Eventually my mom's older sister also moved to the Eastern Shore. My mom's family pushed very hard to get us to move to the area, but for a million reasons we did not.

It is over 100 miles to the Eastern Shore from where we live. This can take over three hours (one way), and cost about $15 in tolls, not to mention at least a half tank of gas. Therefore, my mother makes this trip only about once a year. Usually her older sister will bring their father up to Baltimore about once a year (Christmastime).

When my mother's mother fell ill and went into the hospital, into a nursing home, back to the hospital, and then back to the nursing home to die my mother and I lived on the Eastern Shore for a week (in my grandfather's house). The only reason we left was because my mom had prep-work to do for my sister's wedding. In this week, my mom's youngest sister threw my mom out of her house for not being around more as my grandmother got sicker. My mom and I (and others) were in the room when my grandmother passed. My mom's youngest sister claimed it was “beautiful” but all my mom and I saw was my grandmother gasping for air, how she would stop breathing and my grandfather would start crying only for my grandmother to start breathing again, and my grandmother's limbs slowly turning blue. I saw my mom run down the hall and heard her vomiting when my grandmother did finally pass.

But for most of my life (before, and even now) I have heard my mom tell stories about how she was physically, emotionally, and verbally abused by her mother and so I find the whole thing confusing.

Yet here we are again. My grandfather turns 90 the first week of July. His Eastern Shore daughters were planning to throw him a birthday party, but then they called it off because he was having a difficult time breathing. He has COPD, but it was supposedly taking him an hour in the morning to walk down the hall. He lives alone, and wanted to be put on oxygen except that every time he would make an appointment to see a doctor, it would be in the afternoon and his breathing would have regulated by then. This past Sunday my mom, Jeremy and I went to the Eastern Shore to visit my grandfather in the hospital.

I haven't seen him since December. He is frail and thin. He was in the same hospital my grandmother was in, and this past Tuesday was supposed to be transferred to the same nursing home where my grandmother died. Apparently he is only going there for rehab, because he is currently too weak to function on his own. The party is off because no one is sure when he will be released from the nursing home. I will be surprised if he makes it to the end of the year – especially if he goes back to living by himself.

We visited him for all of maybe two hours before he hinted that he wanted to take a nap and that my mother should leave. In that span of time, both my mom's sisters came for a visit, but didn't stay longer than a half-hour and neither suggested doing anything (having dinner, etc) with my mom. And I know that once my grandfather passes, my mother will never see her family again because they have all written her off.


And this is sad for so many reasons – but let's ignore them all, as is the way with my mother.

Saturday, July 5, 2014

Tagged under:
I try to put off coming downstairs for as long as possible. For the past couple of weeks this has been easier because I've been watching the World Cup and the first match of the day doesn't end until 2pm.

(Way to make it through US, considering Italy, England, Portugal, and Spain did not.)

Today, when I came downstairs, I shook for the first ten minutes. I'd like to say that it was because I was hungry, but it's more likely that it was a symptom of 'fight or flight.'

For the past two months, Jeremy and I have been trying to stay in my bedroom for as much time as possible. It's one of three bedrooms in this house, and not the master. I'm bad at estimating space, but I would say it's about 12 x 12 feet. With the queen sized mattress there's about a foot of space on each side – my side also has the closet (which we keep open) and the double doors (which we must keep closed). There isn't any space for me to have a wheelchair up there, so when I'm in my room I am in bed. Unfortunately, there is so little space up there that I must keep my computer downstairs. Therefore, I must come downstairs to work on my auctions and other tasks. And being downstairs is now starting to make me anxious and upset because this is where I must encounter my parents – who have made it pretty clear through their passive-aggressive actions that they do not want us here.

We would love to go – we are saving to go – we just can't go right now.

It's not like we want to stay somewhere that when we leave a couple dishes in the sink, it's a declaration of war, even if the only reason the dishes are in the sink is because someone took some time to answer a phone call. It's not like I want to stay somewhere that when we clean up a room that has been a mess for six months (we get no word of thanks), but then we are admonished because we use a table for a week when no one has used it for a year. It's not like I want to stay somewhere that if I leave a wet shirt (or anything else, for that matter) in the bathroom it gets thrown out in the hallway when it could easily be left on the shower chair but because it's mine it must be disrespected. It's not like Jeremy wants to live somewhere that both my parents won't speak to him directly.

My mom just sat down at the table with me and tried to explain her actions. She would not listen to how her actions are making us feel. And while she talked about her interactions (or lack of) with Jeremy, she would not allow me to call him downstairs so that she could speak to us both. Although I told her “part of the problem in this house is that no one will speak directly to anyone else” she continued to tell ME why she didn't take Jeremy to the mechanic like she said she would on Tuesday. Truly, I think her excuse would have been better told directly to Jeremy since he's the one she blew off, but she said “You can tell him.” Oh, I will, but that's not going to make the situation acceptable.

Recently I read this article http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/counseling-keys/201403/how-handle-crazymaker and was a bit astounded to read that the kind of behavior I have been dealing with from my parents (especially my mom) for most of my life actually has a name! I have been trying for years to disengage from falling into playing along with this behavior, but it's so difficult to do when living with the crazymaker. But, yes, it IS all about the drama and the crisis with my mother. For weeks, every time I saw her, the only things she would say to me would be complaints and demands. When I called her out on it, just so happened to be when she “had a nervous breakdown” and refused to take Jeremy to the mechanic.

She complains about “being in the middle” but that's exactly where she wants to be, because I have learned (quite recently) not to expect anything from most of the people in this house. If I voice a complaint, I know nothing will change because I've been complaining about the same things for most of my life. I realize that when I complain about my father eating all my food that neither his WIFE nor his MOTHER will step up to make sure the man gets fed. That my MOTHER and my GRANDMOTHER will sit back and let me starve (before Jeremy I weighed 95 lbs). So when I sit down to dinner and say that I need to find something else to supplement my meal because my portion size was so small because my father ate the majority of it (without asking, without thanking, just taking knowing full well it wasn't for him) I know that nothing will change. God forbid anyone should go to the grocery store except for me and Jeremy. God forbid my mother should make enough dinner to have leftovers to feed her husband.

Yet, somehow, Jeremy and I are the problem. These problems have existed before Jeremy, and will continue to exist after we leave. I'm just so tired of being the target when the dysfunction stems from people with more years behind them who should have learned by now how to be compassionate and loving people. These people should not have tied themselves to each other. These people need to be alone, and when they are forced to interact with others it gets ugly – fast.

I was such a moron to think that I could come back here and make a positive change. No matter how much good we do here, it's always that one mistake or that one thing that we didn't do exactly the way they wanted it done that is going to be the focus. I could go days without asking my mom for anything and she's still going to believe that “I do everything that I can to make you happy, buy you everything that you want, take you anywhere that you need to go.” If that were true, why did I sink a grand into buying a truck? If that were true why am I the one stocking the house with groceries? If that is true why do I find myself sobbing, heartbroken, at least once a week? (Don't even get me started on the fact that my entire family is going to the beach on vacation at the end of July – including my grandmother – and I was not invited.)

There are mornings when I wake up and it hurts so much – emotionally, even though the day hasn't even started. I get this crushing sense of hopelessness because I don't know how I can make it through another week here, yet I know that financially we can't go until this fall. And even then Jeremy and I are talking about buying a camper and living in a campground because it's the cheapest option. Yes, a camper in the winter seems like a better option to us than staying here any longer than necessary.


I just don't know what to do. When did it become such a struggle to be happy? Is this how people become homeless?

Monday, June 23, 2014

Tagged under:

While our politicians fight about whose the poorist, America is even harsher on the homeless


Who's poorer: Hillary Clinton or Joe Biden? How about neither?




While Joe Biden has only $50K in his savings and Hillary Clinton was "dead broke" after she and her husband left the White House, millions of Americans still are homeless every day.

CNN is talking about how Hillary and Joe are fighting about who is the poorest and who sympathizes with the middle class the most. No one, it seems is talking about the homeless.

In Alabama, a pastor was prohibited from feeding the homeless. The government officials say they seek to protect the homeless. Yeah, let them starve. In South Carolina, it's illegal to be homeless. Ok, so if you don't have a job, don't have the money to pay rent and the shelters are full, if you don't have a car, then where are you gonna go? If you spend millions of taxpayer money housing the homeless guy in jail for being homeless, you can take that same amount of money and sponsor shelters, help fix desolate homeless shelters in dire need of funding. You just don't want to.

If you are in Florida and are homeless, when it gets cold, it's against the law to use a blanket. Read that one more time. It's against the law to use a blanket in Florida if you are homeless.  Just let that marinate for a minute.

This post is meant to anger you. It's supposed to wake up that rage in you--and make you want to do something. And I know exactly what you should do: Stand up. Make a difference.

Yes, some of the homeless are addicted to drugs alcohol. Yes, some have mental issues. Yes, some just got out of prison. Yes, some of them you wouldn't want to touch, but I bet you have shaken the hands of some without even knowing that. Some are even CEO's and some survivors are now famous who you pay $20 a ticket to go see. Some are in your schools sitting next to your children. Oh, don't be scared and freak out. No creepy homeless guy is with your child. I'm talking about homeless children. Over 1, 000,000 kids are homeless in the USA.

Joe Biden's savings account could be several meals for several children living in homeless shelters across the country. Hillary Clinton, no disrespect  but you've never been dead broke. Dead broke is when you have nothing. I mean nothing.  Let me put a mental image of dead broke out there for you to comprehend:

A woman prostituting, selling herself so she can eat. No one will hire her because of her past. Or maybe she's strung out on drugs--the high making her forget being raped by her foster father at age six. Think about an old lady in a wheelchair. She can't walk, but has been told she doesn't qualify for disability so she has to wait three years while living on the streets. She goes to the ER for chest pain and is told by the nurses there that they know she's faking it to get off the streets and gets kicked out into the cold where the police find her body the next day--died of a heart attack. That, Mrs. Clinton, is dead broke.

I admire the Clintons, and Joe Biden. What I don't admire is that no one seems to care about the homeless. You don't see homelessness discussed in the presidential debates and these politicians fighting about who is the poorest are just out of touch with reality. They go to their homes, their state dinners, and whine and complain about being broke.

Wake UP!

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Tagged under:

“Happiness consists not in having much, but in being content with little.” - Marguerite Gardiner

We bought a truck off Craigslist. The listing was 17 minutes old when I found it. The truck was exactly the price I was hoping to pay, and five minutes away. The owner delivered it to my house, and then the next day took me and Jeremy to the MVA so we could get tags – HISTORIC tags, at that. Yes, my beast of a truck is five years younger than Jeremy. She spray painted flat black over some kind of crazy orange, rusted all over, and has a bunch of holes in the floor but she runs. Jeremy has already taken her to the dump because she also came with the pieces of a bathroom – toilet, shower – because the previous owner claimed that he used the truck to haul stuff as a side job.

Her name is Betty.

The best part is that we no longer have to rely on my mother to take us anywhere. This is great because Jeremy and Dana are talking about going to the Baltimore Zinefest to promote fictionterrifica.com this Saturday, and Spot needs to get spayed this Monday. Originally my mom was going to take Jeremy, Spot and me to the vet in the morning and then would have had to either find something to do all day in an unfamiliar town, or driven back and forth for hours to pick up Spot in the evening after her operation. I don't particularly like having to inconvenience my mother like that, especially knowing that she would then be able to use it as ammunition against me for not being able to do something that she claimed that she needed to do.

We can finally go to the grocery store when WE have the time, and when we need to go. Last week Jeremy and I took a trip to wal-mart (which is less than five miles away) to get cat food and it took us 4.5 hours because we had to take the bus, and walk two miles each way AND I got stuck in the mud in someone's front lawn.

We're not doing much of anything for the rest of this week though. I picked up a cold and sitting at the MVA yesterday was pure torture. Not to mention that it poured down rain on the way there and Jeremy had put my seat cushion in the bed of the truck (it's my dumb fault for not paying more attention) so it was soaked when we got to the MVA and I had to sit on that wet cushion, in that air conditioned room, for several hours.

Within these past three days I met two men who were obviously struggling with life financially, but were in great spirits. We met Rick walking down the side of the road. There isn't a sidewalk on Eastern Avenue so pedestrians are forced to walk on this narrow strip of land where the road ends and the ditches start. He was walking ahead of us, so the cars would see him and move to the other side of the road. So we thanked him and he told us that he had beat cancer, but his wife had left him, took the kids and all his money and he is now living in (what I am guessing is) a kind of halfway house. He is the second down-on-his-luck guy we have met who lives in this house.

The yesterday we met this guy who told me about 10 times how much he love Jerry Lewis. This man came out into the rain to make sure Jeremy didn't need any help with me or my wheelchair. He told me that he now lives in the “pauper palace” on Rossville Blvd. He also brought a tall boy beer of some sort into the MVA while I was sitting there. But mostly he just wanted to make me smile. He told me “I love you as a human being.”

These men gave me a bit of a reality check. At least I have Jeremy, you know. I'm not in this struggle alone. He's not going to leave me and take all my money. And at least I know that my family will never throw me out of this house – though I know that's more because they're too passive, and because I am not a big enough pain in the ass to warrant that kind of reaction from them. Human beings can survive on so little. I just need to learn how to give up on a lot of my lofty dreams and realize that I will never eat croissants at the base of the Eiffel Tower, but I could still have a happy, fulfilling life.


Can I re-wire myself like that? Can I be content?

Friday, June 6, 2014

Tagged under:

Define yourself in one word.

bel·lig·er·ent

 adjective \bə-ˈlij-rənt, -ˈli-jə-\
: angry and aggressive : feeling or showing readiness to fight
: fighting a war : engaged in a war


This is how I felt before I moved to Towson. More and more these days I can't help but slide back into this feeling that I have to fight for every little thing.

Life in this house and with my parents/grandmother is a tiny war. Once we are able to get a vehicle and can go look at apartments, Jeremy and I MUST move. I simply CANNOT...

I could finish that sentence in so many ways, but mostly I have this feeling that I am banging my head against the wall. It's leaving a bloody mess on the wall but no one cares about the status of my head... understand?

Jeremy was more pissed off than me today, which made him all the more endearing.

My mother has repeatedly threatened to throw my cat out on the back porch and leave her there. In the past, when we had 8+ cats, my parents locked the cats out on the back porch. That's where they had their food and litter box. It's also where both Ginger and Shorty died, within two days of each other when Big Len fumigated the room. Yes, I truly 100% believe that my father killed my cats. And this is where my mother wants to relegate my new cat, Spot, because Spot wants to hang out with my mom in her room and my mom wants her bedroom door closed.

Spot bangs the doors and tries to open them by digging under them. She used to do this to my bedroom doors as well, but I bought a cat door and all was solved. I have offered to buy my mother a matching door, but she does not answer. She does not answer 80% of my questions; she ignores most of my comments and concerns. My mother is mad out her mind because Spot has torn up the 30-year-old carpet (that came with this house) under the doors to our bedrooms. Carpet, let me remind you, that I gave my mom hundreds of dollars when I moved in here to replace. Carpet that needs to be replaced before I will be allowed to have my much needed stairlift. Carpet that no one fucking looks at because it's under a door!!!

But it's okay that my mother totally stripped all the paint off the bathroom door two days ago so it looks like something that belongs in a horror movie set in the 70s of a house that has been abandoned for 30 years. This busted ass door is the first thing that anyone sees when they go up the steps, but that's okay. No one is threatening to lock my mom onto the porch. And yes, Jeremy busted that door when the doorknob (which my mom knew needed to be replaced) locked him in the 100 degree bathroom for over 45 minutes earlier this week. But there was no reason to take off all the paint. All she needed to do was touch up the paint around the knob and swap the door for the one in her walk-in closet that no one but her ever sees. How is the busted carpet more of an eye-sore problem than this door?

Uh
Uh...

Then, as timing would have it, some sales rep from Acorn stairlifts called looking for me less than an hour ago – on the
house phone. Now, I contacted Acorn maybe three months ago and never heard back from them. This guy insisted that I called him two days ago and that I was leaving town soon. Huh? So I told him, “I can't even reach any of the phones in this house, so I would never give this number as my contact information when I have a cell phone.” I couldn't even answer the phone to take that call, my mother had to answer it, and then she was all confused about the situation even though she stood in the living room and talked to the guy from AllMedical less than a month ago. And she knows damned well that she's putting so many obstacles in my path that I'm never getting a stairlift anyway! She insists that there needs to be new carpeting, and that she doesn't have any money, and that she won't have any money until (maybe) next fall, when she goes back to work.

Fuck if I am staying here THAT long... because “maybe” essentially means “no” in this house. I know; I've lived here long enough. Because I will want an explanation if I am told “no” and there's no logical explanation.

And then we will move on to my mother telling us how she's going to a co-worker's mother's viewing this weekend even though she hasn't worked with this person (or called her, or had any contact whatsoever with her) for over a year. And I will be left feeling unimportant, unloved, and second-rate. Because I don't think it's too much to ask to be able to pee without Jeremy carrying me up the steps.

It's frustrating, to say the least. And I've gone back to drinking almost every day (because, did you know, that back when I lived here my mom KNEW I was suicidal, had the suicide hotline number in the kitchen cabinet, but sat back and watched as I tried to self destruct?). I changed so much, but a huge part of that growth was me figuring out my self worth and now, having that knowledge and still being treated as if I don't deserve more than what I am getting is making me feel like I'm the one in a cage/out on the back porch.

How the fuck am I supposed to save myself this time?
I will, don't get me wrong.

I WILL but next time there's no coming back.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Tagged under:

Then you're trapped in your lovely nest, and the things you used to own, now they own you. ~Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club



Perhaps you have been reading this blog since I came on board and remember that I was hoping that my grandmother would give me and Jeremy her car once we moved back in with my parents. My grand mother has neuropathy, which means that she cannot feel her feet, which (you may imagine) makes it dangerous for her to drive. She is also wall-eyed, and semi-blind. She wobbles along with a cane, and lives with us because she fell down a flight of steps several years ago, bruising and fracturing her hip and some other parts.

Her car has been sitting, unused, on the driveway out front since November. She refuses to let us buy it. She pays $250 insurance a month.

For the past month, Jeremy and I have been on a mission to find a truck. In order to be in our price range, the truck must be very used. Unfortunately, what a month and a half of saving will get us always seems to include needing brakes, or a transmission, or a clutch. If I spend nothing from my June SSI payment, we will still only have a grand. Then, there's gas and insurance, passing inspection and whatever repairs that will require, tags and... All told, the last car we bought (Nancy) cost $600. We had her a month and she cost me over $2k

I'm trying to sell everything I own. I have so much unnecessary shit yet can't do anything with it to get something that I so desperately need. And I know that Jeremy wants a vehicle more than anything right now. I'm right there with him. We hate having to rely on my mother to take us places. Luckily she will take Jeremy to the post office once a week to mail out all the items I have sold on auctions. Then we are amazed if she will take us anywhere during the weekend. I thought after that fiasco in May when she allowed Jeremy to drive the van to his grandfather's birthday party, that she would be more willing to let us use the van. I was mistaken.

These days I spend maybe six hours out of bed a day. I'm not sleeping all those hours, but I sometimes wish that I was. Time goes faster when you're asleep.

I had a plan (well, truthfully I had A LOT of plans) when it came to moving back to my parents' house and I have kept up my end of the plan. I have saved my money, but I thought I'd have more help from my family. I don't know why I thought this. And when I mentioned my dismay over not being able to afford a vehicle to my mom, her response was to be patient.

Now it looks like we won't be able to afford to get a vehicle until July. June hasn't even started but it looms ahead of me – empty of promise. There is no way Jeremy and I can have any summer adventures until we have our own vehicle, and I long for the chance to return to Big Bad Wolf's barbecue to get some brisket. There was a plan about that, too: How we would reward Big Len for his help in wrangling that car away from my grandmother by buying him delicious treats. But alas, he would not play along.

Jeremy and I considered leasing to own a car through a dealership. The flaw in that plan is that, if I have to make a car payment every month we will never be able to save up to move out. I think it would be better to buy a car outright, use the next check to fix the car, then start saving to move again. We can't stay here forever, closed away in my 10x10 room. We've done that for the past month and that seems much too long.

The only hope (I feel) is to somehow get to a public auction. The only one in Maryland (that I have been able to find thus far) would take some major planning to get to via public transportation (Jeremy claims it's impossible). Maybe if we could have a chance to buy a car where the previous owner wasn't looking to make a least some money (understandable), we could somehow (miraculously) find a car that would not require more than its cost in repairs.

I'm just tired of feeling trapped.


But at least we have our garden and a grill. Silver linings.

(Art pictured above still available for purchase $50. email karleybayer@gmail.com)

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Tagged under:

She Frequently Screamed


The less time I spend online these days, the better.

I was one of the first people in my neighborhood to be online. I had online friends back on AOL when it was pay for every additional hour you went over your allotted time. Therefore, I knew a lot of hackers, phishers, and teenaged criminals who could con a person out of all their personal information including credit card numbers. I spent hundreds of dollars to be in private chat rooms full of disenfranchised heartbroken Nirvana fans, and had a couple of online boyfriends (some I actually met in real life – AWKWARD!).

Now if I'm online longer than an hour I feel like I'm wasting my time. I have a Facebook account, and I used to sit in front of that page all day. For the past couple months, I make my post and move on. I have removed 75% of my “friends” from my newsfeed. I can't handle the drama.

For example, the other day a person who I wouldn't consider a friend, but whom I know personally through my family, posted some comment that pretty much boiled down to “I can't afford the things I want because I pay taxes that go to support poor people who own things that I want.” These comments always bother the hell out of me because I am poor. I live on SSI, which amounts to $8k a year – and I support Jeremy too, because until his convictions are ten years old he cannot be paid as my caregiver. Therefore, we are both poor.

My mother will be the first to tell you that she only makes a couple thousand more than me. So that's three people in my house who are poor. And, yes, I realize that there are people out there living on less than what we have and I am impressed that those people get through each and every day without slicing their wrists. Because the bills have to be paid, and you have to eat, and then you have to come across these comments from people who own their own home remodeling companies and who will gladly charge $3 to install a new front door.

The person who posted this comment that got me all fired up does, indeed, own his own company and has done some work around my mother's house so I know that his prices for us are cheaper than what he would charge someone he doesn't know. I also know that this person has four kids because he and his wife wanted a girl. And I'm thinking, maybe the reason why you don't own the things you so covet is because raising kids is fucking expensive!

And some poor people have kids, and actually truly value their children. Personally, my broke ass knows that I can't afford to have a kid. I wish that more people were conscious of the cost of a child before they go and have four of them and then complain that they don't have any money.

Yes, your tax money helps me get through life. Thank you. But just what do I have that you need/want so badly that you have to go posting mean/spiteful messages online? What do most of the poor have that you so covet?

I am well aware that there are people out there getting government money (your taxes) when they don't need it. I haven't really done any research on this subject but I would bet that those people are a very small percentage of the people who get government help.

It just makes me sad that instead of realizing that your tax money is probably going toward someone like me, many people insist on focusing on the small percentage of people who abuse the system.


Nevertheless, thank you Tax Payers. I appreciate your help. Now back to my bargain shopping and Hamburger Helper.  

(The above art is still for sale)