All Things Profane and Sacred

Enquiring minds want to know: Why is there a giant cock on top of the "Freedom Tower"? Or do you think it looks more like the old one finger salute? The most appropriate thing about that monstrosity is the Orwellian name, considering the escapades that have gone down since 9/11.

The U.N. says that "Cannabis use has turned into a pandemic that is causing almost as much harm as cocaine or heroin." What the fuck are they smoking over there? Hey, U.N.! We have a little problem here in the states called meth. It utterly destroys users, their families and the surrounding community. There's another charming little drug called crack that people will sell their body and soul to obtain. Then there's this nice little drug-legal the world over-called alcohol. You ever seen someone addicted to alcohol?

Goddamn, the world is filled with asshats. Listen to this: "About 9 per cent of those who try cannabis find themselves unable to stop using the drug. Cannabis
has been linked to precipitating psychosis in vulnerable individuals, and aggravating its symptoms in diagnosed schizophrenics.Cannabis can also produce negative acute effects, including panic attacks, paranoia, and psychotic symptoms. (Executive Summary, pg. 21)" Um. Maybe they just watched one of those classroom films put out by DARE?

Too hot and depressed to blog today. Must go lie down.

Jebus. Could we get this 'end times' bullshit over with so all the wack jobs can go whistling off to heaven, and the rest of us can get back to work already?

I'm tired and depressed today. Lots of financial problems. No good solution in sight. I keep waiting by the telephone, sending out "hire me" thoughts. I've been thinking more and more about walking away from it all and saying fuck it. I could go be a carney, or a migrant fruit picker, or a beach bum! Ok, so that would all suck (except the beach bum part) but I wouldn't have creditors calling day and night (because I sure as hell wouldn't have a phone) and I wouldn't have this constant knawing pain in my stomach, not to mention the runny shits and the blinding headaches that I would guess are the direct result of being cornered. Treed.

I love free stuff. J is always chuckling over some great find I made in some neighbor's garbage pile or on craiglist. When people visit my house, I do a lot of "Yeah, that's great! It was free!" Very classy.

My favorite spot to score free stuff is this house down the street that always has a couple of plants or flowers sitting out on a free sign. I think when the homeowner prunes back her giant garden, she sticks what she's getting rid of in a little container and puts it out. Anyhow, my porch is covered in lovely lamb ears, minature roses and other colorful plantlings that I've dragged home from there.

I usually go by when I'm walking the dogs in the morning, so arm space is limited. Also, I feel a bit silly walking down the street with the two dogs (and usually a bag of poop to boot) in one hand and a plant in the other. It looks like I either decided to take my plants for a walk, or like I am ripping off people's gardens while I'm out and about. So, I smile big and say to everyone I meet, "It's free!"

I have had a marching band playing the electric bugaloo song in my head most of this week. I don't like it (especially since it never gets past the chorus), but previous experiences with trying to change the channel in my head have taught me that sometimes it's best to leave well enough alone. After all, it could be "Convoy" or William Shatner's version of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." Shit.

On my way to my volunteer gig, I saw a hopscotch grid chalked on the sidewalk. It was surrounded by rainbows, moons, stars, comets and, in a childish scrawl, the words, "Is life good". (I know the period goes inside the quotes, goddammit, but it doesn't here. Trust me.) I thought about what the writer had in mind while chalking that particular phrase. Was it an exclamation, like, "Is life good!" or was it a question, "Is life good?" Did they mean good to me, or good in general, or good for themselves or their generation? I didn't get to the ultimate question, "What is good?" (42! Nope, doesn't work).

AAAANNNYYYYHHHOOOWWWW. I swung my buns up Alberta Street and walked into the worst night I've had at the clinic. It was just long and difficult and double plus unfun. When I left, my eyes were aching and I reeked of failure. Plus I had upended a soda on some poor attorney's desk during a consultation. I felt real professional, and like a real credit to volunteer work.

As I passed the same sidewalk art on the way back home, while I was trying to wipe the unpleasantness of the night from my mind and shoulders, I was in a different frame of mind. The people I talked to, was their life good? Had I made their life any gooder with my bungling?

My life is on the good side these days. I may be in a tight spot financially, but I have my man and my dogs, a home and a job, friends and family. I just wish I wasn't so ineffectual in helping others bring themselves back to good.

So, I was gonna blog about how I interviewed for (and fucked up any chance of getting) my dream job yesterday, but then I realized that this blog is getting entirely too negative. I don't want to draw y'all into my downward spiral of shame and inadequacy. Today's story is brought to you by the letter J-if only because he reminded me of it the other day:

So, about when I was 13ish, I was at this family function for my mother's husband's family at some redneck bar in the middle of nowhere. This guy with some sort of large, white, radar dish like things stuck behind his ears siddles over and says to me, "You look real purdy. Just like my cousin. She's dead now."

I said, "This is my mom. I'm going over here now."

I sat in the tub, soaking in a bath full of epsom salts, after two hours of walking around Portland and thought about how I might have a Vicodin squirreled away somewhere in the medicine cabinet. I looked at our case of toilet paper, stamped FMV (for maximum value!) and thought about poverty and how it has a funny way of hanging on to you and ripping away your dignity with sharp little teeth. Then I closed my eyes and let the monsterous headache throb away. I thought shit. Shit.

It's always something. This morning I was feeling pretty good. I had a check from the Oregon Department of Revenue for $24. This was handy, since we're out of money and J needs gas for work. I drove off to work, happy the gas situation had been resolved. Then I was pulled over (in the middle of the construction on MLK during rush hour-way to keep Portland safe!) for having a brake light out. Then my car was towed because I can't afford insurance. They left with my keys, so when I made it back to my house, I had to break in. It was of some importance that I do this breaking quickly, because on my way home, I noticed that my dog was on the roof, just standing there, sniffing the breeze. I don't have any money to get insurance and get my car out of impound. I have a job interview Monday in Salem.

Things were starting to look good. I have two job interviews on my plate-both good jobs. I was thinking about how I could get off foodstamps, pay insurance for J and I, pay my bills, pitch in fully towards rent and maybe even manage to pay down some debt and put some money aside. But now here I am again scrambling. In the hole. Carless. Cashless. Keyless. I'm so tired of being a moving target in the war against poor people.

My interview Friday was the worst kind-the dreaded three woman friends interview. They either like you or they don't in that situation, and to my plesant surprise, they seemed to like me. I tap danced like the trained bear I am, and had them in stiches. They were impressed by my case that I wrote a brief in support of review for being in front of the Supreme Court (the judge's current clerk actually knew the case), and they liked my human services background. On the other hand, she had my transcript, and that's not all that impressive at all, so maybe it will balance out. I'm not so sure they are so taken with me that they'll hire me, but I haven't discounted it either. The judge said she'll let me know by the end of the month, since she's still getting resumes in, but if I got an offer in the meantime and was still interested in working for her, to give her a call and see where she is. I hope that is code for "I may want to hire you."

I did forget to tell them about the wedding in September-I need three days off for it, and am terribly afraid it could cost me this potential job. I've just got to screw myself up and let them know about it and let the chips fall where they may. I am really feeling the need to get some real money flowing here tho-I want to get my bills (and credit) back on track and start a (gasp!) savings account, but I'm not missing this damn hell wedding.

It sure has been an exciting week over here:

1. The roof and house continue to be a huge problem. I don't even friggen want to talk about it.
2. J's crazy mother burned her apartment down. Luckily the fire (home rewiring job + pile of polyester cloths = inferno) missed the gun cabinet. We gotta find her a place to live, because god knows she's not living here.
3. Job interview at the courthouse tommorrow.
4. Vet vist where surgery is narrowly averted.
5. Dealing with crankier old people and social workers at work, because we're closed to the public the next few months while we move the office and figure out how to close the sucking chest wound that is the current policies.
6. My sim finally got laid, but then got a chick knocked up right away. Even my sim life sucks.

Ha ha ha. Now I'm going to prepare for my interview and see what I can do about the unfortunate baby situation. Everything else can take a flying fuck at me.