A Different Approach

I am thinking of different topics to address, as opposed to poor, pitiful me, and since this is a topic I am currently a statistic of, why not?

Homelessness nationwide is an issue, but the West Coast has been particularly hard hit. An estimated 500,000, or 1/2 Million, individuals nationwide are in uninhabitable housing, the pleasantly cleansed word for delicate souls. Or is it non-racist? Politically correct? Respectful? Fuck No! I am in uninhabitable housing!  I am homeless. And whatever non-offensive phrasing you, Mr. Government Amoeba Paperpusher/Dr. Sleepy Pants HUD Secretary, use it will be no different. Unless I am like too many, sleeping in a tent in a creek bed, wrapped up in a sleeping bag under a tree or wrapped in a cardboard box, or in a dumpster, I am still homeless in my car. A car is uninhabitable housing!

Your survey is wasted tax dollars as it is highly inaccurate, as usual. How do I know? I was asked to be involved in the Homeless Count this year and the parameters are a joke.

A few weeks before the “Night” they decide to do the count (a night? Really!?), a group of volunteers per a district get together to discuss “What to look for”. It was laughable, insulting and disgraceful. I will give you an idea what was suggested to look for:

  • People with shopping carts and too many shopping bags
  • Disheveled people, visibly unbathed, carrying odd things
  • Mismatched or ill-fitting clothing
  • Puddles next to parked cars, i.e. human waste (Loved that one. NOT!)
  • Large amount of personal litter, next to a car

Let me say, the majority of the questions were answered by homeowners that fall into the category of “Not-in-My-Backyard”. Nimby’s. The Homeless know them too well. Sadly, many Homeless are also drug addicts, alcoholics, mentally ill, off-their-meds, DGAF, etc. Thieves have a home, or a hole, or a safe place to hide. Homeless don’t. Do some break into homes? Yes. But, the chronically homeless still have enough self respect to respect other people’s property, unless they are family. That’s a completely different dynamic that I won’t address, because I have no personal knowledge with a normal family. Dysfunctional, you betcha!

The majority of homeless people are very self-conscious about their appearance. Bathing regularly is a must. Keeping properly groomed is a must, especially men! There are those who are so physiologically gone, that grooming isn’t something they are aware of. And there are those that are so far gone in their addiction, or allusion, that it doesn’t matter. They are the ones that in the “community”  *we* stay away from.

I will give you an example. I’ll call him Ned. I have no  personal association with a Ned, other than Ned Flanders, so I can’t offend anyone.

Ned is a couple of years younger than me. Ned is homeless, has a grown daughter and living parents. Ned smokes pot and does meth and God knows what all. He is also a part-time hoarder. He hoards stuff until it disappears, or is stolen, or he believes it is stolen, or he gives it away. He desperately wants a woman in his life. I know this first hand, and had to deal with some shit he said about Will. Will has known him longer, better than 2 years? I think. Ned has had medical issues, had a heart attack, severe water retention issues, edema. He’s kinda fucked up y’all. Now, he had built a fire at his campsite with treated pallet boards and it impacted his eyes. He told me yesterday that he needs an optical surgery and they may have to take his eyes. He could see me, and this has been an issue for a couple of months. I don’t doubt Ned has a severe issue, but being homeless and needing medical care is a huge one! And he will routinely make a mountain out of molehill. Many know his parents and have met them or his sister, so the homeless grapevine is healthy and thriving and keep the fables at bay. I do care for Ned, but my partial brain can’t handle his little boy crying wolf routine. Others, including Will and I, have real health issues that will eventually kill us, not self-inflicted bull-pucky exaggerations. Being Stoned or High is self-inflicted and I just don’t care. Haven’t since I was 17 and some things just don’t change.  You’re an addict and want to live that life? Have at! Just don’t think I want a special invitation to join you.

Just so you are aware, most homeless don’t defecate next to their vehicle.  Some might, if they can’t find a bush and I know a few whacks that defecate in the public square intentionally, but they have problems that were dealt with at those “Hospitals” back in the day. The practice of dogs not shitting where they sleep is also  human trait. We use public restrooms at Safeway, Starbucks, Panama Bay, Ross, TJ Maxx, Carl’s Jr., McDonald’s. We like to wipe our bottoms and wash our hands, thank you! And we do not leave it a mess. If you think we loose all sense of human decency, you are wrong. My God, Will is so fastidious he drives me nuts! He has to shave regularly and complains when he sees himself as unkempt! Clean clothes without stains are a big deal. And a pleasant color palette.   He is Gay after all. Some behaviors will not change. That’s why he makes me chuckle. I love him to death, even when he is Gayer than Christmas Bloomies.

I guess, I could say it simply, perception and reality don’t talk, meet, or have anything to do with each other. And a few small-minded people can dream up whatever they wish, but it won’t make it so.

 

 

https://www.insider.com/map-how-many-homeless-americans-there-are-in-each-state-2019-11

Happy Holidays for Some

It is Black Friday and absolutely nuts here. There are Prime Outlets within 5 miles of my current location, and people are meeting up at Starbucks before they head out. Geez. Spending money is a group activity? Who knew! SMH

We are not spending money, because we have none until Social Security comes through or Will’s General Assistance. No Christmas Tree, little Christmas Cheer. Freezing to death, but my $10 sleeping bag has been handy as all out. It was 34F this morning with ice on the car. Reminiscent of my trips to Idaho during Thanksgiving. I miss those trips and the people I shared my holiday with. And when my 120 lbs of fur babies were still alive.

The shopping gluttony is  mind-boggling.  I stopped trying to understand it years ago, because I was guilty of it too when Dad was still alive. Put yourself into debt until March or April with the plastic was typical. I stopped when he died. It’ll be 20 years soon. Christmas is difficult for me as he was sick and I didn’t do anything. Gunn was in control by then and took “care” of him. That haunts me. How she complained that she had no one to take care of her as she had done to him. She gets me fired from my job, I physically move to her house to “take care of her” and she can’t stop bitching how much I suck at it and I’m inconveniencing her because I have the audacity to live in her house. Why can’t I move in next door? Buy a house and work close by? BECAUSE YOU CALL ME EVERY 10 MINUTES WHEN I AM NOT IN YOUR VISUAL RANGE!! Ungrateful bitch.

So much for honoring my adopted parents. I promised Dad I would take care of her. Pity there wasn’t a stipulation on her trying to kill us, or succeeding at it. It just took years, and her throwing out my meds, for me to accept what she had done to you Papa. I just couldn’t accept that her malignant narcissism and her belief in her medical knowledge would go so far as to put our lives in danger.

I will reconstruct a dialog that happened when I was 12:

Gunn: She doesn’t need glasses. No one in my family needs them. She eats carrots.

Optometrist: Carrots won’t improve her vision. She has steep corneas and is very near-sighted.

Gunn: She spends too much time reading and doing needlework. She is ruining her eyes! 

Optometrist: She is a student and reading is very good at here age. She will do good in school!

Gunn: She is not getting glasses! You are wrong!

We exit (angrily stomp) out to the car and I tell Dad.

Me: Dad! Mom won’t let me get glasses!

Dad: What? The doctor said your vision is bad and your legally blind! Gunn! What are you up to?

Gunn: She doesn’t need glasses. No one in my family wears them! She needs to stop reading so much and do all the those crafts! Her eyes would be fine. And I feed her carrots every day!

Dad: I’ll take her to get what she needs! And you wear glasses but you don’t want too because you’re so vane! You’re not going to put your issues on our daughter!

And Dad and I went back in and I picked out a pair of glasses I could live with. Gunn would harangue me about the reading and knitting and needlework – unless it was something I was making for them – for the rest of my life, but my contact lenses helped. She’d start in on me when I was wearing my glasses. And she stabbed me with my embroidery scissors when her shows weren’t on TV, but that’s a tale for another time. h

A day in the life with Gunn. I thank the Lord every day that she is gone from my life. I return her ashes to her family and my last connection with her is gone. One more thing  on my list when I have money again. Dad’s ashes have to go home to. To be with his parents and siblings in his home town. The honor she refused him because she hated his family so much. I didn’t know how much until he died and realized how much of his “history” she had thrown out. At least I had taken his ships and maritime logs years before. And his pictures. If I hadn’t taken those decades before, Gunn would have tossed them.  The medals and awards she kept. She could use them to promote their wonderful marriage. The awards and medals preceded you, hag. You had no part in Dad’s service, but you took all that you could get, including his military pension.

As a reminder for the holidays, https://www.gofundme.com/f/life4wng20?teamInvite=zwFy5EWAGSludrnkCZ9nBW6TpHJfA8I5YvaDJ67Bhi8fNwXnHH6M2OYJcXZSgemz

Please consider our plight. God Bless you.

 

 

A Little of This….

and a little of that. Today’s mood. Mixed but hopeful.

I made a foolish promise on my Facebook page that I would add something every day.

HA!

I can barely manage feeding myself everyday. And my primary issue is the big and lovable bear who is officially my chauffeur. He came up with it, not me. He’s driving Miss Gracie and it gives him a chuckle. It makes him happy, but I have no control over my car. All or nothing seems to be the name of the game.

I really don’t mind. I went 5 years with being the primary driver. It being someone else’s responsibility eases my anxiety level. Besides, he’s not drinking anymore. For the most part. He needs AA and not just me or the doctors. He needs someone ELSE to talk to. His body, organs, have been punished too much, especially his kidneys and liver and pancreas. His diabetes has rocketed upwards and the food we eat through the Open Heart (Tri-Valley Soup Kitchen) isn’t diabetes friendly, or any place else serving food.

This morning, at Vineyard, they had croissants with egg and cheese, spaghetti and another pasta dish that supposedly had meat. I got no meat, the croissant was tasty and the pasta was gross. My “palate” wants low carb food for my health, but it receives little of that. Plenty of sugars though. So much Goddamn sugar/carbs.

This is a very difficult life to live, after residing in a house, cooking your own nutritious meals, having a bathroom available when nature calls. This type of life is dehumanizing.

I need to speak with my friend Sue and ask her if I can share her story. She is a beautiful woman and has been through so much  heartache and physical pain all while being homeless. It’s tragic and disgusting in this nation where we find endless money to make sure we can kill the World 10 times over, there are more guns than people in the US (and too many individuals die at the hands of Domestic Terrorists – not foreign terrorists Trumplandians), Russia and North Korea ARE security risks for this Country – NOT UKRAINE (stop listening to that Traitor and his sycophants including  Moscow Mitch or Dingbat David). The news out of Washington is frustrating the little I can gather from my phone and podcasts.  Why I miss TV and Will doesn’t. I watch “boring” stuff, otherwise none as educational and topical. But, it’s not the Cardashian’s! To bad, gay-boy! Hehe.

Have to close down. Have an appointment with my therapist Pam.

The Realities of Homelessness

The daily mental battle

Sleeping on a flat surface and stretched out.

Taking a shower without someone yelling “HURRY UP!!!” Just being able to take one every 3 or 4 days, not every 7+ days. The record is 15, I think. Warm water and soap to remove the stench and dirt and letting you feel “Normal”. Washing your hair!!! When it’s been up in a ponytail for better than a week and when you take out the rubber band – IT DOES NOT MOVE. Not a single hair. It is that oily! And know I am susceptible to yeast infections in my fat fold, aka lap fat. Oh, for a flat tummy! Oh, to be 60 lbs lighter! Oh, to not have the stroke issues! Oh, all the shit which I really want to go away!! The yeast infections are due to the “plastic” in the diapers and heat and sweat trapped in unbreathable and confined space. I was able to wear cotton undies for a few days with leakage pads. The infection cleared up. Hell, the last time when it was really bad (August), Dr. C. had to lance and drain a boil. Eeeeww! Yuck! I had to keep draining until the cream dried it out! You never want to experience that, especially so close to your private parts,

Getting up at 3am and being able to go to a bathroom and sit on a toilet without having to drive to a Safeway and hopefully not commit to the “walk of shame” or drop a load in my diaper. I now carry adult diapers. I can’t justify any vanity on my part. Oh, Gunn would be scandalized! “But, Venke! Vhat will people tink of you! How embarassing!” Shut up, bitch. I wouldn’t be here if not for you. Her voice comes back too often. It is what it is and I’ll just have to take 600 mg a day of Neurotin to insure the nerves down south are in communication with Central Command. And that will be undergoing reconstruction for years. I have a bathroom purse. It’s nice and made from “vegan” leather. OK. There is some vanity and not wanting to advertise “homeless and poor and peeing on myself”.

Typing and “storytelling” is part of my therapy. Who’da thunk that!

They’re playing Christmas Music at Starbucks. Eek. From 40’s Big Band to Rap. *Shudder*

Being able to go to the kitchen that has a refrigerator, a stove and cook top, and maybe a microwave (let’s not forget cutlery and eating vessels and tumblers), to prepare a warm meal or have a piece of toast when under the weather or just a glass of milk. Heat a bowl of chicken noodle soup! Or a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. Make a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese. A grilled cheese sandwich on sliced sourdough with Tomato Bisque from Trader Joe’s. A breaded and thick cut pork chop with baked apples. A chicken breast with sauted asparagus. A homemade Cobb Salad or Chopped Broccoli from Costco, A PB&J with something other than Concord Grape Jelly and on 10-grain Wheat, not that cheap wheat bread that has zero nutrition and is worse for you then Wonder Bread. Fresh Wonder Bread……yummmmm. Addicted to that as a child. Gunn did me no favors. She sure didn’t teach me nutrition, encourage exercise or chase me out the door to play with neighbor kids. Brownie’s offered too many camping trips with a parent participating. Good God NO! “Ve don’t do dat in Norway!” No. families go hiking and fishing and sleep in…..sleeping bags? That’s the rumor.

I’ll be back soon. I’m off to Speech and Cognitive Therapy!

/

A Quick Post

Will is at Storage with Andy – getting my diapers since I used the last one this morning. I’m at Starbucks just having updated my GoFundMe campaign.  And just trying to provide some current context, which I will do here as well.

  1. Will is SOBER!
  2. His day of sobriety is October 12, 2019. He had his last drink (fucking bottle, or Handle, or 1.5L of vodka every 36 hours) on 10/11/19.
  3. He is Clear and Vibrant and hooked on Starbucks Nitro which is making him a very talkative chipmunk!
  4. His memory is so much better and he is the one DRIVING! I let him take over the wheel and I am enjoying being the passenger once more. It’s been since 2012 except the handful of times a was I with someone. Literally – no one since 2016 and that was Amanda. Less than a dozen times since then. Maybe half a dozen. He’s my driver! Hehe He even jokes he’s driving Miss Gracie. Andy is enjoying the way it used to be. Daddy is supposed to be in the drivers seat. Rawroo!
  5. I have started writing my “book”. I had too. There is so much pent up inside me with no where to go. So much anger – and hatred. Dad didn’t have to die when he did and I didn’t have to have my stroke when I did if it hadn’t been for HER. I will NEVER refer to her as Mom ever again. Her name was Gunvor. I will use that or the nickname Gunn. I apologize to any women who have that name. They should never be confused with the Gunvor who was in my life.
  6. I am looking actively for an attorney to handle my medical malpractice/malfeasance case. It is complicated and messy, not simple and direct. I have spoken to a few attorneys and I will speak to more. I will not give up.
  7. We have figured out how to handle Will’s brother. That’s all I am going to say.
  8. We know what we will do when all this is over and lawsuits have been settled and life has settled into a normal mode with a roof over our heads and a refrigerator and a bathroom. We so need a place to live, but Abode isn’t going to do anything for us. We missed out on Section 8 housing last week. Too many applicants and the website became unavailable after 12 noon. They opened online only at 11:00. Heard nothing from Abode. They need one more thing – a letter on agency letterhead stating a person from that agency has known we have been homeless for part of the year. Multiple letters from multiple people to cover each month for the last year. This was rolled out by Alameda County on October 1st! We have everything else they wanted to complete the application for the apartment in Oakland, then this came up. If we can come up with this for each of us and have it for them, they will need updates or something else before we fill out the application. It’s bullshit is what it is. No wonder people are homeless and living out of their cars for 7 or 9 or 13 years!
  9. We quit smoking. No more Camel Crush.We vape. I quit smoking completely and enjoy vaping, which I rarely do if I am not driving. Will vapes and occasionally has a cigarillo. My blood pressure is normal and Doctor is happy, though worries about the vape because the “News” says they are unsafe. Yeah, ok, if you buy off the black market, from a guy who makes them in his garage,etc. We don’t. You don’t want kids smoking, let’em get carded! They did when I was 18 and I was told, “NO! Get out of here!” They need to be told No. They aren’t denied often enough as it is without them having a temper tantrum. “Wha! I am old enough! You’re discriminating against me. It’s ageism!!!” Bullshit, little one. We had to suffer at your age. It’s your right of passage. Now, shut up. You’re bothering me. And get off my lawn while you’re at it. (Metaphorically)
  10. I’m a little behind on the news….has Trump been impeached yet? Has the NYSD gotten his Tax Returns? Has SCOTUS flipped on their backs and placated the Big Horny Dog? Curious. Asking for a friend.

That’s it. Will is back with dinner from Asbury Church. Chicken Teriyaki and Rice. Gee. More carbs. SMDH

Lawyer Speak – Blahblahblah

I started calling attorney’s today about suing that place I used to live and their idiot doctors:

  1. I was told I had a stroke 11/29/2016
  2. The fact I wasn’t told “what kind” is neglible. I had a stroke. Period. End of story.
  3. The fact I wasn’t treated for the type of stroke I had doesn’t matter. They told me. I was informed.
    1. The fact I didn’t see a neurologist for 19 months doesn’t weigh in. I wasn’t being treated for TIA’s or the impact of the neurological devastation which proabably worsened after the stroke.

My current speech therapist, who knows my diagnosis, keyed me into apps and programs that can help with my deficits. One is TalkPath Therapy. It is awesome and can target my issues – and it costs $250 per year, or $25 per month. Ain’t gonna happen.

There are others, such as the Khan Academy, which are free and useful to increase my base of knowledge, but not as targeted as TalkPath. Grrrr.

CCHP should pay for that since they totally missed it, ignored it, intentionally kept it from me. See a physciatrist for your depression/eating disorder/Munchausen Sydrome they said. Otherwise, we are too busy with “real” patients that need our help they said.

I need a malpractice attorney who gets it that stroke diagnosis is valid and very important as it directs your medical care!

Did you know there are three different types of stroke?

  1. Ischemic Stroke
    1. Thrombotic stroke
    2. Embolic Stroke
  2. Hemorrhagic Stokes
    1. Intracerebral hemorrhage
    2. Subarachnoid hemorrhage
  3. Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA)

Lots of information, but if you’re not over 55, don’t worry. It won’t effect you.

I had my stroke at 50. 50 and 5 months. I was considered young by the Neurologists at UCSF.

Now I have to convince an attorney that this is malpractice. And I don’t speak succintly anymore. And people are in a hurry and don’t listen. In other words, I am screwed. 

Hello – I’m Back!

I’ve been having issues with WordPress, namely MY site and not the one they want to create for me. I’m limited to posting via my tablet and it isn’t doing spellcheck.

Poop. The grammer nazi that resides within is very hostile and precise. And preachy.

I’ve posted two active Contact posts with their “experts”, as you cannot call them, and I’ve been waiting for over an hour. Today.

GRRRR.

I will be doing something new. I will be posting daily – words, pictures, even video. I will be chronicling our daily life and trounbles as homeless people in the SF Bay Area. Me and Will and Andy. Our little family.

We are also at Facebook/onetinysoapbox. Check us out there too, in case I post to that because this is giving me issues.

One of the issues having a TBI that has caused cognitive impairment – website FAQ links are a pain when you don’t have a simple question.

We Will Die, Living Like This

Melodramatic? Yeah. It is, but after I get a few “problems” off my chest, I think you’ll understand.

And I will be “graphic” and “putting my business out there” and I just don’t care anymore. I cry daily. Feeling human is something I miss. Being “private” is a luxury that I foolishly can’t enjoy. Just when I think things can’t get worse, they do. My life is an endless mudslide into an abyss.

Before I go to the boring doldrums, I just want to convey hopes and dreams I have. I want to write – multiple books regarding my stroke and recovery, homelessness, adoption, the wicked witch/psychotic bitch who was my adopted mother, the flawed man I hero-worshipped (and still do). And a few other things if I have time. Even some fiction! But I also want to do something for the homeless community, advocacy, give people hope – because there is NONE. Cots at shelters, so people don’t have to sleep on the floor. A PEMANEENT PLACE FOR THEM TO SLEEP IN THE TRI-VALLEY OF NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. This “system” frankly sucks! Those “not-in-my-backyard” jackasses need to SHUT-UP, quite whining about how grren their grass is, how the homeless are trouble makers and leave dirt and debris in their wake, and, God Forbid!, congregate!

Not ALL homeless people are drug addicts.

Not ALL homeless people are alcoholics.

Not ALL homeless people have mental illness, i.e, CRAZY.

Not ALL homeless people want to be lazy and do nothing.

Not ALL homeless people want to sleep outside.

Not ALL homeless people are dangerous

Not ALL homeless people HATE YOU.

Not ALL homeless people will accept that God will take care of them. He will not quench your thirst. He will not feed you. He will not put gas in your car or drive you to a church serving food. And if your feet are blistered and you cannot walk, he will not physically carry you to food and water. Quote all the scripture you want. Believe in those words. Give your life to Him. I did. And He has been there for me, so many times, but did He stay the hand of my adopted mother when she insisted Dad needed to stop a needed medication? No. He had a series of strokes and died. Did he stop her from throwing out my medication, as she was insisting that her family didn’t suffer from Diabetes or High Blood Pressure, so I didn’t either! And how does that work, Gunn, when you didn’t give birth to me? I have the caesarean scar! Yeah, from that girl you had in 1963 that you buried. God didn’t make crazy go away, keep her from beating me, screaming at me, accusing me so many lies, for soooo many years. He stopped none of it. Yet I still prayed. And I still do, but nothing will change. At least she died, but not before I started having mini-strokes. Hell, she almost succeeded in killing me. I never raised a hand to her. I yelled. I screamed. And how much I wanted to hit her for every time she hit me, slapped me, called me a whore, ransacked my room in an attempt to find proof that I was a whore. I just remembered what Dad said, “That’s just the way she is. There is nothing we can do.” There was Dad, you just never had the balls to do it.

Homeless are scary. They scare me, and I am one of them. But they are desperate and afraid and most know they are living on borrower time and don’t expect their lives to get any better.

They are without hope.

Being homeless will change you mentally. There are too many factors that our brains cannot find ways to “cope”, and this is my issue.

I can type as I once spoke, but speaking is HARD for me now. I was a public speaker. I enjoyed speaking before a crowd! Now I can barely talk to one person if no one else is around. I stutter. Words fail me, meaning I know what to say, but I physically can’t because I can’t remember how to form those words. I cannot modulate my voice. I can’t keep the emotion out. I am crying now just typing this. The lasting effect of my TBI. There are “therapies” that can be taught to me and I can work on them. Just as I can get my singing voice back. With time and effort. Maybe. If I get the right speech therapist.

Somehow, I don’t think I’m gonna get a good one. There us only one facility available for my insurance here in Alameda, and the last time I was there, it put my brain into major chaos. My cognitive “impairment” exploded , and I shut down. That “impairment”, the full impact of my TBI, is debilitating and there is no one to talk to about it, unless I go back to UCSF. I may have to, to get the help I need.

I am struggling, and I can’t fix it! I could always fix anything before, but now? I have my good days, and I have my dead days where I can do nothing. Just driving on auto pilot and praying I am not asked what to do or where to go. And I feel so guilty for not being better with Will, but a major portion of my brain is dead and it isn’t coming back. Neuroplasticity be damned! I’ll get some of my old self back, but not close to all of it. Always wanting to please and never doing that. There is much I want to do!

I especially want medical treatment for Will so he isn’t in pain or his cancer kills him. So Gary doesn’t win. Again. That brother of his should burn in hell, along with that skank of a wife. How can you abuse your mother, your daughter, your brother? How do you live with yourself? Your mother dies and you greedy bastard, you just want what is coming to you. Just like when your Dad was dying, use your uncle and have the will changed on his deathbed. Make sure Will is NOT the executor. When Mom has died, lie in court and steal Will’s executorship and have him evicted from the house you both grew up in and he has lived in TAKING CARE OF YOUR MOTHER FOR 10+ YEARS, his name is on the utilities, but file an illegal detainer – as if he was a renter – and have the sheriffs remove him and threaten to have Andy put in a Kill shelter, or have him thrown in the trash, you caustic, sick fuck. I know the skeletons in YOUR closet.

Hire attorneys to sue Gary, and they side with Gary, saying I am not helping Will. Will should take the pittance Gary is offering. Will should have the house, unencumbered with that fucking loan that is on it that is YOURS Gary. You never helped with ANY of the costs to keep your Mom safe and happy at the end of her life. No, you bitched when she bought an Accord. That was too expensive! Why couldn’t she buy something cheaper? She needed a good car when she was still working at Intel? She felt safe in it? Balderdash! She was wasting your inheritance! You and Colleen lived there for years, and you bitched that the house wasn’t updated. That the house fire was her or Will’s fault. As if a Major Appraiser would remove a fire door and replace it with a plain old interior door, Or that Dorothy would! Odd, how the fire inspector commented on that, and odd that it looked so much like the interior doors found in a house like yours? Who was always coming over to the house, using a key they weren’t supposed to have AS THEY DIDN’T LIVE THERE ANYMORE? How much did you and Colleen “borrow” over the years?

Will often wonders how is niece is. Gary alienated her from the family. She was as close as a daughter to him that he will ever have. He wonders if she took Victoria with her, and how sorry he is that he was so dense he didn’t realize what she meant back then. He was taking care of grandma, and that was a fulltime job! Keeping her from running down the street, sans clothes, was a challenge. He feels guilty that he wasn’t able to fulfill her final wishes. Often, in his sleep, he begs for her forgiveness. He thinks he failed her. And you. You have Grandma’s blood running in your veins, young lady! Good on you for taking your life in YOUR hands!

I’ve rattled on about THAT long enough. Back to what is at hand.

We both need medical attention. I need a social worker. I need someone to speak for me, and It isn’t going to be Will. He can’t, as often as he tries. The alcoholism is an issue, with memory and patience and “stuff”. My one income, the Socal Security, isn’t enough. There are “low-income” housing projects, and the minimum income requirement is more than my social security. And we are still waiting on Will’s final determination. They have turned him down for Social Security Disability. His $340 a month for General Assistance doesn’t count for much of anything. At least he has food stamps. I got a whooping $15 a month! Peanut and Butter Sandwiches will be all that I can afford. Perfect diet for a diabetic!

I can’t even get a glucose monitor because the prescription says testing 4 times a day, but I’m not on insulin, I’m on Trulicity, so that “perception” needs to indicate 1 per day. I had a fucking stroke BECAUSE I’m a diabetic, but Testing once pre day is hunky dory? Give me a fucking break!

Insurance company “rules” will kill people. We do have death panels to save THEIR money, not our lives. It isn’t Obamacare. It this colossal mess the Republicans have created in attempting to abolish healthcare for all.

I can’t even get a prescription for Depends, and I can’t see a specialist until December. I am homeless, but the company that supplies the Depends, or a portable commode, needs it in writing from the Doctor that I AM NOT RESIDING IN A DOMICILE. I have a PO Box. I live in a car. But the doctor needs to write that in a note, otherwise Medicare won’t cover it. In the meantime, I urinate on myself daily. I even defecated in my underwear this morning waiting for the bathroom to become available at Starbucks.

Throwing away a brand new pair of underwear is difficult for me. I haven’t shit in my pants since I was a child and had a stomach ailment. That was at KMart. I kept telling Mom I had to go to the bathroom, but she said to hold it until after they had paid and were leaving. My bowels made their own decision. Anyway, because the need was so great, I choose Starbucks instead of Safeway, because I figured I would probably soil myself driving over to Safeway. It didn’t matter.

To be 54 years old and defecate or urinate in my underwear is sick and sad and pathetic, and I can’t help wondering how bad I smell? Gunn was so particular about “smell” and “looks” and “being dirty”. She gave me a fucking complex, and that is what ran through my head this morning that I felt like an animal, not human, disgusting and loathsome. Just what she complained about all the time.

If we had a place to stay, a place to lay down with a bathroom and a kitchen, it would be so different. But we don’t, and it isn’t looking good for us anytime soon. Fill this out, jump through these hoops, and maybe you’ll be lucky enough to be on a waiting list or the lottery. No guarantee of how long or even if,but you have a chance to maybe, to possibly live there someday, like 9 years from now..

At least it isn’t a plot in a cemetery. That’s something. Those cost good money. If you’re homeless, you’ll be lucky to have an unmarked grave. At least the County will do that for you.

Lots of reasons to be depressed, and I can’t “talk” about it without breaking down. The TBI Effect.

We need help. We need other voices speaking for us. Some news coverage? Report this to a Bay Area Channel. I have tried to reach out via Twitter and Facebook, and often shocked how so many are able to raise huge sums through GoFundMe. I guess Will and I are too average. God has abandoned us, since he’s “gay” and I’m not Narrow. We can manage on our own. We have no children, and we have to be to blame for whatever happened to make us homeless.

Am I complaining too much? If you could walk in my shoes for just ONE DAY, you would understand and ask “how do you do it”? That’s just it, we can’t.

Thank you for reading, and this is the link to the GoFundMe, for what it’s worth. http://gofundme.com/f/life4wng20

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Good News – We’re Still Alive

I know….I haven’t published an update in months. I can explain.

My award from Social Security came through. There was a snoopy dance and rib eye fir dinner and I took care of:

1. My car registration

2. The overdue rental fees on my storage units

3. Cutty (Dad’s Cutlass) finally got fixed

4. I bought camping gear

5. I learned how to camp

6. I discovered that having Social Security doesn’t change a damn thing

I have an income. I no longer qualify for food stamps because I’m not poor anymore. Well, I qualified for $15 a month. A steady diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is in my future!

I’m a homeless diabetic. Today, the Church that provides meals to the homeless served lasagna and tasteless vegetables. They had some yogurt and mixed fruit. I ate that. And half a Turkey sandwich from 7 Eleven that was on special. $2 Wednesday!

If I had a home, I could cook. Make meals. Plan meals and freeze. Buy cheap frozen dinners when they’re on sale and never have to worry about my “numbers” again (blood glucose/A1C). I’d never have to worry about needing a bathroom or where my bed would be tonight. I wouldn’t have to worry about being seen when I am incontinent and lean up against the car or sit on a picnic bench to pee for 10 minutes. There is no communication between the down below and central command. The stroke severed most communication and I don’t see a doctor until December. I’m still trying to get a portable commode and Depends since my insurance will cover it, but the Company doesn’t have a street address to send it too. I don’t have a street address? I’m homeless? Well, the doctor needs to tell them for it to be approved. Medicare doesn’t know that I don’t live in an approved domicile. And I can’t specify that, only a doctor.

?????WTAF??????

And I’m “car camping” in Fremont tonight so I can see my endocrinologist tomorrow so I can get my diabetic medication refilled SINCE SHE HASN’T ANSWERED ANY CVS PHARMACY REQUEST FOR 3 MONTHS!!! And she’s leaving the practice next week, and yesterday they were going to schedule an appointment with another endocrinologist in that group in a month, but since I wanted to file a complaint with her supervisor, I can see her at 10 this morning.

How convenient. I’m still bitching to my medical provider. This is utter bullshit.

There’s no emergency housing in Alameda County, just shelter beds with rules and regs and “treatment” for any of my addictions. I’m vaping not smoking anymore. I don’t do drugs, unless they are prescribed to keep me alive. I’m not an alchie.

There are days I sleep 20 hours. There are spans up to 74 hours that I can’t sleep a wink. And a shelter won’t care, other than see a doctor. I have! I had a stroke. I have a TBI. As the damage is quantified, strategies can be developed to deal with each issue. Except I have no one working with me.

And I’m homeless with my friend who is an alcoholic, desperately needs spinal surgery and is undergoing a biopsy to gauge the progress of his prostate cancer so he can have radiation, not radical surgery to make him impotent and incontinent (like me). He’s accepted his gayness since his Mom died. He hasn’t had the time/opportunity/freedom/courage to be “gay” as he wants to be yet. Neither of us has found the love we have always needed – our other half.

Will and I have a friendship that is almost that relationship, but we aren’t each other’s half. If you have it, then you know. I’ve come close a couple of times, I’ve been married twice, I’ve had boyfriends. Ans.my heart has been broken more than once. I’m a great hag, but fail to be a good wife or even just a girlfriend. Breasts too small, butt too wide, not enough airhead or bubbly dunce that let’s a man feel manly.

Now, being homeless, and failure at adulting to the list of faults.

I bought a new laptop with my Award money. It’s with the Geek Squad at Best Buy since in the 5th occasion of use, the screen was cracked. Having never “cracked” a screen on any piece of electronics before – laptops, cell phones, PDAs, all the way back to the first handheld games in the 70’s – I took it back to Best Buy, showed them no damage to the Laptop, but the cracked screen has gotten worse. It was the left 1″ section, now it’s 3″. They have sent it to their lab in Kentucky and I am waiting on their determination and what they will charge me for my “oopsie”. And it better be “it’s Dell’s issue, their was a flaw”.

My Sony laptop has lasted 10 years. A Dell can’t “last” 6 weeks? With it’s own heavyduty dedicated backpack it shares with nothing but it’s own power cord and mouse? The Sony had to share a bag with my Franklin and finance files. Still waiting. It’s been 2 weeks.

If you want to help, spread our story. Promote our GoFundMe