I swear I’m getting back to this, but for now, I need a bit of help…

I’m homeless again. The last several years have been a real bitch. Survival Mode has been pretty much a constant.

I have been barely supporting myself over the last few years with the occasional full time job as well as doing furniture assembly and pet sitting through TaskRabbit.

But TaskRabbit has all but dried up for many of us. There are a few reasons for this, but this is neither the time nor place to go into that. 

I am struggling to find remote work. I’m looking for remote work because it’ll be better on my mental and physical health. No commute, etc. I am autistic and have C-PTSD. Full time work will be more productive for me if remote.

GFM

I am currently houseless and staying in a motel where there are a multitude of restrictions. One of which is where I would have to lock my cat in a kennel if I’m not home when they hold their inspections and when housekeeping comes through. I would get written up. So, I need to stay home in the mornings. A remote job would be better for me overall. 

But until I find one, I need a bit of help. I have two storage units in two different facilities. They are both behind in rent. I also need to combine them by removing everything in the smaller unit and move it to the bigger one, which is cleaner and safer. I will need to get caught up on the rent for both. One is currently sitting at $700 and the other is $100. Any extra will go to renting a trailer or van to move the stuff in the smaller unit. 

The rent for the bigger unit at Extra Space is roughly $260/mo. This is two months of rent plus late fees. Then the other unit at Public Storage is roughly $75, with late fees. They’re more brutal about late fees, liens, and auction. 

My whole life is in those two units. Please help me save them. 

Thank you.

12/28: #weightloss backstory

Weight Loss: In my adult life, I’ve struggled with my weight. I was a skinny kid and after I stopped dancing at 22, and then shifted away from regular exercise by 24, the weight piled on. I’m at my heaviest: 185lbs.

Now, I *could* live with the weight if it weren’t for my family history. I physically take after my dad’s side to an almost bizarre degree. Same bone structure, personality characteristics, etc… all (almost completely) from my dad’s side. This includes health. Dad and both of his brothers are/were heart patients (one uncle still living). My paternal grandmother had diabetes. Not sure what Grandpa had, but I suspect heart issues as well. I’m already on Toprol for tachycardia (it works for me, but I have to pair Celexa for my anxiety with it). I imagine my tachycardia might calm down a bit with dropping some of my weight. Also, the longer I go at a heavier weight, the higher my risk of worse heart issues AND diabetes.

So, here I am at 46. 5’2″ and 185lbs. While the timing is RATHER cliche (New year’s resolution stuff and all, which I’ve never really bothered with), I want to start now. Somehow, I will find the funds to join the local gym. They keep changing their specials, but I’m going to wait until the activation fee is back to $0.

This isn’t just for weight loss. My back has been getting progressively worse since the fall 7 years ago. And then another one year ago. All the docs can do is give me pain meds (and most don’t really do much of anything) and tell me to exercise. “Free” exercise is usually what they suggest. This means walking. The problem for me is that, most days, walking more than two or three blocks results in excruciating pain.

The gym two blocks from me not only has weights and a basketball court (yeah, not touching that), and classes, but has a lap pool and a hot tub. This I’m totally down for. My swimming skills are rusty, but I can do the backstroke the best. I have a hard time torquing my body enough to do most others so I can get breath. Backstroke it is.

Then machines. Work my way back up to leg presses equaling my weight (yes, at 120, I could do leg presses above my weight). Goals are to strengthen my back, core, and legs. This will help with reinjuries and stabilizing my back. It will also help with my weight.

I’ll announce when I join the gym. I’ll post pics. I’ll make my journey public. My inspiration today was this guy. I’ve followed him on Twitter. While my goal is roughly 55lbs (185 to 130), seeing someone kick ass like he has makes me know I can totally do this.

~A

Ramblings of a Disabled Person

“You don’t need that,” she spat out at me. She pointed to my walker. Her long, lean face looked like she’d lived a hard life of smokes and drugs. Maybe just smokes and booze. 

“Yeah, actually I do.” 

She moved anyway, as I needed to sit down on the bus and keep my walker out of the center aisle of the 

bus. 

Do not judge, lest ye shall be judged. 

Make no assumptions of me, nor any other. You don’t know Jack shit about me, so do not assume you know whether I’m disabled or not. You haven’t had the countless MRI’s and CT scans and X-rays and PT and doctors and doctors offices. You don’t know me, so don’t assume I’m just faking needing a walker. I do. One day, you might as well, and then someone may judge you and your need for one. 

People who look down on disabled people like me and treat us as if we’re lesser than them are some of the worst offenders of civility. You know nothing. Don’t pretend like you do. 

I injured my back when I was 17. At 18, I started attending a local (to me at the time) Community College. The campus was on a hill, and while they had elevators in each building, getting around campus was a challenge. Back then, I still only used a cane, but stairs were still a problem for me. 

I lasted a year there. The final straw was when my choir and voice teacher kicked me out (as he had many times with every disabled student in his classes) because I “couldn’t stand with my weight on both feet.” My right side hurt like hell almost constantly. So, I was out of the classes in my major. 

I moved on. Different school, better teachers. Eventually, I was able to get my AA and then my BA. Them off into the working world. As I hit my mid 30’s, I started having trouble with not falling and hurting myself. I’ve reinjured my back a handful of times since. I’m now 50. I don’t look it. And half the time, don’t act it. I’m not old, but I am disabled. 

But that doesn’t mean I can’t do things. I assemble furniture for pay. Just because I can assemble stuff 3-6 times a week, totaling 10-16 hours, doesn’t make me any less disabled. Sometimes, it exacerbates my pain. 

In 2018, I got a walker. I can walk small distances. But not outside. I need the support and seat when I hurt. The nerve damage has taken its toll on me. I can’t carry things so easily anymore. Small stuff. 

The woman who assumed I wasn’t disabled on the bus assumed very wrong. She doesn’t know me in the slightest. Period. Same for anyone and everyone else who might be tempted to pass judgement on me when they see me. You don’t know me. You don’t know where I’ve been, what I’ve experienced and learned, you don’t know how I manage to do as much as I can even with the pain.

You don’t know me. And you never will understand where I’ve been and what I’ve dealt with. So, please stop judging me and other disabled folk. Stop treating us as second class citizens. We are your equals. Even if we can’t run a marathon. To be honest, most of you can’t run one either. 

And to put a Christian view on this: if you think you’re a God-fearing Christian, I got news for you. It is NOT your place to judge. That’s for Him. Not you. It is not your right to judge others.

What is Motivation?

My client/boss asked me today

In my late teens/twenties, I had a goal. Maybe you could call it a motivation. Because my education got all kinds of fucked up, and then senior year I was able to connect a few dots. That’s a longer story.

At that point, I decided that I would do whatever I could to encourage other kids that if I could do it despite the lack of encouragement around me. I did that. My mid 30’s I realized I had accomplished that goal several times over. Then I decided I’d live my life for myself. I had poured out everything nurturing to boost those kids self esteem.

Then I was okay, still struggling with motivation and C-PTSD. As well as depression, GAD, and being undiagnosed Autistic (that will be changing come Wednesday).

I achieved my goal. I didn’t really find a new one. And now, at 50, I’m just floating on the water. I’ve worked toward my MLIS, but I’m stuck having to pay for my last fuckup. Then I have one semester left to finish it. But for now, I’m going to apply to SNHU (rolling admission) for a MFA in writing.

I was on track to get stuff going and then last weekend happened and my survival mode dial got turned all the way to 10. I’m coming back down from that level. I got past the dramatics of the situation and now I can get back down to a more manageable level.

But I still lack motivation.

Dear Dad, pt 1

It’s been seven and a half years since you shuffled off this mortal coil. I still miss you. I’ll always miss you.

I’ve been back in therapy for almost two years now. Facing some of the old stuff that keeps spilling into my current life.

I still tell our stories about the different incidents with mom’s Alzheimer’s, and how I’d try to make you at least smile, if not laugh a bit.

The past seven years have been tough. I’ve been homeless. I’ve struggled with so much stuff. And every time a new ugly thing hits me, all I want to do is call you. Talk to you and get your input, although many times, you instinctively chose to not speak much, letting me talk it out myself. Of course, I gave you the credit for helping me those times.

Whenever I do get a task with a furniture client, I get asked how I know this stuff. How to know what’s needed to fix it. You know what I tell them? That I was your helper as a kid. We had that fixer-upper house and how I would climb under the house with you, despite my fear of spiders. How I would insist on going to the old Ace Hardware store with you. That place was magical. Not sure if you saw it that way, but I did. The creaky floors and all the gadgets to look at. I learned so much from you.

I’m having a rough time right now. My whole world is in upheaval. My job is ending early. My apartment management is being a bunch of jerks. See, my disabilities have gotten worse. And while I may not have inherited much physical stuff from mom, I did inherit her hoarding tendency. I’m not too bad with it, but with it and my health, cleaning is challenging. And then we’ve had two floods from sprinklers on my floor of the building. They just got almost all the work done from the first one and a week ago, someone else’s sprinklers malfunctioned and flooded some of our units.

So I started a GoFundMe to start raising funds for the deposit on a tiny house on wheels. So, if you could, please whisper in the ears of a whole bunch of folks that I need a little help to make the next step in my life. You would get a kick out of some of the designs and layouts.

That’s all for now. I’m gonna try to make these a regular thing. I miss you, dad.

Love, Me

Ups and downs

To say life has been calm the past several months would be a huge lie. Got the one job at OHSU, then we split after trying for six months to get my body to adapt to a standing job.

Then my tasking picked WAY up. Then earlier this year, my coach at CCC called me about a data entry job that’s swing shift. I’d already made a promise to myself that I would start saving to get a Tiny House On Wheels. So, I took the job.

While it was easier on my body, my emotional state suffered. I was able to withstand most of the crap there until last Thursday. The person I shared data entry with decided to be an even bigger bitch and verbally abuse me and my appearance.

I stuck it out for that shift, clocked out, and then one of the guys fucked up and ran over my walker with a pallet jack.

It’s still sorta useable, but I won’t sit on it. So, now I’m looking at a new one. I added the preferred choice in my general Amazon wishlist. I just don’t have the money right now. I will in a few days.

But now I also need to actively save as much as so can from tasks. I’m also looking and applying for PT Data Entry jobs. Preferably WFM. I don’t know if I can handle more office personality issues.

More news later.

~A

The Tree and Me (poem)

As a tree lives
So do I.

The storm can be calm one minute.
The next has gale force winds.

The tree and I share life.
I bend the same as it.

A loss of a branch.
The loss of parts of my identity.

We bend and twist.
Adapting to the world around us.

We each heave a deep sigh as we grow.
Not always knowing what is happening.

Taller and stronger.
We both become.

Losing and gaining parts of ourselves.
The seasons change us.

We bend.
We do not break.

2020

(My apologies for being so damn quiet all these months. I got burned out hardcore and just felt as if I’d given so much of myself and needed a break. Not sure how steady I’ll post, but this piece hit me and I needed to share it.)

I’m back! And I’m exhausted.

Man, I’ve been away too long… but I’m back. I guess I needed to gather my thoughts and just take a break.

One thing that has become clearer for me in recent months is that the reason I seem to excel at furniture assembly is because of my two strongest learning styles: visual and tactile.
Show me a video of something and I can recreate it.
Tell me how to do something and I flail.
Hand me a thing to deconstruct or construct and I figure it out.
Assembly feeds my tactile skills the most. IKEA’s instructions are all visual, so that utilizes that skill.
But where, in a world that becomes more and more automated each passing day, does someone like me fit in? The person who loves working with her hands.

Earlier, I had the thought that I was born in the wrong time period and gender. I should have been a Renaissance Man back in the day.

And maybe I was one in a past life.

But right now, I’m a woman in an awkward situation. Unable to fit into the mold society tells me to fit into, but unsure of how to make my mark in this very society and make a living so I’m not dependent on others.

I get comments and compliments from clients about how they’re impressed with my reviews and (the female clients especially) that I’m a woman (and disabled at that) doing furniture assembly in a society and culture where this -working with tools- is a male-dominant field.

But I can’t make this my whole income. Even if it did pick up more. My back won’t bear it. I love doing it; but it kills me physically. After bigger jobs, like the one tomorrow, I’ll need a day or two with nothing or very little going so I can recover.

I’m this misfit in society.

---

I’ve been struggling lately. I still haven’t gotten a steady job. And it’s taking its toll.

I can’t go back to the shelter. It’ll kill me. I’m going to try to negotiate a deal to stay. I have nowhere else I can go.

I’ll come back to posting here more.

For now, I figured this would be a good intro back to blogging…

~A

4/3: Path Taken #poetry #Inspiration

Dreams within stories
Fractured by time and pain.

Path not taken
Of acquiescence and banality.
Plow my own.

Held back too long
By pain and fear.

Ideas swirl around
One rests as another
Bubbles to the surface.

Dreams deferred
While I get the basics down.

Know change is emerging.
The path not taken idles to the side
As I forge ahead into my own world.

~A

3/25: Disjointed #poetry

Standing
People pass me, sometimes
Bumping into me.
Am I here? Do I exist?
The sidewalk is not overly
Crowded.
I must be invisible.

Walking
Careful to not be followed.
Do I feel safe?
Where is my stun gun?
Just leave me be.
Fake window shopping.
Make the guy be ahead of me.
I must keep my eyes on
Him.

Running
Fear. Am I late?
Why do I run?
My legs give out.
My lungs give up.
What is it that I fear?

Dreaming
I must fight the
Darkness of my past.
I long to be free of fear and
Pain.
I have whiplash from always looking
Over my shoulder.
Make the pain stop.
Leave me be.

~A

3/25: Being Disabled

Today, when I arrived at Central City Concern’s EAC (Employment Access Center), my case manager asked for my opinion on something. See, they’ve adapted some access points of the center to accommodate disabled folks like me, but it’s an older building and they haven’t gotten everything. They do have a small single wheelchair elevator to go down to the basement workspace, and the front door has an automated button system, but to access the computer area off the lobby, there are two steps up. And then three steps up to get to another area. I have a walker (while I love my cane, when it comes to back injuries, walkers are better because you aren’t contorting your body to use it).

So he asked me what I would suggest. I told him that small ramps could replace the steps and that they might have to be a little longer than the steps take, but it would be more ADA compliant. He had me write this up on a suggestion form and he turned it in.

Why have I mentioned this? Because hearing the opinions and voices of those who aren’t part of the norm of society is something that doesn’t happen often. Since I first hurt my back at 17, I’ve seen and experienced a disconnect from society. We are either invisible, dismissed, second class citizens… you name it.

And it sucks.

For years, even up until about 6 or 7 years ago, I wouldn’t consider myself disabled. I had my back injury and countless other injuries and health issues, but I rarely classified myself as disabled. In part because of how I was treated at 18 at the first community college I attended. They were horrendous to disabled students. Being kicked out of music classes, dismissed for needing assistance, you name it. Their DSRC was a joke. A tiny office barely big enough to hold two desks. No testing areas, nothing. The frustration was palpable.

I now live in Portland, which has a sizable disable population. I now own the label. With my back getting reinjured (twice) and more and more injuries and such added to the list (along with mental health fuckery), I have come to accept the label as part of who and what I am. But just because I’m in a city with a large disabled population, doesn’t mean everything is wonderfully accessible.

There are many apartment buildings and houses I could never live in. Too many stairs and no accessibility. Granted, if I ever had the money to buy a house, I’d hopefully be able to remodel it for accessibility. I can climb occasional stairs as needed, but I couldn’t live somewhere with lots of them.

My case manager asked me today because I had my walker. Because I have to lift it up to get past those two or three steps. If it isn’t loaded down, which it usually isn’t, then that’s okay. Anything more than what I had today would be too much weight.

One other area, and I may expand on this another time, is how the equipment we use is not treated properly. Service Dogs are the main focus with this issue. SD’s are there to help their handlers function within society’s parameters. My PTSD is easily triggered by a person, usually male, sitting or standing too close to me. Having a trained dog with me would help assure that space around me would be maintained for my mental healthiness. Same for other working dogs. They are working, helping their handlers gain their independence from other people. Freedom to do things others find normal, easy tasks without the need for a person to always be there to help. That’s all anyone asks.

But there are far too many people claiming their untrained pet dogs are SD’s, when they are not. There are a number of reasons these are a bad idea. They can show aggression toward other dogs, even Service Dogs, attacking them or humans. This can potentially ruin an SD and this then restricts the freedom once again of the handler. Again, I may likely expand on this in it’s own post.

Our society has long dismissed those who are disabled (among other groups). We typically aren’t seen as equals who can contribute just as much to society as able-bodied/minded people can. Sure there have been some outliers such as Stephen Hawking, but he was known in his field before he was diagnosed with ALS. But for many of us, we are seen more as a burden on society.

All we want is to be treated as equals and be given the chance to contribute to society like everyone else.

~A