Tales From The Shelter – 14
The Jailbird is the token woman ex-prisoner on our floor. She’s a charming character and bright as hell. Her boyfriend is one of the ex-con guys here. Two weeks ago the probation officers in the building put a ‘no contact order’ on them. For no reason. Jailbird went to her councillor and the councillor knew nothing about it, the probbie officers hadn’t told her and she was furious. The councillor had the order rescinded but then the P.O.’s put a no contact order on the guy’s buddies. Furor was had again.
Now, with only 4 days remaining until the boyfriend’s parole is over they went and put a no contact order on again. Jailbird’s peeved as all hell and I don’t blame her. She says it’s like that, that they test you to the max and if you snap, which is a likely occurrance, you’re back in prison starting all over again. She says they’re nothing but guinea pigs in the sick system.
I still swear there’s petri dishes with rotting, molding spores of some type placed by the intake air ducts that go to our floors and are directed away from the first and second levels as well as the high and mighty 8th floor.
The Queen of the Carribean is still struggling with housing and immigration matters. She only gets 3 months at the Silly before she has to find her own place. To date they’ve presented her with shared accomodations in New Westminster and Surrey. She turned them down, gee, I wonder why. Her reading and writing skills aren’t the best but she’s a smart cookie, the big challenge being able to hold on to here until something suitable comes up.
Meantime , Retarded Martha is in a quandry because her boyfriend says he’s head over heels for her and the question of sex has come up. She’s told a couple of the gals she’s not ready, despite their relationship of a few months now. If she’s not ready, she’s not ready but the sorority gal dramas are just a bit too much. If you get caught in conversation with her she’ll tell you all about her clothes and what she has in her room…this in addition to her personal philosophies that could be found in a grade 5 self help book. Curly is ready to slug Martha but Curly knows that she’ll have to settle for a viscious verbal attack.
Yesterday I went to a Pro Bono lawyer over a con man ripping me off for my computer and a few other things. Looks like I’ll have to go the route of small claims court, but the guy’s so versed in the system the lawyer said mr. rip-off will probably keep delaying the court date. My best scenario is to get Conman’s welfare cheque garnisheed. The fee for small claims court has risen from $100 to $250 so that keeps low life scums like myself out of the picture unless I want to slap it on my visa and take the chance I can even find the guy. The law is for the rich, and it’s getting to be for the richer.
I’m being stubborn and not cracking into my yogurt for the acidophillus while I take the anti-biotics for my bladder infection. Maybe I secretly like being sick because I can stay in my room and sleep alot and escape from the bullshit of being here. Don’t know. I do know that yesterday I was melancholy and wanted everything to be like it was before my ex kicked me out of the house and I ended up living in my vehicle. The yearning was strong and I wanted to phone him and everything would be ok but that’s not a reality. I’m eating toast this morning without my dentures in because I’m missing my old teeth when they were in good shape, before my meds started rotting them. It hurts my gums but it’s good to taste what I’m eating. The govenment cares fuck-all about oral hygene and has made cut backs in that department. When are they going to cut their own selves back? Bureacracy is like a beautiful hand sewn quilt to these political monsters, while it’s just a newspaper covering on a park bench to us low life scum sucking leeches.
Ugh…the young crack ho on our floor must have been into the drugs last night because her pancake makeup is about 3 inches thick, she does this to cover up her pale and peeked complextion the morning after and it makes you want to stay outside of three feet of her in case you run into her pancake and it smears against you. Because she slipped she’ll be on the band wagon today about how her and her boyfriend are doing so well and don’t want their old drug life back together. What a lark. Meantime their 10 month old kid is in a foster home and they see her twice a week.
I’m going back to bed to watch some more of ‘The Naked Lunch”. This film is beyond David Lynch but not quite past the fantasical minds of many of the workers and inmates here.