Archive for October, 2010
It’s not like I’m incapacitated but I’m certainly limited with what I can do right now. I’ve been eating broths as the ‘barf and poo flu’ decided to strike, plus I’ve had the early Halloween look of heavily swollen eyelids…so swollen I went to emergency but they think it’s an allergy. My doctor is way the fuck out in West Van and I don’t have the energy to go so I’ll drink copious amounts of water and hopefully that will flush my system.
The Tamil women and children: their clothing looks like classic refugee boat people with thread bare polyesters and sandals they’re heels hang off the back of. I couldn’t stand it any longer, I mean, not because aesthetically it bothered me, but because I felt they should have better. I put the call out on an internet forum I belong to and the donations came pouring in.
The Tamil women and myself sat down one night and went through things…considering size was a hit and miss factor we did pretty good with them taking all accept about a third of the load. The eldest boy, 5 years, was a great help and would run and get another bag each time we were ready. Not to be outdone, the year and a half old took it upon himself to do the same. There he was, about 2 foot nothing lugging plastic bags as big as himself down the hallway. It was hilarious.
Retarded Martha couldn’t resist poking her nose in when I was first organizing the clothes as she gets volunteer hours for sorting out the donation closet. You could see her kinda twitching that I wasn’t going to let her be a part of the distribution. I mean, sheesh, even the Tamil women indicate they don’t like her!!!!
Tele-tubby one moves out at the end of the month to Greasy Manor, which is the Silly Man’s older sister. It’s transitional housing so you get a bachelor suite with visitation limitations. I just can’t go there.
Bossy quit all her personal growth courses and decided to look for ANY type of employment then get her own place. So far so bad. Vanouver’s still small enough that it helps like hell if you know someone, and she doesn’t. She has become yet another victim of fantasy who thought they could find work and a place to live because of the Olympics. I really have to hold my tongue and not say, ‘Ah, don’t you think it’s time to go back?’. I find myself taking on a protectionism role because I’m competing with oh too many for social housing. I don’t know if that’s a right or wrong attitude and perhaps there is no right or wrong here but that it’s just how it is.
Sunny today!!!!!!!!!!!! Rain tomorrow and through November 😀
There was big excitement tonight because an owl was perched on a fence beside the building. I missed it but it reminded me that I’m an owl feather carrier and I hadn’t thought of that in a while because it’s easy to forget to keep up on ways and I don’t have any buddies here of that ilk. It’s an honour to be able to carry owl feathers and reminds me so much of encounters I’ve had with them when I lived on the island.
Retarded Martha is back in circulation. Damn. She imposed self exile for two weeks and we thought she had quit smoking as wasn’t coming onto the smoking deck. But give her an inch and she’ll take about 500 miles because Bossy got trapped in the elevator with her and said, ‘Hi’ after Martha said ‘Hi’ to her. This opened the door for Martha as no one was talking to her so next thing you know she’s knocking on Bossy’s door, resplendant in her thick red lipstick and bleached blonde hair (she insists people mistake her for Tori Spelling all the time – is that something anyone with any sense would want to admit?). She asked Bossy if she could do anything for her or get her anything but Bossy played it Kurt (which is what I call her when she’s being curt, only I say she’s being Kurt Russell).
Every morning Martha opens her door wide open and does her ‘cleaning while talking to God’ routine. Who wants to see/hear that, plus her constant stretching to show off her body…I mean, yuck! So I get up from the smoke deck, walk inside and close the door to the lounge that seperates us from her room. She opens the door again so I close it again and she finally gives in.
A few of the gals here have applied to go to Greasy Mansion as it’s the Silly Man’s sister transitional housing and gives you a bachelor apartment, but you can’t have overnight guests and have to sign them in and out, and it’s very close to the corner of Pain and Wastings. Nope, not for me, unless there’s some way it can speed up your application for housing elsewhere.
The Tamil women have been getting louder on the phone and in the hallways. I’ve been woken up a few times as well as some of the other women. Guess their feeling comfortable enough here now, which is good in one sense, but doesn’t do much for us. Some have moved in to Canadian Tamil Congress housing so we have some new ones to fill the void. I have no idea what their lives must have been like or the woman who’s from Burundi, which abutts Rwanda and has the same tribal and civil war going on between the Hutus and the Tutsi’s….bloody hell , that’s all it could be.
I’m sick. Again. I’m tired of living in a petri dish. Time to go shower in the smallest shower stall in the world then slap on some shitty dvd I’m watching. I’ll feel better tomorrow then today, right?
It is, to say the least, interesting to live downtown after 25 years on a small island and prior to that, six years on the Saanich Peninsula. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be hanging my hat in downtown Vancouver!!! But then again, never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d be homeless. Same goes for the other women on my floor.
Sanity is a precious state, as well as physical health and spiritual well being. If you’ve ever been where Blanche Dubois from a Street Car Named Desire has been you’ll fully understand the sanctity of mental health. Once those neurotransmitters and synapses start misfiring or crap out all together it’s like the physical equivelant of being in a wheel chair. The legs (the mind) don’t want to cooperate and it’s a futile excersize trying to walk or run.
On a bad mental health day I can’t write. A recent example would be a cover letter I designed for possible employment. It read, “Dear John, You have and I can if there’s possibilities to do so”. I had someone in management here check my letter first, thank gawd, and it went through about four drafts before I got it into acceptable shape.
If I try to read on these days it’s a given that suddenly I’m dyslexic where I never was before. Very strange. The first page gets a good going over about 4 times until I finally give in to the fact that I can’t comprehend or concentrate on the piece. I haven’t read a book in about ten years. This has been quite an adjustment for someone who used to have four or five books on the fly at any given time.
That’s a small glimpse into mental illness. The manic times I cherish as it’s a high so mighty you feel like you’re sitting next to God him/herself…hard to explain, but everything’s just fine , glorious, blissed to the max and oh my gawd, I’ve never had a drug that could replicate the feeling. Whoever does would make billions.
The depressive times…ugh, let’s not go there! I’d like to find a head bandage so when I’m down people can actually see and associate an illness happening. As it is there’s not much tolerance by too many for being in the crazy zone. It’s like the guy with the heart attack….he looks good but isn’t working and people can’t fathom why he isn’t back on the job despite him having a quadruple bypass. Well, let me rephrase that or come up with a different analogy because a heart attack victim seems to get more empathy and understanding then a person who’s mentally ill (gawd I hate that term!).
Anyways, I am stable for now though facing medication increases as am slipping into depression owing to lack of my own housing and work I’m capable of doing.
I keep saying, ‘Something’s gotta give’, and I hope it’s my own apartment before I end up on the psyche ward again!!!!!!!! Shall I call it ‘The Gordon Campbell Suite?”.
I’m not particularily ‘happy’, but I am greatful. Despite all history with Thanksgiving, coming up from past English and European harvest festivals, transgressing to some white guy in Canukville proclaiming it similar to the U.S.’ian version of First Nations and settlers, to an official government proclaimed holiday since the 1950’s…..I am just plain thankful for the roof over my head, the meals we get, the other women aboard the Silly Man Express, the workers here, my friends and family, blah blah blah.
It would be easy to be cynical, but then that’s the joy of cynasism…that it’s easy. The complexities of simplicity , being a paradox, take hold of one sometimes and I couldn’t help but let the tears flow today.
A cousin had me over for two incredible meals. I got there on my own without panic attacks, despite the rainy weather and over crowded busses. I returned to a turkey meal served by staff , complete with dollar store decorations. The turkey was turkey roll, of course, but there was stuffing, gravy, carrotts, brussel sprouts, soup and dessert. The women from our floor and myself all took down our own plates, intending to be served on them then taking them back upstairs and eating on our own.
Somehow one of us wrangled our floor into staying, save for one who was out with family, and Bossy had retreated to her room knowing she would be disgusted by the meal. That was alright though, that’s her. Some mellow music was playing in the background, one of the Chaplain’s said a nice prayer and we ate together, something we rarely do as we see each other up close and personal too often.
It was nice. That’s a rather vague description but I don’t know how to put it any other way. It was just plain nice. I cried…I suppose it was all a mix of feeling thankful, having a love for the women on our floor despite being driven crazy by them….missing having my daughter out here, and my mother’s death around this time of year over 30 years ago. It was the kind of cry where tears just rolled down the cheeks; a rather contained cry that purged some aches and pains out of my body and left me with some room to bring in the new.
I am ready for new.
I’ve fucking had it! The public phone for our floor is right outside my bedroom. Stinky Lady and Retarded Martha have voices so loud that it disturbs me in my room or even wakes me up. Same goes for my neighbour. I’ve asked Martha and Stinky Lady politely to keep their voices down. Martha tries but always slips. Stinky Lady thinks her shit doesn’t stink and keeps right on talking.
Yesterday afternoon Tele-Tubby #1, who is non stop on the phone, asked the line up of Tamil women waiting to use the phone if she could make a 2 minute call. The Tamil women were gracious enough to allow this. Well, same old same, Tele-Tubby gets on the line and starts arguing with her boyfriend. We’ve complained to her about this before and she said she would hang up on him when it happens (she thinks it’s all his fault but she’s a provoker and quick to argue). After ten minutes the phone was beeping to indicate an in-coming call. Tele-Tubby had her back to us all so I reached over and clicked the receiver button. That cut her call off and she was pissed off. I gladly admitted it to her later.
Anyways, Stinky Lady wouldn’t tone her voice down so I moved closer to her and raised my voice and just went yack yack yack yack to make her call difficult to hear. She got off the phone and I told her she was racist as I’m First Nations and she doesn’t respect me. She blew a fit because she accuses all the women on my floor of being racist (which they’re not) , so it was hard to take her own medicine.
So Stinky Lady goes downstairs to complain to the night people and one of the little Silly Man security guys came up to question me. I told him the truth. Said I engaged.
The next day our floor manager had a talk with me about ‘the incident’ and again, I said I inflamed the situation, but right or wrong it happened because it’s frustrating getting woken up or just being disturbed in your room. He said, ‘You were in your room?’. I said yes and he said that Stinky Lady told him I was in the t.v. room. He said this now changes everything. He also said Stinky Lady was going at the end of the month and to get a hold of staff when she’s talking loud so not to deal with it myself.
Sounded good to me. Couldn’t help myself when I caught a glimpse of her today and said, “Get off my land”. Well really. I mean, she sits downstairs and tells everyone that we stole her stupid fucking ginormous bra (as if!), that we’re all racist and blah blah blah. What a bitch. Do I really want someone like that as an immigrant to Canada? Let’s think a bit because shouldn’t it be that we not only keep out thugs and gangsters, mafia and terrorists…shouldn’t we also keep out women who stink, tell lies then play the victim and spread ugly, false rumours???
There are now 3 Tamil children here. I went shopping and found Canadianna style shirts for the kids for el cheapo. I’ll wrap them up, get everyone to sign cards and give them as presents…a kind of ‘welcome to Canada’ thing. After all, these women are respectful.
OH, Retarded Martha either quit smoking or goes downstairs to puff because she hasn’t been out on our smoking deck for about a week and a half. Phew!
Time to have a look at B.C. Minister of Housing and Social Developement Rich Coleman’s web site. It practically all consists of ways to donate to the snivelling liberals. There’s a ‘store’ where you can buy a liberal mouse pad for just over 12 bucks (I’m sure the HST applies), the exclusive ‘300 club’ where $300 gets you certain privileges, and let’s not forget the all attractive tax breaks.
There’s very little about the man himself, save for his home page which goes on about his “dedication and passion for public service”. Uh huh, ya, the very same guy who recently denied in a chuckling voice the NDP’s presentation of homelessness in B.C. being worse then thought. Wow, is that how he won those Kinsmen awards, by sloughing off the world around him?
“Under his leadership, the provincial government has launched aggressive efforts to curb homelessness, including innovative programs like Housing Matters, family and seniors rental assistance programs, and buying, renovating, and managing single-room occupancy apartments.”
I see, and does that include hiding the homeless during the Olympics in large roomed ‘mat on the floor, mixed gender’ shelters? Does it , could it, have anything to do with leaning on the city of Vancouver to get rid of the Olympic erected ‘tent city’ set up near Hasting and Main? Naw, he wouldn’t do anything like that, would he?
I suggest that Rich Coleman is actually Minister of Tourism. He likes to mask matters. You know, pretty things up on the outside while inside, some of these buildings that are single room occupancy. 26 el cheapo hotels were purchased. Yes, 26 bed bug ridden, cock roach infested hotels, most with shared bathrooms and crackhead clientelle. Not that crackheads and junkies shouldn’t have a place to stay but we all know that rooms with sinks in them and no bathrooms, well, the sinks become urinals.
Coleman, what kind of fucking fat joker are you? There’s a woman on my floor at the Silly Man who’s been waiting for housing for SIX years. Six years….she’s been clean for a year and a half , having done re-hab on and off for those six years. She’s a great lady, everyone likes her….quiet, considerate, kind….but put her in one of those 26 hotels and she KNOWS she’s going to slip. Her disability cheque doesn’t give her enough to pay for a room share in Vancouver, but in Surrey, yes. And while she knows Surrey is a huge drug scene she’s willing to risk moving there just to get out of the Silly Man.
Rich Coleman. Fort Langley/Abbotsford. Hmmm, wonder how many drug addicts live there? Fort Langley’s too expensive, ABBOTSFORD is one of the HIGHEST IN THE NATION for drug related crime! So says Statistics Canada. Coleman can’t keep his own backyard clean so to pretty it up there’s a few drug/alcohol rehab centers but does B.C. Housing have any low cost rent for these people there? Not to my knowledge. Tourism and real estate prices, you know how it is. The Air-Show must go on.
Coleman, take that shit-licking grin off your fat face. Collect your lousey donations, sell some more mouse pads and retire the fuck out of politics.