Homeless - 88

Bonjour,

The year is 2012 and we are all going to die in December.

Parking spaces on a major university campus is somewhat scarce at times when they shouldn't be. And where the hell is valet parking? The first couple of weeks of a new semester is when you have to pay attention to the rhythm of the ebb and flow of class starts and ends. Even though I had a premium parking decal, I still had to time my arrival times wisely. University parking is tight at best but that was how it was designed. After all, a university is a business whose mandate is to maximize profits; one avenue being parking fees and parking fines.

My writing classes progressed. I continued to work out, scrubbing up afterward and then attending class; a routine as any other. I may have missed...no, I didn't miss any classes. I think my attendance was damn near perfect. My eagerness to attend every class stemmed from my desire to hear the comments, questions and feedback from my fellow classmates. The next generation of graduating class are a bit smarter than the previous generations in many cases. Maybe that is because the educational system is teaching them high-end mathematics like quantum mechanics - in the fourth grade. Or maybe it is due to so much information is thrown at them via all types of media that their developing mammalian brains sucks it all up like a 200 horsepower Hoover. Or maybe they're just growing up faster than the previous generations due to social pressures and the economic environment; or maybe from the pressure of corporate America that manipulates academia to produce highly-educated students that can be hired at lower tier wages. eavy
sigh> Every person deserves a carefree childhood devoid of those aspects and from the demands of capitalism, at least the American version of it.
We'll get back to that issue later.

Last year and this year gave rise to my idea that college would be more fun if all the professors didn't assign tasks that were due at the nearly the same time. Of course, the creative writing thing is exempt. For me, that effort always had priority. At first I thought that all of the professors met in a bar with the sole purpose of determining how to make the students' life as stressful as possible. Maybe it was at a strip club they met at - I don't know. Or maybe it all is a commie plot contrived in the '60's. I think the Rooskies are still pissed at us for landing on the moon first.; can't just let it go, can you guys?

My job search went on through '11 and '12 - looking for a part-time thing. I targeted convenience stores since I have experience in that arena. My first college sojourn consisted of employment in one across from campus in the early '80's. Times have changed. My current experience is that you have to speak a foreign language and be darker skinned to be hired. It may be that my unemployment worked to my advantage. The course work in both years required extensive online participation. I was in the library damn near everyday, either writing or researching. Believe you me, I thanked the spirit many times that I had a library branch that permitted me to stay online for several hours at a time. If you recall, my circumstances do not avail me the opportunity to access the net at my beck and call. Maybe if I had a chip planted in my brain...

Well, that day is coming for the arriving generations. From the standpoint of societal control and manipulations, population control by by the powers-that-are is a foregone conclusion.

We'll touch on that issue later...

Did I mention my time working as a grunt in the Dallas Public Library System (DPLS)? I think I did. During the three years I worked there I was part of a click that included only a few of the branch personnel. Toward the end of that period, one of them said something to the effect that somebody needs to write about the bullshit in the DPLS and how they treat their branch employees.

All eyes turned to me. I said I would and I did write about those experiences in '11. I didn't publish them until '12. I waited due to collegiate responsibilities and I wanted to get my money out of the DPLS  If I'd published those experiences before I got my money, I would still be trying to get it.

That blog is dallaspubliclibrary.blogspot.com. There are twelve posts. I swear on my supple spleen that the individuals described in that blog are actual, not contrived. The names have been altered but it should give the idea of how a dysfunctional management system operates.

Wait. Unfortunately, some of you already know that, don't you? Well, this is an animal of a different stripe.

This post will be concluded next entry...
 

Homeless - 87

Back again,

The winter of '11 was colder than usual; at least it seemed that way. No wait, it was, with more ice and snow. Campus was shut down in late January or maybe mid-February due to snow and ice. I remember that on the last day of winter in March, the forecast was mid-thirties and maybe a light dusting of snow. Next morning, there was a covering of snow four to five inches deep on BT and on everything else. It snowed more than usual that winter. From what I remember of Dallas winters, we might get two snow events - each maybe an inch or a little more of snow and/or ice and that shuts the area down. We got much more that year.

The expanded opportunity for writing, the sitting in the backyard in late evening on warm days enjoying a whiskey at the end of the day and my interactions with the cats were all quite enriching. Then there was the snowball fights with the kids across the street. There were four of them - a boy and three girls, all maybe 10 - 12 years of age. All contributed to my appreciation of that time at that location.

The first snowball conflict was initiated on a whim on my part. I went out to retrieve my backpack, filled with assignments by vicious, uncaring professors when I saw them playing across the street less than thirty meters distant. It had been a snowy day, heavy in the morning but tapering off after lunch and into early afternoon. I had talked to them a few times before in the past few weeks. They were socially adept, initiating interactions, just curious about me and the house I lived in.

Anyway, I put my backpack back in BT and closed the door. They had waved and called me by name. I made a couple of snowballs, one in each hand, and lofted them over their heads. Did I mention I'm somewhat amberdextious? The first snowball fight of Oakhill Drive was underway, the children's voices and laughter filling the area. When I'm in a life-or-death snowball conflict, whether with adults or children, I loft my rounds in an arc giving them time to evade. One girl and the boy had an arm and precise targeting. When I prepared following salvos, I kept on eye on their incoming, dodging with a turn of the shoulders, sometimes letting other snowballs hit me.

It was a good time.

There were a couple of times after a good snowfall, my across-the-street adversaries announced their arrival into the battle space with a snowball thrown against the front door. Yes, the cats did jump at the sound. Within ninety seconds, I was in the combat zone.

After the last snowball fight, when I came back into the house desperate to obtain feeling in my hands in front of the fireplace, the man of the house staggered in from the den, already hammered at four PM. He made a derogatory remark about my interaction with the kids. I told him that his comment was uncalled for and inappropriate. He staggered back into the den. That happened the last day of winter in '11. I was hoping I would be able to exercise restraint about his increasingly corrosive attitude until semester's end. I did.

I'd met that couple at one of the pools that I visited the previous couple of summers. There were several times that I slept on their floor on a weekend. They seemed alright. They were aware of my circumstances and my goals. They offered a room for rent when they moved into a house in '11 and I took it. But things went downhill at the beginning of March. I did last until late May and during that time discovered a toxic relationship between them that polluted the atmosphere. It was a circumstance that I wanted no part of and when the opportunity arose for a clean separation, I jumped at it. It seems that there are some people that you should keep at a distance lest you discover how they are. Those two were companions in misery, unable to find a suitable companion and lacking the strength and character to be comfortably alone.

The summer went well. The fall semester flowed to a successful completion. More writing went well.

Living out of the Black Thunder Hilton has several advantages. It is not a toxic environment; me and BT got along just fine especially when I polish her up. When alone, a person doesn't have to endure the wear and tear of the emotional aspect of human interaction, notably from dysfunctional individuals.. Also, you don't have to endure ego-driven conversations where the speakers tell how great and good they perceive themselves. That May I reactivated my membership at the workout center that I had frequented previously. During that time with the couple, all I did was stretching out, pushups and situps but that wasn't the same as using weights, both fixed and free. After the first half of '11, and in subsequent semesters, I would go work out, clean up and head to class.

From time to time, I wondered if the cats missed me. I chose to think so since I cleaned out their litter boxes on a daily basis. The couple only performed that responsibility once a week. To me, that borders on animal cruelty. For me, one of the rooms of a human living area that should be kept spotless is the bathroom. And we all know all fastidious a cat is about appearance and hygiene. Now, it must be painful for them to use the litter box on the third day. And the woman of the house is a veterinary technician.

I took an acting class - 300 level - because of the faint whisper that indicated that I might need to know about that arena. Let me tell you, that requires work and a collapse of self defenses, ideas and perceptions. The course was taught by a professor who was and still is quite active in theater, both locally and nationally. That course gave me an appreciation of the discipline that actors must adopt in pursuit of presenting a script in a believable fashion. The memorization of a script is taxing but I think that I lacked the proper technique, so I did it the old-fashioned way - rote. I participated in a scene from Uncle Vanya. After I read the entire play several times, I didn't understand then and still don't, the popularity of the play.

One of the assignments for that class was to construct a five-minute script, subject of choosing. Yep, you guessed it, mine was from my main writing project. I portrayed a character named Sebastian Gage who infiltrated Area 51 and was seemingly captured by that sire's security personnel.

The aspect of my portrayal that was appealing to me were the questions from the class and the professor about the story line. Maybe it was something in the writer in me that appreciated the interest. I kept the notes and have the intention of pursuing that story line further. Sebastian Gage is a character that demands more be written about him. I have plans for that guy. I have written a couple of short stories about him but more on that later.

Next post will deal with 2012...

Homeless - 86

Greetings,

The year 2011 was certainly a change of pace for me. I disengaged from the Dallas Public Library System where I worked as a grunt. College funding adequately addressed my pressing and continuing financial needs allowing me to separate from a toxic work environment; at least it was for me due to leadership issues. From 1/11 to 5/11, I lived under a larger roof with a couple that were 'living together'. And, most importantly, I was in the position to have my writing evaluated by published professors of creative writing and by those fellow students with considerable writing experience; some were published themselves.

Their feedback was invaluable to me in the sense that I had thought of myself as an aspiring writer. One of the writing professors had told me after a class that I wasn't an aspiring writer; I was a writer but just unrecognized at that point. She had read a couple pieces of my work. To know something within yourself is one thing but to have a self-perception resonated from others is something of a forging aspect. I saved a few of their comments, especially from the professors. I hope to have them framed  when I can afford a dedicated writing space. I carry them in my man-purse, bitch purse, man-bag, European purse - whatever. It's the same shoulder tote that I carry pen, paper, soap, dental floss, digital voice recorder, cell and reloads within. It's getting heavy. Oh, and the launch codes for the orbital missile platforms. Trust me, those codes are somewhat longer than an  ATM PIN. Why do you think that Obama always has a guy at his side carrying the nuclear football? It is a safe bet that that satchel does not contain Obama's primo stash. Well, maybe just a little of it. Airport security ain't getting into that bag.

During the first ten weeks of '11, I was able to address repair and maintenance issues regarding Black Thunder. If you recall, she is my transport and shelter, serving in that capacity since '07. The huge salary that the DPLS payed the grunts at that time, the backbone of the library system, was insufficient for me to properly take care of her in the style that she was accustomed to. The outstanding vacation time coupled with my sojourn as a black French blond stripper supplied me with funds to return BT to optimal functioning.

Her systems that were replaced or repaired: the entire fuel system, brakes, some computer modules, front interior skirts in the wheel wells, tires ($500 for four - the cheap ones!), a sensor or two, radiator, water pump and passenger door lock motor. There was a tune-up in there, too. Previously I barely had enough for insurance, registration fees and inspections.

And then there was the alarm system. I had a previous truck - a red version of BT but a Chevy. I didn't put an alarm system on it. I paid it off and within three weeks after that, it was stolen less that thirty meters from my apartment door. When I bought BT in '96, her first stop was to have an alarm system installed - a Clifford with remote start option. That was an all day affair. Let me tell you, a remote start comes in handy during a TX summer, and winter for that matter. Two key chain remotes came with it. Those died a noble death, the last one in '08. I went to buy another remote and discovered that Clifford had been bought out by another company That company discontinued the manufacture of those remotes. They could be bought on E-bay but I didn't trust the quality. Yes, for a while she was defenseless on the evil streets. So in 1/11, I had to buy another alarm system. Thankfully, the installation personnel used the majority of the existing alarm system components and for a measly $500, I got two new pretty remotes and a flashing hyper blue light on the dash when the system is active.

You got to hand it to those corporate upper management pricks; they do know how to maximize profits. That is the capitalist way - forever and amen.

The AC unit in BT is still offline. It would cost around $1500 to replace the entire unit. I didn't have it then and still don't. But she runs like a hungry cheetah and looks good.

Living under a larger roof, that of a house, presents several advantages. From 5/07 to 1/11, I had been car
camping: well, truck camping to be more accurate. From 1/11 to 5/11, I had the advantages of middle-class urban living. I had a large bathroom to myself; a shower whenever I wanted! The small bedroom that was mine was more than adequate. I was able to unpack BT and hang clothes in a closet, put clothes in drawers. A washer and dryer was available; kitchen, too, which I exploited ruthlessly for home-cooked meals. Internet was available sometimes. There were three TVs - one was for my use, one for her and one for him, all in separate rooms. There was an adequate backyard that had a table and chairs - quite nice to sit during good weather in April and May.

And perhaps the best thing was a large dining area that the couple never used that had a large table; that was my study area. I was no longer constrained by parking lot lights, daylight or library hours. I could write as the spirit moved me which I did.

An added bonus that doesn't seem like much was that they had four cats and a little shit dog. I found that my best wring hours, usually, is after the sun sets. I'd be sitting at the table writing and the cats would wander in and lay at my feet, sometimes on them. The guy of the house would would be back in the den, either watching football stuff or gaming on the largest TV, and she would be back in their bedroom watching her shows. Maybe the cats liked the quiet of my writing space, maybe they liked the smell of my feet; hell, maybe they liked the fact that I never yelled at them. But I know that when I paused in writing, searching for a word or a phrase, I'd reach down and pet one of them, and there was purring - uhhh, from them, not me.

I can see why some writers keep companions in the household. Hopefully, I will get to that stage soon.

To be concluded next post...