I don't want to be another chore, another task, my girl feels she needs to take care of. She's in the final stages of a big project that gets presented on Sunday. People promised to do things, didn't, and she's stuck finishing their work at the last minute. She didn't get a full night's sleep Weds. night, because someone lost their mind and she got paged too early in the morning. today, she has to stop in the middle of her project work to deal with THAT person's self destruction.
She came over this evening trouble shooting all she has left to do yet. I suggested we cancel our movie plans, have some supper, and I could go to the office to help. She agreed.
We had a fine supper and laughed a lot. But she couldn't work with me there; I distract her and she couldn't concentrate.
She said she'd just get up at 4am, head back, do what needed doing before an early meeting.
She spent her time here with me completely unfragmented, completely here, completely generous, attentive and at peace.
We fell asleep at midnight.
At two, she woke and said she needed to go to work.
I made her breakfast, juice and tea. I told her some stories, to help her focus on being awake. I sent her out the door by three.
I can't help, beyond that. I don't have enough skill to help with the work. I don't have a car to run errands for her. I don't have money to buy us nice foods she can pack for meals at work.
I feel helpless to help.
Mean time, I'm fighting the temptation to believe she's ashamed to be connected to me. I don't know how to weigh her concerns without ragging on myself.
But, the fact is, several influential people think I'm weird or irresponsible or possibly dangerous or something. It's nothing I really did, of course. I'm one of the most responsible and ethical people you'll ever meet. It's mostly their prejudices.
But, like I said, I can be pretty abrasive and loud, when I'm feeling defensive. I'm just trying to protect myself, of course. I don't care what the new age types say. I'm low income. I know for a fact that what other people think can kill me. So, I keep them at a distance.
I already made the mistake of confiding in one. I won't make that mistake again.
See, upper middle class types play silly mind games with each other. And, for those of us outside the loop, these games are invisible. We don't know their secret messages. It's hard to translate what sounds like a friendly greeting into a threat.
That's what's been going on recently with me.
There's a meeting I should attend. I won't go. I already told the person hosting it I don't feel safe. The meeting was MY idea. The person whom I shouldn't have trusted took the ball and ran with it. I was told the person is saying that, despite our "differences" I shouldn't feel unwelcomed. Well, I do. It's not safe for me to be around vengeful people. I have no protections against that junk.
I'm not worried for myself. I can take whatever gets dished. But someone else, who's completely blameless, could be messed up really badly. I'm pretty much an open book; almost every part of my life is in these silly blogs, already. Whatever isn't will get there, eventually, as soon as I remember whatever it is. But not all people can afford to be as blunt as I.
See, if I were more financially stable, other people's crap wouldn't be such an issue. I could protect myself a bit better. Money is insulation.
For instance, I wore a very elegant, sexy, see-through, lace dress last night with my girl. I wore impractical shoes, twinkly jewelery...the works. I can't dare dress like that on foot, or on the scooter Only in a car is it safe to look nice, if you're a woman, especially at night.
I rarely dress in anything at all revealing, even in broad daylight for the same reason. And it's easy to look frazzled, exposed to the elements, without a car. I look rumpled, dissheveled.
I do the best I can, lugging grooming stuff--including antiperspirant--around in my backpack. But it's embarrassing.
If I were more affluent, I'd have driven to my girl's job this afternoon with a nice supper. I'd have helped her with the b.s. work, so she could concentrate on the big project and the extra stuff that got dumped in her lap at the last minute.
I'd have a bathroom large enough to contain her grooming supplies, so she could clean up here when she needed to.
I'd have enough closet space so she could hang a few things.
I could provide more to her in the way of comforts and conveniences.
I have to improve my income. I have to. This isn't right.
So, I'll finish out this week, cleaning up my little slum, in case people do come over for my birthday.
And, next week, I dig back into my independent radio projects, so I can get out of poverty.
I love my girl. I want to do right by her, and myself.
I want to keep both of us safe from as much petty b.s. as possible. I do a pretty good job, even on my six hundred a month, keeping a shelter, a refuge, for us.
But I'm to vulnerable to the whims and inconsistancies of other people, institutions and circumstances.
I need to take better care of myself.
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