I bend over to look into my mailbox. It's empty. No letters from WECARE telling me that they've sent my case to HRA. Shit! Hmmmm. I ride the elevator back up to my room. I'm still free-falling through their web. I have not seen the Roach Motel in a week now. Not one visit. How long do they let you go before they have a conniption? I'm wondering. I was told that missing those two days before the weekend counted as one FTC. Now wait...let me count on my fingers.
If two days can equal one FTC. Why is that? What does seven days count as? Fourteen days? Twenty one days? What does it say that I need to have so many days before I'm double FTC'ed? Or can I get triple FTC'ed, like a triple demerit in grade school? Are they like demerits in grade school, where you get enough of them and you lose your gold star in class? Here they aren't fucking around though. They don't have their finger on your gold star, they have a finger on your life.
I sit in my room and watch the clock. If I'm going to make this appointment with my Job Developer, I had better leave now. Nope. I'm not going to make it. I'm going to call my...no. I'm not going to do that either. So now what? What am I going to do that makes any sense, because this really doesn't. Hmmmm. I'm going to dig in, and hold my head down. See if they can fire a mortar over my head and rain shrapnel down on me.Why am I doing this? What is the purpose of these actions? Do I have a real plan? I dunno. I just want to protest. Maybe I want to go to fair hearing.
I put in my appointment for it, and it hasn't come in yet. I want to go into fair hearing and throw my documentation before the arbitrator/judge and have him see that, NO, I'm not fucking around with these people either. They fucked up with me and I'm trying to fix that. I don't see that happening though.
I haven't had my confirmation of my fair hearing yet, so I have to deal with WECARE's shit. Ms. Robot said something interesting when I was there. Well, she said a lot of interesting shit, but this stood out as one of the gems. She told Ms. Trainee to check their computers to see if I filed for Fair Hearing. Which means they can tell right away when an action is made against them. Maybe they've found my confirmation on their computers, having them leave me the fuck alone until the outcome. Can I be so lucky?
I'm sitting here like an apple-head, waiting for the shoe to drop. With my luck, both shoes will drop. I really don't give a fuck. I really don't. Not until the shit pops off. Not until bullets fly. I was always a hard-head. I always had to 'feel' it to believe it. I search for agents and editors instead.
Shit, this is more work than I thought. I guess if it was easy everyone would be published. The publishing world is one thing if it's not anything: bewildering! There are so many defunct publishing houses, so many vanity presses mixed in to look like publishing houses, so many houses that only publish one or two titles a year, so many publishing houses that don't take your genre of writing. It's astounding.
I think that I will find better luck with Agents. Well, Hell no. Just as confusing, just as hard to follow. It's like tracing out the entire human nervous system. It's damn impossible. Or it's a mission that's fucking close. I surf, joining mail lists, follow on Facebook, take down e-mail leads until my head hurts and my eyes burn. I take a break and look at the clock on the microwave. I have a 2:30 appointment to see the Job Developer. Time now: 1:15. Doesn't look like I'm going to make it. Maybe tomorrow I'll call my Case Manager. That was another thing that she told me about, that I am supposed to work with her because she doesn't want to see me collect FTC's. Maybe I'll approach her with an olive branch, only to give her 'soup with no fish'.
That's a Japanese saying. Or what they were saying in the book that I'm reading that I'm learning a lot from. The thing that I found the most interesting was how the Japanese found tranquility and peace so as to commune with the spirits to be so important. It was called: WA. In heaven, or the equivalent, your WA is never disturbed. I think of my WA, and how WECARE disturbs my WA and because of such, nothing flows from me. I cannot live my life, I cannot write poetry. I cannot work on getting things done. I'm always drawn back to the suction of WECARE and their rules and regulations. I think this week I've just about had a near undisturbed WA.
Well, all of you out there that found my life on the streets interesting, you will probably find my coming months equally interesting as I may end up right back where I came from. Laying on the sidewalk every day, going to soup kitchens to eat....Very disturbing news that I got recently from OBSIDIAN. He tells me that he saw Electra on a skeksis line, with the walking dead, trying to get something to eat. That was something that she would never do. She never
wanted to be counted as homeless and destitute so she lived on money that family members sent to her, a modest stipend, to buy food. She found that once you are identified on a skek line you are marked. I had no pride. I got on the line because I'm a damn scrub.
But she would never get on the lines for food. Now my brother has seen her doing so. Something must have gone wrong. She must be SCHNAPPING. Sorry news. It makes me sad, because we were frick and frack, Bonnie and Clyde, watching each other's backs, taking care of each other, even at one time loving each other. Now we are apart, and she is rolling downhill. It's lonely out there homeless. That's why I was on WELLBUTRIN, because the depression was bottomless. She is out there alone now. My heart goes out to her.
Funny, the sun just died behind me through the window. A bad storm is coming. Fitting that it forms at 2:30. The exact time of my meeting with the Job Developer. Maybe a figurative storm is brewing, is coming for me. I stand and look at the window.Maybe a storm is coming for me. Signed, sealed, delivered.
Thunder rumbles.
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