Get bent, Phoenix.

The racism I frequently encounter in Arizona made me aware early on that it'll never be my home, but, as anywhere else, there are people I've become acquainted with who have welcomed me like a distant cousin. 

Ronnie's Cafe on Cactus and 43rd Ave felt like South Carolina the first few times I went there for breakfast, but the food reminded me so much of my father's cooking that I continued to patronize the establishment until the waitresses got to know my name. There's Sandra, a lovely dark haired, golden skinned lady who always has a smile and a soft, polite greeting for everyone who comes in. There's Kim, her pale, Amazonian opposite. Kim is loud and gruff. It's unusual for her to say more than a few words without complaining, but her big heart shines through. Those are the only two names that stuck, but each of the ladies who work there is sweet and kind and they've all made me feel welcome. The older woman who runs the register reminds me of the golden girls with her hairstyle and the way she dresses. She beams with pride when she talks about her family. 

Two regular customers that I got to know pretty well, Steve the Perv and Alan the Brit, are both retired. Alan works at the local Walgreens, but I think maybe he doesn't actually need to. He has a heavy British accent and loves to sing karaoke - karaoke is kind of a big deal around here. Steve is a foul-mouthed class clown type who frequently gets kicked out for harassing someone or being too inappropriate, but he eventually is forgiven and allowed to reenter. So many personalities. All very nice people. Without them, I would've written off this whole damn town as the devil's den. It was difficult to find a genuine friendly face. I still get stares from other patrons sometimes when I go to Ronnie's, but I have never been openly disrespected there, unlike other places. 

There's a line that's crossed between rudeness and discrimination. When it happens, my irritation turns to recognition and then sadness. Once a person has decided to hate you for something that you cannot control, it doesn't matter what kind of person you are, how hard a day you're having or how much effort it is taking you to hold yourself together. They're not going to extend you any kindness. They curl their lips up so the polite words shoot out of their mouths like poison-tipped arrows, and their eyes burn right through you. It makes a person just stop going out. 

A friend came to visit, and we went out to a place that was featured on DD&D. After our meal ended, a young man came in looking for seats for himself and his parents. There were two on each side of us at the diner counter built into an airstream trailer. He went back outside and a few second later his father came in. The father looks around and then says to us, "Would you mind moving to the back of the bus?"

   My friend, who is clearly appalled, asks, "Why did you say it that way? Do you realize what you said?"

.  "Yes, I know what I said."

My friend was becoming more distressed every second, but I put my hand on his arm and mumbled, "Leave it alone. He doesn't get it."

   In the car, he asked me if I have to put up with that all the time, and I told him, "This isn't California. It may not be that far physically, but it's a completely different world." 

A lot of things that "progressives" consider uncivilized happen here. I think the proximity to California and Mexico makes Arizona traditionalists more outspoken and demonstrative with their ignorance. I don't encounter many of them while driving for Uber, though. I think maybe they don't believe in using a smartphone to pay for a ride or maybe they believe that a drunk person should be able to drive themselves home -there is a startlingly high number of DUIs here. In fact, there are so many car accidents caused by people just being stupid or inconsiderate. I drive seven days a week, so I see them all the time. Everybody tries to beat the light and everybody wants to be the first one into the intersection on the green. Idiocy.

Just outside Phoenix, out in the desert, they drag race every weekend. You can literally race anything with a motor. During the summer, there are so many people who gather for the competitions that the instructors warn new students not to ride their bikes out there because the races are wild, dangerous and unorganized. I haven't gone. I feel too old and much too Black to be in that crowd. It's really weird to always feel "really really Black". I don't think I'll ever get used to it because there's a part of me deep inside that believes I shouldn't have to, and I am absolutely certain that it is right.

There's a large population of Africanized Honey Bees in Arizona. They're starting to scout more now that the weather is warming up again. They are very aggressive. You don't need to do anything to these bees to get chased. It is common to see a report on the news about someone attacked by a swarm of bees during the summer. That seems like a really awful way to die. If the bees don't kill you, the heat might. Bees and extreme heat - I must really have wanted the education to have tolerated that madness. I was prepared to do it for at least another year! Racists, killer bees and hot as hell, Phoenix, Arizona.

I'll miss free parking, no toll booths, $2 gallons of gas, quiet nights (even on weekends), crazy intense thunderstorms, 80mph cruising on the highway practically any time of the day,  15-foot ceilings, coming home to a clean and organized apartment and EVERYTHING MOTORCYCLE - the instructors, the curriculum, my classmates, holding the tools in my hand and even repeatedly banging the shit out of my shin on a dirt bike foot peg. I miss Venus. I still have heartache about parting with her, and it's intensified by the knowledge that I gave her up for something that I still haven't completed. She was my beautiful dream. I often wish I could go back and undo that sacrifice, but perhaps there is a reason for all of it. I just wish I knew what that reason is.

Welcome back chaos

I worked a nine hour day before school today. I made $50. I worked three hours yesterday and made only $5 before giving it up and coming home to do laundry, go through two weeks of mail and clean my apartment. I need to make an average of $700 a week to be in the black. I'm not sure how to do that. On good days I can make $150. I wish they were more frequent, although they are usually physically and mentally exhausting. I don't mind feeling tired to secure financial stability.

I've tried everything short of breaking the law, and the only thing that temporarily seemed to work was when I allowed myself four hours of sleep midday Monday through Friday, eight hours on Saturday morning and twelve hours on Sunday. After a month of that schedule, I could no longer function safely. My judgment was impaired, and I frequently zoned out behind the wheel. I almost ran down a pedestrian. That was the day I decided to stop depriving myself of sleep. I've held three traditional jobs and I now drive for five different services as an independent contractor. I am hustling like fucking crazy. It should be enough. I don't understand why it's not. Maybe I should try attending the afternoon class and driving early mornings and evenings instead. I don't know. My head hurts. I just don't know what to do. 

The school is trying to phase out night classes altogether. After moving me to nights due to overcrowding in the morning, they now say that morning will soon be the only option. I had to give up jobs to accommodate the goddamn class schedules, and they're just continuing to dick me around. I've fucking had it!

Mom called me today practically begging me to come home. She will be sent to a hospice if I don't. I'm going to look into moving her here instead so I can at least continue going to school. If I go home without the certification I came for, I'll be stuck with the debt without the benefit. Mom has a reverse mortgage on her house, so if she gets sicker and requires a hospice stay, I'll be stuck with the debt, no certification and no place to live. I don't know which is worse: staying here and being homeless while finishing school or going to going back to California, caring for my mother and still ending up homeless without finishing. Are those really the only two choices?

If you're there, God, this would be a great time to let me hit the lottery. I need a miracle like that. I need divine assistance. I've reached the end of my resourcefulness and positivity. I need someone else to take over now. I am so tired.

Maybe I'm cursed. Although I have no doubt that mom would not do the same for me, I cannot let her pleading go unanswered. I'm not that kind of person. Maybe I'm meant to live on the street, dependent on the charity of strangers. Maybe I should just accept it as my fate. I don't understand why I am doing so well in school only to have everything possible go wrong and pull me away from it. School is the only place where I flourish. Why does the universe want to take it away? I don't understand.

as it is within, so it is without

I feel much better. Now that I've let go of the disappointment of not finishing this trade school program in one attempt, I am not panicked. I'm still going for it, but I am now free from the desperation that made me feel like I was constantly scrambling and clawing for a hold. I have been grieving the loss of a safety net for over a year. It's time to shake it off and go on with my life. 

My fitness and eating habits have probably suffered the most. I haven't figured out how to repair them just yet, but I know that is coming with the reduction of anxiety. I'm still looking for work too, but I've managed to patch together enough income potential with the rideshare and delivery services. I'm still figuring out the best times and areas to work in, but I'm doing okay. Once I have a positive week when I make more than the bare minimum that I need to survive, I will have some good momentum.

As for the tuition, the donations came to a halt and I still don't have enough. I can't bring myself to beg for more. I will ask the school for an extension. If they say no, I'll let them suspend me until I come up with the money on my own. It'll be much easier to do if I don't have those five hours a day in class anyway.

a moment to exhale

The eye of the storm always feels calm. Its stillness often gives the inexperienced a false sense of security, and they believe that they've survived the worst of it. I have no such misconceptions. 

I took Natasha in for a clay rub, wax and carpet shampoo at a family owned detail shop I found in my wanderings. One of my passengers this week spilled a drink in the back and I somehow acquired a shower of tiny white paint spots on the front grille and hood that weren't removed by a regular wash. The guy said it would be an hour, so I grabbed a Lyft to Denny's for pancakes a la carte since I was so far away from home.

Instead of getting another ride back, I decided to walk the mile and a half. It was a toasty 87 degrees, considerably warmer than the late winter temperatures at home but far cooler than the 110-117's I had to endure for several weeks during the summer. I took off my sweatshirt and wrapped it around my waist as I strolled back towards the shop. 

Along the way I listened to Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts and took note of the small businesses that I otherwise wouldn't notice. There are so many different types of drivers in Phoenix that I often find that I need to use my entire presence to provide a safe, comfortable ride for my passengers. Walking allows me the freedom to really look at my surroundings.

This particular audio book combined with the current set of troubles has been a relentless barrage of emotions dredged up from the ugly past and countless unrealistic and unfulfilled longings I've locked away. Taking in the sights and pressing the phone up to my ear to hear the words over the din of traffic, I noticed how peaceful everything is. Although this is a city with thousands of people around me all the time, it is far calmer and slower than San Francisco. I tried to feel myself in it, as a part of it, and I found it easier than it had been for the past year. I could be okay here. Then, I looked down and saw a playing card lying on the grass near the edge of the sidewalk - the Queen of clubs. I walked in a few paces, paused, went back and picked up the card. I looked it up on the Internet because I recalled seeing somewhere that a deck of playing cards can be interpreted in a similar way to Tarot. After reading the entry, I slid the card into my pocket.

"positive and strong willed, the Queen of Club are practical and decisive in their application of knowledge. Likewise, their quest for knowledge is insatiable, and they are impatient and intolerant of ignorance or mental laziness in others.

The women Queen of Clubs are not domestic. They don't know the meaning of subservience let alone how to play the part! The male Queen of Club, although seldom lacking in sympathy, need to learn to handle their tempers. All are natural leaders in any profession they follow.

Besides their deep and sometimes obsessive urge for a personal love, the Queen of Club craves financial success for the respect it brings. They are generous and good spenders, and prefer to make money by their own efforts."

Dream

Last night I dreamt of a room filled with people. They were my friends and neighbors. We sat at giant picnic tables like back in high school during lunch. We were each given an envelope containing a few hundred dollar bills and a slip of paper explaining to us that we'd been purchased and now belonged to a wealthy family (one that I am acquainted with in real life) as their property.

We'd all spent the day working at a gigantic estate that resembled a golf course. I walked between the bed chambers and bathrooms, tidying up and removing any signs of usage. Upon returning to the picnic table room for dinner, I expected to be paid for the day and then released to go home. When I opened my envelope, I became so incensed that time stood still. I stood up, pulled a lighter from my pocket and set the envelope and its contents on fire. As I held the burning packet up in my hand, people started to gather around me to ask what was going on. The volume of my voice was that of someone who is merely addressing the person next to them in a busy restaurant, but the anger in it silenced everyone. "My freedom is worth more than money." 

A young man in the crowd asked what we should do, and we began to plot our escape.

Squeak

Everything I was told was a lie.

I not only believed it, I breathed new life into a dysfunctional cycle of deception. I was a pawn. I lived my entire life as a pawn. I thought that love was controlling and painful. I thought that I could only deserve love that didn't hurt if I was a better daughter or earned more money. I thought that maybe I would one day do something good enough to be loved the way that children on TV are loved by their parents. I could one day aspire to be an unexpected blessing to my family instead of the accidental burden.

The really fucked up part of all that is the idea that having no money to give back to my family for raising me made my life less valuable. It was shameful to be a child that didn't turn a profit for my parent. I truly believed that. Some part of me still does. It was hammered into me so intensely that I am now wracked with self-loathing. This is miserable. I thought about all the times when I convinced others who were down on their luck that they still had as much value as anyone else and felt like a huge hypocrite. I cannot stand to let someone else suffer through depression, but I will wallow in my own.

It comes down to this; some people have no business raising children. I am one of those people. My parents were also those people. My brother somehow met and secured a partner who is not one of those people and she has helped him to create my niece, who is also not one of those people. Life is mysterious. Sometimes a beautiful wildflower will grow amongst nothing but weeds. I'd always been told by people outside my family that I was a wildflower, but I'm at a point in my life now when I must consider the possibility that I may be a weed.

Friendly is the new Black

It takes me a while to recognize the genuinely crazy people sometimes. I tend to think of friendliness as something normal for most people who aren't from Arizona. Most of the time they're somewhere in between, just like me. When you really think about it, we're all just a tragedy or two away from clinically insane.

Today I picked up an obese older man with long, wavy, graying blonde hair. Within the first three minutes of the ride he announced his homosexuality as part of a dramatic story that eventually wound itself around his days living in California as a transgender woman. I liked him immediately.

Gary yelled my name across the lot to make sure that I was his ride. Upon getting into the vehicle and closing the door, he mentioned The Scarlet Letter. I used to think that most people had to read the book in high school, but that is not true at all. That reference was followed by an inquiry into my nationalities and whether or not I spoke Tagalog. He said he knew a few phrases and told me the word for faggot, which I've now forgotten, of course. He said that he only spoke German, French and English fluently but knew a few words or phrases in many languages. I asked him if that was because he found the basic foundations of languages came to him easily, and he replied that it was indeed so. He loves words, their sounds and their origins fascinating and beautiful.

The word SINCERE was originally used in pottery shops to indicate to potential customers that the wares were of good quality. It was a common practice for a crooked seller to rub cracked pots with wax to make them appear intact. The customer would then take the pot home, and it would disintegrate once it made contact with heat. Reputable shop owners posted signs saying "sincere" meaning "without wax".

When we arrived at his home, where there are a large white unicorn and Pegasus reared up in front of the house, Gary showed me a photo of him as a young "lady". I grabbed the phone for a closer look and said, "Oh my, you were lovely!" The look on that pouty face in the photo said, "I know."

Tiny puppies and big bikes

Last night was my first day FINALLY back in night classes. I'm in the Harley program now because it's now the only one offered at night. I am supposed to take BMW and Suzuki, but we'll see if that is still possible after these thirty weeks of Harley. I'm intimidated by Harleys because of their weight. I've never ridden one for any significant distance. I'll get over that once I know them better.

Yesterday was a really slow day for rideshare. It may have been due to the holiday. It was disappointing. I'm getting an earlier start today. There was one woman whose mother traveled with her to help with the baby. The mother had a chihuahua in a carrier. He was very cute. I cooed at him when she let him out after I dropped them off, and she gestured for me to come look into her carrier bag. There was a tiny ball of tan fuzz inside. She was the most adorable little thing! I held her against my chest and she yawned and cracked her tiny eyes open.

two weeks and counting

I finally followed the advice given from a few friends and put together a GoFundMe page: gofundme.com/helphester

I figure that I must be very close to something wonderful because the unraveling of this plan has picked up speed lately. If this is a test, I certainly hope that it's over soon.

By the time I make another blog entry, I'll be back in night classes (thank God). I've finally found a good income combination with Uber and Veyo. When one is slow, the other usually picks up enough to keep me from getting discouraged. I'm putting a lot of mileage on the car, but it wasn't intended to last forever. I only need it to stay in good shape for about five years total. I think I can manage to keep it well maintained at least that long.

By the time I make another blog entry my mother will be moved to a hospice. Her health has declined to such a state that it has become a part time job just caring for her, and my brother and his wife are overwhelmed by her constant arguing and manipulation tactics. I know it too well. I was raised by it. I practically destroyed myself and everything around me to escape from it. I understand why they can't handle it. Her health is not as big a challenge as her personality. I am powerless to help. If I could help, she'd only do the same thing to me, but I'm more emotionally demonstrative than they are. I'd cry. Then I'd run away to Vegas and try to drink and gamble it all away.

I've managed to change my insurance policy to meet the upcoming new requirements. I didn't think that the budget could get any tighter without crushing my hopes to death, but I'm hanging on. We'll see how the fundraising turns out. That will determine whether or not I remain in school. Without the money to pay tuition, I won't have much of a choice. I'll have to drop out and take on more work... again. Maybe it won't take another six years to to get back into school this time.

the struggle continues

I dunno. I've painted myself into a really tight corner. I am enjoying the education, but I'm still unable to earn enough to live. I have no idea how to proceed. The rideshare laws are getting stricter, and I'll soon be required to spend even more than the current $380 a month for car insurance. I'm afraid of losing my car and being evicted, but those possibilities seem to be getting closer than they've ever been before. I have no one to ask for help, even if I could somehow find the nerve to do it.

My credit score has plummeted over the past couple of months from maxing out my cards, so I can't even apply for a student loan. I've been eating GMO groceries for a while, but now I'm even shopping according to what's on sale. I never imagined my adult life so desperate. Being a fast learner really hasn't helped me much. Sure, I'm doing well in school, but my life outside of that is just sad.

I feel myself being pulled down into a very dark place. I can't talk to anyone about it. I know that's a bad sign, but I feel powerless to do anything about it. I've made a royal mess of things and left myself no escape. I've stopped writing. It hurts too much. 

I only continue clawing at this brick wall to avoid breaking my mother's heart, and yet I have absolutely no desire to return to her and my brother. - my childhood tormenters. There's nothing back there for me. There's nothing here for me. My one joy is school and the potential future that I am clutching with all my strength. I just need a way to survive through this education. It's so expensive, and I am not earning nearly enough sustain it. I am playing the lottery religiously. I buy one ticket for each drawing, a total of $8 per week. I need a fucking miracle. I need it now.

I have a lot of necessary expenses coming up: car registration, tuition payment, taxes. I'm about three weeks from fantasizing about suicide. I wish that was an exaggeration.

I hope my next entry is happier and soon.