trudging through uncertainty

I hate how everyone is just going about their days like the world, as it affects us (let's be honest that's all each of us is truly concerned with), is changing so rapidly in ways we thought we were impossible within the infrastructure of our government. This is all the evidence anyone who's still in denial needs. Money buys everything. I don't see a way to be content. The protections are being eliminated. They were illusions from the beginning, but I enjoyed pretending. I wanted to just lie low, have a regular job, take one big vacation a year, make stained glass art and do regular things. Under the radar. A no one amongst a mass of nobodies. Peaceful. So... where's the peace? There's mostly just anxiety. 

Who knows? This may just be the catalyst we need do something long overdue. However, I fear the divisiveness to which my countrymen seem so committed. How can we create something new with old beliefs and habits? We cannot.

Stoned Ramblings - Elvis

 I was a big Elvis fan as a child. I was so young that I chose my heavy rotation 8-track tape by color. Elvis's Christmas tape was red. On any day, you'd catch me carrying the player around  the house, red tape sticking out of the back and Elvis singing with sleigh bell accompaniment.

My favorite song on the album was Blue Christmas. I liked his sad songs the best. My father was away battling the demons that challenged his sobriety and mental health for a while during my obsession with Elvis. I felt his absence deeply. He was my favorite person, and I absolutely adored him. I don't remember how long he was gone, but it felt like several years. I was lonely.

I remember believing my father had died because my mother started saying, "Your Santa Claus is dead." On television sitcoms, the dad always dressed up as Santa Claus, so I drew what I thought was the most logical conclusion. 

My mom felt no obligation to explain things to me, and she did not tolerate being questioned. She resented being the "other" (not favorite) parent particularly because my dad was absent most of those years. How dare I love him more? I get it now. I didn't know better back then. I felt the resentment directed at me. I knew I was being punished, but not why. Something must be wrong with me - this is how children think.

Maybe his performances of sad songs sounded better to me because he was lonely. Of course, I had the same fascination with him that most people had. He was a great entertainer. However, that charisma and cool was his trademark celebrity character. It did not necessarily represent his human experience and internal struggle. In his  personal life, he probably felt much of the same pain as the rest of us. The public's idolization was his power and his prison.

Soooooo anyway, Elvis. The newly-revealed details paint quite a different picture. Sadness, guilt, powerlessness, hopelessness and an infinite loop of putting on a mask for the rest of the world,  playing with danger to distract yourself from the emotional pain and isolating to heal just enough to do it all over again.

Some of us are still out here, but it's not glamorous. We're not Elvis or Marilyn. We're just going through it, the joy and the shit. I feel bad for them. I'd be horrified to have my entire journey chronicled in such an invasive way.

Wings Unfold

I practically had it hidden away or at least I thought I did. I reached out to people with the confidence that the secure have. I rarely felt the need to be emotional in front of people, and I embraced it when those moments happened in private. I felt comfortable being myself, but I was also cautious not to reveal too much for fear that the wrong person might want to get involved with me. I hadn't considered that I might fall without intending to. I thought I could decide to free my heart or keep it guarded from moment to moment. I thought it would be a conscious effort to unlock the armor. I didn't know that someone else could  disassemble it so slowly and softly that I wouldn't realize what was happening until my heart was naked in his hands. I mostly waver between disbelief and surrender, but I sometimes have resentment. He is another one of them, the seemingly unavailable. He was supposed to be a safe person to befriend, but I think we both felt something at our first meeting. I am often angry about it. I want to be angry at myself, at him, at the world. Why? Why him? I do not understand.

Light at the end of the Pandemic Tunnel

 It has been a really long time since I gave this blog any thought at all. I happened across the link in my Yelp profile during an update. Reading through my last few entries, I felt a weight start to drag me down. I was struggling with terrible depression when I wrote them. Under the circumstances, depression was unavoidable. In the years that followed, I continued to struggle through the financial implications of having little to no income for so long. I applied to two companies that were doing mass recruiting. They both were in the process of hiring me (Amazon was actually a previous employer, so I was a re-hire), but Tesla's recruiting staff were faster and more efficient. Almost 4 years later, I am still there and working on a team that is the pinnacle of diversity in a role that feels like it was created to help me grow. 

Tesla is a small, scrappy company in comparison to its competitors. In that way, it reminds me a lot of CB&C. It is nimble and reactive in a way that the bigger and more established auto manufacturers cannot be. It can be exciting but stressful. I am a member of one the many maintenance teams keeping the factory running. The work isn't glamorous, but it is important to the business. Typically the production staff gets recognized when the numbers are good. As my crew's shepherd, I do my best to provide praise, encouragement and a nice team dinner once in a while. Our department head also chimes in with rallying announcements every quarter. It's toughest on those who seek recognition when we blend into the background, but that's really the essence of our job. We aren't meant to be seen. The evidence of our efforts is invisible when the expectation is for things to operate normally. Tesla as a whole is a very unique place to work. There are many elements of the company (limited only to the automotive portion) that I find confusing. That's probably all I am at liberty to say.

I was lucky (or it was kismet) to have landed here after such a traumatic and spiritually trying time. In the beginning, I was a grunt and I loved it. I could zone out and just work. All the ugliness and sadness in my mind and heart was suspended while I worked my ass off, and I got back home exhausted every morning. No time to concern myself with the darkness. I was pretty much ruined financially, and the little chump change I made was just a drop in the bucket. When I got the creditors to a point where they weren't harassing me anymore, franchise tax board started garnishing my check. I worked with one of their agents and negotiated a more manageable deal until I defaulted. When the agent called to ask me what happened, I told him that I would have to call him back once I had a place to live. During the time when I was technically homeless, a coworker and his wife put me up in the guest room of their family home. They wouldn't accept any money for rent - angels in real life. A couple of months later, I found a room to rent in the valley. It was a really really really long commute, but it was all I could afford at the time. How I managed to keep a positive attitude through all that is a mysterious and wonderful miracle. I crossed paths with some very supportive people who gave me the push I needed to keep going and cheered me on when I felt like I was too tired. 

After receiving a promotion that served to slingshot me up into the kind of financial independence I had before mom's decline, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. That was a little over a year ago. The plant shut down just as I was moving all my stuff. After we went back to work, I had a few magical months of setting up my new digs to reflect the things that make me feel at home. Now I'm paying back taxes again, but I don't mind. I have a really small but safe and comfy apartment and everything I need to live. When I asked my boss for the days off to move (prior to the pandemic shutdown announcement), he joked that I needed to move up to better digs since I was in "management". When I told him that I'd been homeless and rented the room so far away out of necessity in a desperate situation, he was shocked. He didn't understand why I'd never shared my situation with him, and I said that it wasn't his job to manage my personal life. As my manager and mentor, I counted on him to guide me professionally. The rest, I said, was my responsibility. I also felt very accomplished that I'd gone through all that struggle without letting my work suffer. It's true that I practically treated work as a vice during the worst of times, but it turned out to be the healthiest option available. I needed to fix me: my finances, my home, my heart. I focused on fixing equipment, and I managed to fix parts of myself along the way. Win-Win.

I'm still a work in progress of course. I have this weird dysfunctional relationship with money that I think I inherited from my parents. They both turned to unhealthy money habits when they were unhappy: gambling, shopping, compulsive debting. Yup, I have all that. However, recognizing that I suffer from those tendencies makes it a lot easier to resist them. I still buy myself something nice when I feel sad and occasionally gamble when I'm bored, but I actually enjoy those activities now. There's a big difference in compulsive debting to escape reality and treating yourself to something nice or fun. The absolutely best part is being able to buy something I really want after waiting until I have the money together to make it happen instead of just buying random stuff all the time and keeping the bank account empty. I got a bike that I loooooove and ride as much as possible. I love her more than people, and I am not exaggerating. Wait, no. The BEST part is not being afraid of getting my card declined. I know exactly how much money I have in every account (and every account has money in it). There aren't any nasty surprises at the register and my rent is paid on time. I am truly grateful for how things are turning out, and I don't have to remember too far back to see the evidence of just how fortunate I am.

I tell people that I love them now. Sometimes the words feel weird and get caught in my throat, but I'm working on that.

In-Dependence Day

It's difficult to be the human embodiment of the intersection of conflicting beliefs. I sometimes feel similarly to the people of color voicing their reasons why they don't celebrate the 4th (especially when some jackass reminds me of it), but it's not a nagging presence in my daily life. I come from a military family and consider myself a patriot at heart. My mother didn't like black people, but her desire to become a US citizen was stronger than her racism. Luckily, my brother was the meal ticket, and I just came along as a surprise. The way I look at it, everyone has an internal struggle. Mine looks different from yours, but it's not any more or less valid. I personally don't believe any of us (regardless of race/gender) really understands what freedom truly is until we experience life without it. How can a person  really "feel free"? I can walk outside at night alone. My parents couldn't do that. I can go to college anywhere. They couldn't do that either. There is a long list of privileges I have that they did not, but I don't "feel free". I don't even know what that means because practically every aspect of American life is based on programming from education, advertising/media and religion. Still, I know that life for billions of people in other countries is far far worse. In fact, there are people in this country who would happily trade places with me.

Equality, on the other hand, clearly hasn't been achieved yet. So many who have privilege aren't ready to give it up. Some can't even see that the privilege is what they're really fighting for; they just know that it feels like something is being taken away, and they think they need someone to blame. In my opinion, it's more of an issue of maturity, not race, not status. Those who hold themselves accountable as citizens for the way our country evolves will be the first to extend the olive branch, no matter how uncomfortable it feels, because it is for the good of all. Those who want to be selfish, stubborn, ignorant and afraid will do their best to stand in the way. Sometimes their best is name-calling. That only speaks to their ignorance. The worst offenders are those who say they want equality but lower themselves to the same petty tactics as the incompetent. I don't understand why they don't see that they're hurting their own cause.

Transitioning

Mom has been at Kaiser for twelve days. I've worked ten of those twelve days. It feels really good to be able to earn money again while knowing that mom is safe and properly supervised. She has a 24 hour sitter. They've moved her twice. I'm assuming that is to give each crew a break after a few days. The longer she is there, the more they understand why I refused to allow her to be discharged to my care again. One person cannot take care of her. It is physically impossible for one person to be awake for that many hours every day.

I practically had to throw a royal fit in the hospital to get them to take me seriously. I went as far as threatening to take my own life if they insisted that I take her home. I said that I had no desire to harm her, but, since there was no one else to care for her, I might need to drug her. They put me in a secured room with no access to a phone. They took all my belongings and sent me to John George, the local psychiatric hospital. I spent the night there, about six hours, and the morning psychiatrist released me after a very brief interview. I'd spoken to so many people by that point that there was really no indication that I would be a danger to anyone. It was pretty clear that I did not belong there. John George, by the way, strikes me as the type of facility used as storage for people who cannot be trusted in society. I sincerely doubt that anyone would go there to "get better". I was warned not to say those kinds of things anymore, regardless of how frustrated I become. I was also advised by some of the staff there that I should refuse mom's discharge over the phone or simply stop answering their calls and force them to do whatever they'd do if she had nowhere to go.

I took their advice. I even blocked the hospital from ringing my phone so I wouldn't be tempted. I let that go on for almost a week, and then my brother started losing it. They were harassing him constantly. I didn't feel any sympathy for him, but I did worry about the house since it's still in her name with that ridiculous reverse mortgage hanging over it. I called the Kaiser social worker and left a message, but I got no response. I decided to take a chance and visit her, hoping that I hadn't been placed on some black list. She was well. She was actually happy! She was on some good drugs, and she had someone to talk to all the time. She still refused to exercise, but that's not my problem anymore.

Mom's doctor has officially listed her as physically and mentally incapable of living independently, which I'd been pushing for almost a year with no progress. Now that Kaiser has to care for her, all the adjustments to her medical records are swift and easy. The new social worker assigned to her case is ready to help me in every way she can. If I can get the VA application moving forward, she'll be all situated asap. I don't know what that timeline looks like in this land of seemingly endless red tape, but at least there is progress now. I kept getting turned away when I was trying to do it all alone. Nobody wanted to help me. Now she's their responsibility, so they're being polite to me because I am technically helping them.

For the first time since I took over her care, I feel optimistic about the direction in which things are going. Although the process may take a while, I can see an achievable goal. 

I started driving a Lyft rental last weekend. I'm making decent money for something that requires no training. I'm not loving it, but I am grateful for it. I'm still tired, but I am not plagued with worry like I was two weeks ago, and I can sleep at night. Omg I can sleep! I wish I had more hours to sleep and screw around, but I gotta get these bills under control. I'm hitting it hard. It feels good. I don't care about the long hours. I just want to clean up and organize this mess.

Since I am in the car so much, I've already finished three audio books. One of which was a beginner's guide to tarot. Despite the mediocre quality of the recording, I felt inspired. As depicted in today's card from my hauntingly beautiful Mary-El deck, 3 of Swords, the peaceful dove summons the courage, strength and energy to carry the burden of power through a storm. Although it appears to be small and laboring, the intense struggle is transforming it into a mighty eagle. I never thought of myself as a dove, but to this dove I can definitely relate. The job looks impossible, but she's doing it. That's my girl.

Any minute now

I took mom to Kaiser emergency again in Saturday. After two calls with the advice nurse, I was instructed to just go to ER for a respite. They kept her overnight so I could go home and sleep. I got about seven hours that night. She was prescribed a sleep aid that normally isn't recommended for dementia patients, but it works without compromising her coordination. I'm adjusting the dementia medicine back down to a half dose tonight because she is sleeping a lot, and I'm concerned that she could be too drugged up. I know that she needs a few days of long sleeping hours to make up for the past week of terrible insomnia, but I don't know how strong the effects of the meds are (together or separately) because both are new.

Before she was moved to an observation room on Saturday night, I spoke with the social worker on duty. We stepped out of my mom's room and into a semi-private space a few steps down the hallway. My mom yelled and pitched a fit for the entire time I was out of the room. The tantrum continued even after I returned. She said that she wanted me to help her scream at the ER staff. I refused. The nurses were very helpful and polite. One of them brought me a sandwich and juice after mom's dissatisfaction with the two meals she was given. Mom watched me eat the sandwich with a strange look on her face. She asked me if it was good, and I told her that it was basic. It was basic, but I was tired and hungry. She asked, "You're just going to eat whatever they give you?"

   "Yes."

  "Why?"

   "Because it's what they have. This is not a restaurant."

She looked at her food again (the second meal they brought her), ate a few more bites and quieted down. She said she still didn't like it, but she didn't scream anymore after that... at least not while I was there.

The next morning, I spoke to the new nurse on duty (barely an hour into her shift) twice within fifteen minutes. I could hear mom in the background insisting that I immediately appear. Although I skipped making breakfast and coffee, opting to go straight to the hospital instead, it took me an hour. An hour is an eternity to her if she's waiting. She thinks thirty seconds is ten minutes. She has a lot of difficulty with gauging time and reading clocks.

Her dementia is overwhelming. It's a 24 hour crap shoot. I never know when she's going to be herself, a vacant husk or somewhere in between. We've been burning through the disposable underwear at an alarming rate. I have to get her into a facility before she becomes completely incontinent. I don't know how much time I have left. It's all happening so fast! I pray that getting enough rest will help mom recover some of the independence she had just a couple of months ago. I need to be able to get out of the house to make money. She can't get any services for free, we have nothing left after paying bills from her fixed income, and a few bills go unpaid 2-3 months at a time.

I'm applying for adult day care and requested to be reactivated as a DoorDash driver. I signed up for Instacart too. The day care hours aren't long enough for me to drive Lyft, especially since I need to drive a rental. I'm not sure what else I can do with a few hours every other weekday, but I hope I come up with something good soon.

Breaking Point

It has been 19 days since mom was released from the physical therapy rehabilitation nursing home. What was initially her conscious, annoying preference to have assistance with everything and be super clingy and chatty, brought on by the attentiveness of the nursing home staff has developed into a genuine helplessness. Mom's dementia is the worst I have ever seen it. At first she just refused to exercise because she didn't want to listen to me. Now, she's so weak that her arms and legs tremble after five minutes (or less) of activity.

Here's the problem: she won't sleep. I'm not sure what is happening in her dementia-wracked mind, but it must be nightmarish. She will only close her eyes for a few minutes before opening them again and sitting up. I tried giving her the Norco that she was prescribed, but she still won't sleep. The drowsiness just makes her weaker and more confused. It seems to also make the unpleasant stuff in her mind worse. Without the sedating meds, she needs help finding and using the bathroom when she gets up at night. During the day she usually knows where she is going although she often needs help getting there. When sedated, she can barely get out of bed, but she still tries it. She doesn't know why she is getting up. Sometimes she has to go to the bathroom, but she has to be both convinced and assisted. She's so unsteady on her feet that I've had some close calls avoiding injuring myself to keep her from falling. I can't sleep at night because she needs to be monitored so closely. I am also becoming a safety concern as my sleep deprivation builds up.

I sat with her at dialysis for the whole three and a half hours yesterday. She has a cold with a nasty cough (which is definitely not helping the insomnia). Since her dementia is so bad and she's so exhausted already, combining those with the energy drain of dialysis treatment makes her a loopy, frail mess. She often blows her nose into her hand, spraying and dribbling mucus everywhere and spits wherever: ground, floor, garbage, any cup within reach and often onto her own clothing or bed linens. I had to assist with the nose-blowing and spitting, distribute snacks, keep a germ mask on her as much as possible and clean everything up. That's, of course, in addition to keeping her relatively calm through her episodes.

After dialysis, she was in a state of inconsolable misery. Physically, it was much worse than sedating her. Most of my safety close calls occurred during that time. Around 7pm, her groaning and whining escalated to loud wailing and calling for Jesus's mercy. When I asked her what was wrong, she couldn't tell me. She just kept repeating herself. When I asked if she was in pain, she said yes. I asked her if the pain was bad enough to go to the emergency room, and she said that it was. She NEVER wants to go to the ER! I usually have to either threaten her or trick her to get her into the car for a hospital visit of any kind. Although we can't afford another ER visit (so far we're at three visits since rehab with a $75 copay each, and, without me earning a single dollar for the past two weeks, we are literally on the verge of losing everything from transportation to housing), I knew we had to go. A few miles into the drive, Controlla by Drake came in the radio. Her groaning ceased, and she sat quietly for the rest of the trip. After taking the hospital exit off the freeway, I asked her how she felt. She said she was fine. I asked her if she was still in pain, and she said no. I asked her if she still wanted to go to emergency, and she said that she didn't care. Since we were already there, I told her that I would at least pick up her prescription refills. Well, I couldn't afford them. I had $11 in my bank account, $7 on her credit card (I had to order a new card for mine because of a weird charge last week, so I don't have one at the moment - even if I did, I only have $50 available credit left). She needed her blood sugar pills for today. Luckily, the co-pay for that med was $10. I would've given them a roll of quarters from my trunk for those pills if I had to. One of her prescriptions is over a hundred dollars! How on earth am I supposed to pay for that?

So, anyway, here we are. I have about $50 in change that I can coinstar for food. I have to make the fuel in the car last as long as I can. I'm still riding around on a spare because I can't afford another new tire. A friend loaned me money for that, but my bank hasn't posted the PayPal transfer, which I initiated on Thursday. I can't drive for Lyft in my car until I get my scheduled maintenance and safety inspection ($800+). I suppose I could deliver DoorDash or Instacart in a pinch if it was safe to leave mom home alone for a while, but it simply is not. I want to use the money, whenever the hell they decide to post it, to rent a car with the Hertz-Lyft partnership program, but I will need to be out of the house for long hours. That's really the only way I can see to earn enough money to start making a dent in the massive debt we're accruing and have an acceptable quality of life.

The government program (Medi-Cal is the gateway to all the senior care and support services) won't help us because her retirement income is a couple hundred a month higher than what they consider low income. My lack of income while I am primary caregiver doesn't even come into play, which is such bullshit. I can't even get her a damn wheelchair!

My February car loan payment is overdue because of the double blowout. I was driving for Lyft on the last few days of my last valid safety inspection in an effort to make enough money to pay for that and a rental, but I instead ended up spending more than I made. I had to buy a new tire so I could go pick mom up from dialysis (almost three hours late). The second flat is still in the trunk. I know that I'm not supposed to ride a spare so long, but... no fucking choice. I have nine days until my March car payment is due, and I haven't yet paid February, and I have no income.  My car insurance is due tomorrow. I will pay it late from mom's SSI when it posts Wednesday. I don't know what I'll do about the car loan payment yet. I will also need to pay my cell phone.

Last night, after a brief, wonderful few hours of lucidity (which I used to get some much needed rest), mom went back to the crazed insomnia and coughing. She had a bathroom accident just before 6am. She almost got there in time. If she hadn't been so confused and combative, we could've made it. However, there we were, both exhausted and irritable. She could barely stand while I cleaned her up, but we somehow got through it. An hour prior,  I helped her go pee. An hour later, I had to calm her down and assure her that she didn't have to get up because it wasn't a dialysis day, and she wanted to discuss the music I was playing for her (yes, I've had the Bluetooth speaker on in her room ever since the Drake incident, but she seems to prefer Billie Holiday and others from that era over newer tunes). An hour after that, she wanted breakfast. It's noon now. Neither of us has slept since the bathroom accident. Her coughing has gotten much better. I gave her Mucinex Friday night despite my reservations about drug interactions because she just couldn't breathe and she was suffering so bad that I was desperate. A trip to the ER the night before was fruitless. They wouldn't help her at all. They just ran a bunch of tests and told her to drink more water. The Mucinex worked pretty well. I sat with her for a few hours and urged her to close her eyes every time she opened them. She slept for a while that night. I tried repeating the same process again after dialysis yesterday, but it didn't work. I don't think she needs any more medicine IF SHE WOULD JUST GET SOME SLEEP. I'm tightrope walking on my last little tender nerve. I keep explaining to her that she needs to go to sleep because the body and mind need sleep to heal and function correctly, and she does this crazy, delirious debating that doesn't even make any damn sense. Grrr. Go to sleep!

Forward One, Back Two

Mom's returned home from her two weeks at a physical therapy center. She lost her balance during the weigh-out at dialysis and fell on her hip. She seemed to just be bruised at first, but she began to lose mobility in the opposite leg over the next couple of days. I took her back to the ER, and I insisted that the doctor observe the way she walks. Nothing was broken, but she appeared to have pulled something. It looks like a hip flexor injury to me. I suffered a similar strain during my failed attempt to climb Shasta. She couldn't safely climb the stairs to enter the house. I had no plan of taking her back home again until she could do so. She has very good health insurance.

It was two weeks of heaven. The family ate dinner together almost every evening. We had homemade pie for dessert. Every food that mom can't eat was consumed at some point. I cleaned the kitchen, living room and her room. I disposed of useless clutter and organized most of her possessions. I removed the frame from her bed to make it short enough for her to get in and out of it unassisted. The energy in the house was much improved as we crossed into the new lunar year. I bought a few Chinese good luck charms and placed them according to feng shui recommendations. It took two days to complete the project to my satisfaction. On the third day, Chinese New Year, I fixed the gate that had been lying broken on the side of the fence for two months and opened up the player piano to figure out why it no longer worked. That was another relatively easy fix. On day four, I went in for my last day at the bakery. I was exhausted, but I managed well enough. That is, until, at the final farmers market stop, I locked the keys in the delivery truck when I went to the restroom. After that, it all went south. I reassigned myself to have the longest last day in record, en bring with a company bowling party. Sunrise, sunset.

I'll be looking into driving a Lyft rental until I've saved enough to pay for my car to get scheduled maintenance and my mom's property taxes. It'll be a long, boring stretch.

Me Time

I felt like I needed a break from the Song of Fire and Ice series, so I browsed the psychology section and happened upon Shahida Arabi's Becoming the Narcissist's Nightmare, an eye-opening collection of personal stories, scientific research and detailed descriptions of a type of toxic personality. The book jumped out at me because of my mom. I knew early in life that she was cruel. I just didn't know the degree of her cruelty. I don't think I really understood its depth until very recently. I had no idea that it was even possible to be the kind of person described in the book. I mean, I knew that narcissists were completely self-centered, but I didn't know that they could also have a complete lack of empathy. How could someone, who isn't a sociopath, completely lack empathy? How can a human being understand empathy well enough to imitate it without actually feeling anything? That is what confuses me. I can't. I can't manipulate people without having some kind of remorse - I even think back to interactions in the past and wonder if I said or did something hurtful that could've been avoided. You mean to tell me that every time my mom made me feel bad for something, it was a calculated strategy to provoke the desired response? I yelled at the recording a few times. Shock. Disbelief. Then, I got really quiet as I listened to hauntingly exact descriptions of manipulations my mom used on me my whole life. Now, I'm not even angry. I spent 40 years wasting such draining levels of emotional anguish and frustration on someone who never had any interest in me beyond what I could do for her. I threw away so much to be here right now, my entire life. I just didn't know. I feel used, but I know that she doesn't see herself as an exploiter. She thinks that she's just making her way in the world as best she can, just like anyone else. I believe that she even thinks that other people are the same as her! That's sad. I can't change her mind. I can't change her at all. Forty years is more than enough time to dedicate to that. Everything I do from here is only for me. I can do some of this to make me feel better, but I feel like I have done enough to move on with a clear conscience. There is a lot left to do in the transition to getting mom into a senior care facility, but at least I no longer need to feel like I am abandoning her. I understand that my life and happiness never held any value to her. She would leave me in financial, emotional and psychological ruin with no remorse. She would even criticize me for being too weak to endure it. This is my parent. This is the woman who raised me. I don't know how I managed to live through that. I must have someone watching over me.

As I listened to more of the book, (I spend a lot of time in the car, so I often buy audio books to entertain me when I'm not with a passenger) another person popped up as a strong toxic force in my life - my boss. Sure, I only work one day a week at his business, but, after realizing that this toxicity may be the reason why I can't stand to be around him and feel uneasy just thinking about him, that one day seems even heavier a burden. It's no secret that I have been ready to give up that one day a week for quite some time. In fact, I've told him and everyone else working there that I'm ready to leave. I'm not sure why he's not looking for my replacement... or maybe I am. If he is a narcissist, he needs to tell me when I can leave, not vice versa. Well, that doesn't work for me.

I am a crazy, beautiful wreck. It's kind of a mess. I want to wander this world with my heart open and connect with strangers. I want to be kind. I want to be helpful. Unfortunately, that makes me a target for those who see others as disposable resources. It's difficult to tell the difference between the real and the imitation sometimes. I spent my entire life being deceived. Wow. Just wow.

Turn the page

I began 2017 with an awful virus that is still plaguing me. This is not at all surprising when I consider that I began 2016 almost exactly the same way. I didn't cry this time. I just took it like a grown-up, and I continue to do so.

A few days before I came down with the illness, I had a couple of passengers receive the same message from the universe on the same day. "Be thankful for what you have." They both said the same exact words. They were so different from each other, but they were both tuned in to the same wavelength. I knew then that the message was also meant for me to hear. It was the day before Christmas. I had no money for presents. I knew that mom and I wouldn't have an actual Christmas (no tree, no gifts, no one to celebrate with), and I felt like maybe I had it all wrong from the beginning. Maybe none of this shit is important. Maybe it doesn't really matter whether we exist or not. Maybe this is all for nothing. Who will even know we were here? What is the point? Then, I received the message. Be thankful for what you have.

I have an extremely comfortable bed. Sure, my bedroom ceiling leaks in two places when the rain is really strong, but it stays warm. I have a comfortable car. It smells like burnt oil after driving more than ten miles because I'm 9000 miles past the scheduled maintenance. The front passenger side tire has a slow leak, but it's still nice for a short ride and it helps me get mom to and from dialysis just fine.

I have to drive at least two long days each week (of the three I have available) to keep the few luxuries we have. I'll need to drive many many more hours to make enough money to do the scheduled maintenance on the car. I mean, once I've recovered from this awful virus I can taste that into consideration. I'm still not making enough to pay my school loan, credit cards or taxes. I'm not sure which of those is going to screw me first, but it's all on the horizon. I don't sleep at night. I mostly just worry about shit. When I do sleep, I dream about it. Then I try to work more hours, and I get sick. It's a vicious cycle slowly and surely killing me. I'm aging very quickly inside. In all my obsessing, I still haven't come up with any solutions or relief.

What I have come up with, during the last four days that I've been too sick to work, is the undeniable importance of my wellbeing. I have been neglecting my needs so badly that it's a wonder how I've managed to function this way for so long without going completely psycho. I have accepted that I'm in this position because of my own choices. I wanted to make sure that my mom is properly cared for. I wanted to be here for her because it made me feel better and less guilty for being happy (wow, that's so cracked). I am not doing this simply to be a martyr; I wanted to show her that my heart, the same generous heart that she constantly criticized me for all my life, is my greatest asset. The thing she tried so hard to destroy is what saved her ass in the end, and that makes me feel pretty invincible. Whatever comes of this debacle, I can handle it. This is the most difficult and challenging thing I have ever lived through. If I can do this, I can fucking rock anything.

It's not to say that I haven't struggled. My word, have I struggled! Like I said, I can't even get a good night's sleep! Man, this life is not for the faint of heart. I never really thought of myself as super strong, and I have plenty of slip-ups that I beat myself up for, but I'm still a badass. I forgot that for a while. I pitied myself. I saw myself as unworthy and useless. I wanted to have it just be over, all of it. I wanted to just turn it off like a light switch. Click. Done. I wanted to off myself and leave a one-word suicide note: "mulligan". I amused myself with that thought so many times. It's just so perfect. It still makes me laugh. Sometimes I think the only reason I didn't do it is because it was so damn funny. You can't kill yourself and laugh at the same time. It's impossible.

I lost everything that gave me purpose and security. I got fat. I spend most of my time taking care of the person who made my life Hell. I really don't know what to do from here, but I'm gonna start with taking care of me. I'm gonna set aside time to do sun salutations and sit in meditation. I'm gonna go see a movie. I'm gonna dance. If I'm lucky, I'll stumble upon some solutions along the way.

Over It

I surrender. 

Making do with what I have

I've made my peace with the fact that I cannot afford my favorite hobbies and amusement right now. I'm still bitter about being out of school and scrambling to pay bills, but I realize that those issues aren't going to be resolved anytime soon. 

I've begun taking mom to the gym. There are senior fitness classes she can attend twice a week and the possibility of a third coming soon to our local gym. This was our first week, so she's feeling more tired and weak than usual. I told her that it's too be expected until she gets back into the habit of exercising regularly. When I first started caring for her in March, I made her walk the grocery store with me for exercise, but once I started working part time that wasn't manageable anymore. I considered the time that it takes to get her to and from the gym, and it seems like this new schedule is better for both of us. Sure, I'd like to use the time to earn money instead, but mom's mental acuity suffers when she's left alone so much. Taking her to the gym gives her the opportunity to socialize with other seniors and gives me the motivation to get back into the gym. My hope is that, once she feels comfortable attending the senior classes without me attending her, I can do my own more challenging workout. It will take a few weeks at least, and that should give me enough time to figure out how I want to spend my time in the gym. 

Today we attended the aqua zumba class. I found it to be a good enough workout for my current level of fitness and perhaps a bit advanced for mom, but she will work her way up to following along with the instructor. At the end of the class, we are rewarded with a soak in the jacuzzi. I kinda expected to have a few hours of rideshare today, but there was no time. Getting her in and out of the pool takes a lot of additional steps in both preparation and cleanup. Since I am now working a both at the San Leandro farmers market Wednesday evenings, I can no longer drive on Wednesdays at all. I already miss the money. The struggle is too real, but I suppose that I still feel pretty good about the change.

Notes From Breakfast

1. Don't sit at the counter if you want quiet.

2. Always get the gravy/sauce on the side.

Sunrise, Sunset

I think I'm gonna start processing the paperwork for mom to go to the dementia facility. She's more confused every day, and the amount of work required to care for her is getting to be too much for me. I thought that I would have some assistance by now, but it doesn't look like it's going to happen. She's just uncooperative. She won't let anyone else help her.

I need to go back to work. The financial burden is too great for me to even wrap my head around it right now. It'll take me at least a year to dig myself out of the hole I created living without income for so long. And all the bills... It's overwhelming. 

The house will go to the bank, so I'll need a cheap place to live, if it exists.

At Rest

One of the reasons why I love to travel is the feeling of being a visitor. When I'm a visitor, it's acceptable to feel like I don't fit in. I am not embarrassed by getting lost or mispronouncing a name. I expect to be treated like an outsider. With the recent racism renaissance, perhaps not initiated by but definitely given momentum by Trump's hate campaign, I feel like an outsider in my own country. The pain is often unbearable. I ran from it as long as I could. Now, I'm broke and tired.

One of my passengers asked my opinion of Kaepernick's protests. Of course, he was white. I told him, just as I tell anyone,  that the man is an adult. He has the right to do what he is doing. I don't have to like it or dislike it. He is bringing energy and attention to a very important issue. The ignorant statements surfacing en masse are not surprising. Those are what make me angry. The time for change is upon us. Instead of resisting and opposing it, which is a waste since it's inevitable, help shape it. There is room for everyone to have their fears heard and addressed. If people only listened to each other. I mean REALLY listened, like they do with someone they love and want to help. If we only did that, this would be a much better world for all.

Meanwhile, at home, Mom asked when the white host was going to be back on the funny videos show. Apparently, she thought Alfonso was a temp. Yup, it's even in my own house. It's weird to be the black child of a racist Asian parent. She doesn't like to look at dark-skinned people on TV. It's been forty-two years of this shit. I don't even try anymore. What's the damn point? 

Settling

I'm working part time now. I run a both at the farmers market for a local bakery on Sundays. I drive Uber and Lyft at least a few hours on mom's dialysis days and around six hours on other days. The arrangement allows me to be home to prepare breakfast and dinner every day. With the dementia, mom isn't capable of using the stove safely. I've seen her set dish towels and pot holders on fire trying to make hot cereal, so I set everything up so she only needs to microwave her lunch or put sandwich bread in the toaster. 

In facing two big challenges right now. The first is paying bills, of course. I'm trying my best to piece together enough income to cover a fairly minimal existence. Most of my earnings go to food, gas and tolls. A Mercedes isn't the ideal rideshare vehicle. I have my first student loan payment next month, I'm 800 miles from the next scheduled maintenance on my vehicle and I gotta make tax payment arrangements in October. 

If mom would just do the few things that are required of her, I could find a way to make this work. However, she is not only trying to bend the rules at home. She has been intimidating the dialysis attendant to disconnect her from the machine before her treatment is completed. She doesn't think that I know what I'm talking about when I tell her that there are serious consequences to this behavior. I need to prepare myself for the doctors to step in and place an order for her to be institutionalized. I'm starting to accept that it is unavoidable. She is the kind of person who cannot be trusted to make her own decisions. That probably should've been obvious by now.

When worlds collide

A friend that I'd been missing recently got back in touch. She revealed to me that she's a medium. She knew all her life that something was different about the way she perceived the world, but it wasn't until a recent traumatic event that she understood just how different she was. I asked some questions. I never really doubted for a moment that she had good reason to believe what she said, but I was still holding on to some skepticism. Then she started saying things that I wrote here, and I am almost certain that she never read them. She talked about my family members, whom she never met, like she knew them. She repeated word for word things the clairvoyant in Phoenix said when I wandered into the oddities shop near my apartment. It was surreal, like a dream.

I found it really interesting when she described the way she receives extrasensory perceptions. I was completely on board until she began acting out of character. It frightened me at first, then I felt curiosity, then I was concerned for her wellbeing and safety.

Between that conversation (which ended mysteriously and abruptly) and its continuation the following day, the strength of our friendship grew in leaps and bounds. 

I have met a few people in my life who are different or special in ways that carry a stigma in our society. I tend to befriend them because I admire the courage it takes to explore and live their alternative lifestyles, but it also scares me. As the child of a Baptist and a Catholic, I was raised to see these alternatives as evil and dark. Now that I have seen so much darkness and evil within organized religion, I am more open-minded. It's each individual's choice to be evil or good, regardless of what kind of spirituality they practice (or lack thereof).

With this particular friend, I believe that she has a gift. But a gift can also be a burden. I feel like I need to step up and make myself more available to her just in case she needs someone she trusts to hold space for her, with her. Examining this feeling brings back memories of other friends that I believe may have needed something similar from me when I wasn't yet capable of giving it. I'm wondering if some of those old connections still exist and if I can nurture them now that I better understand how.

Above all, I'm beginning to think that I've been pursuing the wrong things. I wanted a piece of paper with my name on it to show people. I wanted nice stuff. Now, I just want to know more and to be awed by how much is out there (and in here). I want to feel more. I want to ask more questions that lead to more questions. I want to taste the freedom that comes with having no idea where a path is leading, but being absolutely certain that I need to follow it.

I was so sure that there was no "other" for me. I had given up hope that anything wondrous would happen in my life. I guess I should reconsider.

Between you and your God

Mom often comes and sits in my bedroom. I think she just wants company, so I don't drive her away (except that one time she wouldn't stop talking shit about the rest of the family). I don't engage her because I know that only leads to her baiting me into an argument. I sometimes hush her when she tries to talk over the TV. She has attempted countless times to have a conversation. I don't care. We are not friends. I am her caregiver out of kindness and my own feelings of obligation. I feel bad for her because she has no one else, but I also am aware that she has driven everyone else away. I know that she always blames the other person when they abandon her. Maybe that's why I feel such obligation, but that's irrelevant. This isn't about me. She needs help. I give help. She needs companionship. She doesn't do what is necessary to have it. I cannot control that. I cannot control her. I do often try to explain another person's perspective in hopes that she'll allow me to mediate, but it's just a waste of time. 

The other day, while I prepared breakfast, she made her usual comments about the morning news. She said she wished that someone would shoot Trump. In the next breath, she said she prays that I will hit the lottery. I wanted to tell her to stop - stop praying for me with the stink of murderous thoughts on you. I'm not sure how she can believe that God would (if he was in the business of granting wishes like a genie) grant both a wish to end another person's life and a wish for financial gain. I wanted to repeat what she said back to her so she could hear how crazy she sounds, but I've done that before without the desired effect so I did not bother. I just remained silent. She continued with her running commentary on everyone else's life, and I just let her. It would be disrespectful for me to say what I am thinking, and it would only incense her. What's the point?

When she's being nice, I automatically reinforce my defenses. She has an agenda for everything she does. If she is trying to make me relax, it's because she is planning an attack. I am not fooled by these tactics anymore. Forty-two years have finally taught me everything I need to know about her. She feels malice towards any object of her affection. She is angered by love. Expressions of love are taken as signs of weaknesses to be exploited. She is so different from me. I don't know how I grew up to be kind and compassionate under the rule of someone so manipulative. Then again, I always looked elsewhere for guidance. With her there is only criticism and cruelty. I tried so hard to hide everything that I am from her. Now she depends on the qualities she fought so ferociously to diminish in me. I'm certain that the same God she prays to finds that irony amusing as much as I am certain that she doesn't even see it.

Is this living?

I finished Notes From the Underground, and it got me thinking, particularly at the end. It doesn't take much these days. Many things I encounter regularly have revealed life lessons, even cartoon reruns I've watched dozens of times.

I once comforted myself with a belief common in Buddhist teachings, considering each trivial task as a labor of love. The tasks themselves weren't important. I focused on my frame of mind. That hasn't been working very well lately. In fact, the very thought itself has been met with an army of opposing thoughts in my own mind. I once fought against the bitterness, assuming that it would make me hard and callous if I allowed myself to feel it. These days I often succumb to it completely, but the outcome is not as I expected. I am not inflexible or unsympathetic. Although I am not as talkative and it seems like I appear outwardly less approachable (judging by the way others treat me), I feel more. I hear more. I understand better. Something inside me is opening. I am quicker to shut people and things out, exterior influences that I believe are toxic, but everything else is allowed to wash over me. I submerge myself in listening, watching, paying attention, and I allow ideas to echo inside my mind to see if and how they take hold.

At the end of the book, the narrator talked about the assumptions we make about how to live our lives. He talked about the excuses we make up to validate the fears that hold us back from truly living and fully experiencing life. This spoke to me. I am filled with fear. The things that I feared most have already happened, and yet I am still controlled by fear. I thought that losing my job, my path to the goals I'd set for myself, my tentative foothold in the capitalist economy and the illusion of financial security would ruin me so absolutely that I would cease to exist, but here I am. Some days I feel like a great weight presses down on me from the removal of those crutches, but other days it feels like the weight was actually lifted when those things were lost. Illusions, every one of them. Certainly one is liberated by the removal of Illusions, right? Then there is this other, this nameless burden, this weighted tether holding me and causing me illogical despair. I said before that it is empathy, but it is so much more than that. I walk among them now, an ocean of mindless apes slowly marching to the grave. All of my life I believed in magic, luck, spirits, divine intervention disguised as coincidence. I took crazy risks because I believed that I had an invisible safety net. Now I only fantasize about it, accepting that it is nothing more than an imaginary friend I created to distract myself from the truth. Now I ask myself, which is living? Was I living when I believed in the the magical and wondrous or am I living now?

I'm not depressed anymore. I am grateful for it. I am grateful for many things. At the same time, I have no hopes, just wishes. No plans or goals, only dreams. So what am I afraid of?