All my friends left me in 1977/78. I ended up going to mental health counseling.
Since then there are just those who try to fill the void, but they cannot. A job is supposed to do it and support me too, that is take care of my living expenses. I had a part time job while I went to school to learn about computers. It didn’t do it.
I thought yoga would do it but it hasn’t it. The people in yoga are as unloving as the people who had to “move on.”
The Hare Krsna movement has looked very attractive to me, but I don’t want to quit having sex. I don’t go to bars anymore because they are like speed traps, a cop comes and gets you. That was back in the 90’s. The cops picked me up a lot in the late 70’s, 77/78. It was like cultural profiling. I was the type.
I was thrown in jail over night in the university city of Fayetteville, AK , just for a few hours in one little town a stone’s throw away from there.
Why does it seem like I should have joined the Army instead of going to school? 20/20 hindsight, I guess.
And somebody is looking over my shoulder. I don’t appreciate that. What’s the point?
I never took being the black sheep of the family too seriously. To me I live in a family of black sheep and I’m the one who’s pure as snow. No nobility, all conformity.
So, that’s that.
I put something on FB about people having a right to work. You get that idea going to school. They tell you that a high school diploma will get you a job, that is make your chances better, but when you have finished school and even gone further in school you hear that it is not the education that matters but your experience. Really, that’s just politics. If you are not on the right political side they just do their best to discourage your chances at work. More money for them, more money for their Party.
That’s how work is, you can be an outright bigot but you can’t grow your hair over your ears. Work or livelihood is apparently controlled by right wing bigots, homophobic, narrow minded idiots and greedy, unscrupulous businessmen. Then you have Ronald Reagan come along and call them the backbone of America. Doesn’t anyone think in this country?
My friend from my childhood in N.Y. says it is not the role of the government to find you work. You have to do that yourself. He has a job. He is meditating on his retirement, watching his 401 K and likely making plans for his lovely little step-grandchild (he married grandma). Not me.
I was so delighted to see my friend on FB and I thought things were looking up. Grace, Gurumayi would call it, but as it turned out, Ray, the former RFK champion is now a Right Wing Nut, much like a young fellow his big brother befriended when we were friends, a tall Bakke supporting smart ass, who sole concern was that a negro might beat him out of some great scholarship, since he was a great intellectual – kind of a poor man’s William F. Buckley. The fact that we had enslaved the negro and in the south, who fought a war to keep him a slave, he was not even allowed to vote or drink from the same water fountain as white people was lost on the great mind, Bobby Giegerich.
I remember once I got into an argument with him that turned into a fight and he held me by the head while I vainly flailed away. He was 4 years older and nearly a foot taller. He didn’t make the basketball team like my friend’s big brother but he liked to play in my neighbors back yard. He wasn’t apologetic for any of us 3, 4 or 5 years younger getting hurt. He played to win.
My childhood friend from N.Y., Ray, has no news on whatever happened to Bobby Giegerich. It seems to me Giegerich became Ray. But, then Ray talks about a boss. Is Bobby Giegerich his boss?
I was just watching Law and Order: Criminal Intent and a woman who is suffering from a lung problem tells her daughter Medicare won’t pay for an in home nurse. The daughter calls her mother gloomy and negative but it’s true. Medicare will pay for a nurse’s visit 3 times a week. When mom suffered a stroke at 89 I learned this. I would have paid off the credit card for a nurse the rest of the week but nobody even mentioned it. It gets me terribly blue just thinking about it because I left her in a nursing facility just because of that. The hospital really believes in letting you take care of things. They do little to help.
Mom was diagnosed as no possibility of recovery. Everyone involved in helping her to come back home was right wing. I just couldn’t handle it. It was terrible the way politics was involved in all that. Most people were impossibly pessimistic while others were coughing up the old right to life bullshit. You remember the woman whom they wanted to take off machines just a few years ago. I asked for psychological help at the hospital and the big surgeon whom I think mom despite the aphasia and all that stroke shit referred to as Beck, meaning Becker from the TV show. I didn’t get it. I thought she was aksing for Beckham or something. So, later, realizing the negativity of the doctor I saw that it was Becker the TV doctor she was talking about.
It’s too late now. I thought mom was dying and I let her.
Because of her age they were not too optimistic for her recovery. Is that a right wing battle cry? Mom’s stroke was being used for political purposes. Her death a damnation of left wing philosophy. However if left wing philsophy was more prevalent mom would have had an in home nurse and I would have had more friendly support.
I really resent people, who informed of a bill I am paying and seeing that I pay it in full, say, “you must be rich.” I am not by any means rich and I think this is a ruse to have me acting like I am. I believe this impedes my progress in the job market, although it is always said that employers do not hire on the basis of need but on qualifications. I believe a little bit of both are required.
So many people are inclined to hide their worth. Mom was always on the skids though I believe she felt that way because it was unfair that she had to support me. They (the business community, I suppose) penalized her for flaws they found in me. Even in Mental Health sessions it was never offered to me that they wished to unburden mom, it was just that it should be that I worked and they were going to fix that. They never did. The connections that Alachua County Mental Health Clinic offered I only finally took advantage of in 1998.
I’m not sure why I was at ACMHC because my mother got me into it. Nobody said why I was there except that I was having a little difficulty. It was some advantage of her senior citizenship to have me go there for counseling. She didn’t have to pay as far as I know. Somehow I have always done better where mom has had to pay instead of the government. My only example is Santa Fe Community College in 1972. Something about the government paying affects me. I believe there is some suggestion involved there.
People who resent government aid became a big part of my life in 1970 when we moved to Florida, dad’s home state. Dad’s people resented helping hippies, negroes, hispanics, women and what all. In American mythology the idea of one paying one’s own way and becoming successful is romanticized. When you go to college and someone else pays you realize there is something different about you. You are a subclass. My father reveled in that. It allowed him to be vulgar and prejudiced. They were giving everything to the goddam nigger he always said. He was unconcerned that they were giving something to me and he always said it was he who was putting me through school. He gave me an old ’64 Falcon painted Navy khaki to drive to school while I lived with him and, as an afterthought, mom. Why not do all you could with the help of the Fed to make me successful. Why penalize me, as I think he was doing, for smoking the pot that every kid was smoking, wearing the long hair that every kid was wearing and not being home for days as every college kid isn’t? It was more important that he made his argument than that I succeed. Everyone in his family thinks I had enough. When I graduated from Santa Fe Community College I was given a ’68 Biscayne Chevrolet that overheated constantly. That was in 1974. For graduating high school and community college and knowing I was in trouble at the 4 year school having gotten on academic probation before I went to SFCC, you might have thought a new car would be my reward. Some economy model Some talk of that was about but I had to find a job in order to get a car. That’s what mom said. A Maverick was mentioned, a Javelin. This was under Nixon and one of the worst recessions we had ever seen. That was just “tough.” My father smoked Camels. He was a tough guy. The foreman in a railroad yard before he retired in 1969. He was the Master Mechanic in that yard and he extended this role to changing the oil in my car. I was like a baby. I couldn’t take care of my own car which wasn’t in my name but his to save on insurance. I knew how to change tires but I was too paper chase to get under a car and get my hands full of black oil, dispense of the oil and put new oil in. It was my step-brother Bill who taught me to change a tire. I learned little about cars from dad. Dad’s cars were always Falcons since 1963. We had a green ’51 Chevy before that. He bought another Falcon in ’65 and later he bought a Falcon for mom, he boasted, in ’66. He had no kind words for LBJ who had ushered in an era of prosperity that obviously my father was taking advantage of. He voted for Goldwater
I used to get rides and constantly hang around with my step-brother Bill who liked better cars. Bill’s first new car was a red 1965 Chevy Impala convertible. Bill loved convertibles and he like to customize his cars with skirts, antennaes, and sound machines. He dropped out of school to go to work so he could buy a car. His first car was a gray Oldsmobile, the second a ’54 black Mercury convertible, the third a red ’58 Chevy convertible. They were all used. It didn’t seem like it had been too long ago that Bill and I had discussed a Dune Buggy, but moving down south I didn’t get to see too much of my big brother and his influence was not much respected except by teachers and others who offered me counsel back in the early 70’s.
Oh, what was all this about? You must be rich! Yeah, rich, so I don’t need a job. When I talk about a job with these people they ask about work experience. They have no respect for education and are quick to point out to me you can’t get anything with a B.A. these days, knowing I don’t even have a B.A. but only and A.A.
With friends like these ….