Almost May…(later)

Plan B.

Got to get back to work, since the Gov’t says I am NOT disabled. It must be true; I’ve been denied Disability many times.

It must be MY problem to overcome, and to expect help from the Gov’t, I must be one of those "takers" that the republicans talk about all the time.

Got an appointment with the Job Developer that VocRehab set me up with in an hour.

I haven’t heard back from the Disability Reps who were helping me file the Disability application and the appeal for reconsideration – both Denied – so I have been right, it’s a waste of everyone’ s time.

(although…everyone else got something out of this, like, pay checks, ya know. More than me)

How I’m not going to lose most everything I have and have gotten since the wreck in 1998 – well, that’s one thing good that psyche medicines can help me with – if I can keep getting those.

I kinda doubt it – you’re on your own here, and if you’re poor, well, fuck you.

Silly Cat, thinking that SSD would help you. It doesn’t work that way, not for you. Cat. You’re poor for a reason – lowlife character, and besides, no one wanted you in 1962* and why would you think that’s changed in 51 years.

*I was adopted at birth

We’ll see how this path runs out, this Plan B pathway.

***

Plan B

They’ll set me up to get and keep a job – turns out I’m not very good at that either. Find jobs, get me interviews, find me a job that fits my abilities.

(I really can’t believe I did that bus driving work, from 2006 till 2011. I was never comfortable doing that job, and, well, wasn’t all that good at handling a large vehicle. Could be worse; no one got hurt, and ya know, I wanted to do that and tried – I DID it. Found out it was, ya know, not for me, especially nowadays, but I did it.

Still, kind of amazing I did that, and I’m thinking of that tonight because the last bus driving job I had, I was taking Private School kids home, on Monday nights, driving a charter bus, driving in and out of neighborhoods  across the Eastside, over a hundred miles – with a full size bus (old Canadian Greyhounds, some of them, as a matter of fact).

Hairy turns in dark streets – I am sort of surprised I didn’t have any accidents there.  Hours of driving that bus, a different bus every time, usually, on Monday and Thursday, dropping teenagers here and there, kind of like "touring" Portland’s east side, all the way out to Gresham.

Those kids were all "minority" kids, in this Private school some basketball star set up and funded. There was a waiting list to get in. The school looked like some Community College or something. The school’s name carried weight – saying you were driving for them was pretty cool.

Those kids had me driving down dark, narrow streets, in a BUS. I think back and I wonder 1.damn. I did that and 2. What the hell was I thinking ? )

I guess I’m sort of looking for another janitorial job, a custodial position. Half days, not too demanding, same thing over and over – the kind of job that fits me. Turns out, through testing and experience, that the newspaper distribution job I had for almost seven years was like, the perfect job. Too bad people stopped buying the newspaper. The Internet and the modern cell phone have pretty much killed off the dead tree versions of newspapers.

Still, I shouldn’t have like, blown up at the boss and told him exactly what I thought of him, his job, his family – waaaaay overboard, and really, REALLY satisfying until I heard the words coming out of my mouth, and by then, of course, it’s waaaay too late, and, cut to the chase, I talked myself out of that job. Which was going to the dogs anyway, so, maybe it was really only a matter of time anyway… but I shouldn’t have said what I did.

It felt GOOD for about half a minute, really GOOD. Scary GOOD.

***

OK, long tangent there. I like jobs I can see my progress on. Lawns. Floors. Carpets.

My parents wanted me to get a college degree, so I did. It took 20 years, really, to get it finished but it’s on the wall. I’ve never "used" it for a job. I’m not sure how to use it for a job. My dad you know, one night, drunk, before he died, said the "floors always need mopping, and someone has to do it." He said "you work for them for decades, and they use you up and let you go and you have nothing left. Get a job that always needs to be done." I’ve had a lot of those kind of jobs, and most of them don’t pay shit, but if I can keep the Caliber, my Dodge Caliber, bought new, a Lifetime Warranty on the powertrain, engine and transmission – it is a Keeper car, if I can.

If. It’s worth it to try.

Maybe I’ll buy a lottery ticket. It’d surprise the fuck out of me if it won Anything.

It would have surprised me very much if Disability DID finally pay off.

Either it’s all random and luck of the draw or there’s some kind of note out there that says "NOTHING for NWC. NOTHING"

Fortunately there are psych drugs for that sort of thing.

If you can pay for them.

Sometimes I don’t wanna say onwards.

*****