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surviveandrebuildagain-blog · 7 years

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…very tired…

Posted on November 3, 2014

It’s all been too hard to write anything for the blog. Survival only, isolation, utter disappointment. It’s not been worth it. Life. Other than the true – like the sky, bird chirp, the scent of the fall harvest or of spring, a child’s response. One learns to “be” good, then learns to think the “good” – we call it “ethics” – but that is all belief – a marketing product. Cultural propaganda of different times, different rules. So one succeeds or fails by prescription for gender, race, or class, but failure is always one’s personal failure regardless of…no, exactly because of believing that belief.

The short paper not (yet) written, just the thought of the enormity and invisibility of the problem despite the many exposés: “The Complicit Professions.” Fucking lawyers, politicians, and not corporations as are so accused, but those actual persons who own or work for the dead corporate body or those with funds to buy the “concern” of the lawyers, judges, politicians, and investors. And …

***

I’ve heard from the NM lawyer that he’s not found a Texas lawyer interested in the case. Let us all fall down and roll around laughing. Because the boys and girls got themselves a racket. Can’t disturb that. Even if I die. Even if it were fraud from the beginning by “my” own lawyer. By his lawyer. All neatly worked out and settled. Just keep me hanging on, keep me believing that there was something called law and that there would be justice.

It’s a cultural and national – though not exclusive to the US/us, but perhaps more pervasive down the classes thinking themselves soon-to-be-lucky – assumption of empowerment by screwing your fellowman for all the profit and purchased status to be had.

I do not know what next. There is no work here, editing has been scarce and was always part-time anyway and often gifted to friends or special projects. The qualified résumés have not received acknowledgement except in one case where I am an alumna. It is very much the “primo system” here where the positions are posted only because of federal requirement, but are pre-filled. All resources are gone and local aid that I’ve donated to over the years seems to be a farce of administrative fantasy by the Do-Good religious. To have accepted any help at all would have meant losing Windy and Cooper. And my books. The fraud of the decree has meant years of punishment while I believed in the LAW and in lawyers, in what was “legal” coming to pass, and in truth. Dignity and means have been stolen, my education and degree delayed again and again. Now, to finish up and necessarily update after a year away from the books and thinking means time and space to read and think. I looked at Amazon yesterday…how, when?!? J-LN has at least 3 new books out that I didn’t even know of. And so many other books of thinking-through that I’ve not yet read but see you discussing at FB. Feeling lost and hopeless…and denied. Of everything. And now, my health. I sit here in pain.

There is Santa Fe Woo-Woo going on at the table behind me. Time to leave, go to the storage unit to gather the next layer of small things I stacked at the door so they won’t be in the way when Lu gets there. Then, if the grass has dried, to the Railyard Park for our roll in the grass. It’s hard on the corgis, so little movement allowed in the house and now the courtyard is wet and cold. But we’re together. They take such good care of me.

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…missing the Halloween trick, hoping for a treat…

Posted on October 31, 2014

At the house I moved out of a year and 76 days ago, there was a railing at the driveway and then steps down to the front door. The doting parents would stand near the railing as the spooks and goblins traipsed around and down the stairs calling out, “Trick or Treat!” We were waiting, corgis and I, the corgis so excited to see the children and I with my basket of napkins and treats.

“Fresh today! I just picked these up in the backyard this afternoon! Corgi poops!”

And there they were, lookin’ like the real deal corgi poop! We TRICKED ‘EM!!!

“EWW!” most of them squealed, parents cracking up in the driveway, and a few savvy kids saying, “Oh, yum! I want corgi poops!” Every year now I am SO disappointed that WholeFoods no longer sells the chocolate macaroons

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. . . on doubting the possibility of the possible. . .

Posted on October 27, 2014

It is Sunday evening, 9 p.m. I just applied my last two red Post-its to page 49, the last page of the chapter, “On Phrase”, in Flusser’s On Doubt. Thank you, Drew and Jason, for the most hopeful moments of this day…to read, to think. And, especially, to skip ahead to the last lines of the book. …Really enjoying Flusser!

A later departure this morning after working on the pantry boxes to be stacked in a dusty outdoor-access storage space and doing a thorough dust and sweep of 122 Circle Drive. Beautiful morning – as I considered a first stop at the Railyard Park, Windy yelped! A funny sound – a flash of hard rain – by the time I grabbed Windy and got her inside, it had stopped. The rest of the day was like that: shifting weather, iffy Wifi, and loneliness. No personal e-mails, no posts at FB, no faces.

No faces. I do understand that the situation has gone on over-long. That I have been over-needy. That interest is over.

When we returned to the house, I brought Windy’s stroller inside and began scrubbing down car seats and rolling balls of corgi fur from the carpet. Just no way to prevent the mess with them not having had a bath in a year, still shedding, and now putting on winter coat. Carried in the rug the stroller rests on, the pad from the front seat, and 2 old towels for washing. The fur on the dryer filter gathered into tennis ball size. The point, of course, a cleaner car…as I type this realizing I was confused.

Tomorrow – today when I post this – the boxes must be sealed and loaded to the car for Tuesday, last chance, delivery. The 28th. On Wednesday, the 29th, I have to assume it becomes part of public record that I am an uninsured driver, that I’ve not paid. It is also the day the car payment is due. 3 days before storage payment is due. It doesn’t matter for the reason I was cleaning the car – a catch-up on a task that would make for a cleaner space to sleep in. I can drive back to the house after I take the boxes to storage, after I check e-mail and stop by PakMail, make last EBT purchases

at Whole Foods.

The car payment could be late. Again. But not insurance. No driving beyond Wednesday. No internet beyond Wednesday. The reverse of repossession, to have and not possess. The confusion being with repossession, we’d be on the street, not sleeping here at the house…but, then, not in the car either. A con-fusion of 2 crises.

After recharging properly 2 times, the cell phone (or the charger) is again not working properly. Almost dead – I’ll try a different outlet overnight and will try to remember to post the results tomorrow. I have some stamps, no envelopes. Several addresses – I will write to someone if the phone doesn’t make it.

Such a treat the last few days to have had chicken for the-meal-a-day, a gift from friend, Ray. The usual is half cups of brown rice and vegetables, topped with egg, microwaved. I’ll replenish supplies tomorrow. Also, almond milk, and treat myself with a couple of apples. I checked the “homeless box” at Teca Tu today, only cat food. We may have enough still for a week. Plenty of reading material. The EBT amount for the homeless is out of touch…can’t buy prepared foods…where/how is the homeless person to cook? Also, Chase gifted themselves with 2 weeks worth of EBT by using holidays as an excuse to move the payment date from the 1st to the 15th of the month.

437 days, nights, holidays, birthday, 4 seasons, 4 houses, several parking lots, 2 corgis, 2 pair of jeans, 3 hoodies. Success! I did not fail! – that is, he hasn’t accomplished murder yet. Thank you for your attention, care, and support. I am NOT the only person this has happened to / is happening to. Justice is a failed concept when profit-driven lawyers interpret law by the playing rules of neoliberal capitalism. May shut down Crowdrise…the amount was a thought of getting through enough time for legal action, a court date, a settlement. …May not shutdown Crowdrise…hope is only fantasy…no, shut it down. No more fantasy. Justice.

Or…an auction! You, too, can have a storage unit in Santa Fe! Going once! Going twice! A car payment? Yours! How about a cell phone account? It’s 11:30. I’m bonkers. Broken. Or, via Flusser…damn, hope Flusser can explain all this…Doubt.

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Rough week…and then it was friday.

Posted on October 25, 2014

The worst week of this ordeal other than the first week with its emergency surgery. I was shocked to note an hour ago that tomorrow is…Saturday? I can’t even recall which days held which crisis… Monday was the possibility of moving out of 2 storage units about to be auctioned off…couldn’t pay. Tuesday was a possibility…couldn’t pay. My friend waiting both days for the call to bring his crew in after work…to work, to get it all transported to another unit that I didn’t have the funds for. And raining…the cardboard boxes of books would have gotten quite wet. And the mattresses. So, good, bad, awful, but no way to live when the whole scenario is one of longtime abuse. Fraud. Lie after lie.

Tuesday! The move-out up in the air, crazy confused and trying

to remember that I had an appointment with a lawyer I had seen a

month earlier. He was late; I was getting into the car when he

came around the corner. A refresher on the issues and a couple

of action plans, the first being something called a TRO – that is,

a declaration of need and poverty that becomes a restraining order

for confiscation of property. Because I didn’t have $1200 to declare

bankruptcy. Can’t even afford bankruptcy. Or car insurance. A

dentist. Or…Windy’s death when the time comes. I went to the

Court House and got the paperwork, reported back…step after step to

try to save my books. Both devastated and grateful that there was

some small effort toward personal agency I could make. The lawyer

defined me as a “pauper.”

Wednesday. An e-mail. I’ll tell you another time. Same ol’ same ol’.

Thursday? So distracted, so worn, so busy…accomplished nothing.

Today, Friday, I set out to get done yesterday’s tasks – I had

filled the back of the car with odd shaped things from the shed here

on the property to squeeze into the new storage unit. Got that done,

but don’t see how the rest of it will fit. The big accomplishment

was payment of the car payment by my “unknown friend” with the help of

another friend – wonderful friends… Internet iffy all day, email to lawyer didn’t go out until late…and still no response. I can accomplish so little in a day between internet problems, having to move around, worrying about the corgis in the car, worrying about gas, being hungry

and always thirsty, tired, lonely. At the house, I can’t think something through, go to the computer to look up information, or contact anyone.

By the time we get back here, I’m barely walking, in so much pain and so weary…need, need, to make some appointments. Such effort just to make corgi dinners. And no late night research projects for the teaching project, for the dissertation, or local jobs.

But tomorrow is Farmers Market! The one treat a week, a flat bread purchased with the special FM wooden coins, maybe a red pepper or a

tomato. Never see anyone I know…or perhaps it’s that they don’t see

the homeless person, though my shredded hoodie does get second glances. Another trip to the storage unit to take the 2 exercise balls to wedge

in up high somehow. Later, after internet efforts, the pantry boxes must all be labeled – no idea where to put them. The little space they might fit near the rolling doors is hot and where it’s sprayed for bugs and rodents. Geico is due next Wednesday, $360 – car payment paid, but no

more driving. Or prescription insurance. Phone. Art storage. Punishment for crimes I didn’t commit, secrets not mine.

Also on Thursday, I had e-mail from a writer friend who now is also homeless. And saw another writer friend at Starbucks and heard the

news that he’d been a finalist for a house in Detroit, but didn’t get

it. Windy is trembling on the floor, a nightly nerve twitch. She’s weaker, slower everyday, but still happy and alert. Cooper stays near when she’s upset that I’m out of sight. A Starbucks gift card made possible their Puppy Lattes in the late afternoon – they’re considered the official mascots of the Mall location and have their own groupies. Since we got kicked out of the Mall, staff has learned our names and treat us very kindly.

Make the best of it I can. Each day. But this is miserable. Abusive.

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…last chance.

Posted on October 20, 2014

Talked to Robert at ExtraSpace Storage – contributions to the bill must come in on the same day, now TOMORROW. Unless by waiting a day the main office ups the price, right now the bill is at around $950 – a pay-to-vacate discount if moved out on the same day. The mover has said he could come tomorrow after the usual workday.

20 people at $50? Or any amount? Coming in as early in the day

as possible? Can you help in anyway at all? Do you know anyone

else who would help save my books, furniture, and clothing from

AUCTION??? Sitting in WholeFoods now, fighting tears. Hungry.

Please, tomorrow is the last day, the last chance.

I also stopped at the cheaper place, Santa Fe Self Storage. A

10×25 is $240. A 3 month special is 25% off. So, $160 – if I

understood correctly. Or, I think, half off for one month. Is

there anyone who could do that? David DeSantis is willing to

arrange access in and out of the gates after hours. Anyone?

http://www.santafeselfstoragecompany.com/Santa_Fe_Self_Storage.html

I have $100 dollars from a Crowdrise gift. The other money sent

was spent for food and gas. My bank accounts otherwise only have

the required $5 in each one. Both the late notice for the car

payment (now $500) and the car insurance ($360) bills arrived

today. I do have dog food and chews for at least another week.

Not having the car makes a lot of things iffy…but it is the

storage units that are breaking my heart. And Lu and his team

are willing to move at night after a long day. His team? Some

names you might recognize – runner from other countries who come

to Santa Fe to train at 9000 feet. Wonderful men, most from

Kenya.

Someone has offered to contact the ex-husband who has committed

fraud on every item of the decree and will inform of the need for

payment. Not likely he’ll do such a decent thing, but if that were

to happen, those funds would apply first and any other not charged.

But not likely. He has a neoliberal “win” going on…

Please. Do you know anyone else who would help? 15 months and 5 days. I am worn, beyond sad, need a hand, a shoulder, a word, so badly. This would be the last loss, the unbearable.

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…barely standing, still no tears…

Posted on October 19, 2014

(9 p.m., 10/17/14)

****, understand me clearly. No, I am NOT suicidal. This is murder by longtime abuse, both marital and by lawyers. It is not right for me to lose everything – not the financial support and those things along the way that would have provided stability, safety, and agency in my own life, but also those material-girl things in the last 2 storage units that I am taking so much criticism for. My intellectual and aesthetic life. The line is drawn there. Lose it, I’m gone. Won’t survive, don’t care to, won’t be complicit in my own abuse: done. And may he rot in liver disease hell and all possible public shame.

So, here comes Monday. I lose it all.

I’ll push through Tuesday on the chance the lawyer has anything to offer. I suspect now that he’s simply retired and doing the good deed thing. There is also the possibility that my e-mails were blocked. Nice man, he had ideas, knows people, seemed to be thinking it through – it’s worth hoping and showing up. 1:00 Tuesday.

The car payment is now 3 weeks late. Car insurance is due in a week and a half. Time to turn it in. I am trying to go back through the pantry boxes I did last week and sort things out for my host’s family and the homeless shelter. Shouldn’t leave anything in the house that would mean extra work for them. The other task is what was put in the storage shed here by friend, ****. If I have any cash at all, I’ll give it to him along with contact information so that he could move everything out on his own schedule. I’ll have to decide where it should go, or to whom.

If I had access to the 2 remaining units, I’d send my daughter’s dolls to her. Today I left a Nutcracker mug with a high school friend and asked that it be sent to her. As all that is left. A piece of furniture made by my son and the artist John Massee is also in storage…a heartbreaker to lose it. The Lysistrata bed and ropero. The sofa. 200 boxes of Eastern and Western philosophy books, psychology and counseling books, early childhood and learning disability books, poetry and literature, books I have edited. I lose all of that because my life does not matter exactly because I can’t “afford” to live in the land of fraud-made-legal, marital abuse as the standard, and compromise-for-crime as the liberal position.

Too tired, ****. 430 days and nights. In rags, in pain, often thirsty and hungry, always alone. Tonight, after my past-date tuna, I opened 2 boxes packed by my wonderful Kenyan long distant runner friends who work for Lu. One labeled “olive oil” – had all those kitchen counter kinds of things of olive oil and vinegars, salt grinder and pink, black, and red salts, garlic bulb jar, special little flower vase – my kitchen life. Another box was labeled, “socks, clothing and christmas” – ??? Yay, socks and a few supplements not yet expired! No clothing. A cute mechanical snowman and dog for the holiday table. And a small needlepoint corgi pillow for my bed I’ll never sleep in again.

Can you understand, ****? No one else seems to. This isn’t about something I did, or about being a “material girl”, or about not trying to do something about the legal situation, or about getting work. I’ve lived under this oppression and abuse for years and, for the last ten years,

every cent I could hang on to was paid to lawyers who cashed my checks and refused further communication, each lawyer covering for the last one. This was set up from the beginning. My “own” lawyer sold me out from day one. Greg’s had a ball! The delay game was fun! My children witnessed it…and deny what they saw, what they heard. They don’t yet understand the price they’ve paid, too.

It costs money to live in 2014. I have none and owe some. What I should have was stolen. What I owe was forced on me following lies upon lies. If there were actual justice functioning in the US today, all that would be repaid by those responsible. Properly sued, several people could face jail terms in addition to paying damages. But Monday my heart dies with the loss of my books. On Tuesday, the last hope. On Wednesday I finish the tasks so as not to leave any messes behind.

You have been an amazing friend. Thank you, ****

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…a bare life.

Posted on October 16, 2014

Below, a Note posted at FB. Several hours later now, more despair. $100 to put toward the needed $1500 for the move Monday night. That’s gotta happen…don’t see how. And then lose the car? Losing the car means no more access to the current house, no access to any roof or safety at all. And Tuesday’s scheduled meeting with the volunteer lawyer? Reality is… I am beyond exhausted, beyond frustrated, beyond hope that there is anything like truth or justice to save the day…my day, my life. Trying so hard to hang with just today. It’s nearly 3, still haven’t eaten, and just spent $2 for tea to have internet access. And with gas down to $2.84 and at a half tank, that, too, out of that $100. Do you know any person, any foundation or charity, anyone at all who could help? It feels like my life is slipping away. In sadness, isolation, in a broken panic. Planned, choreographed by several persons, fraud. And my death.

FB, 10/16/14

FB Note: Update on the first day of the fifteenth month of homelessness: 427 days, nights, of despair. Year of lies that I could never get a solution for from “my” lawyer, much less even a response. And then the other lawyers who lied, cashed my checks, and stopped further communication – it was unbelievable…to me. Because I still believed in the law and the courts, in justice, in decrees and contracts. Even requests to the Judge were ignored. Everything I saved up lost to lawyer fraud and none of the contract items fulfilled – not the small house down payment, graduate school tuition, one car, health insurance, cost-of-living adjustment. None of that. Then, he was to retire, send a retirement fund required by divorce contract. Said, “No, not now, I’ll send it in 3 months.” I got out of the rent house in less than a week, everything in storage, the corgis and I in the car. There has been great kindness along the way, a first month at the house of a friend’s father, a month sleeping on the floor of a book store, a couple of weeks caring for 2 dogs, a month+ at another house with dogs, Motel6, the Silver Saddle, 2 weeks in Dallas, now at a home for sale. In between, a parking lot and a friend’s large driveway on the edge of town. $2 public showers. Internet at a grocery store and a coffee shop. The retirement fund never arrived, alimony was stopped.

427 days. 427 nights. Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall… Winter coming on.

Resources depleted. Friends have kept me going with gifts of funds, Visa cards for gas, WholeFoods and Starbucks cards, gifts of dog food. Last month a car payment. This month help with health insurance and storage funds to get out of 3 units and into a larger, cheaper unit. There are 2 more units with the most important – to me – things. Payment is 2 months behind, and the units must be moved out in 24 hours on Oct. 20. Car payment is already late, and car insurance due. Another insurance is due on the 1st, along with phone. And fees for the 2 new, cheaper storage units. The 2 units to vacate require professional movers. My friend, Lu, who has moved me 3 other times is willing to do the moving after working hours, at night. To get all of that done – chokes me – $3000. And 2 weeks later, cheaper storage fees, car, health insurance, phone, and gas comes to half that.

Right now…nothing.

Pushing myself through the days SCREAMING, still unable to cry, barely breathing, in bad pain, exhausted. The only possibility, one that I trusted a month ago before it disappeared, is a possible meeting with a local lawyer on Tuesday. Possible…no explanation as to not showing up as scheduled 2 weeks ago, no response to emails. But possible. On Tuesday. The move would be Monday if I have funds. And if not, after meeting with the lawyer Tuesday, the car would have to be dropped off at Del Norte Credit Union for repossession. We – Windy in her stroller, and Cooper – will be on the street, without the roof and locked doors of a car, no way to return to this house for safety. And no means or reason to keep on.

Years denied legal representation. Years without agency permitted in my own life. Years of secrets. A shattered family. I am broken into a thousand pieces, stooped, in pain. Most of my hair has fallen out, the hint of dental problems, and my 2 sets of clothing now rags. The broken elbow on day 3 also caused back problems that need to return to physical therapy – so hard to schedule anything when homeless, not knowing if I can be clean and on time.

Yes, there was some work – so grateful for the trust that carried – and a dozen résumés submitted, all qualified for the editing, non-profit, teaching, and fundraising positions posted. All along the way I have been blamed for not finding work, for not taking on just anything (even if it meant leaving the corgis in a hot car and still not being able to pay rent), and, generally, being irresponsible. The actual legal issues ignored for a bootstrap message ignoring the current economic conditions and the local standard of pre-hiring – NM’s longstanding “primo system.”

So much learned, seen, beaten into me. So weary. And yet. Still. A drop of justice, of dignity restored, safety… There is so much to think and write, children to read to, faces to receive, hands to touch, wine to share, your voice, corgi love. This folded up, bent, squeezed, shrunk life…is no life at all. Just a struggle to breathe, eyes dry and mouth swollen, leg cramps, posture twisted. The cheese sample for breakfast, for lunch. A dog walk hoping there is no parking ticket when we return. Having people take a second look at the large holes in my clothing. Not having money put away for the day when Windy tells me: “It’s time.”

I need $3000 to survive this one week. To save my books and car (for safety). To shrink my expenses. To survive long enough to explore a last chance legal opportunity. For agency against so many years of fraud. And abuse. I am so tired. Please help…

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10:03 p.m., 10/13/14: Bach Cello Suites #2, 3, & 6. Mstislav Rostropovich (1995).

Posted on October 14, 2014

Got it done! All thanks to friend, Willem! A busy day for him already with farmers market tomorrow – he’s the best baker in Santa Fe, and the healthiest. And also invites the community in to learn professional baking skills! So, today, with all that going on, he met me at the storage unit – not sure, four runs? Maybe more, we worked about four hours. No truck, but a big ol’ station wagon with no seats and a wood floor – it was perfect for all the hanging bags, kitchen boxes, plastic boxes with folded clothing, big boxes with shoe boxes, boxes of dishes – all the last-stuff-out-of the house stuff. So, three units moved to one that only costs $170. I’ll figure the savings when I can think again… New unit will be dusty, doesn’t have a light, is really basic, but…grateful. It was good to see dishes, pots and pans, bank records, the small kitchen table I’ve had for years. AND, in an unlabeled box that I opened, FIVE boxes of contacts! plus my hair brush, make-up mirror, and basics like bandaids. I brought a few of the smaller hanging bags back to the house in hope that I can put together a couple more things to wear. I thought I had put the jacket and hoodie from Bianca in one of the units waiting to be moved, but both were in a box at this unit – really weird, but so glad! For me, almost like a party…except it was such hard work. And when it hurt so bad, the thoughts were bad, too. How could anyone do this? He’s done this again…and again…I kept believing “the law” would deal with it.

The pay-to-vacate $200 came from *you* – thank you.

10:30 p.m. …time to shut down here, sleep. Can hardly believe this got done today. So grateful, a bit hopeful. Thank you…

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7:51 p.m., 10/12/14: Bach Cello Suites #1, 4, & 5. Mstislav Rostropovich (1995)

Posted on October 13, 2014

Breathing. Pacing. Loving Windy and Cooper. Grateful for a warm house and bed.

Saw longtime friend, Willem, on Saturday at Farmers Market. Followed up with an e-mail, and today he offered the use of his “funky van”. I’ve e-mailed several kind, male friends and asked if anyone would be available, or knows anyone else who could be, to move things tomorrow or Tuesday (10/13-14). Long shot that it’ll work out…Extra Space pay-to-vacate terms require being out of the space within 24 hours. The unit is

small, not full, but with items bigger and bulkier than I can handle on my own. I do have the needed $200 from friends who gave at Crowdrise.

Does that sound calm? It is…perhaps too much so. It only matters at all if the rest of the problems work out. Later this week, the car payment is due; at the end of the month car insurance is due: can’t have one without the other. And by October 20, the pay-to-vacate monies of $1200 are due in order for Lu Rojas to move things at night to another storage space that will cost $240 a month. Astilli is already late at $207 – will drop by the office tomorrow to speak with David. Health insurance did get paid (late), as did phone. But phone will be due again at the end of the month. That all comes to $2600 but doesn’t include any buffer for gas, food…or the possibility of Windy needing end-of-life care. I have no money at all. 90¢ in a coin purse for parking…but we go nowhere now where there are parking meters. Just to Whole Foods and to the mall. I don’t pay at the Railyard Park – with fingers crossed – and make a point of picking up trash from the grassy lawn that Cooper and Windy love so much. No money at all…with what was left from the

dog food gift, I filled up the tank when the price of gas dropped a few more cents. When that’s gone, and the car payment not made, insurance not paid…actually sooner – when the last storage units are not saved from auction, it is all over.

The gap. Between being called forth each day, the pull of the morning, of loving companions, of the faces of all the others when I enter Whole Foods, or when we sit outside at Starbucks: the three of us “show up”…respond, participate, are grateful. On the other side of the gap: has it been worth it? For what? and why? To add up the columns of what is called “human”, no. It has not been worth it. Humans not being worth it. Con-fusions and failures of every sort, the most basic and obvious sorts, the loss of all those attributes that human ego cares to claim: failure. Loss. Abandonments at every level, and cruelty passed around like a feel-good drug. The personal experience. The political standard. All covered over with romantic religious myth or that higher calling of nation and birthright. That the shared public failure is so great, so too, then, the personal. No reprieve, no consolation, no face of the other(s) that respond larger and truer than what is shown on the evening news or in the commercial. Not that one can count on. The relation called community, with-ness, singular-plural, like a moment soon lost, a mirage. A sadness when again I realize we are alone at the end of each day. 414 of them.

There are exceptions. We would not have survived these 14 months without those who didn’t allow us to be invisible and forgotten. You.

But I am tired. So weary. I respond to the sun and to the faces of Windy and Cooper and begin each day. But each day I’ve lost ground. Hope. Dignity. No response from the lawyer or any of the legal aid groups. No real aid of any sort from service groups. For years I’ve

contributed and thought we had built a safety net. A joke. And a political reality that grows worse each day. To be homeless, in need, poor – all seen in stereotype, dealt with in platitudes.

The end. 1st, the next 2 days to move out of the 3rd unit. A maybe. Then, car payment? Then the big bill on the 20th for the last 2 storage units? Not likely. And no sense to continue with this list. It’s over. 14 months. I am frail and worn by injustice. Weary of blame and the refusal of acknowledgement of the actual issues.

The next tasks will be to get the things I’ve brought to this house into the one storage unit so that my host won’t have to deal with any of it. When the car is repossessed – or if not, then when I’m stopped for not having insurance, then no transportation and we will be on the street.

The old obit can kick in then…no need for a rewrite. Just a date change. Money is a problem. Exactly most people don’t have any extra. And so many of you have been so generous along the way. The needed amount plus no legal plan in sight shuts down possibility. I still refuse

the injustice. The only thing I can hope for is that my story is one more added to the pile, perhaps to the bonfire. The one that burns the neoliberal non-ethic to the ground, the scorched earth solution that re-births, re-maps human possibility, singular-plural.

I loved you. Don’t forget that.

*I do regret not having gotten my writing done, that I didn’t get to read yours. And that I haven’t been able to do more for Windy and Cooper. Family members chose their inheritance by ignoring the situation: consequences that make each one complicit in the crime.

*I did not choose to die before my time.

*Even still, somehow, maybe soon? Humans can do better than this. It would have been so much fun, so joyful, for it to have been during my lifetime. Such grief.

*I love you. L and K, I have missed you so much.

9:30 p.m.

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412 days / nights / summer – fall – winter – spring – fall . . .

Posted on October 11, 2014

10/10/2014

It’s 5:47 p.m. and freezing in the house. I gave the corgis each half of a dental chew, then got under the covers with Flusser’s The History of the Devil, but was still cold. Hoping to hear the grating whine of the old machinery soon. I liked the introduction and the first chapter very much – felt like cheering! But chapter 2, the story line of such a

personage…not so much. As in, why create a human-like personage rather than stay with identifiable, enculturated processes? Etc…not quite through the chapter. So cold. And Cooper is staring at me with a message, “Time for dinner.”

…grain-free, dry dog food – grateful to D – topped with the new dinnertime treat: pieces of organic, frozen broccoli-cauliflower-carrot mix, organic even and quite inexpensive. They seem to think I’m topping dinner with ice cream! Cooper still has so much coat, I’m not sure he’s actually lost weight. Heater came on a bit after 6 pm. Now, still early, no free-access for them of the house, and the courtyard is muddy. The evening will be a litany of “need to go potty? Let’s go potty!” Today’s showing that I cleaned for was cancelled, so should be

prepared for a rescheduling. Grateful for a firm bed, the not-so-warm shower, the frig and microwave, washer and dryer. But no down time, no focused follow-through, no work accomplished. Just to-do lists that don’t quite get knocked off. A deep weariness…

So, no more means. No way to keep on. No desire to cooperate with the mistreatment. To be denied home, car, medical, income, access to school and work materials, and left homeless, on the street: 412 days / nights / summer – fall – winter – spring – summer – fall…and an early winter. Can’t do it. Not as if “doing without” preserves my books, increases my chances of a court date, a court settlement, or even gets me that invitation to holier-than-thou status as some suggest awaits my full cooperation with loss of personhood, dignity, and livelihood. Tuesday

I will know that I’ve lost the belongings of a small storage unit holding things like clothing, gardening tools, holiday decorations, shelving – those practical garage-type things. And…I’m not sure what else. It was the last storage unit, the last things out of the house. Should be a

CD player. Things belonging to the long-lost children. Dog crates (which would be helpful at this house). Several kitchen appliances that were in the cabinet. The pink prom dress, the wedding dress, the sewing machine, a couple of coats. I don’t know for sure. It is not as though

Israel is bombing Santa Fe. Or, that Ebola survival demands leaving town. Or, that because he and the lawyers have gotten away with fraud, I should just disappear into the desert.

The house would be paid for now, have a garden, a library, a yard for the corgis, and a renter. Education was to have been paid for – I put him through medical school and training. He refused with, “I don’t have to do that.” So interest continues to accumulate and all those recently lost

seasons meant no dissertation defense in Saas-Fee last summer. The games and tricks along the way were jaw-dropping at times, the multiple lawyers reassuring that the issues could be righted, and he won the delay game called “time limits” on AID (Articles Incident to Divorce). And he lost

everything relating to authentic personhood, self-esteem, and right action. Had I only understood the Devil back then, Vilém Flusser! God can have the ex-husband. Crucifixion sounds about right.

But the dumb, fully-enculturated, “good girl” finally figured out there is no Santa Claus and certainly no Easter Bunny. Figured out our failed democracy and successful state corporation is served by the fully self-serving legal profession – otherwise known as “the Law.” Equivalent

to “absence of ethics” and “always sell-out to the highest bidder.” My own lawyer – that’s a joke – was in on it from the beginning. Etcetera…

So, no more means. No way to keep on. Vilém was my companion tonight in a sporadic fashion, even more crazed and breathing heavily, and no conclusion. His only advice: Scribere necesse est, vivere non est.

10:30 p.m. Windy and Cooper asleep next to the bed. The heater has cut off, the chill settling in. Most of last winter I slept in the car. So cold so early in October, my body is in protest, in pain. The warm coat I was given is in one of the 2 storage units I don’t have funds for along with the duvet. Vilém calls the coat and duvet “products of life”, “proper to life” – as is writing, as is the impossibility of silence while living on “the last vestiges of hope.”

Day 410. . .

Posted on October 9, 2014

Cold from sitting outside at Starbucks, the weather finally making the connection iffy, I wasted $3.73 of a Crowdrise gift on a hot mocha for the drive back to the house. Hot but not good, and I felt shame for the indulgence. And lonely. And done.

To achieve the tasks of the next two weeks requires money, quite a bit of money, and more than anyone I know has to spare. And more than most would risk on such a failure of a person who has not lifted herself by those bootstraps of personal accountability and the propagandas of self motivation, self worth, self marketing: of course there’s work for those who show up to do it! I was shamed recently by a person who lives here and remains clueless as to the current unemployment rate, the few low wage positions, and the run-round of the federal law requiring posting of positions for jobs pre-filled, applications and résumés not even acknowledged. I showed up on that scene. Qualified. The shame is not mine.

I’ve thought recently as to my loyalty to New Mexico – why? A visit to Santa Fe, the rare vacation with the ex-husband, left me with the impression that its size was manageable, the culture varied and interesting, that there was a sense of return having lived in NM from the ages 5-12. Surface impressions and irrelevant later to the real experience that made a second inquiry necessary. What felt good about New Mexico? First grade. Mrs. Ellard. Learning to read and feeling acknowledged as a person. And sixth grade, Mr. McFadden. Just the sense that he knew what was ahead for us going to jr. high school and that he wanted us to be prepared and successful – a sense of agency for success. The big blue sky? Yes, but that became a heartbreaker during the Los Alamos fire and the awareness of all that I was not to understand behind the cultural spectacle called tourism. NM is a nuclear colony.

Acceptance and community didn’t happen. I don’t think it exists except in enclaves of identification and security that I didn’t want to be caught up in. Wasn’t there something larger? More inclusive? Less provincial? I really did miss the class issues even as the economic lines were clearly drawn by altitude, zip code, private education for your child, and whether you could avoid the chain stores for more expensive local businesses. It doesn’t matter now except not to waste more effort on the fantasy. What I don’t know is whether the same scenario is repeated in different local spectacles, similar politics, the same “values.” The only difference I can come up with that would challenge the national regurgitation is intellectual: praxes of thought, reading, intentions of evolving community, and shared decision-making on corporate usurpation of local agency.

Where? How? What do I have to offer? Since the fire and the near-nuclear disaster, the writing yet to be done has been on thinking through where one chooses to “take a last stand.” Where does one choose to stay and stand, protect and serve, share and support? A conscious choice, the commitment, the courage to think critically: a praxis of being-with, of communitas. Without political provinciality or the rigidity of religious stupor…both blindly determined by neoliberal capital justifications. Or, from Arakawa+Ginns: “we have decided not to die.”

Blah, blah…lonely thoughts, alone. 410 days, 410 nights. A second winter? No. I am done.

I have been denied legal representation by fraud, denied response to inquiry to the court, and denied fulfillment of the signed contract of the divorce decree. Again and again. If every effort wasn’t an act of robbery, it was a slammed door. My life – as mine – has been stolen: dignity, agency, accomplishment, security. Stolen. I have been on the street for 410 days and nights. Bravely. With as much dignity as I could muster. With daily effort to improve my situation. With responsibility to my corgis and for debts owed – car, insurance, mail box, storage units. I’ve done the best self-care I could manage under difficult conditions and limited resources. And I’ve asked for – and received – help from friends and strangers along the way. I appreciate each and everyone of you who kept me in sight and heard – probably more than you can know. A hard lesson of Santa Fe is that if you’re not a customer, you don’t really exist here – tourism or US culture? True, too, on FB, but not for you…face to face, you’ve hung with me. 410 days.

Now, too long, too much. To survive the next two weeks is too much to ask. To survive – costs of storage, car, insurance, gas – doesn’t solve it for the “next” month that would begin the following week…even with much less in storage fees, plus car, insurance, gas, etc. It’s an injustice, a series of crimes, that “the law” games to individual lawyer advantage, a “legal” lawyer scam against the easiest of targets: women. The 95 cents in my coin purse is a hard reality invulnerable to any fantasy 410 days into this – years into this. The whole marriage, all the years of the divorce. There is no Santa Claus, no Easter Bunny, no treats, only tricks. The support you’ve given – financial, emotional, practical – has kept me alive as human, as hopeful, as reality check against the immediacy of despair. So much more than I’ve received right here in a community I’ve lived and participated in for years. Never really included, but I showed up, volunteered, contributed, paid my rent, supported the local businesses. Oh well. It’s the huge blue sky I will miss, the breeze, and the ravens who call me by name.

For those of you who disapprove of what I’m saying, I hope you will come to understand that I choose not to be complicit in the crimes against me, complicit by agreeing to the fraud. I refuse that. I refuse to willingly give up my life, the life that I made on my own, mostly alone, trying to understand the pathology and purpose of such effort to deny the basics of personal dignity. That pathology is his to bear. As it has become clearer, I have a choice: I refuse to participate.

If justice befalls me, or a windfall, or a falling into grace…

At 11:30 pm, I fall into bed and hope for deep sleep. Last night’s rest was from 7 am to 8:30 am. A dark night of review and despair and decision: I won’t participate in the crimes against me as though I, too, am guilty of such fraud. And I refuse the logic of “give up, move along” and the accusations of being “material”…

One little life. There were a few great moments, many wonderful small ones. That photo? the pigeons at St. Marks. Climbing the mountain. Cello and piano. Sitting at the Cristobal Yacht Club as a teen, first rum and coke, watching the sun set over the Atlantic. Cuba. Paris. Alphonso, J-L, Simon. Sanskrit. Editing. Dance.

The tastes, scents, and sounds of the world. The rare and wonderful withness of a few.

The Wounaan, Colegio Metodista, Universidad Landívar, the old cars in Havana, Cristobal High School, CZ.

My Lysistrata bed, portraits of my young children, memories of meals around an old table.

1 golden retriever, 5 corgis.

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With-ness, singular plural, we survived the week…

Posted on October 3, 2014

A week…productive of a sort that pushed through accomplishments that are new burdens, inopportune stasis, continuing wasted expense. But also of gratitude, the humility of knowing that the other was called forth by the face, the need, the moment. And to understand, gratefully, that one is always, a priori, in debt: singular-plural. Jean-Luc Nancy’s withness.

Good company, Ryan made three trips with his truck to get one storage unit emptied out and relocated to a small shed here at the For Sale home where we’ve been staying. More work because a recent wash-out relocated the gravel on the little driveway. He’s a great packer/stacker, and it seemed possible that we might get a second storage unit moved into the same shed, but after a revisit of the unit and the weekend’s consideration (and several gifts at Crowdrise), he brought Chris along for 5-6 trips to SFStorage, a cheaper (dusty) storage location near the ExtraSpace location. Plus Sam! – got it done! I had fantasies of a particular organization that would allow me greater access, but not to be. Stacked. Tightly. And not enough room left over for the 2 units with the larger furniture and the 200+ boxes of books, but there is room for the 3rd unit at Pacheco St. and, soon, to move the things from the shed into storage. That unit, $170. Still more than I have. To move that last unit on Pacheco St., $200 within the week and 24 hours to empty it. So hope to get it done. Somehow.

My debt to Ryan, Chris, and Sam…it wouldn’t have happened without you. As in, at this point, I’d have no hope at all.

Next, somehow, I don’t know how… $200 and empty that third unit. I’ve seen it twice now and I still can’t quite recall…just what’s there, how much. An outdoor unit, high ceiling, stuff thrown in on the last trip of that move. I need to touch it all at least one more time. Those clothing bags…I can’t even type the words…

I went by the San Mateo location today and spoke with Robert. Two units with sofa, roperos, bookcases, beds, all kitchen, all the philosophy books. By the 15th, $950; after the 15th, $1200. Professional movers required. Lu has said he could be available the nights of the 20-21st – if that’s still true after all this time. He’s the cool and collected thinker of this disaster. 14 months ago, it was his great team that made the move-out – the move to the street – bearable. A larger unit at SFStorage large enough for both units, $240.

Does that sound calm and collected?

I’M SCREAMING!!!

The stress of this, for so long, interminable and unresolvable in the injustice of it all, the isolation, the blame game by the righteous, and the lack of any place to rest, to be at home, to feel settled and safe. To always have an eye on the gas, the EBT card, and the calendar. After September’s last minute save by unknown friend for the car payment, there’s been the loss of health insurance and the car payment is again late…and car insurance and registration both due. And phone. And Windy 2 months late on shots.

On hold. No rewrite of the Obit. Yet.

Everyday, instant coffee made here, drive to Whole Foods for internet…hoping for a response from the lawyer I spoke to at St. E’s shelter. Who said he’d not abandon me, who asked questions, who seemed to be thinking of a plan and asked me to email documents. And whom I’ve not heard from. It’s all I have. That’s all.

Can’t see a doctor for PT referral, lose phone later this week, lose car on the 15th, probably don’t survive the night, but 2 weeks later, storage payments due.

I am very tired. In pain. Grateful always for Windy and Cooper, but worried for them, too. And every minute crazy-wanting-to-scream: THIS COULD HAPPEN TO YOU!!! Different particulars, but the same LOSS of any RIGHTS, LOSS of LEGAL REPRESENTATION, the casual INVALIDATION of LEGAL CONTRACTS, the SYSTEMATIC FRAUD supported by the COURT.

It’s a DEATH SENTENCE.

WITHOUT REPRIEVE, without an ethical and aggressive lawyer willing to break up the easy money game and the court-accepted abuse of women. The “fair and decent” divorce contract I signed was set up not to be fulfilled from the beginning, every request for information and legal action to “my” lawyer was ignored and AID item after AID item was allowed to be timed-out. From the beginning. And, now, at the end. 14 1/2 months on the street, no more resources, it’s murder. Time and again, with each AID past due, he said, “I don’t have to do that.” When I questioned it,”my” lawyer called me a “gold digger.” With my remaining 37 cents, I don’t survive the half tank of gas and the repossession. Or the illusion that there’s aid and housing for the homeless. Too common, too “close to home” for many people to grasp how common the loss of legal dignity actually is, how complicit across the courtroom the system is in undermining the terms of justice and the meaning of “legal.”

If I don’t make it…please tell him you know what happened, what he did.

Need: Today – $40 for Credo phone bill This week – $200 for storage unit, $500 for car payment, $315 for health insurance Next week – $950 – 1200 for 2 storage units Plus…gas, dog food, internet access, vet, car insurance and registration.

Or: legal representation, rights, full settlement for losses and suffering.

I am so tired, so lonely. The invisibility of homelessness, the trained unseeing of inequity, is real. So grateful for those who have hung in, came ’round, helped out, kept remembering the seeable me.

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Yesterday…9/26

Posted on September 27, 2014

Yesterday…9/26

Yesterday was such a good / bad day. Hard, hard decisions, hard work, but also successful, mission accomplished, a companion who was face, conversation, company, and then familiar enough with the situation and tasks to offer advice. I looked forward to checking in on you, sharing my day and its challenges, having even a bit of real exchange beyond cat and video posts. No one had come around.

Several months back, an employee at WF mentioned he needed crickets for his lizards and didn’t know if he’d be off in time to make it to the Bug Museum at that Mall. I was going to the Mall, I’d get the crickets. We had been sitting at a table just outside SBux next to a Bug Museum display case – it was time to check it out! It was also the first time I had ventured further into the Mall with the corgis – Cooper on leash, Windy in her stroller. There’s a sign saying “No Dogs”, at one time strictly enforced, but from what I was seeing, walking your dog in the Mall was OK. (…background to getting kicked out of the Mall several months later…).

So, got a bag of very active crickets for Ryan. And we’d greet each other in the store, have short exchanges. Not quite remembering…but I (must have) asked him if he had a truck and did he have time to help move some things. Just an immediate yes. Turns out, he was at work until 2 am doing store inventory, didn’t get home until 3 am, but was at ExtraSpace at 10! Three loads into a third of the small shed at the back of the property. Simply could not have done it alone. No criticism, some conversation, good communication. Funny guy. Companionship that I haven’t had in so long. Good day. Tired, pain, worry, money and time logistics for the next units. May not finish this week’s race: 4 storage units, $1000-?, plus a new storage space and, hopefully, a negotiated delay on the last two units until Lu Rajas can handle the move (Oct. 20). …just to type that is overwhelming. If we can’t get this next unit into the remaining space of the shed…there’s no place to put it. Unless I locate and rent? another, cheaper storage space? Because I don’t have a home. The ex and the lawyers are laughing.

Good day to get something done, to have company…bad day to be continually denied my own life, the simple dignity of one’s own-ness of being, of thought, of expression.

It was good to find a few corgi supplies – packages of each of their favorite chews, maybe 2 weeks worth, plus 2 bottles of their vitamins! Tonight, as again they were making the point of “it’s chew time!” by sitting in the dark of the courtyard, not coming in…because it was “chew time”…I surprised them! It was fun to see how pleased they were!

It was wonderful, it was so hard…clear plastic boxes of books…children’s books, pop-up books, Chinese poetry, psychology, gardening – just a sampling of what’s in the two units at the other location. 100 boxes? a lot, in cardboard, couldn’t afford that many of the plastic boxes. But the next unit to move is just across the way from today’s unit. I had tried to leave a bit of space so I could work in it – had half a dozen white boards with notes, a plexiglass lectern salvaged from SITE, desk chair, the unit the first one in the door so light shown on the tiny work area. But it got packed in too tightly to be used. I returned to it last spring to leave the warm jacket and the hoodie given by a friend and the winter boots that I will needed to survive…a second? winter on the street.

Health insurance, $315, was due on the 25th. Car payment due today, $485 (2 weeks before repossession). Car insurance due 10/29. No means to rent another, cheaper storage space. Not enough to pay to get out of the units my friend is willing to move on his next day off, Tuesday ($300+$200). And the other location, 2 units, in limbo for payment, for whether ExtraSpace would wait for Lu Rojas’ brief availability on the nights on the 20-21st…and where to? That house I would have with the decreed down payment and paid off with the rent I’ve paid to lawyer-landlords? …Most of the books are there. And the metal sofa, bed, ropero, coffee table, bedside table – piece by piece as I saved for each, pieces by metal sculptor, John Massee. And the ropero John and my son designed and built together. Because I was such a shitty mom.

Clothing is there, too. The two pair of jeans alternated every three days for 13 months and ten days are close to indecent, wearing at the inner leg and rips just above the knees. The St. John’s hoodie is stretched-out respectable still, but the other one is full of holes. Putting it on yesterday, my hand went through a hole at the elbow, and I have to remember to put nothing in the pockets. But I SMILE…maybe people don’t notice the holes.

I’ve not kept up here as I intended. It’s simply been difficult…the day to day moving around to keep the corgis happy and to have internet access (so often iffy), the isolation of this house – next door to Carol Burnett’s home (now on 4th renovating owner) and across a small valley from the monstrosity built and added on, added on, added on to by the first store manager of the first store – Walmart, that is. Not seeing people…or ignored. Not attending events because of no cash and my rags. Not going even to the Plaza now because no quarters for the parking meters. A recent appeal to locals I’ve known for years – 19 bcc’d – one response. The employees at WholeFoods have been kind, friendly, supportive in so many small ways. At the end of some days, my only people. SBux at the Mall, likewise. After being kicked out of the Mall on false accusation (Cooper?) and I wrote telling them what happened and thanking them, each barista now calls me by name. Several have made a point of talking with me on their way in or out of the store, concerned. I keep an eye on my status, mental, physical, financial. If I’m not going to make it, I won’t impose that situation on my generous host. I’ll say “fuck you, Greg” and “love you, friends” from elsewhere. No words for my children.

Today. It’s cold. No coat. And tomorrow a real estate showing. I need to dust and mop the house today, tone it again tomorrow, and be sure the courtyard is in good shape. The broom is hard on my back and on my weak grip, the ongoing gifts of the broken elbow. As I sit here, on the bed, the strange, irritating, worrisome thing is the loud ringing in my ears. Every morning…won’t stop until I drive away. Task this morning is to stop by the other ExtraSpace location and see if the manager, Robert, is there. To find out the move-out-fast rate and how much more it’ll be if I stay until Oct. 20. Lu is not charging to move me, and he’s the one I trust with the fragile nature of several pieces, but the wait and also PAYING?!? …for another space adds up to money I don’t have.

And a fantasy thought…to move to utopia instead. Just go. A place where my education and skills could contribute, a place where everyone doesn’t wear blinders to injustice, a place where we could read and think and talk together, where I’d know your children and where I could cook for you, or garden with you, or just take a walk with you: a living withness.

Windy is barking, vocalizing, worrying about me. And now, here’s Cooper. Clothes on, out into the cold. WholeFoods for internet time and then back here to clean. So hoping to hear from the lawyer I spoke with last Tuesday. If you read all of this lonely monologue, thank you for hanging with me.

A last thought…Anastacia Barka at ExtraSpace would take phone payments for the $300 and $200 units. Faster than Paypal with the Tuesday deadline. 505-988-3692 She’s been very kind to me.

9/27…I arrived at Whole Foods, to Facebook, to messages of love and support. Thank you <3 <3 <3

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too tired…

Posted on September 24, 2014

Should post, catch up, but simply too exhausted, too ill. Leaving Whole Foods now, maybe will write tonight and post it in the morning. The stress is overwhelming…to lose everything else after losing all legal rights, all dignity? Exhausted. There was one bright spot today, a possibility…will tell you tomorrow. Those who are hanging in with me, thank you <3

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Reality by Certified Mail…

Posted on September 23, 2014

Certified Mail: Extra Space Storage, 1522 Pacheco St., Santa Fe, NM 87505 Notice of Lien and Foreclosure: Notification Date: Sep 16, 2014 Unit Number: D164 Auction Date: December 10, 2014 Auction Time: 10:00 am Total Due: $578.00 Due Date: Sep 16, 2014

Certified Mail: Extra Space Storage, 900 W. San Mateo Rd., Santa Fe, NM 87505 Notice of Lien and Foreclosure: Notification Date: Sep 13, 2014 Unit Number: 1106 Auction Date: November 12, 2014 Auction Time: 9:45 am Total Due: $776.00 Due Date: Sep 13, 2014

Certified Mail: Extra Space Storage, 900 W. San Mateo Rd., Santa Fe, NM 87505 Notice of Lien and Foreclosure: Notification Date: Sep 13, 2014 Unit Number: 1109 Auction Date: November 12, 2014 Auction Time: 9:45 am Total Due: $776.00 Due Date: Sep 13, 2014

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…the end

Posted on September 19, 2014

car for two weeks more / gift from stranger through oldest friend / but still i die / death invisible inability to speak / but never to sleep / no sleep never / no breath no sleep no voice / no book no bed no-thing never again never / no right to be no space no rest / no being no i / no more / never

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…with held breath…

Posted on September 9, 2014

A full moon above the cluster of pines that protect the house from the gravel road. Whiter and brighter than white, than shine, than luminous, it was a full moon that called forth a wish: “please, Lord.” Retracted. No myth, no magic, no hope. What is required is that flown bird called justice. Justice of the actual sort, the timely sort, the justice that deals in truths and consequences, in immediacy and right action.

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Obituary, 9/16/14

Posted on September 6, 2014

Obituary, 9/16/14

She was found early the next day – it is not yet known if she was taken to the morgue or to the emergency room. There was no identification, no belongings. But someone noticed a dog hiding nearby and coaxed him, finally, to come near. He has been taken to the animal shelter. His microchip contained her identification.

Yes, she had taken the required action: the Ford Escape was delivered to Del Norte Credit Union at 2 p.m. Dirty, but empty of all belongings, she handed over the keys and told them “No”, no payment of $3000 was possible. Dirty was what they deserved, but there had been no money to clean the car but once in 13 months of homelessness. A winter of two corgis shedding, the older dog with continence issues. Dirty was what they deserved, the possibility of grossness confirming all stereotypes of homelessness. Live the stereotype and shrink to its size, its projected limits. That was her experience in public, at aid offices, with legal services. Homelessness is Being itself, who you are, your history, your future. She had been homeless since August 16, 2013, a year and one month…when she was found early the next day, September 16, 2014. As I type that it occurs to me that is the date of her son’s birth.

The other dog died when the stroller was dumped over and the bags taken – perhaps from the fall, or maybe kicked. There were odds and ends spread around – those free dog poop bags they have at the Railyard Park, 2 Starbucks tasting cups, a pair of glasses, a scattering of dry dog food, a venti-sized plastic cup that held water for the corgis. The missing bags, assumed to be the reason for the attack: her purse and laptop. But we know there was no money. If the police are on top of it, the EBT card funds will be blocked. There was a book, too.

The dogs, corgis. Show dogs. Well-bred, well-trained. Devoted to her, and she to them. She had a routine for the tourists, the groupies who always asked if they could pet them, take their photo. Oh, that Cooper was the great nephew, Windy the great aunt and the mom of the 2005 Westminster winner. That the stroller was Windy’s convertible with the top down, a gift from a friend. Occasionally, the tourist would be delighted that she had seen the corgis on her previous trip, sometimes asking “Didn’t you have three?” Yes. Before Cooper there had been Harper. And Rsï. Dancer, the grandmother of them all, arriving in Santa Fe with Freedom, the Golden Retriever. For the children, always the history lesson of why corgis are short – not small, short for a reason: not to get kicked in the head by the cows; no tail to be stepped on; big hearts so they could run all day; smart, accumulating vocabulary their whole lives and knowing when it’s time for 10 am cookies and 3 pm chews. Another song and dance was that the city should give them a stipend for entertaining the tourists, for being the most photographed dogs in Santa Fe. Etc. Corgis are like that: love magnets.

They were seen at WholeFoods mid-afternoon and later at the Railyard Park. Facebook posts suggest they may have also made it to Starbucks before returning to WholeFoods where they sat on the patio until closing time. The security guard kindly told her they had to leave.

Injuries: severe disillusionment with the legal system that was to provide access to the courts – instead, fraud by the very lawyer who originally represented her, by others who cashed her checks and refused further communication, by legal organizations dedicated to civil rights, and the state law school; abuse by fraud on every item of the decree by the ex-husband, Greg Phillips, MD; disappointment that her son and daughter could not read the decree and acknowledge that no item of the legal document had been fulfilled. Less severe injuries, but no less disappointing, were the street-level insights of the “enchanted” stratifications and failures of communitas in the place she had returned to with her children and put so many efforts toward inclusion and contribution. She found no whole cloth woven of diversity and difference, of dissensus and respect, of creative equality and critical thought. The slow revelation: Santa Fe is a tourist destination as cover-up for a nuclear colony, a “not s’posed to see” virus that requires the hard knock to recover from.

A hard knock it was, and the trauma of fear her broken heart could not withstand…too many months alone, too many cold nights sleeping upright in the car, too many hot days seeking shade for the corgis. Please remember though, he, too, was ill-served by what is termed “services” by a neoliberal-tainted justification of “doing good”. [But there is no forgiveness for what was done to Windy. Her last effort was to try to crawl to her very own person, to take care of her.]

The book…there was a bag of books protected in a ziplock bag and tucked in the mesh shelf under the stroller: The Funambulist Pamphlet Vol. 8: Arakawa + Madeline Gins; Jason M. Adam’s Occupy Time; the conversation with J-L Nancy: Being With the Without; Jacques Rancière’s The Politics of Aesthetics. But the book she was reading, that has helped in the last weeks, was on the laptop, a download from Punctum, Itinerant Philosophy, on the work of Alphonso Lingis. He was her first philosopher, her guide still today by following his path through his work, his translations, his philosophical con-versings with Emmanuel Levinas and Jean-Luc Nancy. A quote from the book for those who still don’t understand why she didn’t just give up, give in:

Itinerant Philosophy, p. 118 Lingis makes a fundamental distinction between the rational community and the community of those who have nothing in common. As he says:

Anyone who thinks we are only emitting noise is the one who does not want to listen. The one who understands is not extracting the abstract form out of the tone, the rhythm, and the cadences — the noise internal to the utterance, the cacophony internal to the emission of the message. He or she is also listening to that internal noise — the rasping or smouldering breath, the hyperventilating or somnolent lungs, the rumblings and internal echoes—in which the message is particularized and materialized and in which the empirical reality of something indefinitely discernible, encountered in the path of one’s own life, is referred to and communicated. 10

10 Lingis, The Community of Those Who Have Nothing in Common, p. 91.

And more crucial, across philosophical influences of Lingis, Levinas, Nancy, Critchley, from pp. 71-71:

It’s this imperative that founds the subject not as “subject of sensuous enjoyment” but as “subjected to an imperative.” This is the subject of hetero-affectivity, the subject as constituted in subjection, in assujettissement: “the position of being an agent does not arise in the midst of sensuous enjoyment. . . . We have argued that being-in-a-world . . . presupposes subjection to an imperative” (Lingis 1986: 111). Which is to say that we are commanded to be free: “the freedom of [the] agent is not given in a primitive intuition independent of the world or [independent] of the imperative that requires a world” (Lingis 1986: 112).

What does it matter? This is just an obituary: one is born, lives, dies in a particular cultural milieu, to a particular family, to circumstances that are common to a location and power structure. Need we say, too, born to particular mythologies with their own sleight of hand justifications for power abuses and other human failures? Certainly that is what “law” has come to: law in service to those who are licensed to justify law to their personal benefit. Every shared crisis in the world today is made possible and maintained by those who enact “law” whether we examine the slow clean up of the BP Gulf disaster, the growing crisis of contamination of limited water resources by the fracking process, compromise of farm land for generations to come by pesticide use and genetically modified seed. Easiest is the ongoing daily abuse of those who believed the myths they were taught, who lived and worked for the mythic good that obscured the manipulations and abuses of daily existence. With abuses, a child accepts the shame as his/her own and tries harder. With reward, an empowerment to inflict on others, a defensive response to the confusions of false realities and skewed consequences. But what does it matter? This is just an obituary: she didn’t survive his abuse, the abuse of a dozen lawyers, the neglect of legal aid, a system that serves itself.

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A possibility…please help.

Posted on September 5, 2014

ExtraSpace wants me out rather than missing payments and auctioning off the contents of the 5 units. So, minimum fees if I pay and can get out in 24 hours. I called the mover who has moved me three times now, and he’s willing to do the work this weekend. First problem, paying the approximate $1500 (I don’t know the total with late fees yet) for August. Then, as big a problem, having a place to move everything to. I’ve e-mailed local people asking for help finding an empty commercial space, a for sale home that needs furniture, or low cost housing. And, if something is found, I have no funds to pay for it either. Panic time. I’m wearing so thin. Please, please help.

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To stay in the fight…

Posted on September 1, 2014

I initially opened the page on day 315 of homelessness, but didn’t post anywhere…just felt so conflicted about such a thing. But posted at FB yesterday – day 382 – asking for feedback…3 people contributed so swallowing my pride in gratitude. As it stands right now, I lose the car and all my belongings in 2 weeks unless I can pay the bills. After a year and a month, I have no more resources other than an EBT card. Even internet is limited in that WF and SBux cards required. Last night the corgis wouldn’t come in the house…still waiting for the evening chew that I didn’t have for them. Everything is on the edge…if I were called for an interview, nothing to wear other than rags. To lose my books, the personal memories and spacings of life, the practical that I’ll not have the means to replace without legal representation: it is the pathology of an-other who has determined that I hold no value, no personhood, no access to agency. To hold on a few more months, to move forward toward legal representation and justice – all I can hope for.

https://www.crowdrise.com/sheridanphillips

Posts from notes that didn’t get posted, a catch-up…

Posted on August 26, 2014

8/18 Went to one of the storage locations to collect my sleeping pad and duvet that saved me last winter…was denied access. Two more days of dog food, half tank of gas. No email from *** Clinical Law and have had so much trouble getting online that I haven’t written again – hope to check that off the list tonight. I’m hoping I’ve just had 1) too many windows open and 2) that the chronic cloudiness at public spots (WF & SBux) is what is keeping the wheel spinning – and not a needed repair. Big poopy mess in the house this morning – stress on corgis, too. Only one more day/fluids on SBux Sam card. And truly seeing no way forward. Yes, went through all job ads on Sunday, reviewed again yesterday. Nothing that makes sense. And would be interviewing in rags. And…why? Close to losing everything. Besides having no money, buy staples like a mixer? my cookbooks? People who say it doesn’t matter haven’t thought the logistics through. Not just losing my hope and work, that is, my books, but practical life, too…things that cost money and are practical living tools. It’s been interesting…several essays lately on the compliance to capitalist / religious thinking, the No submission to “giving up” as holiness.

8/20 Storage is locked down, and no word from Prof **** at *** Clinical Law. No idea what to do next. I should be at least getting continued alimony UNTIL the lump sum from his retirement plan is paid – as it seems to me. That would allow me to pay storage while I look for a place to live and continue to try to get to court (and look for work). It appears frivolous to compare my situation to Palestine or to Ferguson, but the lawlessness of the “Law” and the privilege of [corporate-paid] power is similar. I’m not seeing any hope for change, for getting to court at all.

Day 5 of hunger strike. Continued until storage is safe, until there is a legal response. Did no good before (215 days), but I have no future other than bare life of poverty, no dignity, no safety, nothing. Many people in similar situations: I don’t accept it.

And absolutely no money. Probably can pay phone, but not one monthly insurance, car, gas, catch up on the Astilli storage (1 month behind), or pay storage. The end. Several people have mentioned setting up a donation page, but I can’t do it. I’ve already beggared myself to utter humiliation. And no one else who has mentioned it has offered. Will e-mail lawyer one more time…don’t know if the case is being considered, or ignored. And likely will receive the same message as from all the others.

8/22 Grateful today that a sack of dog food is to arrive from Amazon. Should last 32-36 days – appreciate it so much, friend. The corgis have saved me time and again…we take care of each other.

Today’s visit to ExtraSpace storage: Entrance Denied

Sent a last email to *** Clinical Law. I have no more means. After friends managed this month’s car payment, here it is looming again in ten days (with 2 week leeway). A month late paying Astilli Art Storage, and 5 units at ExtraSpace are in lock down. A monthly insurance bill. Phone. Mail box for 3 months is coming due. And still, the bill at SFTails. I’m a year’s worth of threadbare bare, worn, empty, exhausted. With only a quarter tank of gas. By accepted standards, marketed standards, a failure. By religious standards, faithless, non-compliant, sinful. By social issue standards, lazy, moocher.

8/23 I am so sad to understand how naive, trusting, and blind I’ve been to how badly the whole legal system stinks. I’ve been had on the divorce situation from day 1. Here I am now, after fighting it for years, still with absolutely nothing. As a white lady denied legal representation I have no cachet at all – not black, brown, gay, trans, etc… It’s not a material girl thing. Yes, I love my things, NEED my things, but to have no value, no rights…no, won’t survive it. Don’t even care to give validity to such a system by only “surviving”.

8/25 Day 10. Missed a job posting on the 22nd, e-mailed résumé last night, references in today – and the rare acknowledgement that I had done so. A go-fer job, organizational list maker and basket emptier. But applied and will know something by the end of the week. Absolutely nothing to wear to an interview. Not even shoes. Another call about the storage units – lock down on the last three mid-week. And car payment due in 5 days, repossession in 2 weeks. An OSF friend I hadn’t seen in a year gave me the cash in his pocket…grateful to be able to get $12 of gas tomorrow.

Windy is having more difficulty getting around, more accidents. But still alert, smiling, responsive. The ethical question of what to do once the car is gone…rather, before the car is gone. She can’t run away from any “situation”. Nor would anyone want a leaky dog.

I looked at my back in a mirror. The difference in one side and the other matches up with the pain I’m in. Likewise with my swollen tongue. But no sense now to make an appointment. Game’s over.

8/26

I have failed. Finally! I have succeeded in being who I am, Already no-thing, in this old woods in which I shall, since I only have value in offering myself up, Easily start a fire from a spark

Fernando Pessoa

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A RANT…with no apologies.

Posted on August 26, 2014

You’ve broken me with blame. The facade of care and support, but always the implication of my failure: just by my neediness, asking for help, not socially acceptable to the unseen assumption of “work ethic” with its companion of submission as pathway to holiness. Weighted one against the other in conservative / liberal divide of “get a job” / “your attachment to material goods is the problem”, no interest in the legal / justice / fraud / abuse issues. Or the who? how? why now? questions. And now I wouldn’t, won’t fight that battle. See clearly the depth of the trap across the spectrum of contemporary political and environmental crises. It’s not at all grandiose, but merely convenient, to have the siege of Palestine as comparative example: the original lies and subterfuge of holy mission equally attractive to those whose racism could be salved by the financial benefits of the geography. That “work ethic” of loss to the Palestinians as Israel steals and builds in submission to the rights that come with being Chosen. The conservative / liberal divide agrees, or perhaps simply – stupidly – can’t grasp the criminalization of “attachment” of the unChosen to their legal rights to life, freedom, dignity, as well as their homes and the necessities of family life. Those who are offended please congratulate yourselves for your better choices, higher calling, the humility of your greater success, and the rightness of each and every compromise you’ve ever made.

http://simongros.com/text/articles/mladen-dolar/brechts-gesture/

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8/18…

Posted on August 26, 2014

Last week was rough. Dog food crisis. My birthday on Tuesday. One year homelessness on Friday. First day of renewed hunger strike today.

Moping at FB, E.K. responded with an invitation to birthday brunch at my favorite restaurant, Pasqual’s. Very nice day introducing E.K. to the Plaza, and the corgis being the photographic favorite of dozens of tourists. FB friend saved the day and ordered dog food at Teca Tu – so appreciative. But some snarks about being down, I guess forgetting that being homeless and living in precarity for a year is a wee bit stressful…and especially so when it’s not the legal issue du jour. When one finally realizes that law is written to protect lawyers, and standard protocol serves to protect lawyer from lawyer.

Add to all that, top it all off, I wasn’t in Saas-Fee. Not in June, not in August. No climb up the mountain, no congratulations on a successful defense, no reconnecting with a thinking community of friends. Nor can I reach for a book, check a reference, follow a thought, write a review.

Each day, notice after notice from ExtraSpace storage. $666, $626 + late fees.

Another young man killed by police. More Palestinians hungry, thirsty, injured, dead. Black man in jail for 34 years without trial. White woman denied legal rights, legal representation for years.

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55 days of 215: FB posts from 2009 hunger strike

Posted on August 16, 2014

Hunger Strike posts

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Life: DENIED

Posted on August 10, 2014

5 days since last posting, difficult days – trying to come up with something to wear to a possible interview with St. John’s College, cleaning and prep for a showing of this house, the exhaustion of always being invisible in the public for internet access and always “on” for the many corgi admirers who take their photo and make the same joke about about Windy being spoiled for riding in the stroller: invisible but always tap dancing. Also an afternoon with an elderly woman who had asked me months ago why I was on my computer at the Mall. I told her, and she left, then returned in a few minutes, slipping me $20, “for dinner.” I had looked for her for a while, didn’t recognize her until she spoke. She’s 82 and simply overwhelmed with the required logistics of passwords, servers, and the differences between her iPad and the Apple laptop. We did get opera tickets ordered, and once the password problem is solved, another lesson.

The rejection e-mail from St. John’s arrived August 6th. As previous experience, as warned, pre-selected. Did not respond to Mr.* that he was full of shit. The federal law requiring posting jobs doesn’t mean anything at all. It was the only application that was acknowledged on receipt (I am an alumna) and the only actual rejection e-mail I’ve received. The other 6 applications were not acknowledged at all – 2 state, 2 newspaper, 2 museums. Really poor p.r. and at least one museum won’t see another membership from me. But behind me…see nothing new to consider yet.

Tomorrow. The first of the 3 storage rental payments due. The second due the 12th. No way. The third is Astilli, and I’m worried that I’m already behind there. I’ll go by Monday and check, apologize, find out what their policy is. ExtraSpace locks down, auctions off.

I sent another e-mail to the person in charge of the Clinical Law Program at UNM Law School and received in return the notice that the office will re-open on the 12th. Hope for, but do not expect a response.

Had this idea I’d celebrate my birthday, do the “normal” thing, a favorite thing – celebrate! And a friend offered to celebrate with me! Last year, my birthday in the middle of packing up the house in a rush, I finally took myself to Pasqual’s in September, sat at the community table, visited with several women, and had my favorite on the menu. One of the women added my meal to her tab, a birthday gift! Once I said out loud what I was hoping to do this birthday, it felt wrong. Other priorities. Must figure out a way to take care of Windy and Cooper first: bath and nails. Dignity and care and happy birthday shared between companions. We’ll still cruise the Plaza for an hour of $1 parking, entertain the tourists, and perhaps see a couple of people we know. The 12th. The 15th is one year homeless. Couldn’t have made it without them, their love and our responsibility for each other.

The 16th. Still standing. But no means other than legal representation: DENIED.

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Rilke…

Posted on August 5, 2014

The longer I live, the more urgent it seems to me to endure and transcribe the whole dictation of existence up to its end, for it might just be the case that only the very last sentence contains that small and possibly inconspicuous word through which everything we had struggled to learn and everything we had failed to understand will be transformed suddenly into magnificent sense.

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Last night…

Posted on August 5, 2014

How bad was it? Vic Chesnutt all evening. Stomach too upset to eat. Barely able to walk because of back pain. A cold and rainy day, everywhere we went the stroller had to be lifted out and opened, then lifted back in again. But corgis did get their roll in the grass, a stroll around the periphery at the Railyard Park, and their Puppy Latte at SBux. The last one on our card. We also made one loop of the Mall fulfilling the corgi mission of causing smiles on everyone who lays eyes on them. A grateful day, but not a happy one. It feels like my face is falling off in sadness, like my back is broken, like I can’t breathe, like half of my body has disappeared and the other is tied in painful knots. Like I can’t keep doing this. And “this” an inflicted death, not living the life that is mine, not dying my own death. So very tired.

But gratitude is its own energy, and I was moved to tears, grateful, for the love and support of two friends who sent Whole Foods gift cards. FRUIT!!! So rarely do I feel I can get some…splurged on a small box of figs! 2 bananas! And a box of almond milk so I can have an actual breakfast – oatmeal with banana and instant coffee – before leaving the house. Plus, not food but necessary, a couple of things for freshening the house of its closed-up smell along with any possible dog scent. Grateful not to be sitting out these crazy storms in the car, grateful to lie flat at night, grateful for a private shower…the kindness of another friend.

I keep checking the bank account…neither car payment nor insurance have yet been deducted. A double craziness of worry/gratitude now…and WTF in 30 days? Again? And in a week…lock-down? And still, still I hear I should give up, accept fate, move on, move along. Some holier position, apparently a “liberal” position, practical, realistic, and…feminine? Issues of justice, legal representation, fraud, abuse, and lies? Not so much. An inverted mythology? Don’t fight, just lie down and die. Or, maybe, it’s just that I’m not “worth it”…how uppity to think I have legal rights. Exhausted.

All I know now is to write again to the same organizations that have rejected my request of them for legal representation. Do you have any ideas? Do you know any actually-ethical lawyers? Other organizations who do legal work on behalf of women? Any individuals or organizations who offer life support for the interim of such cases? Any ideas? Anyone you know?

Threadbare jeans and knit top just out of the drier. Tomorrow, the brown jeans with large rip at the knee, brown tank with hole, and the truly falling apart hoodie – for two days. Repeat. Almost out of detergent. Same shoes everyday. And if I’m called for an interview? So tired.

Lonely.

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equaliberty…

Posted on August 4, 2014

My birthday is in eight days. The 12th. A $25 bill will drop from the sky, and I will go to Pasqual’s for brunch, sit at the community table, leave with a little bag with 2 Dellas. Then Cooper and I will wheel Windy around the Plaza, have their photo taken by the tourists, visit a few favorite shops to say hello. It’ll be sunny, but cool. I’ll stand up tall, not be in back pain.

A mother does not give up the security of a home for her children by choice. A student doesn’t choose to take on $100,000 in school debt when it was decreed to be paid at a much lower rate as tuition was due – unless forced to. A woman with a broken arm, back pain, and two dogs does not choose to live in her car in the cold of winter, the heat of summer. Or go without food to buy 3 gallons of gas or pay for a $2 public shower. It was an abusive marriage; divorce has been even more punishing.

Because I have been denied legal representation for many years and also had my correspondence requesting information on representing myself ignored by the judge, on August 16th I begin the second hunger strike of this long ordeal. The 16th marks one year of homelessness. It is also the day the second storage unit fee is due. The beginning of the end if “the siege” does not end, if my life is never to be my own, if there is no justice to be had in Texas. Documents, e-mails, names, and official correspondence will be posted here.

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yesterday…8/2

Posted on August 3, 2014

Survived the day… I was so confused as to what money I might have – the safe deposit box rental being deducted and worrying so much about the car payment. Paypal was amazing for getting several gifts deposited sooner than scheduled. After an hour or so at Whole Foods – no purchase so anxiety even higher – we drove the few blocks to Del Norte Credit Union and wrote the check. You know who you are…so grateful to those who help keep me upright and hopeful for sanity. The monthly health insurance will be deducted on Monday, and the phone bill to be paid before Wednesday. It’s a week until the first storage unit is due, ten days until the second. And the piano/art storage…I have to ask how far behind I am.

But I am sitting in bed, a firm bed. A roof and a locked door. Satisfied corgis. Instant coffee in the morning, half sandwich for lunch. The plan now is to cruise the Farmers Market as a social outing for Windy and Cooper, check e-mail at WholeFoods, and be at a pro-Palestine demonstration at Udall’s office at 2. I didn’t hear from our host today – hoping they didn’t have travel issues.

The money is gone. Every cent. Even the safety net of food stamps is fractured by the last two months being deposited late and not being able to space out my needs. When it should have been deposited today, it could be three weeks until it’s available based on the two previous deposit delays. I’m hoping there have been complaints and Chase is forced to return to a first of the month deposit. Don’t know how families survived the scam. For me, the problem is food and gas and their relation to internet access…

But the challenge, though possibly a waste of time, is to prepare for the possibility of a job interview. No reason to expect such, but at least, for the first time, the résumé was acknowledged. The position requires organizing for public events…showing up in my rags, literally full of holes, won’t contribute confidence in my ability to represent the college. So, grovel and/or borrow. Perhaps credit for a pair of shoes. For a haircut.

Nuts and bolts of survival. I can drive about 40 more miles. Must figure out the next bag of dog food. The corgis really need to have their nails trimmed, at least their nails, even if not a bath. The car…if it’s repossessed, aromatic justice.

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348…

Posted on July 29, 2014

Yesterday so touched, so rejuvenated by the face of the other, called forth to withness – ah, I know you know your Levinas and Nancy, so I’ll hush. But had a bit more energy, did my best to stand tall and walked to the dining room where there’s a large mirror. Standing “tall”, I’m bent and broken, with stress belly, head forward, left shoulder higher, right arm a bit off, frown lines, in need of a hair cut and, out of sight, the constant back pain. A mess. I had felt so centered there for a bit that I was thinking radical thoughts like…diet…exercise…posture…dentist. Radical like haircut and size 6, sit-ups and new shoes. Mirror on the wall said, “What a mess!”

…a better day

Posted on July 28, 2014

The storm let up a bit, and ‘chemically sensitive’ woman was haranguing one of the cleaning staff for mopping the floor with something she could smell. Her food long gone, she was demanding, “how can I eat with that smell in here?” His explanation of it being the scheduled cleaning time inadequate to her importance, I cringed at her uppityness endangering our – three of us still in the WF eating area – internet access at 9:45 pm. Access from 7:30 am until 10 pm, the only place for me, and the man who arrives earlier than I do, at that time of night. Time for me to go…I put my hand into my pocket and find 2 dog chews instead of the keys. So, Win and Coop, in the car, big storm, and without the distraction of their evening chew, I felt badly, packed up, and was grateful that the lights flash when clicking to unlock the car. Enough on my mind without panicking that “they” had already come for it! – yeah, dumb. Yeah, dumb…gotta just keep moving, deal with it. So, balancing, unlocking, unloading, greeting, and the always silent phone rings. Rings? A new voice, but familiar. Maybe that blue hue? A kind voice with kind words that forms the essential face that performs the essential act: calling forth. 35 minutes, 50 seconds of withness and care. Yeah! Called forth to happy! cared for! questioned! con-versed! Speaking with the other for reals! Like water for a big thirst and, even in the dark, not invisible. Nor guilty. Not chastised. A late call with intent to be with, its own fulfillment, full circle, a sweet fix for the lonely of the past week of disappearing faces, posts. I’m still smiling. Both corgis settled in now, and I will sleep un-lonely.

***

The car payment is withdrawn on the 27th, so now the waiting game of what the process is – by phone or by mail? Immediate turn over or a new deadline for payment? Multiple level threats? A protocol of shame or business as usual? – btw, you owe us an extra $3000.00 for our trouble.

♥ ♥ ♥

WholeFoods with internet issues…couldn’t get online. And have a résumé to St. John’s to send off. We are at Sanbusco…finally could open e-mail…two gifts. Thank you. Thank you so much. I think the plan, then, is to tell Del Norte Credit Union that I’m waiting on PayPal deposits. Maybe there’ll be a late fee. And still $100 short on the $485, but a plan, a hope. A bit of breathing space. Thank you, ♥ ♥ ♥

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346

Posted on July 27, 2014

Once I buy frozen rice and almond milk tomorrow, $12 on EBT with the next deposit arriving – if Chase doesn’t delay an extra week again as in the past 2 months – on the 15th. Or, maybe, don’t buy those items, but electrolytes. SBux card, $3.29, 1 more ice tea. All but one bank account down to the $5 minimum. $1 bill, $2.56 in quarters and pennies – actually, that’s enough for 1 gallon of gas…the task being to be able to drive to Del Norte Credit Union, whether they can drive it away or not. Which is a reminder of the necessity of taking everything in the car to storage. Say good bye to it. Because the stroller – and me – will already be stretched to the limit with laptop, purse, water, dog food bag: August 1.

Which is only to share – and every story has its particulars – a process of homelessness. I’ve watched for years, donated food and clothing, and then had the boots-on-the ground experience of Occupy, the camp being located a short walk from a men’s homeless shelter. Counseling practice and also the necessity of being alpha-bitch to 5 corgis over the years helped deal with survival games of long-term street survivors. I was also aware that the lauded services didn’t suit in some manner the needs of many of the homeless. If you look – I saw so much – there are camps all over…there is a logic that will point the way, show you where to look. And also signs – the clothing left along the river, the rolled blanket beneath a bush, the makeshift tent in the arroyo. Behind Motel 6 is a huge pile of grocery carts. And the dogs…especially young dogs.

Then education and class differences. “We” sit at Whole Foods with our laptops and still may have cars. Or camp out the day on the Starbucks patio. In the early hours, the difference shows by who hurries to the rest room before ordering coffee. If you’re not sure, buy an extra cold drink midday, set it on the flat top part of the trash can. Or leave change on your table. It will be appreciated.

A man I’ve seen often enough over the past few years to nod to, but had never spoken with, walked up to me in Whole Foods about 3 days ago and asked, “You’re living in your car?” Well, shit. Yeah, I’m there a lot. And I don’t always look so great. And, damn, he scooted away before I could return the question – it left me wondering about him. Likewise, or – could he be an undercover kind of guy, just keeping an eye on an area with lots of tourists?

It’s beautiful here now – summer especially and September and October even more so. But summer is tourist season, the full-out focus on the tableaux of Enchantment, whether Indian, Mexican, or Wealthy, each denomination in full regalia of its capitalist marketing form and promoting its latest regression of style. For all the burdens of 346 days, I am called forth by the wide horizon and the scented breeze each morning…a moment before the full crush of disillusionment in my personal life and the more general despair of being a member of a failed species. My entire adult life has been lived in a framework of fraud. Fraud of the most personal nature…with a trick attached, a no-no of revelation. And fraud in full illegal paradox, that is, the privilege of lawyers to organize fraud as a tipping system. Want to know their names? His name? You’d have to promise to introduce yourself to them/him, deliver a message. Condolences on losing his punching bag? Or, perhaps, congratulations on such a successful fraud.

Just seems – and I’m not being woo-woo here – that the thing called waking up, or enlightenment, or revelation would be a logical step. Just a step, an AHA!!! or, to be contemporary and common: LOL!!! As in, how many more scenes of absolute stupidity do we need before we get it? I sort of got it when I realized, in part, the extent of the financial lies, but even that had the overlay of a really stupid and obvious affair. So, after “getting it”, I still thought I’d really, actually, truly be divorced from the important Dr. P.? Without the same ol’ lies and manipulations. Slow learner. Never got to the LOL!!! part…only to the street, sleeping in the car, my own EBT card.

No, I don’t want to die. I would like to recover my health, my good posture, my healthy weight and muscle tone – not die. I would like to read, write, dance. And look into your face, hear your voice. Not die by being beaten and robbed. Nor by dehydration and heat. Or by my spirit being shattered by a final and crushing compromise. Because one more compromise is exactly that: final. The personal nature of what is “one’s own” cannot be finally exhausted by fraud and there still be breath. If I survive the first night on the street with stroller, corgis, purse, laptop, and bag of dog food, I won’t survive the sunrise on the day of loss of both history and future, of art and the serviceable, of the practicalities of living with small dignities and pleasures of one’s own history and the daily future of the sunrise on a wide horizon. There is no compromise there. That idea rooted in the religions of submission, or, as we see too often, in politics – what passes as politics, but again, and again, is a process of fraud. I refuse that compliance. And I call you out on your own in advance of every argument proffered for compromise, giving up, of the critique of being too attached to the material or too insecure to be “free.” On my side, full support, Balibar: equaliberty. And those lawyers may rot in whatever hell they create for themselves as well as Greg for the history he denied as he inflicted it on every person who came near. I refuse the standard compromise. Death it may be, but not a compromised life. Not one more day.

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345 days

Posted on July 26, 2014

345 days, nights, summer, fall, winter, spring, summer…a shattered elbow, surgery, 5 pins, hand pain and numbness…2 pair of jeans, 1 pair sweat pants, 2 hoodies, 4 tanks…1 hair cut, 2 pair boots…gifts of warm hoodie, coat, scarf…gift cards for food, internet access, and entry to services early in the morning…grateful and humbled at support, kindness… flashing lights and the knock on the window…feather pillow against the door to keep warm…edit, Arab Nations Water Report…invisible…back pain, $2 public showers, chipped front tooth, jeans now with big holes…EBT…loneliness…grieving for books, bed, baskets…foot pain from the same shoes day after day…isolation…computer memory overfilled with months of readings not printed…back pain, tooth pain, hand pain…Windy now in stroller…now must sit up to sleep in car…back pain…gait and posture issues …no $2 for showers or $20 for gas…no place to cook what can be bought with EBT…no payment for piano storage and portraits…days measured in miles to WF, amount on EBT, hours I can sit, computer battery life, patience of corgis, whether the gas warning light has come on…the shared joy of puppy lattes at SBux and the kindness of the staff…brown skin, wrinkles of sadness, never crying…not one hug in all these months…not one acknowledgement to any over-qualified résumé submitted…2 responses to an e-mail sent locally to 18 people I’ve worked with on community projects…corgi groupies to entertain, our public service…the heat, we are having more troubles and danger with the summer heat than with the winter cold…low on food and dog dental chews, EBT, and…options… one more application ready as soon as I hear from 2 references…quarters for 2.9 gallons of gas…EGS begins again without me…I am very tired…

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*Ressentiment*

Posted on July 24, 2014

In At the Mind’s Limit, Jean Améry’s ressentiment is not the resentment we know in English, nor of anything like revenge. Ressentiment is to act at the edge of dignity itself, an assertion of one’s humanity and self-determination.

For ressentiment to fester, the person who thinks himself wronged has to be burdened with some sense of powerlessness, social disregard, or marginalization; he must feel a premonition that his protest will not be acknowledged or that the moral standing of his stance will not be recognized.”

Thomas Brudholm in Resentment’s Virtue: Jean Améry and the Refusal toForgive. 2008. p. 98.

December 1, 2009

4:20 pm

Greg:

Too cold to walk the hour and ten minutes. Will take the last $25 out for a cab back. If one ever arrives; the dispatcher doesn’t even recognize the neighborhood. First of the month it’s always hard to get a cab.

Your birthday. Was it a happier day knowing you hadn’t made an automatic payment? What is your pronouncement about that? But you know, no one cares. You are an identity, not a subject or person. The hollow man without ethical imperative.

I am mailing my last letter to each of the children today.

Many returns of the day, Greg. My wish for you is that you live forever. With perfect recall of all you have lost.

No, you are not forgiven for what you have done. None of it. Because you did have a choice.

Sheridan

Day 173

There was no cab. It’s 33*. Fuck you. Forever. You are a liar, a cheat, and a thief.

Day 174

(The day count refers to a hunger strike during a time of no car – as provided by the decree.)

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Farewell ~ Agha Shahid Ali

Posted on July 24, 2014

Posted to me by a friend with a sense of the Wall I’ve lived in the shadow of – the abuse done to a child that raged on through all his years. I loved you, my sin I could never correct.

FAREWELL

At a certain point I lost track of you. They make a desolation and call it peace. when you left even the stones were buried: the defenceless would have no weapons.

When the ibex rubs itself against the rocks, who collects its fallen fleece from the slopes? O Weaver whose seams perfectly vanished, who weighs the hairs on the jeweller’s balance? They make a desolation and call it peace. Who is the guardian tonight of the Gates of Paradise?

My memory is again in the way of your history. Army convoys all night like desert caravans: In the smoking oil of dimmed headlights, time dissolved- all winter- its crushed fennel. We can’t ask them: Are you done with the world?

In the lake the arms of temples and mosques are locked in each other’s reflections.

Have you soaked saffron to pour on them when they are found like this centuries later in this country I have stitched to your shadow?

In this country we step out with doors in our arms Children run out with windows in their arms. You drag it behind you in lit corridors. if the switch is pulled you will be torn from everything.

At a certain point I lost track of you. You needed me. You needed to perfect me. In your absence you polished me into the Enemy. Your history gets in the way of my memory. I am everything you lost. You can’t forgive me. I am everything you lost. Your perfect Enemy. Your memory gets in the way of my memory:

I am being rowed through Paradise in a river of Hell: Exquisite ghost, it is night.

The paddle is a heart; it breaks the porcelain waves. It is still night. The paddle is a lotus. I am rowed- as it withers-toward the breeze which is soft as if it had pity on me.

If only somehow you could have been mine, what wouldn’t have happened in the world?

I’m everything you lost. You won’t forgive me. My memory keeps getting in the way of your history. There is nothing to forgive.You can’t forgive me. I hid my pain even from myself; I revealed my pain only to myself.

There is everything to forgive. You can’t forgive me.

If only somehow you could have been mine, what would not have been possible in the world?

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First day of the 12th month, July 16, 2014

Posted on July 20, 2014

335 days homeless

Crazy day even before opening my eyes. No internet, no incoming mail, outgoing mail disappearing…isolation feeling complete, absolute, and…intentional? Just couldn’t understand what was happening. Three days of imposition at DotFoil, two of the guys not pleased to see me and friend, Tim Deneen, at other tasks. One of the guys “broke through” the impasse by setting the computer up for iCloud. Yuk. I could see a few e-mails, but still had no affirmation that an important one had been sent, or even if it was still on the computer.

The thing, for me, was iCloud. When it first came out, I opted out. I hadn’t understood yet that it is not optional. [Fuck Apple. One of the young techs failed politics 101 when he told me, “Well, if you’re not doing something you shouldn’t online, you have nothing to worry about.” I learned about that rationale several years ago, pre-Occupy, when, just before Thanksgiving – the busiest shopping weekend of the year – I called for a national strike. Within 30 minutes my phone noted that it had been “reconfigured.” Etcetera…] Cleaned out the bank with the $20 payment to Apple for more storage space.

The 16th. The beginning of the 12th month. Months of the uncomfortable present and an absent future resting on an abusive past…ongoing. Still, daily…until death do us part? Please don’t tell any child to “Be good.” I was so good. And believed in the “good” that served other people, other objectives quite well. Don’t do that. Be the example that teaches instead to question, to think critically, to take steps of agency and of communitas.

I was dumb. Very good, very naïve. And even as it began to dawn on me, when some of the strange things began to make sense, still there was that commitment to “goodness” and the belief that good would prevail. Again…etcetera… Part of this experience, part of the political processing, part of a conversation with a FB friend who is working on the topic in a book on religion.

The 16th. I left Dotfoil both relieved and distraught. But can’t cry…won’t cry…how to acknowledge such an anniversary? On the right, the old shopping strip with a Trader Joe’s. Celebrate…breakfast actually, with the coffee and cheese samples! But pushed the cart around wishing I could get the corgis their favorite treat and ended up with 4 avocados and a big box of organic cherry tomatoes for less than at WF. 11 months and one day…and I’m on food stamps.

Later, at Whole Foods to be online, Bruce called. May have my days confused, but Bruce called. High school crush and our families were friends. El Zona del Canal, his family made Panama an adventure because they were missionaries: trips to the interior, the jungle, the language, the food – off and on adventures over the years and a sociality that would have been missing with my conservative and rather shy parents. Bruce called. That in itself is so much. But he was calling to tell me that he would speak to a friend who might be a legal resource. The reaching out, the thought, the being-with, so touched on a hard day.

And the rest? do I remember? Tough day and it feels, always, that I’m both running to catch up and have absolutely no place to be. Emails came through, the usual news sites and ads. But no friends. A lonely day. Would not have made it this far without FB, without the faces of the others, without the care and concern. But a day alone.

Yesterday, the 17th. Really hate to be missing the Event in Grand Rapids. To be there and, also, to have been there to support Jason and Creston. To hear and see Alain again, the resonance of voice and the particular characteristics of thinking as expressed on his face and in his presence. After time at Whole Foods online, we went to Sanbusco, and I asked the writer, James Bonner, to take photos of the 14k and turquoise cross so I could post to FB. It’s the only thing I can think of to sell that would cover the car payment. I paid about $1000 a dozen or so years ago. Gold goes up and down, no idea how things have fluctuated, or how to evaluate it myself, but the first visit to a re-sell jewelry shop the owner suggested $985, 50/50. Second trip, perhaps more desperate, she said $600, 50/50. If someone has a relative or friend for whom a cross would be appreciated, it is gorgeous. And a nice size – think it’s posted at FB, but I’m not remembering now. $500 would cover the car payment @ $485 and maybe cover postage.

This house is a bit far out, and I worry about part of the drive, but I’m safe and have a firm bed to sleep on, a shower, refrigerator, microwave, and a lovely fenced area for the corgis. I am grateful.

The 18th. A call mid-morning from the real estate agent saying there’d be a showing. So, everything put away, wiped, tidied, and we were out of here. The corgis and I sat on the Whole Foods porch for several hours for internet time, correspondence mostly, but still did not review and adjust the resume for another application. Tomorrow. The process is discouraging…so few positions and no acknowledgement to date of any application I’ve submitted. Seems so rude and such bad public relations. I’m returning tonight…because I’m lonely, because perhaps a friend has posted at FB…returning to Whole Foods to post this and to send the job description to three local friends who might consider writing a recommendation.

http://www.sjc.edu/santa-fe/human-resources/santa-fe-jobs/

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11 Months: July 15, 2014

Posted on July 20, 2014

EBT. I am the grateful possessor of two bananas and one apple. A container of organic almond milk, half a dozen eggs, packages of frozen organic brown rice and mixed vegetables, a jar of organic instant coffee, 2 bottles of Lemonade&Tea – on sale, and 2 boxes of organic wheat crackers, also on sale. Missing is the organic cocoa mix for the mocha morning treat, sold-out. I stopped by the Farmers Market and paid $10 EBT for $20 in wooden coins to be spent at the market – just for eggs, I think, since there are no pans here for anything fancier than the microwaved rice/vegetables/egg I had tonight. And I still have a container of oatmeal that I have uncooked with almond milk. EBT can’t get me through the month, nor does it pay for anything prepared that buys internet time – but so grateful to have it. Tricky though…nothing prepared means no salads or vegetables, hot soups, the daily lunch special, or anything from the hot bar or take-out. Reasonable, mostly, if the person qualifying for EBT actually has a working kitchen. Then…from “old stock”…that box of 2012 Christmas truffles, sun-melted and night-cooled solid, sliced for dessert.

And grateful for the reaching out of an-other, hand-to-hand, the person who had the listing for our first rental in Santa Fe 20+ years ago, the gift of much needed cash for gas. Sat there in stunned gratitude for the cure to the ongoing worry…the means to get back and forth to our temporary roof. Thank you…

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312.

Posted on July 8, 2014

I stopped by one of the storage units, the last one moved into. Found the shampoo I hoped to locate, as well as a few other necessities. Being last, one corner was organized to be a little writing office – the reclaimed frosted plexiglass podium for desk, a half dozen large white boards with book/paper outlines on them, the last books out of the house…but the unit too full, too crowded to quite get to those things. But so many little necessities I haven’t had to buy, wouldn’t have to buy for quite a while…if I still have access in a week. I didn’t find the dog cookies I thought were there and went to another storage unit…there, in frosted plastic boxes, the sight of copper cookie cutters, measuring cups, specialty tools – yes. It is ok that I claim those things, that they mean something to me, that I have the right to use them again…before they go to another. Each day…con-verse with others, cheer them, show interest and care, share corgi-love…and at the end of the day, still, I am as though run over, beat up, empty of face-time reciprocity. A lonely place. A beautiful place. Any and every place. I want to go home.

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Sitting at a drive-in

Posted on June 30, 2014

Sitting at a drive-in SBux because of cool outdoor shade for Windy and Cooper…half of my $5 bill for iced tea, but they also got their special treat of a “puppy latte” – a tiny cup of whipped cream. Makes it worth it to sit here, on cool stone, and watch people come and go. Just no place for the three of us to be in such heat. Sanbusco Mall hasn’t been as welcoming…customer and friend there for years, but the “homeless” prejudice seems to have kicked in – I should have solved my situation already…just one more failure and public moocher. Even as business is hurting because of the economy, both local and tourism because of unemployment and increased costs. Beyond an initial reaction, a sense of community has not shown itself. Most disappointing has been the absence of community among the “former” – no longer – Occupy participants. Always a learning curve there to move beyond in-state provincialisms reinforced in a not-s’posed-to-know nuclear colony, but I did think a small core evolved to be ready for “next steps” and in camaraderie…no. Not even for the last legislative session or the current revelations of fraud by the Gov and her cronies. Which is only to say, alone. No place of welcome, no space to be.

And no plan. Fought this for years…before I understood that it wasn’t just a recalcitrant and revengeful ex-husband, but a plan from the beginning between he and both of our lawyers. A fair and equitable divorce decree – I was surprised and pleased, made plans for such, and lived accordingly – work, school, savings. And with each decree item, personal contact of inquiry, always delayed…then hiring lawyers who, each one, promised results, cashed my check, and then refused all further contact. This after my own lawyer – in the one telephone conversation – yelled at me that I was a “gold digger.” What? The decree even allows that he’d have been paid for pursuing the issues. So, how much had he already received to keep me at bay, decree unfulfilled? The others got theirs by cashing my checks (from $1500 to $3000).

With each rare visit to the children, I had a couple of houses to show him that could be gotten into with the decreed $30,000. Each of those houses would now be paid off with what I’ve paid in rent, would have a garden and a room to rent. A roof over my head. Each time he had an excuse…then one trip, stood in a funny way, looked away saying, “I don’t have to do that.”

He didn’t. I did not learn until 2009, in an opinion by one more lawyer – who, of course, wouldn’t take on the case – that “Articles Incident to Divorce” have a time limit of two years. Then void. Intentional deceit – fraud – by my own lawyer. The house, the car (major manipulations there), insurance, educational expenses for the PhD (forced to take out school loans, with interest now at $100,000). The last item, due at his retirement year, for a cash settlement of “no less than $250,000″, is now ten and a half months delayed. And he stopped alimony. And blocked e-mail. Won’t acknowledge registered letters. And, again, no actually honest lawyer to pursue the case.

With the school loans, with no paid-for roof (that could also be sold), a car payment, and no retirement fund PLUS no academic work, limited editing opportunities, and the general economic slump (esp. in NM), I can’t make it. Early social security payments wouldn’t cover rent and car payment and means permanent severe poverty. Giving up on the storage payments exactly means accepting the injustice, accepting having no value as a person, no rights, no dignity. Really weary of hearing that as THE solution to my financial situation, that I AM THE PROBLEM. Fuck that. Pretty much defines the political status quo…compromise it all away Obama-style, the Democrat way, the credit card-reality way. All those in favor, raise your hands, and meet at the Mall. Relieved that I’m not a bang-bang girl, I’ll finish the fight standing. Not lying down, not dying in the car, not accepting the denial of dignity that has been endorsed by what is called “Law.” Standing. Only regretting that I cannot stand before 12 men at once. With my two children as forced witnesses to my farewell. A list will be posted. In case you care to congratulate them on the fraud, their successful scams.

The rant. The sun has moved to 3pm, and it’s now too warm here for comfort and corgis. And the car will be so hot. It’s occurred to me that the other WholeFoods has an east side patio. We’ll go there now. I look terrible. Dirty hair, the hoody full of holes and the cuffs almost ripped off, jeans with a big hole on one thigh and a smaller one at the inner leg, a hole in the tank right at my stress belly. It’s been 8 months since a hair cut. Chipped tooth. Sleeping in the car changes my posture – forward – and my gait – stumbling.

Frown wrinkles for the 10-month occasion. A gaping hole of loneliness in my chest, but a heart that has felt love from people from around the world. It’s all crazy, crazy-making, and more sad than I can bear.

I was born to a life, too. Just a life. Lived as honestly as I could step up to live it. I am weary. Alone in this no space of a no place life.

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