Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Health Care Reform
I don't know why people are opposed to the public option in health care reform.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
New Paint
It wasn't too long ago that I had reoccurring dreams about my car crashing. My dreams lately take place in the future: City neighborhoods with decaying buildings and people hiding in plain sight. A post-apocalyptic vision, and somehow I've survived and have made a way and place for myself. But there is always a threat of something about to bring it down; the need to constantly be wary and ready to escape.
I told Boyfriend about that. He thinks it's all about work. He's probably right. My environment, so different now, and yet the same. A new cast of characters in the last six months, but now I'm a "leader". It's like wartime in its own way. Volleys fly, usually in the form of emails. I must think quickly the best way to act.
Sometimes the best action is none at all.
My boss said to me: I used to think I could make a difference, but I've given up. I will be doing something else soon. I'm sorry I brought you into this.
Unusual memories are unlocked with these futuristic dreams. I woke this morning thinking about a job I had long ago. Waiting for an interview to work a counter in a department store on a break from college, I was nervous and started chatting uncontrollably with the only other person in the room. A flamboyant black man, also waiting for an interview. "Good luck!" I said to him as he was called into an office.
Later, when we both had jobs, he stuck to my side. "You made me laugh. Because of you I was relaxed enough to get the job." He was the first gay person I knew and he told me all the pointers - the signs gay people used to tell each other. Rings on which fingers, Tops and Bottoms, colors of handkerchiefs. It was the 80s but pre-AIDS - really, the twilight of the 70s. Men wore beards and mustaches, tight izod shirts and pants.
I thought: I'm not like this, not like these old people. I want someone normal; there's no handkerchief color for a lover who can be my best friend.
I worked the photography slash luggage slash electronics counter. My coworker was in the mens clothing dept and didn't last long. He showed up one day - I've been fired, he said. What for? He just shook his head & shrugged. He didn't seem surprised or upset. The breakroom chatter said he was doing people in the restrooms, but it might just as easily have been for stealing. He was 18 or 19, and I was a year older. I'm sure he's dead.
My boss says: I don't know what to tell you; this will continue. But it seems to me, the people who operate with good intentions, who do the right thing, they survive. They come out alright in the end.
I told Boyfriend about that. He thinks it's all about work. He's probably right. My environment, so different now, and yet the same. A new cast of characters in the last six months, but now I'm a "leader". It's like wartime in its own way. Volleys fly, usually in the form of emails. I must think quickly the best way to act.
Sometimes the best action is none at all.
My boss said to me: I used to think I could make a difference, but I've given up. I will be doing something else soon. I'm sorry I brought you into this.
Unusual memories are unlocked with these futuristic dreams. I woke this morning thinking about a job I had long ago. Waiting for an interview to work a counter in a department store on a break from college, I was nervous and started chatting uncontrollably with the only other person in the room. A flamboyant black man, also waiting for an interview. "Good luck!" I said to him as he was called into an office.
Later, when we both had jobs, he stuck to my side. "You made me laugh. Because of you I was relaxed enough to get the job." He was the first gay person I knew and he told me all the pointers - the signs gay people used to tell each other. Rings on which fingers, Tops and Bottoms, colors of handkerchiefs. It was the 80s but pre-AIDS - really, the twilight of the 70s. Men wore beards and mustaches, tight izod shirts and pants.
I thought: I'm not like this, not like these old people. I want someone normal; there's no handkerchief color for a lover who can be my best friend.
I worked the photography slash luggage slash electronics counter. My coworker was in the mens clothing dept and didn't last long. He showed up one day - I've been fired, he said. What for? He just shook his head & shrugged. He didn't seem surprised or upset. The breakroom chatter said he was doing people in the restrooms, but it might just as easily have been for stealing. He was 18 or 19, and I was a year older. I'm sure he's dead.
My boss says: I don't know what to tell you; this will continue. But it seems to me, the people who operate with good intentions, who do the right thing, they survive. They come out alright in the end.