observations on life

The definition of “poor” from Mrs. Bond’s dictionary at iworkforcats.com

Poor:  When you have or earn less money than you need in order to have decent housing, enough food, and/or medical care.  Not being rich is NOT the equivalent of being poor.  When you are poor and have or make no money due to any number of circumstances, you take whatever job you can get, say, working in a factory for 10 dollars an hour, or waiting tables, or loading trucks.  And you may very likely have more than one job.  You live in a trailer or subsidized housing (if you’re lucky enough to not be among the homeless). If you have children they get free lunch at public school.

You buy your kids’ clothes and your own at Goodwill.  You take the bus to work.  Your kids take the bus to school.  When the kids get home from school, they entertain themselves until you get home; that may also be true on weekends if you work that shift.   And they do chores.  They don’t belong to scouts or sports teams, because you cannot afford the uniforms.  They don’t take lessons in anything, because you can’t afford it.

You buy nothing for yourself, ever, because if you have any money you spend it on bills or on things your kids need.  Your kids may get medical care because they’re kids, but you don’t.  You may have medicaid if you’re lucky.  You cry a lot.  You feel defeated and hopeless.  You know you are one crisis away from becoming homeless, and/or losing your kids, and/or ending up in jail for something over which you have no control.

Being poor is hard, and it’s debilitating physically, mentally,and emotionally.  (That doesn’t mean it’s the only thing for which that can be said.)  You have no choices about anything.  You work until you are exhausted.  When your kids are old enough, they work, too.  You get old before you’re old and die before you should.  And sometimes you hope dying will come sooner rather than later, because it will be so much easier.

“Keep watch with those who work or watch or weep this night.  Watch over those, both night and day, who work while others sleep, and grant that we may never forget that our common life depends upon each other’s toil. Tend the sick, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted. Guide us sleeping that we may rest in peace.” The Book of Common Prayer 1789

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observations on life

Therapeutic whining 7/29/2015

Some lunatic dentist, Walter James Palmer, from Eden Prairie (MN) has killed a beloved, protected lion in Africa.  Cecil was the lion’s name.  Cecil was Walter’s 48th “trophy” kill of big game.  Trophy, my ass.  Murder.  I think Walter should be shot with an arrow, then, 40 hours later, skinned, then have his head cut off.  Just like he did to Cecil.  Why is big game hunting even legal?  Anywhere?  And what kind of demented, evil, useless waste of air wants to kill magnificent animals for the fun of killing them?  I hope they all die.  Slow and painful deaths.

 

And,

our house and yard are killing me.  I don’t believe I’m exaggerating.  Every day I go out into the fucking blazing sun to pull weeds, stain the fence, scrape the paint on the side of the garage, (later I’ll prime and paint, and reglaze the windows), water (although both hoses have holes in them), paint the front steps, dig up recalcitrant plants, and/or put water seal on one thing or another.  I’m so sick of continuously cleaning up after the two apple trees that tomorrow I’m calling the tree guy to come and cut them down.   Tomorrow men are coming to replace the furnace and air conditioner.  Yesterday men came and cleaned out the gutters.  Today I cleaned up after them.  When I get get overheated, which takes about ten minutes, I come into the house, run cold water over my head, and cry.

 

And,

I have, at any given time, approximately two dozen chigger bites.  And cuts, bruises, scrapes, slivers, rashes, aches, stiffness, and, between the sunscreen, bug repellent, and sweat, I smell like a goat.  Oh joy.

 

And,

while I’m wearing myself out, other people have nothing else on which to spend their time or money besides hunting lions, or planning parties, or traveling to exotic locations.  All in all, I’m glad I’m not doing any of those.  Wretched as I am doing what I do, it’s better than being a shallow, spoiled, swell who wouldn’t be able to do anything practical or worthwhile even if their life depended on it.

 

 

 

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