downtown...
I'm committed to my Wednesdays with the homeless. I'm so damn busy right now, I've got paying work and nonpaying work barking at my heels, I've got a messy house and dogs that need walks and laundry...but I need this, too.
I guess the best form of therapy is being needed, feeling one's place in the world, solidly and surely. Does that mean playing 4 games of Pente while someone tells you their life history? Does that mean having someone holler a hello across the room? Sometimes, it does.
it's the minutiae of life, those little beads of moments, strung together, into something more than they are alone. Today I didn't feel needed as much as I just felt like I was with friends.
Of course, I had to tell everyone I ran 20 miles and they were pretty impressed. My friend D. struggles to stay sober. I told him I thought of him when I ran 20 miles last week. What he's doing is like a marathon, only worse.
I saw F. who doesn't speak too much, he's quiet and keeps to himself. When he tells you Hi, you know he likes you. I had just sat down to game number 1 of pente, when I saw the police cars pull up outside. F had just come in for a cup of coffee, and taken it outside to enjoy with a cigarette. (There are laws against that...you can't stand outside in Austin, or sit outside, without getting a ticket. One guy I know thinks it's an attempt to make the homeless "pay the rich." It's really just a way to make the homeless disappear from downtown.)
When I saw the cops, talking to F. I got mad. I assumed they were going to ticket him.
For someone who believes the government implanted a chip in his brain, F. does pretty damn well in the world. He doesn't cause trouble. He doesn't have friends. He collects papers and he loves numbers and his head is full of facts that he has knitted together like a frayed old sock.
He'd seen the police car's license plate and thought the numbers were the same as someone's birthday who he knew in the Navy who had been responsible for wrecking a ship and all this was somehow related to the Kennedy family and terrorism.
The cops had him cuffed. Frank launched into a tirade. I sent the center director over to talk to them and she convinced them he was harmless. They sent him off with a warning.
When F. came back in he told me what had happened and that the cop car was part of the plot, the chip in his head, the Kennedy's, the terrorism, all of it. F. has no family. He was put into foster care at age 3, so he told me on a good day. He's been in and out of mental hospitals. Funds are tight. He survives. I offered him popcorn and lemonade and he sat down with the rest of us and we had a nice discussion about what we do when the world goes crazy around us.
file under: friends
I guess the best form of therapy is being needed, feeling one's place in the world, solidly and surely. Does that mean playing 4 games of Pente while someone tells you their life history? Does that mean having someone holler a hello across the room? Sometimes, it does.
it's the minutiae of life, those little beads of moments, strung together, into something more than they are alone. Today I didn't feel needed as much as I just felt like I was with friends.
Of course, I had to tell everyone I ran 20 miles and they were pretty impressed. My friend D. struggles to stay sober. I told him I thought of him when I ran 20 miles last week. What he's doing is like a marathon, only worse.
I saw F. who doesn't speak too much, he's quiet and keeps to himself. When he tells you Hi, you know he likes you. I had just sat down to game number 1 of pente, when I saw the police cars pull up outside. F had just come in for a cup of coffee, and taken it outside to enjoy with a cigarette. (There are laws against that...you can't stand outside in Austin, or sit outside, without getting a ticket. One guy I know thinks it's an attempt to make the homeless "pay the rich." It's really just a way to make the homeless disappear from downtown.)
When I saw the cops, talking to F. I got mad. I assumed they were going to ticket him.
For someone who believes the government implanted a chip in his brain, F. does pretty damn well in the world. He doesn't cause trouble. He doesn't have friends. He collects papers and he loves numbers and his head is full of facts that he has knitted together like a frayed old sock.
He'd seen the police car's license plate and thought the numbers were the same as someone's birthday who he knew in the Navy who had been responsible for wrecking a ship and all this was somehow related to the Kennedy family and terrorism.
The cops had him cuffed. Frank launched into a tirade. I sent the center director over to talk to them and she convinced them he was harmless. They sent him off with a warning.
When F. came back in he told me what had happened and that the cop car was part of the plot, the chip in his head, the Kennedy's, the terrorism, all of it. F. has no family. He was put into foster care at age 3, so he told me on a good day. He's been in and out of mental hospitals. Funds are tight. He survives. I offered him popcorn and lemonade and he sat down with the rest of us and we had a nice discussion about what we do when the world goes crazy around us.
file under: friends
Labels: homeless
2 Comments:
You're such a wonderful, kind, loving soul and the world is such a better place with you in it. I miss you so much and can't wait to see you!
you are so cool
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