No Future

I am in the doldrums tonight, over my beloved Moby's death. I am lonely and worn out and feel defeated. My dream was to get out of this town quickly and move back to Corvallis. Now I don't know if I want to go back to Corvallis. It's an exclusive community over there, better than thou types, and I believe keeping the poor out is part of their big picture. Many are unapologetic about their PC hatred of the poor. They prefer wetlands. Even tiny little spots of wetland. They'd save a frog over a housing a poor person.

The thing that was really telling to me about the liberals of Corvallis was when the homeless man got shot by the frat boy and the judge gave him a slap on the wrist. I was the only one who went over and protested that. You'd think the liberals would be out in force, the way they protest over what goes on at Gitmo and all, how they count the numbers of Iraqi civilians injured or killed, all that. But no. I concluded they don't care about the poor in their backyard or injustices in their backyard, only if it's really far away. That kind of clued me in as to their real agenda, which is local apathy to injustice and poverty.

All that happened to me, the beating on the psyche ward, all the injustices, I tried to get legal help in Corvallis, even called the ACLU who never returned my call. I suppose I discount all that happened to me, as nothing, like so many miserably abused people do, because nobody ever cared and nobody ever will care.

Like that homeless woman at camp Boondoggle, telling me real quietly how she was raped savagely and beaten, one of the times, had to recover, after leaving the hospital huddled under a tarp in the pouring rain by the river, still fearful her attacker would come back. She'd break in on her own story, to say, well at least I had a good blanket so I was ok, all apologetic for even mentioning her hard times, like it was ok that she was so badly injured and had to lay on an old trap with the tarp propped up with branches over her, to recover from a beating and rape.

It wasn't ok. It wasn't ok what happened to me either, right in Corvallis, in liberal Corvallis, and the liberals looked the other way so easily.

I'm thinking the liberals are full of shit. Just like most conservatives.

I'm thinking I was right all along to vote for Ron Paul and if he's not on the ballot, to vote for nobody.

I am in a mood, I am. Maybe it was the kittens' death. Maybe it was my wonderful Moby's death. Maybe it's this tooth eating its way into my brain with it's screaming whang. Maybe I'm just feeling unloved. I need a hug, that's all. I buried Moby tonight. I waited til after dark so the nosy neighbors won't be talking.

I hate my tooth by now. I hate it. I need to get roaring drunk and yank the thing out and stomp on it over and over and over again.

I keep thinking about Joe too. I trapped cats for him. He is quite dysfunctional. He told me that his friend, then he changed it and said it was his brother, was coughing up blood and had lung absesses all over. He'd had pneumonia. Later he said they also saw a mass in his lungs. Then he whispered to me "I think he's a goner."

He went on to say his brother or friend had worked in a bar all his life with all that smoke and he smoked too, on top of it. Joe said he'd gone to his workplace and his brother pulled him across the bar and said "Feel me. I'm burning up." Then Joe whispered to me again, "I think he's a goner." His brother is 36.

Then Joe said he had to go back to bed, even though it was noon and he rushed inside. But before he did, he looked at his truck and declared he was going to sell his truck to try to raise some money for his brother and his brother's family, because they had no health insurance.

I haven't been back over there. I know his friend or brother is probably dead by now.

Joe's all alone, says his world is, then makes a tiny circle with one hand, which I took to mean he has pretty much nobody.

I don't want to stay in Albany. Too many people crammed together and not a spot for miles where one can lay a foot on earth. There's a few spots of neon green fake grass, as I call overly maintained manicured lawns. Lawns aren't earth, aren't nature, don't even come close.

What is a country girl to do, crammed up like this, encased in a concrete tomb?

I am getting too old to trap cats constantly. And I'm burned out, too. On the people I must deal with, not the cats. But if I quit, what then? Sit and stare at the walls here? I'd sooner shoot myself.

I've got no money to do anything or go anywhere. I wish I could figure something out. Something out real fast.

I am going to put a For Sale sign in the yard for starters. My brother said he'd sell the house months ago, and has taken no steps to do so. So I will. It's not my house, sure, but that's a minor obstacle.

When my brother wants to kind of slide by questions about selling the house, he tells me it's my house and I can do what I want with it. Well, it isn't mine. In fact, I pay him rent. But since he says that, I guess ok then, up goes the sign, with his number as owner to contact. We'll see what happens.

And here's what I'll confess tonight. I will confess that all these people I trap for, that I claim drive me nuts, because they don't pay anything, for their cats to be fixed or for my expenses in trapping and transporting their cats to be fixed, they're all just so interesting. I get into their lives, their confidences, and they're just people struggling to make it in a jungle world. Like I am. And I love them.

So that kind of ruins the whole whiner post, doesn't it, to confess the truth that way. So pretend you never read this at all, when I post again, about how much this person or that person irritates me. My ire will be up over tragedy or lonliness or tiredness or pain or outrage. My ire level will be higher than the truth and when my ire sinks the truth will just be there again.