from the city of gulls
I'm sorry I'm not posting more. My energy level dropped quite a bit and I haven't been feeling tip-top. On a particularly bad day I got worked up and crosshatched the back of my left wrist with cuticle clippers; not typical and not serious, and overall not a particularly constructive response to frustration. My case manager at the shelter helped me get an appointment for a psych assessment, despite some limitations in my benefits, so it looks as if I'll finally have a psychiatrist. I'm meeting with him on Tuesday.
Meanwhile I've been working on housing program applications and trying to maintain equilibrium. I'm having trouble concentrating on anything that requires diligent or sustained brain activity--which is most of the reason why I haven't been posting, I guess.
My current roommate makes me a little nutty and this morning tried to show me a bedbug bite. She thinks they've finally found there way to our section of the building. If true, I'm just going to faceplant and smother myself in my pillow. Well, no. I won't. But I'm tired of the shelter. The wasted half-days trapped and trying to fill time; the soul-crushing bath and shower rooms; every bowel movement a public event; every shower a big production of flip-flops and plastic bags (to avoid any item I own touching any mold-covered, body-fluid-covered, ostentatiously smeared and germ-covered surface) and storklike balance to undress and dress again without touching walls or floor (my diabetic roommate has developed a severe and debilitating case of what might or might not be athlete's foot--oozing sores, crippling pain).
Wow, I'm a downer. I did capture observational notes that are much more dispassionate and interesting, but haven't gotten around to making them truly readable.
I'm prodding myself to post this despite the mood of these words, just wanting to echo a hello hello to anyone reading this.
Meanwhile I've been working on housing program applications and trying to maintain equilibrium. I'm having trouble concentrating on anything that requires diligent or sustained brain activity--which is most of the reason why I haven't been posting, I guess.
My current roommate makes me a little nutty and this morning tried to show me a bedbug bite. She thinks they've finally found there way to our section of the building. If true, I'm just going to faceplant and smother myself in my pillow. Well, no. I won't. But I'm tired of the shelter. The wasted half-days trapped and trying to fill time; the soul-crushing bath and shower rooms; every bowel movement a public event; every shower a big production of flip-flops and plastic bags (to avoid any item I own touching any mold-covered, body-fluid-covered, ostentatiously smeared and germ-covered surface) and storklike balance to undress and dress again without touching walls or floor (my diabetic roommate has developed a severe and debilitating case of what might or might not be athlete's foot--oozing sores, crippling pain).
Wow, I'm a downer. I did capture observational notes that are much more dispassionate and interesting, but haven't gotten around to making them truly readable.
I'm prodding myself to post this despite the mood of these words, just wanting to echo a hello hello to anyone reading this.