The House

The House

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Occupy whatever

In an attempt to stay relevant in my own life I have been writing about Occupy. I will turn fifty five on Friday and find myself thinking of death. Looking at my life as a wannabe participant, trying to be a part of something all my life. I look at my things and wonder why I have them. I might miss the colors on my walls, the creamer collection, my magic the gathering cards. I can't stand where I live. All the friends I made in the first few years moved away. All of them. I should have left as well. I have never been around such mean spirited, backwards ignorant lifeless people ever, anywhere. This place has no redeeming qualities. At first we thought we would hike and climb, have a little house in the mountains that could be a safe haven when the climate goes haywire for good.
That is another thing that depresses me. Since I was fourteen I have known we are heating the planet up and nothing has been done. I remember fantasizing about floating cars, wind power and perhaps power from the sun. I also dreamed of peace and what we have is a nightmare of imperialism and war unending. I see already, before we are out of the quagmire's of Iraq and Afghanistan there are articles talking about "tensions" in the pacific. My goddess! The religious ideologues married to greed and wealth, the left dragging its feet pretending to be the eternal victim. My daughter told me not to be afraid of people, and I said I am not afraid, I am sick and tired. Mostly tired.
I have done nothing to make the world a better place. I thought I would. I am arguing whether I should try to keep up a license in mental health after ten years of not finding work in my field. I don't see the purpose in it. No one even reads my blog. For me its like a note in a bottle floating, worthless along with all the bits of plastic.
Occupy made me feel hopeful, but now that it is marginalized and pushed to the side I am feeling cut off, and it went into the closet before I could get a chance to really be a part. The Occupy Wall Street film is at Sundance this week. I can't go. I helped fund it. Park City is to far and I am to poor. I hope I get to see it eventually from Netflix or on Link t.v.
Occupy Sandy has done more for the survivors of Hurricane Sandy than any group and has only been mentioned once on the national news. Strike Debt is marching on, buying up debts for penny's on the dollar and forgiving the debtors. While I sit in a state of house arrest, debtors prison with a mortgage that was padded so heavily with crap I will die before I pay it off. A lien from Jefferson Capital on a bogus bloated credit card debt. Hiding from fucking collection agents who yell bang and are slime for perpetuating the vampire squid who robbed and pillaged us all and continue to do so. Obama has lain with dogs and the fleas of green backed bankers clings to his administration with the help of the far right bought and paid for lackeys in the tea party republican caucus.
I see no reason to try to work toward any goals, write a book, or keep my license, not even any reason to exercise. Why when all I have heard all my life is that I am a liberal slacker, welfare queen, evil humanist, old lady sucking off society because I feel so beat down by it all. How much do they think people can take? I raised kids, went to school, paid my bills, tried to be a good citizen, not a drunk, druggie or slut. A good person, trying to be a better person.
Occasionally I get ideas, poetry, art or simply to dance. Acting was important to me for so long. I watch the movies and know I should have gone to Hollywood. I could have found a niche to fill. Clever and talented, willing and a good listener. I told my friend Mark Holt, go for god sake school will wait. I told another young red headed man the same at a party and he did and I see him in movies and television all the time. I couldn't go. I had a little girl. Felt I had to take a more conservative route even if my mom complained I needed to do something that would make money. By the time I realised theatre was a dead end for me, mostly because of politics and poverty, I got my masters and I still haven't made a decent living. I am worth more dead than alive in social security to my family.
I will only get around 700 a month when I am old because women get cheated so horribly in wages and value. If I live so long. I will have to live with a daughter or in my truck or a trailer in the woods. I could be like one of those men I see with grizzled beards, weighted down by an old back pack, wrapped in blankets walking from nowhere to nowhere. Only I will have long white hair and a grizzled face and hands. Always slightly dirty. I can't see any future for me at 55. In three years my youngest will be gone to her life hopefully attaining her dreams better than I did and I will be left in this house day after day looking at the few things I made and have wondering...wandering...waning...wan...wanting....waiting


  1. You are wrong -- I am reading your blog. I wish I were as eloquent as you, but, alas, words fail. But I feel your frustrations and I have shared your sense of hopelessness and despair. I am in a relatively good place in my life now, but I never know when the so-called rug will be pulled from under me. My fears may be irrational, but they are so very real to me. You are not alone. I wish we were close and could help each other. What comfort that would be.

    1. Yes,I too understand.I wish there was some way we could find each other.It seems sometimes that we have lost our inspiration.Does something just happen to us ,as we turn 50,perhaps a realization that "it's a downhill ride from here on in"? It's definetly no fun.Most of my friends feel that way to a certain extent,some more than others.The internet communication surely helps.It is nice to know that we are not alone in our thoughts.Now,how do we alter them?

    2. Charlotte, its a comfort to have someone read and feel connected even in the virtual world. I am recently taking care of an 81 year old woman who's story would make you cringe. She seemed to be surrounded by scoundrels without any control of her life, ever. Her body racked her one pleasure? Watching murder trials on television. The latest is Jodi what's her name. I believe after meeting her.....and I have worked with elderly before....I will do better. Nothing like comparing yourself to someone worse off to feel good about things. Although Grandma always said; "never compare yourself to the worst" It could be worse. Its a great life if you don't weaken. We only borrow our things and the little piece of earth our souls live in thus we must take care and caretake our little part. In the theatre there are no small parts they say, so I try to enter the "stage" each day as if.....respectfully Diane

    3. Marie
      if you should come back to see a comment, I hope this reaches you. see my comment as well above for "charlotte" I don't think it's fifty per se. Its the world around that has given us the message for decades that the first gray hair means become invisible. And women do it to each other...have you noticed? Alter our thoughts....I started limiting my news consumption and choosing better sources. Chris Hayes All In. The Nation magazine. I got tired of yelling at the television "liars!" or worse only hearing gossip or half truths. My daughter said it; "they only talk problems, never solutions" exactly! We do get bored and lose motivation because at 50 I think certain illusions start fading away. Like "I will never be glamorous" (shoot!) I will never be a size 12 again. Why are there so many good looking young men and none when I was young!? (phooey!) hair looks the best it ever has my whole life, all shiny white and gray, long and wavy. Who knew? Gotten more compliments for having long gray hair. One woman said she thought I was "brave" Really! Isn't sad old ladies are brave not to die their hair? What is that about? I never dyed my hair. Watched Mom's hair fall out from harsh dies. I may not be a glamour girl but I am a "natural" woman as the song goes. Thank for writing.