8 Hungry Again; Adventures in Bureaucracy
Oh, well.
This week has been downs more than ups, but amazingly I haven't seemed to care.
Okay: went to get food stamps. I'm on disability and there's isn't any way to survive on the stipend they give you. So I swallowed my pride and went for them. I fill out the fifty-fucking page form and wait two hours in the lobby of Health & Human Services with the other 50 women. Oh, wait, one man does show up, but only to ask a question and then leave.
All of the women, upon whom I have great compassion, have screaming children. I try very hard not to eat the children, with much success. I think that the Hariti-vow is working. I am able to transcend the agony of my brain and not think about yummy fajitas de hijos y hijas. The image of me lurking under a bridge to catch annoying breeder childers does not appear. Instead, I am able to repeat the MU ji kong an ("Does a dog have a buddha-nature?" "MU!") and wait the two hours without harming another living being.
They get my name wrong, but I am able to retrieve my own ID from the mangled wreckage, said mostly in Spanish. Johnson is not a good Spanish surname to have, let me recommend to you that you change it to Juárez - which is the translation anyway - should you have it and with to move to an Iberophone land. Like SoCal.
"You make too much money", says the woman apologetically. I manage not to add, "which is clearly insufficient for an adult human being to live on and isn't money I'm MAKING but rather receiving from YOU for being disabled due to trauma associated with being discriminated against in the workplace."
I say the MU a few times as I leave but am too distracted to be really hungry. I exit the building gracefully. I do not say anything to my companion waiting in the car, who was also refused a few minutes before on the grounds what he is receiving US $10 from SSI. In other words, because he worked and paid taxes once, he is ineligible to be assisted by the money he put into the system.
I try to just put it behind me; they did the same thing to me for healthcare, which is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard since the only reason you are disabled is because of health reasons, all of which require healthcare. "FUUUUUUUUCKK YOOOOOUUUUU, UNCLE FUCKERS!" I don't scream.
I breathe and try to just sit there with my anger.
My roommate, who usually gets furious for being fucked over for being disabled, is going to speak. I await the onslaught; it's hard for me to work through the cold and hot blast of his venting sometimes.
"Hey, at least we're queer", he says in a mild voice.
That really angry bit inside me dissolves a lot and we drive home, eat cereal & take our afternoon anti-heat naps.
This week has been downs more than ups, but amazingly I haven't seemed to care.
Okay: went to get food stamps. I'm on disability and there's isn't any way to survive on the stipend they give you. So I swallowed my pride and went for them. I fill out the fifty-fucking page form and wait two hours in the lobby of Health & Human Services with the other 50 women. Oh, wait, one man does show up, but only to ask a question and then leave.
All of the women, upon whom I have great compassion, have screaming children. I try very hard not to eat the children, with much success. I think that the Hariti-vow is working. I am able to transcend the agony of my brain and not think about yummy fajitas de hijos y hijas. The image of me lurking under a bridge to catch annoying breeder childers does not appear. Instead, I am able to repeat the MU ji kong an ("Does a dog have a buddha-nature?" "MU!") and wait the two hours without harming another living being.
They get my name wrong, but I am able to retrieve my own ID from the mangled wreckage, said mostly in Spanish. Johnson is not a good Spanish surname to have, let me recommend to you that you change it to Juárez - which is the translation anyway - should you have it and with to move to an Iberophone land. Like SoCal.
"You make too much money", says the woman apologetically. I manage not to add, "which is clearly insufficient for an adult human being to live on and isn't money I'm MAKING but rather receiving from YOU for being disabled due to trauma associated with being discriminated against in the workplace."
I say the MU a few times as I leave but am too distracted to be really hungry. I exit the building gracefully. I do not say anything to my companion waiting in the car, who was also refused a few minutes before on the grounds what he is receiving US $10 from SSI. In other words, because he worked and paid taxes once, he is ineligible to be assisted by the money he put into the system.
I try to just put it behind me; they did the same thing to me for healthcare, which is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard since the only reason you are disabled is because of health reasons, all of which require healthcare. "FUUUUUUUUCKK YOOOOOUUUUU, UNCLE FUCKERS!" I don't scream.
I breathe and try to just sit there with my anger.
My roommate, who usually gets furious for being fucked over for being disabled, is going to speak. I await the onslaught; it's hard for me to work through the cold and hot blast of his venting sometimes.
"Hey, at least we're queer", he says in a mild voice.
That really angry bit inside me dissolves a lot and we drive home, eat cereal & take our afternoon anti-heat naps.
posted by Unknown @ 15:27
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