On the P & Q

"It's not my credibility on the line." --Barack Obama, defense lawyer

I may have hired a dead resident's old caretaker, and we've set the meeting for Tuesday morning; I am already picturing the contraction of her facial muscles as she tries not to react to my habitat, not sure if I should push myself hard to clean before our meeting, or if she has the experience not to be judgmental. Black? Yes, but if we can reach an understanding and I can keep her at arm's length, I can dial down my stress.

Obama has so utterly disappointed me I have lost faith in my country, and I'll never get it back. In 08, at his campaign headquarters, before he lost PA to Hillary by nine percentage points, while his youthful acolytes swarmed upstairs and downstairs, and I met uptight white middle aged political operatives in double breasted pinstripes, a hustler from the neighborhood held his hand out, trying to take my contribution to the campaign for himself, and that is Philadelphia. Contextualized against Fruitvale Station, you dismiss this, my over developed social fear and contempt, correct?

The boomer generation, those closer to my mother's age, did not know what the slogan meant, this "change we can believe in". Neither did I, but I was amazed at the energy Obama had behind him, and was astounded. I cannot tell you what I hoped for, maybe that his success would allow me to spring back, to change my environment. TARP and the ACA have not improved my circumstances. While the administration was young, the insurance coverage I had dropped me, and Trudy Richardson, regardless of her recent contraction, escalated pressure on me to the breaking point. I remain scathed, weary of always feeling the need to have my back up, that I can never let go, relax, and work, because someone needs entry, to check fire alarms the residents set off once a week, or to replace my pipe, sign a petition, inspect the unit, ride a power outage, review my fiances to make sure I am not hiding a fucking fortune. If I had my own writing studio, Siberia might seem like a blessed luxury in contrast to this nigger beehive. No one will take me in. The only thing I can do is apply for jobs and grants I do not have the accreditation nor the stamina to maintain.