Let’s start with this idea: a man cannot have peace of mind, cannot pursue a life of success, cannot return to the society that disavowed him, if he does not have a peaceful place of rest, if he does not have a home. I tell you from the bottom of my heart that much of this blog will go down with an awful lot of frustration, and there was a huge chunk of me that didn’t want to go spewing out such venom on a holiday weekend. However, I don’t want this resting on my soul any longer, I don’t want this sticking to me as I try and sleep (TRY AND SLEEP) later tonight.
I have been whipping up these teddy bears from sun-up to sun-down for days now. FOR MONTHS I’ve been pushing my way into a grander life. The corporate model pushed me away, tossed me out, knocked me to the ground and instead of becoming a statistic, another unemployed man desperately working out life on the dole, I said I would do something better. I would STRIVE with my little mind to find a way to feed myself, clothe myself (shirts are 50 cents at the Bargain Box on Wednesdays), and keep a roof over my head.
I don’t have a lot. God knows, the little I have is of some great value to me. My possessions? Books, yarn, and Mario. At some point today I made myself something to eat. Another bowl of soup. And why, do you ask? Why more soup? Becomes its sealed in a can and roaches can’t get into it. For 10 seconds I reached down to pet my little bugger of a cat only to return to a bowl of insects. I threw out the soup in aggravation, the veins in my temples pulsing with a ferocity that any fighter would have feared. To move my mind away from my troubles, I picked up a book I’m reading. “The Thorn Birds.” Yes, an old one, but a considerable one I’ve always wanted to read. There, between the binding and the spine, came three more roaches as I cracked open the book.
I’ve had enough. I will not take anymore. I was on the streets, I was living alone out in the woods, and I will not accept that through all of this hard work, all of this push and shove and want for a better life that I have been handed this. A flop house with no suitable kitchen infested with roaches only because I decided with my own tenacity to take care of myself, rather than allow myself to become a victim, or even WORSE: a statistic. Corporate America gave me the ax; my own government told me I don’t qualify for help because I’m a male in his 30’s with no child. I still have to eat. I still need a place to sleep.
I know when I started this Bear-A-Thon I had mentioned a chair and emergency money were included in the mix. FORGET IT. I want out of this madness, this filthy disgust by the end of the week. I’m now only working up bears because all I only want a clean room, a kitchen to cook in without fear of things crawling in my food, a place where I can REST AT NIGHT without swatting the roaches of my face and not have to sleep on the floor….books to read without them being eaten by roaches.
I will do whatever it takes. My hope goes south towards grimacing anguish.
20 bears to go.
I will NOT be a statistic.