I live in Two Worlds. At least two, really. And I'm "world weary" enough in just one!
I've been "out here" for about 20 months now. Initially, I really thought it might "only" be a couple of months at most, if near that long. In fact, I made concerted efforts to avoid becoming homeless at all, in advance, when I saw that I was situationally barreling toward that precipice. At first, I naively figured that I had a good, viable chance of arranging something else, even in terms of minimal, yet serviceably functional, lodging for an interim.
By now, there's no particular end in sight. And it's been such a struggle to have just made it this long. Meanwhile, so much that I've relied upon to do so has been strained, diminished, depleted or is simply changed and over and done with.
One of the worst ironies, and troubling dilemmas, is that I've found that some "options" that can ease the stresses and add some admittedly small or humble "comforts" to one's days/nights in the jam, come at a real risk of actually perpetuating it all the more. Yet, the "prices" of doing otherwise, to keep more concertedly attempting to more substantially improve or get out of the predicament, can be such serious gambles and incur even further hardships too.
It becomes so wearing, tiring, dispiriting and discouraging. And one is surrounded by others grappling similarly. Yet, right amongst countless others doing quite nicely, thank you. And the context of then "keeping up appearances" so as to "fit in". Somewhat. Somehow. Sometimes. Some ways.
The contrasts become so stark and steep! At one moment, I'll be retrieving a surplus military poncho for lame, filthy old man that sleeps down the block in a doorway to help him stay dry-er on a dank, cold, rainy day... and then have a breezy chat with an acquaintance about the thousands of dollars he's getting from a lawsuit won against his longtime landlord, and his upcoming plans for some new camera equipment.
I'll have lunch in a park, among the most ragtag mix including the most destitute, and later a "friend" generously serves a simple homecooked dinner to a handful of other of his "friends"... served from the trunk of his car, doled out of tinfoil containers onto paper plates on a busy street corner sidewalk. Delicious, too! But like feeding dogs. And as though it's "normal" somehow.
Most people stop inviting you to visit at their home. Ever. You've joined the "underclass" even among people that call you "friend". Even those that turn to you for favors, including borrowing your cash! I recall how weird it was for me to have people that wanted to "visit" with me a lot at cafe's, wanting my attentions and company, but at closing time departed wishing me a "good night"... both of us knowing I had to trudge a mere bicycle and loaded trailer ... somewhere ... to sleep on concrete sidewalks, sometimes in freezing cold and/or wet. "See ya' tomorrow!"
Such are the collisions of context in an area very used to both having numerous homeless people around and with ongoing "mixing" with others. Even usual "socializing". But a somewhat bizarre "class system" has evolved. Even a rather unfortunate version.
Once it becomes known that you've changed "class" and have descended to "the streets", you're seen and treated very differently. Same person, but dramatically changed status. And so revised dynamics.
No comments:
Post a Comment