Foggy morning. November 15th 2011.
Allowed myself to sleep in this morning, my mind busy with strange and fitful dreams. I have brain cancer so I throw a 1950s pool party by a lake. Barbra Streisand sings her Swan Song in an elaborately fluffy pink gown. I talk in my sleep for the first time in years.
Standing in the kitchen, I get my first text message of the day, from a friend, the essence of which is “Work is pissing me the f*** off right now.” I respond with sympathy.
Stopped at a red light, glowing like an eye in the fog. I see a scrawny boy on a skateboard (attempting to cross the street) get tangled in some leaves and land in a heap on the asphalt. He painfully dusts himself off and, shamed, retrieves his skateboard to recover and wait until the next Walk sign comes on. As I drive past him, I see that he is not a young man, but closer to 40, with sickly pale skin, wire-rimmed glasses, and a platinum blonde mustache. He is not having a good day.
As I near my freeway onramp, a homeless man has an enthusiastic and friendly conversation with an invisible person, leaning against a street sign with his mostly-empty black trash bag slung jauntily over his shoulder. It is clear that this invisible human being is providing engaging and original conversation to his/her hobo friend. Homeless Man is having a great day.
Meanwhile, representatives from Occupy Portland are on NPR, or OPB I guess, talking about their recent eviction from the parks downtown. It was peaceful, and now the movement is getting more organized as they decide their next move. They express the need for the movement to stay in campgrounds in order to stay visible. When the moderator gently reminds that maybe it would be easier to talk policy if they weren’t worried about providing people with food and medical care, a representative seems to blame the lack of food/medical care in the camps on the city government. (Did I misunderstand? Did she really say that the city should be providing those things? I must have misunderstood. I hope to God I did.) When asked if they might gain wider support if the movement stayed on-topic (Flaws in our economic system creating built-in Injustice) representatives completely agree. Good. When asked if they would perhaps get more of the middle-class to join if they weren’t living in squalor and interrupting public services, they advocate the need for sacrifice. “If you were a farmer in India while Ghandi and his people were making their historic march to the ocean, would you have been upset that you couldn’t cross your road to get to your farm when you knew that this movement would change your whole life?”
I smile grimly as my journey to work ends, these events entering my perception as symptoms of an impending chaos that may soon grip our little world.
The overwhelming mood in the office today: Jovial, Congenial, Energetic, Positive.
You're a good writer Danielle.
ReplyDeleteAnd yes, I don't understand why they need all those things donated when they could provide for themselves. Also, those are items that would be better served actually supporting the homeless in our country.
Regardless of how bad things may seem here, we still live ridiculously better than those in 3rd world countries. Perspective is needed in certain areas of this movement.