Warning: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, function 'wp_core_scripts' not found or invalid function name in /home1/mentalgr/public_html/wp-includes/class-wp-hook.php on line 353 South Westerly • Mental Grenade
Warning: call_user_func_array() expects parameter 1 to be a valid callback, function 'creativo_shortcode_empty_paragraph_fixer' not found or invalid function name in /home1/mentalgr/public_html/wp-includes/class-wp-hook.php on line 353
Thank you, Drew! Beautiful daughter! Beautiful trip and slice of your good life! Yes, our minds change, and the landscape seems to change — but what changed? I moved in February 2022, a difficult, chaotic move from a place I loved. Into a tiny studio with a junky little kitchen and dirty Darth Vader stove. I sat here in mountains of boxes and no meds, no toothpaste, gate codes to learn and ridiculous housing rules. At first I liked the vet whose window I can see. I had a whole set of likes and dislikes that have mostly flipped in just over a year. The neighbor got so mean and nasty that I didn’t leave my home for 6 days. Cold terror. I have not been that frightened since Chernobyl hit and I was overseas, believing it was the end of the world. He loves his guns. Half of us here are veterans. They say they give veteran preference. That’s only for the wait list. Otherwise, no, not hardly. Oh, there’s a wall of pictures. I told myself that as filthy as this place was when I got here, as stupid as the office woman is, etc. etc. they won’t get my picture! Steps were taken to give me privacy no matter what the man behind that other window does. Oh, I’m not bullet-proof, but there’s mirror film, and I put poster paper up. He thinks he has me fooled that the blinking bicycle light is a camera! He has been talked to. He thinks being slim and clean makes him top drawer. Some of us are chubby and messy. We struggle — and God loves us, too. I pray to be shown. Oh, my angels nudge me into the lane I need so I don’t get swept onto the freeway and a city where the toilets are all closed because of the homeless problem! My angels are working hard. I input the list of vets here, house numbers, full names, branch of service. The man who compiled it is 97 years old. One morning I realized that of the 27 veterans, not only am I the only female. I am the only one who served as an officer. Our manager was also Air Force. The word “respect” came as I thought of the neighbor gossiping around the complex. He says the Russian woman is prostituting herself! I see her lovely and good, caring for her mom. He says that other neighbor is a murderer who served his time and goes for methadone every day. I say that man bangs around a lot because he can’t hear. I wonder what my neighbor could be saying about me. I take the manager my DD214 and a dishy picture of me slim in mess dress, only 22. She is grinning. I tell her I need respect. She frames this and hangs it low enough that everyone can read “CAPT” and active duty 4 years, 11 months, 18 days. . . . I calm down enough to attend Friends of the Library book discussion, my first time of all the places I’ve lived. A fine crowd assembled. Diverse, intelligent, friendly. I struggle with prosopagnosia, difficulty recognizing faces I should know. As we introduced ourselves, I enjoyed hearing names, seeing faces. My thoughts on waking this morning were about cultivating humility in that group, how each person around that table is one of God’s masterpieces. How can I really listen and follow, toss my Covid masks, smile, and make it a lot less about me? We are reading We Begin At The End by Chris Whitaker, about people in California, by a Brit who writes for his own sanity. I love the palm trees here. I finally went to the beautiful Target. It’s like Walmart only I wanted to buy most of what I saw.
Mimi M. Routh
June 17, 2023 14:55Thank you, Drew! Beautiful daughter! Beautiful trip and slice of your good life! Yes, our minds change, and the landscape seems to change — but what changed? I moved in February 2022, a difficult, chaotic move from a place I loved. Into a tiny studio with a junky little kitchen and dirty Darth Vader stove. I sat here in mountains of boxes and no meds, no toothpaste, gate codes to learn and ridiculous housing rules. At first I liked the vet whose window I can see. I had a whole set of likes and dislikes that have mostly flipped in just over a year. The neighbor got so mean and nasty that I didn’t leave my home for 6 days. Cold terror. I have not been that frightened since Chernobyl hit and I was overseas, believing it was the end of the world. He loves his guns. Half of us here are veterans. They say they give veteran preference. That’s only for the wait list. Otherwise, no, not hardly. Oh, there’s a wall of pictures. I told myself that as filthy as this place was when I got here, as stupid as the office woman is, etc. etc. they won’t get my picture! Steps were taken to give me privacy no matter what the man behind that other window does. Oh, I’m not bullet-proof, but there’s mirror film, and I put poster paper up. He thinks he has me fooled that the blinking bicycle light is a camera! He has been talked to. He thinks being slim and clean makes him top drawer. Some of us are chubby and messy. We struggle — and God loves us, too. I pray to be shown. Oh, my angels nudge me into the lane I need so I don’t get swept onto the freeway and a city where the toilets are all closed because of the homeless problem! My angels are working hard. I input the list of vets here, house numbers, full names, branch of service. The man who compiled it is 97 years old. One morning I realized that of the 27 veterans, not only am I the only female. I am the only one who served as an officer. Our manager was also Air Force. The word “respect” came as I thought of the neighbor gossiping around the complex. He says the Russian woman is prostituting herself! I see her lovely and good, caring for her mom. He says that other neighbor is a murderer who served his time and goes for methadone every day. I say that man bangs around a lot because he can’t hear. I wonder what my neighbor could be saying about me. I take the manager my DD214 and a dishy picture of me slim in mess dress, only 22. She is grinning. I tell her I need respect. She frames this and hangs it low enough that everyone can read “CAPT” and active duty 4 years, 11 months, 18 days. . . . I calm down enough to attend Friends of the Library book discussion, my first time of all the places I’ve lived. A fine crowd assembled. Diverse, intelligent, friendly. I struggle with prosopagnosia, difficulty recognizing faces I should know. As we introduced ourselves, I enjoyed hearing names, seeing faces. My thoughts on waking this morning were about cultivating humility in that group, how each person around that table is one of God’s masterpieces. How can I really listen and follow, toss my Covid masks, smile, and make it a lot less about me? We are reading We Begin At The End by Chris Whitaker, about people in California, by a Brit who writes for his own sanity. I love the palm trees here. I finally went to the beautiful Target. It’s like Walmart only I wanted to buy most of what I saw.