The crazy people of Austin's drag constantly make me uncomfortable. There is the deaf woman who rants to herself in sign language. The man who cut the crotch out of his pants for who knows what reason, and much to my horror. The girl who wears all white, including painting her body, but neglecting a bra. Then there are all those who are crazy in the normal been-on-drugs-too-long kinda way. But today I felt frightened, really truly.
When he showed up at the bus stop I immediately felt nervous. Perhaps because he kept staring at me with an unfocused gaze, such as when Joyce stares at your neck like Dracula during Lent. I make jokes, but he was strange, a scary strange, and he kept edging closer, shifting this blue beer cooler by his feet and stroking his stomach with his fingertips.
Not being an idiot, I planned to let this man board a bus first, but when the 5:42 came I sprinted toward it: it was safer than the bus stop because it was full of people. Full to the breaking point. That was the problem. The bus driver waved me away from the doors and pointed to the next bus which was completely empty. They were all switching buses. Crazy man was looking the other way and a torrent of mishandled bus passengers were following me, so I went ahead and boarded the second bus. First aboard. And before many others came the man clutching the blue cooler and walking with his body leaning forward. The entire bus sat open for the taking and he took the seat next to me before I could move to the aisle to block him.
For a few blocks I told myself I was being judgmental, that he was crazy but harmless, that I was letting my discomfort out of my control. But soon I didn't have the presence of mind to talk myself out of being afraid. He kept leaning closer, the kind of close that only Kevin has a right to be near me. He stared quite openly, rocking slightly, raking me with his eyes. I tried to keep my eyes focused out the window, tried to fit my body into the crack between my seat and the glass. Tried to escape the nearness of the crazy next to me.
I don't know what finally cracked me. But extreme fear flooded over me. I was on a crowded public bus (so crowded in fact that I could not have taken another seat) so this man could do nothing to me there. But I knew that he wasn't going to leave this bus before I did, and I could not get off alone to have him follow me away from the many passengers. The man shifted in his seat and I almost screamed. The rational side of my brain told me in a shaky voice that I could talk to the bus driver if the man was still on the bus when we neared my stop. I knew he would be. My fear bordered on hysteria, albeit behind a calm, bored commuter expression. I am not this afraid. Ever.
Then my mind grasped onto the Lord. I remembered the Stripling Warriors, thanks to breakfast time reading (my primary president would be so proud) and I prayed for protection. I thought on how he kept them from death and I knew God could keep me safe too. Please protect me, Father! I cried. Don't let him harm me!
Immediately the lid burst from the man's beer cooler, spilling ice onto the floor of the bus. Whatever else he carried inside stayed there, despite the jostling the cooler received on the floor. At the noise, the man jumped, as though being attacked, grabbed his cooler protectively under his arm and fled, racing from the bus, pushing open the doors himself. He did not stop running when he disembarked. My heart raced too.
Another stranger took his seat and could not have been much further than the crazy head been. Yet I felt safe afterward. And glad, very glad, that nothing happened.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
consider the lillies
The night that the all-evil MasterCard SOBs decided to steal my money and break my heart (all legal according to the contract we'd signed years prior--Satan was the arbiter), I knelt to pray to my Heavenly Father. I did not ask for comfort, because I did not feel I deserved it. I did not ask for help, because I knew I didn't deserve that. Instead I said I was sorry. I said I was sorry for eighty-four-thousand things. For not listening. For telling Him what I had planned. For slapping away His gifts.
That last one was the biggest. How could I ask for help, I wondered, when He had already helped me before? I was thinking of Utah. My problems there, of the financial order, were tuition and paying off my debt. The Lord gave me the gift of government money, the hard-earned money of tax-payers everywhere, of which I was not yet one. The VA benefits were enough to pay my tuition, books and debt in two years' time. What a generous gift! It only applied, however, as long as I stayed in school. And four months ago, I left school.
The decision to move to Texas was mine. I made sure Heavenly Father didn't disapprove, but I pretty much worded it this way: Father, I want to go to Austin. I can do it, if You'll come too and take care of me. He agreed with a subtle reference to Matthew 6.
But once I got here, I let myself become unhappy. Heavenly Father took care of me, I reasoned, when He found me a job. Then the work was up to me. The hours put in, the careful budgeting, the anal payment of bills. I had enough-ish. At least I made no credit-card purchases, even if the balances stubbornly refused to shrink. And when I became bored with my job, I told myself to look past that to the next paycheck and the bills it would pay. When I missed school, I reasoned that if I kept up with my boring job and kept paying my bills then someday I could go back to school. But enough isn't always enough, and I got down on myself for being unsatisfied, and I felt sadness and remorse in addition to loneliness and dead dreams. And I thought it was all my fault and my well-deserved lot.
Then, when on my knees that fateful day, I got a gentle admonition. Quite a lecture, about many things, actually. One part of it (for I refuse to tell all) was, were I to put it in my less charitable words: stop playing a martyr and ask. It was as though Heavenly Father looked at me sternly and said, I never said you couldn't have more blessings; that was your thought. I cried to Him, that I thought I didn't deserve another chance because I had refused His great gifts before. You asked me to come with you. Now ask.
I bowed my head in shame, and were it not for His all-hearing ears He might not have caught the mumble. If I could get one of those 0% Interest credit card offers on balance transfers, then I could transfer my highest interest card over and more easily pay off my credit. It was a humble enough plea. But I felt right away my Father's pleasure that I had asked. So then I simply told Him I loved Him, and I didn't know how to fix my situation, but that I'd really like His help. I felt His love, even if it came with a message from Him saying, It's about time!
Two days later the credit card offer came. The job followed within a week.
The benefits of my new job are many. The money difference, will for instance enable me to pay off my debt by December--the same date I could have paid it off in Utah, even though I now have the added debt from the move--and still have a considerable (for me) savings.
Oh, and my company will pay for school too.
That last one was the biggest. How could I ask for help, I wondered, when He had already helped me before? I was thinking of Utah. My problems there, of the financial order, were tuition and paying off my debt. The Lord gave me the gift of government money, the hard-earned money of tax-payers everywhere, of which I was not yet one. The VA benefits were enough to pay my tuition, books and debt in two years' time. What a generous gift! It only applied, however, as long as I stayed in school. And four months ago, I left school.
The decision to move to Texas was mine. I made sure Heavenly Father didn't disapprove, but I pretty much worded it this way: Father, I want to go to Austin. I can do it, if You'll come too and take care of me. He agreed with a subtle reference to Matthew 6.
But once I got here, I let myself become unhappy. Heavenly Father took care of me, I reasoned, when He found me a job. Then the work was up to me. The hours put in, the careful budgeting, the anal payment of bills. I had enough-ish. At least I made no credit-card purchases, even if the balances stubbornly refused to shrink. And when I became bored with my job, I told myself to look past that to the next paycheck and the bills it would pay. When I missed school, I reasoned that if I kept up with my boring job and kept paying my bills then someday I could go back to school. But enough isn't always enough, and I got down on myself for being unsatisfied, and I felt sadness and remorse in addition to loneliness and dead dreams. And I thought it was all my fault and my well-deserved lot.
Then, when on my knees that fateful day, I got a gentle admonition. Quite a lecture, about many things, actually. One part of it (for I refuse to tell all) was, were I to put it in my less charitable words: stop playing a martyr and ask. It was as though Heavenly Father looked at me sternly and said, I never said you couldn't have more blessings; that was your thought. I cried to Him, that I thought I didn't deserve another chance because I had refused His great gifts before. You asked me to come with you. Now ask.
I bowed my head in shame, and were it not for His all-hearing ears He might not have caught the mumble. If I could get one of those 0% Interest credit card offers on balance transfers, then I could transfer my highest interest card over and more easily pay off my credit. It was a humble enough plea. But I felt right away my Father's pleasure that I had asked. So then I simply told Him I loved Him, and I didn't know how to fix my situation, but that I'd really like His help. I felt His love, even if it came with a message from Him saying, It's about time!
Two days later the credit card offer came. The job followed within a week.
The benefits of my new job are many. The money difference, will for instance enable me to pay off my debt by December--the same date I could have paid it off in Utah, even though I now have the added debt from the move--and still have a considerable (for me) savings.
Oh, and my company will pay for school too.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
an allegory
There once was a man who was never born, but simply created for a convenient allegorical purpose. This is his story as I've heard it told:
A catastrophic flood hit his hometown and the water rose so quickly and so steadily that this man (let us call him Arthur, for reasons of our own) became stranded in his house. Soon he climbed onto the roof to escape the rising waters. Luckily, Arthur possessed great faith in God and more importantly in God's proclivity to answer the prayers of the faithful. So, kneeling on the gritty shingles amid swift brown currents, Arthur begged God to save him. Then he stumbled to his feet and watched the flood without fear.
A man, Arthur's neighbor, paddled by in a canoe, which got stuck on the rain gutter just long enough for the neighbor to extend Arthur an invitation to join him, but Arthur waved the man on, while he stood and waited for God's saving miracle. After a while, his legs ached from standing, so he sat on the ridgepole of the roof and watched the swirling, foaming water rise over the lower edge of the roof. But Arthur felt no fear.
Soon a large, yellow raft, powered by an outboard motor pushed along against the current: rescuers looking for those stranded in their homes. Arthur smiled pleasantly at the Christian example these poncho-wearing rescuers set, but he waved them away with a shout barely heard above the motor and the rain. God will save me, he told them. Away they chugged. Still Arthur waited, and he had absolutely no fear.
The water started lapping his toes and then his bottom. Before the strength of the current could grab him a ladder fell in front of Arthur's face from a helicopter up above. He stood on the precarious roof and waved cheerily to the pilot, but refused the ladder. He knew God would send a miracle to save him. When the helicopter left, the man climbed onto his chimney to give himself a little more time. The river swallowed his roof and rose along the bricks of the chimney, row by row.
The story as I heard it ends with the man drowning. He then rebukes God for not saving him. Predictably God recounts the canoe, the raft and the helicopter. What more could you want? God asked. It must have been a tough lesson for Arthur to learn. But it would have been tougher had Arthur figured it out before he died. As he watched the unstoppable flood creep ever nearer, knowing that nobody else would come and that it was his own fault.
A catastrophic flood hit his hometown and the water rose so quickly and so steadily that this man (let us call him Arthur, for reasons of our own) became stranded in his house. Soon he climbed onto the roof to escape the rising waters. Luckily, Arthur possessed great faith in God and more importantly in God's proclivity to answer the prayers of the faithful. So, kneeling on the gritty shingles amid swift brown currents, Arthur begged God to save him. Then he stumbled to his feet and watched the flood without fear.
A man, Arthur's neighbor, paddled by in a canoe, which got stuck on the rain gutter just long enough for the neighbor to extend Arthur an invitation to join him, but Arthur waved the man on, while he stood and waited for God's saving miracle. After a while, his legs ached from standing, so he sat on the ridgepole of the roof and watched the swirling, foaming water rise over the lower edge of the roof. But Arthur felt no fear.
Soon a large, yellow raft, powered by an outboard motor pushed along against the current: rescuers looking for those stranded in their homes. Arthur smiled pleasantly at the Christian example these poncho-wearing rescuers set, but he waved them away with a shout barely heard above the motor and the rain. God will save me, he told them. Away they chugged. Still Arthur waited, and he had absolutely no fear.
The water started lapping his toes and then his bottom. Before the strength of the current could grab him a ladder fell in front of Arthur's face from a helicopter up above. He stood on the precarious roof and waved cheerily to the pilot, but refused the ladder. He knew God would send a miracle to save him. When the helicopter left, the man climbed onto his chimney to give himself a little more time. The river swallowed his roof and rose along the bricks of the chimney, row by row.
The story as I heard it ends with the man drowning. He then rebukes God for not saving him. Predictably God recounts the canoe, the raft and the helicopter. What more could you want? God asked. It must have been a tough lesson for Arthur to learn. But it would have been tougher had Arthur figured it out before he died. As he watched the unstoppable flood creep ever nearer, knowing that nobody else would come and that it was his own fault.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
chocolate makes everything better
My roommates took to baking on Monday night, 'round about the same time that I was bawling in my room. Tuesday morning as I ate breakfast, Araceli walked through the room. Oh, she said, pausing before the towel-covered cake pan. We made chocolate cake last night, so feel free to have some if you want. Thank you, I replied almost too sincerely. I know you like chocolate, she grinned with some hesitation. We held a twenty second chit-chat before she left for class. Before she did, however, I made a venture on my side too. Your hair looks beautiful, I told her, evoking a real smile. It's true, you know. Her hair did look beautiful.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
return to spender
Yesterday felt a little like March 28th 2005 all over again. (Except the part with the babies! My clothes still smell like baby.) I got an email from my credit card company. Or I should say one of my credit card companies, for I have several. In said email, they informed me that my payment was past due. They charged me a late fee, which put me over my credit limit, so then they charged me an over-limit fee. Though I have not spent a cent on that card since I used it to buy gas on my move down here, my balance was fifty dollars over my limit. I didn't understand how this happened. I mailed my check the same day that I got my statement. I went to the mailbox on my way back to my apartment to cry. In the mailbox was my check returned the same day for reasons of insufficient address. How could the address be insufficient on a self-addressed envelope?! And why did it take the postal service fifteen days to return it to me after they stamped it Return to Sender?
I called the credit card company right away. The kid who answered the phone didn't help me any, but with assertiveness that would have done Heather proud, I asked for someone who could. I told him my problem, and I told him to fix it. Just drop the fees, I said. I know you can. I'll make the payment now online, but I don't deserve these fees. After the conversation that involved asking, demanding, rebuking and begging grew to such a length as to make me wonder if my cell phone company was in cahoots with MasterCard, I began to cry. The man had already removed the 35 dollar over-limit fee, but had told me repeatedly that he could not remove the late fee. I trusted my payment in the hands of someone else, he said. That's not their fault. They don't go by postmarked dates, but by the day payments are received. Don't trust the postal service. Thanks. Lesson learned. But I did cry. I told him, a complete stranger, that I've been trying to pay this card off. That I make all my payments on time and refrain from charging. This still puts me over my limit, I wept. If it will help, he offered pompously, I can put in a request for you for a limit increase. I hung up.
I hung up and sat at my desk, laying my head on my arms and sobbing my heart out. It wasn't really the money. Well, not just the money. I still had to double the payment I thought I already made just to get below the point where a service charge wouldn't put me over my limit again. But also, after three months of pristine behavior (and good behavior before that) I am back to where I started.
I called the credit card company right away. The kid who answered the phone didn't help me any, but with assertiveness that would have done Heather proud, I asked for someone who could. I told him my problem, and I told him to fix it. Just drop the fees, I said. I know you can. I'll make the payment now online, but I don't deserve these fees. After the conversation that involved asking, demanding, rebuking and begging grew to such a length as to make me wonder if my cell phone company was in cahoots with MasterCard, I began to cry. The man had already removed the 35 dollar over-limit fee, but had told me repeatedly that he could not remove the late fee. I trusted my payment in the hands of someone else, he said. That's not their fault. They don't go by postmarked dates, but by the day payments are received. Don't trust the postal service. Thanks. Lesson learned. But I did cry. I told him, a complete stranger, that I've been trying to pay this card off. That I make all my payments on time and refrain from charging. This still puts me over my limit, I wept. If it will help, he offered pompously, I can put in a request for you for a limit increase. I hung up.
I hung up and sat at my desk, laying my head on my arms and sobbing my heart out. It wasn't really the money. Well, not just the money. I still had to double the payment I thought I already made just to get below the point where a service charge wouldn't put me over my limit again. But also, after three months of pristine behavior (and good behavior before that) I am back to where I started.
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