19 - A LATE LIFE

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Walking along and wondering. Wondering about the best way to get back to myplace. Wondering about how to clean my clothes.

The more water I drank, the greater my brain capacity, and one of the first things that capacity did was remind me I'd missed my rent. Badnews. If I was a regular person I could perhaps miss a month, or six,and there would a process to get the money, sort things out, maybe deal with an eviction, which itself could take another nine months. Not so on Skid Row. The SROs have their own laws, and one of them is they can bounce you for just about any reason, and not paying your rent immediately when due is one of the biggest.

And, according to my paperwork, I'd been at the hospital almost two weeks.I double-checked and then triple checked. How do you end up in a psychiatric hospital almost two weeks when you go in on a three day hold? It's always three days or one month. Clearly, I was way more out of it than I thought.

Clearly the SRO had emptied my basically empty room, and thrown everything out over a week ago. Done deal. To get things back on track would mean connecting with a housing agency and a somewhat decent casemanager who was fluent, or at least competent in navigating several disability systems. All the forms would need to be filled out all over again. Should the case manager not fuck things up, it would take probably four months (if I was lucky, if things moved quickly and correctly) before I'd be hooked up with another rent voucher, at which point it would take maybe another four or five months to locate, and be approved for another shitty little coffin to call home.

This is what happens, this is how it works.

I stopped walking and let my eyes defocus so the office complexes and trees and green got all blurry and soft.

Such was life, my life.

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