Freelancer, Half-Assed

I wonder if I have enough clout to approach McCarthy in relation to work, in yet another speculative feather. I am too old to reinvest and create a new career with the industry, but can develop amnesia over incidents like Daniel Schneider. Even online, people of similar look and build behave like compatible molecules, don't they? Since not all of my older posts will be transferring to Blogger, I should explain that Daniel accessed one of my comments on Ebert's blog, found me on LiveJournal, invited me to his Cosmoetica gmail community, sparks flew, I left, and blew a gasket due to being naive and vacuous in my own right, subsequently damaging this long term project, and yes, the paranoid intensity of my reaction was not healthy, and you may be satisfied with your holistic balance in comparison. I am not really angry with the well meaning fool, so much as [was, sic] really upset that I let myself be flummoxed; it is over, and in the same mold can leave my Roger Ebert anxiety at the door, strike out on my own. I still respect the old man, but think his mild detractors, those whom I've read, have a point in the way he caters to popular sentiment, perhaps confusing respect with common denominators.

I doubt I can earn a living on regret, but as an episode, the situation points to the limitations of connecting via device. I did not know who, or what, Daniel Schneider was, and he in turn was entirely ignorant of my economic and social marginalization, and the length of time I have spent in online communities of all different stripes. Before he ended his interaction with me, he wrote, "I have done thousands of interviews in this industry, and David Foster Wallace is a fraud." I honestly don't know what I am supposed to take from this assertion, and a Cosmoetica gmail community with eclectic discussions about movies and Daniel's pontifications about politics, his wife's personal literary reviews, may be charming to some, but I am a spastic quadriplegic whose last and best hope is to restore her work ethic. Email groups clog our inboxes, along with tons of spam, and whatever support he and Mrs thought they were offering, let me pose a question, do they have the ability to hire a wheelchair user at their bakery?

I handled this contact badly, and there is no way around that, my own level of impatience and insolence, but even his rape-victim nurse who chased me down to my LiveJournal inbox, believing that her emotional pain would give me pause, this woman had employment, and has much better access to resources through her hospital to get treatments, access and medical expertise I do not have, and need to restore in my actual, physical existence, a social structure. Daniel calls David Foster Wallace a *fraud* to level an accusation, but lacks the expertise to see why Wallace succeeded, deploying fraudulence as a literary conceit.
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When felines want to wake up their crippled mothers, they push the call switch, summon security, and freak out when a minority unlocks my door. Of course I was naked and finally sound asleep, and had to get up, shout that I was indecent. I cannot quite cross the Rubicon, and lose my lions to make a venue change easier. Not that I do not love my boys, and indeed, during that *assessment team* intimidation tactic that Trudy Richardson, the manager, threw at me in 08, I offered to get rid of my pets, and this was Debra Horne, a woman who passes for a social services professional:

"We do not want you to get rid of the cats," yet she was standing there with two black men and a swaying older woman of lighter color, trying to gauge my removal, never mind that their subcontractors broke my desktop, that I could not get the CRT equipment I needed, and that I am still paying for. Debra is pretty high up on entitled but ignorant people I hate list. I know why they want me to keep the children, however. My responsibility for them is a distraction, but I am not working, and at this rate, I may never get back on my feet. Thus my children add to my financial burdens, and without them I'd be freer to leave, at least lighten my options.

I love da Joey, and little Vinnie. Of course I am a sap, but. It is a balancing act of bad choices, and depositing them at the SPCA would probably end their lives, and is no guarantee I can find better living arrangements.

I have to make some revisions to my complaint letter to previously mentioned officials, but I should be packed up by Friday. Rocking the boat is so very difficult, but I have to. What I went through could wind up killing someone else like me. I am old and tired, but have to shout, and this is complete. Here is hoping for Tuesday.