I suppose I am a cold hearted bitch in my own right, looking back on some of my posts, though I've held back here and there, out of respect, not having to violate all confidences offered to me in the past, my life basically destroyed by infantile paradigms, mad at myself for not seeing sooner that Philly's excuse for a disability center was more of the same I've lived through my whole life. I wanted something to do, and a three limb amputee named Laverne, fired later for lying about site visits, trained me as a volunteer. Blinded by enthusiasm, stupid, but Liberty was only nine years old then, wealthier, whiter. Couldn't see it for what it was. Zoo for the monkeys, spurred on by fallen paps with invisible tethers of bias. Intuitively I knew better, chafing at the bit. I let them take so much away from me: Jenelle Dost, Ann Piccinotti, Fern, Jennifer Barnhart, even Staroscik, my other manager, dismissive, going by rote. Debbie Russell's look of guilt in 07, the sting of that was a hostile environment as well, though she had nothing to do with the dilation and curettage game that Linda and I were playing. Another co-worker drawn in.
She taught me how to ride the ADA buses after I struck her by accident driving the elongated halls of the Presidential Suites in the 90's, a commonality in the fact that she also lost a brother to AIDS, in the years when it threatened to become the "impoverished black" disease, though I did not know her well enough to know the brother's underlying contaminant; though never friends, her layoff in 08 was nevertheless unfair, asserting this in honesty. Nearly everyone has departed, while I linger, visions of sugar plums so many nursing home beds with catheter drainage bags, waiting on renal failure, if nothing else.
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