Double life

Can I feed my child?

Simple enough request to ask the goddess when I was pregnant. I did not think this would end in a battle of stealing from trees/property (apples and lemons mostly). I can recall these recent years of struggle well. It was when I was most connected with my spirited no ties to government bondage ideals. Now I ask myself daily how do I know that I have not sold my counter culture desire to live freely. One very recent year I grossed 13K. I have a kid… pressure to stay a few steps ahead of being homeless always chases my sleepless soul. I was homeless before I had my pretty little boy. I am constantly reminded that I must stay on the up and up (I mean a little home, little food). I miss being homeless. I miss being able to wander as my heart felt the pulling desire to move against the soft earth or rough cement. I miss having a pack of smokes in my pocket, a few small silver coins, a back pack and pan handling for an 89 cent chicken sandwich and then wandering into an abandoned house where others would be painting and writing on the walls. I miss opening a can of beans with a dull knife, and using my fingers as a fork/spoon. I miss finding tossed aside ovens and taking the metal racks out of them, digging a good hole, marinating some meat we stole from the back of a grocery store in budweiser and cooking it on the oven rack that I put over the hole filled with fire. I miss pieces of chalk in my pants that I would write the name of this place in my memory map on fences or rock. I miss sitting outside at parks with no where to go or be and slipping into the sparkling desire of being a physical part of the black night sky. And now what do I do. I raise a beautiful child in a little home by the ocean with my gorgeous partner. I love these parts of my life, coming home and my true love is playing with my 10 year old child or my son is taking apart some old record player we got for free from a dumpster. We have food on a regular basis, I pay my rent with out juggling grocery money and paying pge one month then water the next. I can live a modest life. My son has had to go with me garden hopping to extract lemons, tomatoes and apples for our dinner when we had nothing in our pantry. We have eaten rancid govt issued mac and cheese. Two years ago we had a performance routine for the local bus drivers. When the bus would come we would pretend to check all our pockets and bags for our buss pass… they would wave us on (my son was 7-8 yrs old and had this down pat!) A couple of heartless ones made us get of the bus were I would watch my child cry from rejection of public transportation. In the last two years I secured employment in one the few machines in this town where I knew I would raise my child- ( I decided this when I was 10 years old). Now I can afford to buy him a bus pass. I can afford to make his lunch, pay for daycare and not have the county document my 40 hours every week. I am not rolling in the cash flow…but I make enough to eat and sleep. Just 3 years ago I was in a long term relationship with a raving trans woman who drank her violence to the nearest city with a 22 year old feminist studies major. Now I have beautiful partner who helps me do house chores, reminds me to go for walks when I hide in books for too many days in a row. She nurtures me with this sweet slip of the skin touch that makes me shiver into her warm neck. I am at peace… but I am missing something… where is the social activist that pounded on doors to advocate for myself and my peers to attend a university while on the state rolls. I am not struggling as much (I mean my debt is swollen, but I cant change that so I don’t think about it). My job is a calculated process of paperwork. I enjoy the group I work with, I am glad to be funded to push paper for researchers who are committed to good not evil… but is it radical enough to keep my passion from leaking onto the kitchen table? I need something more than this rote policy and procedure process that happens every day. I am not complaining at stable employment when clearly I am blessed with a home, a son and a woman. How do I create space that is based on what I have now? It was easy to create a space when I had nothing because it was apart of the survival mode of willing myself to stand in one more line to get some rice from the food bank. Now I need it but where do I find it? Where do I find a a space that will embrace the young woman who had lice in her hair and chalk in her overalls… while still embracing who I have become on a secular level to provide for my child! How to reconcile to rebel with the complacent office drone. I resent the office drone because:

I want to go the sea with a ripped quilt, tuck into a book and eat black berries, with moldy cheese and cheap wine while smoking a cigarette.

One Comment

  1. Posted March 3, 2009 at 7:30 pm | Permalink

    I really like this. I feel this way often, like I am a double agent in my life.

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