I am on my way to work to deal with a court issue for one of my kids. It's supposed to be my day off.
I began the online search and application for employment in Florida. The situation here in my state appears to be getting worse and I'm not waiting for everything to fall out from under me.
I mean...what am I waiting for? I'm single, no kids, and I hate my house. What's keeping me here? Why not start a whole new adventure? Why can't I sell everything I own and start fresh? I have family(my folks) and great friends in Florida. The more I think about it....the more I want to do it.
I have seven weeks of vacation time at work. Why not line up some interviews in Florida, hit the road and spend a month with friends finding a job? What's stopping me? Honestly, I'm not afraid...
By the way...and this is by no means trivial...my cat is dying. Honey. My first pet ever. I've had her seventeen years. I was going to take her to the vet yesterday and have her put down, she's that weak. But I just couldn't do it. I literally couldn't pick her up and put her in the car. I called the vet crying. He said with the disease she has, she's in no pain and will most likely go peacefully while she is sleeping. He urged me to just stay home with her and let her go in her own time instead of traumatizing her with a car ride to the vet's office.
And now...I have to go to work. It's an hour's drive each way. Hopefully in the next four hours she will pass peacefully. Then I can start the horrific chore of digging her grave and burying her.
2007 just fucking sucks.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Have you seen my mind?
Because I think I've misplaced it. Or lost it completely.
Every day I work with ten of the most violent, vicious teen girls in the state. I've been spit on, threatened, cursed at. Every single day, I keep my calm composure while ten of the most broken, abused, and neglected girls treat me like a door mat.
When they roll their eyes, flip me off, call me a fat white bitch, I politely ask them to not be rude and disrespectful. When they tell me they hope my car rolls over on the way home and I die in the ditch, I tell them I still care about them and I will be back tomorrow.
I'm there for them when they start to spill their secrets...when they tell me about the time that their mother held a gun to their head and threatened to kill them because they got some bad drugs. I'm there for them when they describe how their stepfather fucked them every day while their mothers were out scoring more dope. At the age of four. Until the age of nine.
I'm there for them when the doctors tell them that their newborn babies are going to die because of some horrible genetic birth defect that's left their babies with half a brain. I'm there for them when their mothers call to say their father's dead, but there won't be a funeral because they donated the body to science.
When they have to go to court to testify against the monsters that brutally raped them and they had to escape, naked and bruised, out of the bathroom window, because the monsters were going to come back to kill them....I'm there.
I'm there for them when they are so scared of leaving they assault someone in order to stay longer. They are afraid to go home where their older brother lives....in fear of reliving the rapes that always ended in getting pissed on or spit on by those that claim to love them the most.
Or how about the girl that was with her mom when her mom died of a drug overdose. It was always a good time with mom, getting high, not letting anything bother her. Now she copes by digging her fingers into her flesh until the blood runs, and pulls her own hair out by the handful.
They treat me like shit...and I take it. Because I know, I know, I know it's because they trust me not to hurt them. They feel safe with me that I won't abandon them when they are at their worst, which is also their most vulnerable. They know they can scream, spit, curse, hit, bite me because I won't scream, spit, curse, hit, or bite back.
I feel like John Coffey, from The Green Mile, taking in all their poison, making them whole. But unlike John...I can't just cough it up. It's infecting my soul.
Every day I work with ten of the most violent, vicious teen girls in the state. I've been spit on, threatened, cursed at. Every single day, I keep my calm composure while ten of the most broken, abused, and neglected girls treat me like a door mat.
When they roll their eyes, flip me off, call me a fat white bitch, I politely ask them to not be rude and disrespectful. When they tell me they hope my car rolls over on the way home and I die in the ditch, I tell them I still care about them and I will be back tomorrow.
I'm there for them when they start to spill their secrets...when they tell me about the time that their mother held a gun to their head and threatened to kill them because they got some bad drugs. I'm there for them when they describe how their stepfather fucked them every day while their mothers were out scoring more dope. At the age of four. Until the age of nine.
I'm there for them when the doctors tell them that their newborn babies are going to die because of some horrible genetic birth defect that's left their babies with half a brain. I'm there for them when their mothers call to say their father's dead, but there won't be a funeral because they donated the body to science.
When they have to go to court to testify against the monsters that brutally raped them and they had to escape, naked and bruised, out of the bathroom window, because the monsters were going to come back to kill them....I'm there.
I'm there for them when they are so scared of leaving they assault someone in order to stay longer. They are afraid to go home where their older brother lives....in fear of reliving the rapes that always ended in getting pissed on or spit on by those that claim to love them the most.
Or how about the girl that was with her mom when her mom died of a drug overdose. It was always a good time with mom, getting high, not letting anything bother her. Now she copes by digging her fingers into her flesh until the blood runs, and pulls her own hair out by the handful.
They treat me like shit...and I take it. Because I know, I know, I know it's because they trust me not to hurt them. They feel safe with me that I won't abandon them when they are at their worst, which is also their most vulnerable. They know they can scream, spit, curse, hit, bite me because I won't scream, spit, curse, hit, or bite back.
I feel like John Coffey, from The Green Mile, taking in all their poison, making them whole. But unlike John...I can't just cough it up. It's infecting my soul.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
When it rains it pours...
The governor of my state is asking legislation to privatize my job. Not only privatize my current job, but the two other jobs that I've held within state government in the last thirteen years. The governor wants to privatize juvenile justice, foster care and children's protective services!
This, in a state where there already isn't enough workers to do the work. In protective services and foster care alone there are over five hundred state workers. Add in the 300 juvenile justice staff and you are looking at almost a thousand workers that would be out of a job if the state privatizes these functions. How is that good for our economy?
Our previous govorner privatized numerous services in the state in an attempt to cut costs. One of those areas was the medical services in our state prisons. The results were disasterous. Costs actually increased, and prisoner health actually suffered. Not that I don't mind them suffering, but when it costs us more, we all lose.
There's talk that the facility where I work is going to be closed. We have sixty of the worst girls in the state. We have the kids that private agencies won't deal with. Where do they go? Who provides them with services if the private agencies won't?
And what about me? Where do I go? If they privatize CPS and fostercare, will I be out of a job completely?
The idea of privatizing is to save money. Granted, my state pays it's CPS investigators more than most other states. Believe me, I've checked. Arizona pays $13,000 less annually for the same job I was doing before I changed jobs. Georgia pays $8,000 less per year. Illinois is $3,000 less. California only pays approximately $300.00 more per year which is really like a paycut when you factor in cost of living. I've looked at Arizona, Texas, Illinois, Georgia, California, Florida. They are all less.
But with the amount of cases handled per year, per worker, they are still overwhelmed. There still isn't enough workers to do the job, even though the govorner allocated fifty-one more CPS investigators this year.
So let's say they privatize to save money. That means they will most likely pay the new workers less money than they pay us. You are going to pay workers less money to do the work that the current work force can't handle. How good a job do you think those workers are going to do? Do you think they are going to go into homes where there may be threat of violence? Not likely. How many kids do you think are going to suffer because of poor staffing? The bottom line is, they will have a younger work force because the more seasoned staff will be gone. Most of the new work force will be young kids right out of college, thinking they got this great job right away. Once they have a year under their belts, they will realize what a shitty job it is, how shitty the pay really is, and they will start looking for different work. These are already difficult, high burnout positions. People don't stay long....and with less pay, they will be running for the door. How does that serve our children?
Ok...enough rambling...I think it's time to go back to school and get a new degree. If only I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up.
Trust me, we already have kids dying in our system. Get ready for more.
This, in a state where there already isn't enough workers to do the work. In protective services and foster care alone there are over five hundred state workers. Add in the 300 juvenile justice staff and you are looking at almost a thousand workers that would be out of a job if the state privatizes these functions. How is that good for our economy?
Our previous govorner privatized numerous services in the state in an attempt to cut costs. One of those areas was the medical services in our state prisons. The results were disasterous. Costs actually increased, and prisoner health actually suffered. Not that I don't mind them suffering, but when it costs us more, we all lose.
There's talk that the facility where I work is going to be closed. We have sixty of the worst girls in the state. We have the kids that private agencies won't deal with. Where do they go? Who provides them with services if the private agencies won't?
And what about me? Where do I go? If they privatize CPS and fostercare, will I be out of a job completely?
The idea of privatizing is to save money. Granted, my state pays it's CPS investigators more than most other states. Believe me, I've checked. Arizona pays $13,000 less annually for the same job I was doing before I changed jobs. Georgia pays $8,000 less per year. Illinois is $3,000 less. California only pays approximately $300.00 more per year which is really like a paycut when you factor in cost of living. I've looked at Arizona, Texas, Illinois, Georgia, California, Florida. They are all less.
But with the amount of cases handled per year, per worker, they are still overwhelmed. There still isn't enough workers to do the job, even though the govorner allocated fifty-one more CPS investigators this year.
So let's say they privatize to save money. That means they will most likely pay the new workers less money than they pay us. You are going to pay workers less money to do the work that the current work force can't handle. How good a job do you think those workers are going to do? Do you think they are going to go into homes where there may be threat of violence? Not likely. How many kids do you think are going to suffer because of poor staffing? The bottom line is, they will have a younger work force because the more seasoned staff will be gone. Most of the new work force will be young kids right out of college, thinking they got this great job right away. Once they have a year under their belts, they will realize what a shitty job it is, how shitty the pay really is, and they will start looking for different work. These are already difficult, high burnout positions. People don't stay long....and with less pay, they will be running for the door. How does that serve our children?
Ok...enough rambling...I think it's time to go back to school and get a new degree. If only I knew what I wanted to be when I grow up.
Trust me, we already have kids dying in our system. Get ready for more.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
My house is a mess...
No, seriously, a huge mess. I think I'm in denial.
My work schedule is so extreme that by the time I get home, I'm exhausted and have no energy to clean! There is no clean silverware, dishes, or glasses. There are furballs as big as the dog on the kitchen floor. I had to change the sheets last night at 11:30 because I couldn't stand the thought of getting into those fur covered sheets one more night.
I've run out of garbage bags(why oh why didn't I get any last time I went to the store??) and now there is a cute little(!?!?) pile 'o garbage on the kitchen table along with every dish in the house.
I had a bag of returnable bottles next to the front door to take to the store. The dog, in her mad frenzy to get out the window and get the damned squirrel, ripped the bag open and now the bottles are all over the sun room, but since I'm out of garbage bags, there they sit. I also had to replace the mini-blinds she tore to shreds attempting to get said squirrel.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm not the best organizer in the world, but I'm not a complete slob either. But, if I had kids, and the kid police came by, they would take my kids away from me. And the dust! And the cobwebs! It's just disgusting.
And clearly I am a procrastinator, because here I am, up earlier than usual for work and what do I do? I blog. Trying to escape the filth.
The cat has dragged every dirty sock out of the laundry pile(s) in the basement and they are littered all over the living room floor.
Seriously, I used to give parents shit about this kind of living when I investigated abuse and neglect. I have become my own worst nightmare.
I wonder if a maid service would even come in here....probably not.
My work schedule is so extreme that by the time I get home, I'm exhausted and have no energy to clean! There is no clean silverware, dishes, or glasses. There are furballs as big as the dog on the kitchen floor. I had to change the sheets last night at 11:30 because I couldn't stand the thought of getting into those fur covered sheets one more night.
I've run out of garbage bags(why oh why didn't I get any last time I went to the store??) and now there is a cute little(!?!?) pile 'o garbage on the kitchen table along with every dish in the house.
I had a bag of returnable bottles next to the front door to take to the store. The dog, in her mad frenzy to get out the window and get the damned squirrel, ripped the bag open and now the bottles are all over the sun room, but since I'm out of garbage bags, there they sit. I also had to replace the mini-blinds she tore to shreds attempting to get said squirrel.
Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? I'm not the best organizer in the world, but I'm not a complete slob either. But, if I had kids, and the kid police came by, they would take my kids away from me. And the dust! And the cobwebs! It's just disgusting.
And clearly I am a procrastinator, because here I am, up earlier than usual for work and what do I do? I blog. Trying to escape the filth.
The cat has dragged every dirty sock out of the laundry pile(s) in the basement and they are littered all over the living room floor.
Seriously, I used to give parents shit about this kind of living when I investigated abuse and neglect. I have become my own worst nightmare.
I wonder if a maid service would even come in here....probably not.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Life Continues....(?)
Does anyone else have a problem with the new blogger remembering them? Even when I check that damned little box that says "remember me"...I still have to log in every time I come here. Maybe that's why I don't blog more often...I'm just lazy.
Let me start off by saying that this post has some good things in it, but a lot of sad things...so if you are looking for laughs, keep movin'.
The past six weeks or so have been really, really rough. On my way home from work on February 12th, I got a call that my nephew had died. Just like that, no preamble, no "I have bad news". My two sisters had left that morning to fly to Florida to visit my folks. When I got off work, I saw that my sister, his mom, had called and I figured that she had missed her flight, so I called her back. She said that she had dialed my number by accident and that she was in Florida and the weather was great. She indicated that she was waiting for my niece to call her back because they had taken Randy(my nephew) to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. I told her to call me back and hung up.
A few minutes later the phone rang again and it was my niece's fiance, Kevin. When I answered the phone, all he said was, "Poo's dead". For a minute I was confused because I didn't call Randy, Poo. I called him Pooter. I paused, confused, and said, "who?" And that's when it hit me. I knew then who he meant. I had to pull over, my hands were shaking so hard. I couldn't breathe. And why was my face all wet? Kevin then told me that they couldn't get ahold of my sister, who was in Florida, and would I call. So I hang up, dial my folk's number in Florida, and when my mom answers....all I can hear is my sister's wailing in the background. The sound only a mother can make when she has lost her child. Apparently, my niece did get ahold of her, just as Kevin was talking to me. Their ten day vacation to paradise had turned into a five hour trip to hell.
Randy was twenty-seven, but in my heart and mind, he was still a little boy. He was born premature, deprived of oxygen for five minutes at birth, and as a result, was forever a little boy. He didn't speak, couldn't read, and lived in his own little world where the telephone book was his best friend. Almost like an autistic child, he could sit for hours with a phonebook, flipping the pages. Whether it was the feel of the paper, or the sound the pages made when they turned, no one knew. He could sign for simple things, like more food to eat, or love you. He was quick to smile at you and give you hugs and kisses. He lived in a group home because his needs were greater than my sister could handle. And it was in this group home that his heart just gave out. Valiant efforts to revive him on the way to the hospital failed. The autopsy revealed he died of natural causes.
My sisters and my parents flew back the next day, in the middle of a snow storm. He was buried four days later.
My sister still calls me every morning to say she can't sleep. My heart breaks for her because I can never know how her dreams are really nightmares. I have no children, but I can only guess that this is the most crushing pain and sorrow imaginable. The weird thing? The day before Pooter died, as I was driving to work, I thought about him....and what life would be like without him. I haven't thought of Pooter since I saw him at Christmas....why that day? What part of my soul knew? Or was it his soul that was saying good-bye....
Just the week before Pooter died, I interviewed for a job that was much closer to home and a lot more money. The supervisor of the position was the person who urged me to apply. I thought I was a shoe-in. Yesterday I got the letter that very politely thanked me for interviewing, but they had chosen another candidate. Damn.
On Monday, a girl in my group at work found out that the baby she had in January is dying. She has a very rare birth defect where parts of her brain are missing. They just didn't develop. The baby is deteriorating rapidly and she will most likely live less than six months. I held this fifteen year old mother for an hour while she sobbed. Her first question to the doctor was, "did I do this to my baby?" And the answer was no. The defect is so rare, they don't know what causes it. Yesterday I got a call from a parent of another girl in my group, she's thirteen. Her father is dying. He is in the final stages of colon cancer. He's in intensive care and on life support. I put her on suicide watch.
So much sadness is taking it's toll on me. A week on a beach alone somewhere.....yeah....that's the ticket.
On a lighter note....my new budding romance is going along just fine. Mark sent me a dozen roses and a box of gourmet truffles for Valentine's day. Of course, they sat at work all week because I was off for my nephew's funeral. And when I got back on Tuesday, the 20th, the roses were still alive. A sign perhaps? Tonight, I get to meet the folks. I'm not worried. Parents love me. Suckers.
As I read back over what I've written, I realize that it's a bit disjointed. My thought patterns this morning aren't as cohesive as I would like and I hope you forgive me. It's just been a really rough year so far. I hope it gets better.
Be well.
Let me start off by saying that this post has some good things in it, but a lot of sad things...so if you are looking for laughs, keep movin'.
The past six weeks or so have been really, really rough. On my way home from work on February 12th, I got a call that my nephew had died. Just like that, no preamble, no "I have bad news". My two sisters had left that morning to fly to Florida to visit my folks. When I got off work, I saw that my sister, his mom, had called and I figured that she had missed her flight, so I called her back. She said that she had dialed my number by accident and that she was in Florida and the weather was great. She indicated that she was waiting for my niece to call her back because they had taken Randy(my nephew) to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. I told her to call me back and hung up.
A few minutes later the phone rang again and it was my niece's fiance, Kevin. When I answered the phone, all he said was, "Poo's dead". For a minute I was confused because I didn't call Randy, Poo. I called him Pooter. I paused, confused, and said, "who?" And that's when it hit me. I knew then who he meant. I had to pull over, my hands were shaking so hard. I couldn't breathe. And why was my face all wet? Kevin then told me that they couldn't get ahold of my sister, who was in Florida, and would I call. So I hang up, dial my folk's number in Florida, and when my mom answers....all I can hear is my sister's wailing in the background. The sound only a mother can make when she has lost her child. Apparently, my niece did get ahold of her, just as Kevin was talking to me. Their ten day vacation to paradise had turned into a five hour trip to hell.
Randy was twenty-seven, but in my heart and mind, he was still a little boy. He was born premature, deprived of oxygen for five minutes at birth, and as a result, was forever a little boy. He didn't speak, couldn't read, and lived in his own little world where the telephone book was his best friend. Almost like an autistic child, he could sit for hours with a phonebook, flipping the pages. Whether it was the feel of the paper, or the sound the pages made when they turned, no one knew. He could sign for simple things, like more food to eat, or love you. He was quick to smile at you and give you hugs and kisses. He lived in a group home because his needs were greater than my sister could handle. And it was in this group home that his heart just gave out. Valiant efforts to revive him on the way to the hospital failed. The autopsy revealed he died of natural causes.
My sisters and my parents flew back the next day, in the middle of a snow storm. He was buried four days later.
My sister still calls me every morning to say she can't sleep. My heart breaks for her because I can never know how her dreams are really nightmares. I have no children, but I can only guess that this is the most crushing pain and sorrow imaginable. The weird thing? The day before Pooter died, as I was driving to work, I thought about him....and what life would be like without him. I haven't thought of Pooter since I saw him at Christmas....why that day? What part of my soul knew? Or was it his soul that was saying good-bye....
Just the week before Pooter died, I interviewed for a job that was much closer to home and a lot more money. The supervisor of the position was the person who urged me to apply. I thought I was a shoe-in. Yesterday I got the letter that very politely thanked me for interviewing, but they had chosen another candidate. Damn.
On Monday, a girl in my group at work found out that the baby she had in January is dying. She has a very rare birth defect where parts of her brain are missing. They just didn't develop. The baby is deteriorating rapidly and she will most likely live less than six months. I held this fifteen year old mother for an hour while she sobbed. Her first question to the doctor was, "did I do this to my baby?" And the answer was no. The defect is so rare, they don't know what causes it. Yesterday I got a call from a parent of another girl in my group, she's thirteen. Her father is dying. He is in the final stages of colon cancer. He's in intensive care and on life support. I put her on suicide watch.
So much sadness is taking it's toll on me. A week on a beach alone somewhere.....yeah....that's the ticket.
On a lighter note....my new budding romance is going along just fine. Mark sent me a dozen roses and a box of gourmet truffles for Valentine's day. Of course, they sat at work all week because I was off for my nephew's funeral. And when I got back on Tuesday, the 20th, the roses were still alive. A sign perhaps? Tonight, I get to meet the folks. I'm not worried. Parents love me. Suckers.
As I read back over what I've written, I realize that it's a bit disjointed. My thought patterns this morning aren't as cohesive as I would like and I hope you forgive me. It's just been a really rough year so far. I hope it gets better.
Be well.
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