Bummed

After a long day of rubbing strangers and acquaintances, I sit in traffic for an hour only to drive 14 miles.
As I pull onto my exit, I notice at the stop sign there is a homeless guy (let's just assume he is homeless) begging for money on the corner.
I immediatley start thinking that I have absolutely no change in the cup holders and no dollars at all in my wallet. Yep, I'm one of those people who give spare change now and again.
I know what you're thinking, those people are total frauds, right?
This maybe true, but call it goodwill or afraid of her my own Karma, maybe superstition or even stupidity- every now and then if I have it, I will give it. To me I hope that for every 10 bucks I waste, maybe 1 dollar of that will actually go to someone who actually needs it. You never know...as my mom would say.
So as I am taking inventory of the change I don't have, I notice this guy is walking up to car windows and pointing at the palm of his hand.
Kind of rude.
I mean, where's the cardboard sign? And by the way have you ever wondered where the homeless and less fortunate get that nice black sharpie pen to write on the cardboard signs? Just wondering., but I digress.
Anyway, this guy is moving from innocent car to innocent car walking up to windows and pointing at his hand, and one after another, people are giving him change- he's not even saying thank you and I know this because I am watching.
He eventually comes to my passenger side window as my car inches off the exit and waits to make the right.
He looks right at me and sticks his right palm out and points to it with his left hand, he nodds his head foward as if to say "what's up?"
I shrug my shoulders and mouth, "sorry."
This guy,
this guy who is looking for people to pay charity to his less fortune or feed his alcoholism or addiction or laziness...
he looks at me and then runs his index finger across his throat in a swift slicing motion. You know that action you make like your slicing someone's throat with your finger- like they are gonna die or something? He did this to me!
He then made this chopping motion to the back of his neck, and then pointed at me like I was going to die or he hoped I would die!
Appalled. My mouth hit the floor. I gave this guy the finger and pulled off the freeway. I was fuming!!! Furious. A number of things went through my head.
I passed a 7-11 and actually considered getting out of my warm car and buying the biggest bottle of Snapple they had, then getting back on the freeway just so I could pull off the exit again and throw it at this guy with all my might. Then I started thinking of what I had in my car that I could launch out my window. Hmmm, cds? Empty water bottles? A small wooden box that holds aromatherapy drops? Too heavy.
Maybe I could stop and get some change (like 2 bucks in pennies and throw a handfull of change at his face.
Ever been hit buy coins? It hurts, bad.
A million things went through my head- all violent things I could do swiftly and with conviction!
Maybe it's not a big deal. Maybe I was getting way too worked up over the situation, but this is exactly the kind of thing that makes people NOT want to give to those who really need it.
I can't believe I actually felt bad for one split second for not having change. Bamboozled! Damn!!
Here's a tip buddy: Get a freakin' sign or a paper cup! Make an effort! Something! As rude and self centered as Californians are, we will usually give when asked or our sympathy gets the best of us.
Yeah, and maybe it's not a good idea to wish death on those who don't give.
FUCKER!!!
Where is a sock full of quarters whenyou need it? This guy is just lucky that I wasn't with other company. Some of the people I know are quicker on the draw then I am and would have happily launched their fist or even their spit at this guy had they'd been sitting in the passenger seat.
What is this, New York?

I used to be such a nice qirl.
What the Hell happened to me?

It wasn't giving-up. It was giving-in.

Yesterday marked the one year anniversary of the last time I saw one of my favorite clients.

For Cameron

I met Cameron over 4 years ago when he was handed over to me by a therapist who no longer wanted to treat him.
I could understand why the first time I met Cameron.
He was sour he was angry he was impossible.
To say he was ill would be an understatement; he was dying inside and out.
He literally reeked of despair and rot- which are often one in the same.
Aside from being a dialysis patient, he had the onset of congestive heart failure, and advanced arthritis in just about every joint in his body, he was also diabetic.
Along with being on any number of pain meds, he was on insulin and blood thinners which basically made his skin paper thin. He was riddled with scabs and open sores. Working on him was like sidestepping through a minefield. His toes were amputated from his right foot and his legs were so atrophied from not using them, they could barely hold his weight on the rare occasions when he did stand.
He had this cough, this gagging hacking cough that could literally be heard through the office walls which scared the other patients. People were horrified and grossed-out to no end when they heard him cough. I even saw one lady plug her ears. It was bad.
He loathed me at first. He could sense my fear and hated me more for being afraid of working on him. I was hesitant and cautious. I was resentful that he was even "given to me" without warning as to what to expect.
He hated the music I played. He didn't like music that had any kind of words, which later I found kind of ironic. He didn't want to talk at first, which was fine by me. I just did what he wanted me to, which was often just get him to relax and forget about who he was, if for only an hour.
I dreaded every other Wednesday when I pulled into work and saw him waiting in his wheelchair by the door. I would have to will myself just to get out of my car and open the office for him.
I often tried to start him late and finish him early. I know, I'm a jerk. But give me some credit. I had only been doing this for just under a year upon meeting Cameron. I was still under the impression that everyone who received a massage would be beautiful and pleasant.
But slowly, and I mean slowly, he began to open up a little. I was able to see a glimpse of a human being from time to time. Just to get him to smile was a huge leap for me.
As hard as it was to work on him, I refused to give him up. He wasn't an animal to be discarded on some highway (I hate those people by the way). He was human being and I was trying, sincerely trying to see the beauty in him. It was like pulling fucking teeth.
One day while working on him, my mind was elsewhere looking forward to a Vegas trip I had planned and staying at the New York, New York hotel casino. In my head I was singing to myself "I'll take Manhattan, the Bronx and Stanton Island too.." When out of nowhere he asked me, "Have you ever been to Stanton Island?"
I had to stop and take inventory, did I just say that out loud?
I hesitated for a second and said, "Uh...no. Why do you ask?"
he then replied, "Are you going there?"
There was an uncomfortable moment when I said nothing. I was a little startled. Oh my God, is he fucking clairvoyant or something?
And then he said, "From time to time."
Thus starting a conversation for the first time in 7 months. All this time, all this time while I worked on him he laid there and quietly read my mind, from cover to cover.
I stopped and asked him, "Is there anything else you want to ask me?"
He siad, "Actually, there is."
So knowing that I could not lie to him I requested a question for a question.
I know it sounds odd but it worked. He opened up like can of worms and he was absolutely beautiful.
We spent every other Wednesday asking and answering each other's questions.
He asked me all about my sister and school and relationships I had never mentioned outloud before before, and I answered them. He knew and asked things about me that I had never told a soul. And I in-turn I asked random probing questions.

He had no one. No family that would speak with him, no friends who wanted to be around him and watch him die.
We talked about death all the time.
It's not so dignified.

I know what you're thinking, he must be pretty horrible if no one wants to talk to him.
There is so much more to people then what we see on the outside. There are two sides to every life; the way we live it and the way people see it.
I had never talked so in depth with anyone before until that point. It was amazing.
We would do this thing from time to time where we would pick a word of the day, a word one of us loved. It was stupid and funny, but we always tried to outdo each other.
I know these things mean absolutely nothing to anyone but me, but they're my memories. It's not that often (or it hasn't been lately) where I get to make a connection with a client. Especially one who you know won't be around long.
After a while I started Cameron early and I finished him late. I watched as his skin as it went from olive to grey. His once roundish belly became sunken-in and his face grew hallow. He wore an oxygen mask through his massage.
Towards the end, sometimes he said nothing. He would just cry silently, or he would ask me to sit with him and hold his hand for the first and last 10 minutes. How could I say no?
He told me I would know when it was the last time I'd see him. But I didn't.
He told me someone would contact me when he went. But no one called
The last time I saw him, nothing was different. It was the same just it had always been on one of his "good" days.
And then he just stopped showing up. There was no one answering his phone and the only address I had was a p.o box.
And that was it.

He always believed it was his karma that caught up with him- this horrible slow death. This man, a scholar from UC Berkeley. An amazing story teller who conjure up imagines, space and time using only his words. He could quote any great author and recite poetry in a blink of an eye. Father of two. Former CEO of a fortune 500 company. Flew his fiance to Paris from New York for breakfast. Lover of animals. Wept when his only pet died in his arms. Always hugged me when he said goodbye. Told me to cheer-up before I even said a word. Told me I would outlive anyone I knew because my heart was so big.

What is more important; who you are or who you were?

I miss him. He was fearless. He was honest. He was alone. He was at peace- at least I hope he was. He was my friend. He was beautiful.
I think of him all the time.

Three-Oh

I can't believe I'm turning 30.
It's funny. You always imagine yourself at little milestones like 16, 18, 21 and then there's nothing for a while. Then you wake-up one morning and you're on the brink of 30.
Boo-fucking-hoo, right? I'm not complaining. Seriously, I'm not. Believe me I would rather be 30 than 20 on any given day.
Some of my clients have the most peculiar way of wishing me a happy birthday. I was just told today that I better hurry up and get married and have some kids. After all, I'm not getting any younger, right? I heard this not only today but it is chanted in my ear ALL THE TIME. Apparently this is how you are defined when your 30 and a female- in this very order:
1.) Children
2.) Spouse
3.) House
4.) Career
Wow. Looks like I've got some catching up to do.
Whenever I am asked if I am married or if I have kids, I always get that "Awwww, It's ok. It will happen for you someday"- look, right after they hear my reply which of course is, no. These people actually feel sorry for me. Ridiculous. After all these years of equal rights etc, I am still defined and judged by the lack of wedding ring and the absence of little ones running around my bare feet. Because God only knows once you hit 30 it's never going to happen for you. Hell, I might as well retire my ovaries and amputate the fingers on my left hand. It seems like I am never going to use them!
But, but,but... I have a significant other.
Doesn't matter.
And I live in a really nice house.
But you don't own one.
I don't have kids. I have pets.
You poor thing.

You know what? Fuck you.
In your attempt to wish me a happy 30th you have rendered me dormant and sterile.
It's ok.
When my mom was my age she already had a husband and not only me but my sister. It was the thing you did back then. You married the guy you lost your virginity to and promptly had two children. You then spent the rest of your days making 3 lunches in the morning, washing 4 loads of clothes and preparing that evenings dinner.
I love my mom for this. She would have been perfectly content if this happened to me 10 years ago- even though secretly she thought I deserved a little more.
I love the idea of being married having children and owning a home. It's something to look forward to and it will eventually happen to me. But I refuse to believe I have no life because I don't have those things right now. If I had had children or even if I had married the guy I lost my virginity to (cringe), I definitely wouldn't have the friends I do now- and I fucking love my friends! And I wouldn't have the experiences I have had that make me me, good and bad. I would gladly take all the guessing, mistakes, heartache, tears and frustrations again if I knew it would get me to exactly where I am now. I'm a big believer in fate. Things happen for a reason. I am where I am because this is where I need to be.
Blah, blah, blah.
There is a lot of truth in this all. It's not something I tell myself to make me feel better. It's something I actually believe.
I may have been stupid at 20 ( like we all were), but I was smart enough to know not have children I couldn't support, not to marry out of sheer boredom, and not to listen to everything everyone had to say. I still feel that way.
So, happy birthday to me.
I'm spending the weekend having some good food with people who love my unmarried, childless ass. So HA!
Yay wine! Boooo babysitters!
There is no party. Sorry to all of you I had to kinda invite, then uninvite. I promise to turn 30 again next year.
Anyway, nothing more to say then the usual rants and affirmations.

Have a great weekend, everyone.

Drop me a line and wish me a happy 30th.

A.