Psychodrama

Wrote my last post at CC's Coffee House on Perkins Rd. Thank God (or man) for coffee houses with WiFi! Fucking Starbucks charges for the privilege, which I think is really absurd for a company based in Seattle, which is, like, IT central and a very progressive city, with free WiFi all over the place, but then, I didn't have to close down hundreds of my franchises nationwide, so what the fuck do I know, anyway? It is half-price margaritas tonight at Serrano's (one of my favorite places, if you haven't noticed) and I am drinking a couple of margaritas and eating queso dip and chips (which is all my current budget will support, at least until I get paid tomorrow), and writing this.

I am a Commissioner-in-Charge for elections, which is one of the people who sits at a table when you go in to vote and certifies that you are qualified to vote, and we had a class for CICs tonight, way down Perkins Rd., at LPB (Louisiana Public Broadcasting), which was a good 5-mile sprint from CC's, and a good 7 miles back to campus. The Election Department is expecting record turnout for the election. There will also be unprecedented coverage by individual voters, via YouTube, which may make this the most reported election in history, by more people than ever efore, in real time. Sounds awesome, but it could present some problems for those of us who have to run the election, so we went over that and a lot of other issues for about 90 minutes, and then I rode back here.

Perkins Rd., like many of Baton Rouge's major thoroughfares, is not terribly bikeable. Streets are spottily maintained here, at best, and that means that I have a LOT of flats and broken spokes. The drivers here are, for want of a better word, mostly assholes. They act as if they had never seen a bicycle before: many are just simply oblivious to the fact that their idiotic actions compromise your life and safety, and a lot of them are just plain nasty. It is a rare day when I don't get horns blown at me and/or obscenities screamed out of windows at me. I have had things thrown at me and even had people follow me down the road, just to harass me longer. Tonight, I was called a "fucking bitch" by some redneck in a black pickup. If he only knew ...

The other night, I was invited to spend the night at my friend, M's. She told me that she had talked to her bf, and that we might work out some kind of deal, at least where I might be able to stay over a night or two a week, and borrow the shower (which is a MAJOR consideration in my current predicament). I said, yay. So, I went by their apartment after I got off. He was out with some friends, which she said she had given him permission to do, since he had been working hard lately and hadn't flown into one of his (apparently frequent)rages. I got to take a shower, and she gave me a samdwich. We sat up talking for a while, and I went to bed, in the spare room, about 1 AM.

About 2:30 or so, I was awakened by the sounds of raised voices and then something being smashed in the living room. I decided that it might be more prudent for me not to involve myself in their "discussion", because I generally do not like insinuating myself between people (especially when they are arguing, and it is none of my business), and for fear of making things worse. Imagine my surprise when she came into the back bedroom a few minutes later and asked to borrow my cell to call the police, because he had turned the electricity off so that she couldn't use the (only) cordless. I let her, then got up and got dressed, because I was not going to let anything happen to my cell: that and my laptop are my lifelines to an actual world.

When I got into the living room, he was gone. She told me that he had split when she called the cops. A cop had come by and she had told him what the situation was, and he had advised her to leave. Of course, being from Montana, over a thousand miles away, she really had no place to go. I could certainly understand that situation: it is mine. Of course, I am not a woman. Being on the streets might be rougher on a woman, although finding shelter might be easier. Of course, the shelter you find might come with a price you are unwilling to pay.

So, we talked for a while. He had left, supposedly for a friends, after destroying her portable stereo and his own laptop (yeah, go figure). He had left the only key and his cell. She told me that she was planning to leave him, once and for all, and go home to Montana. I told her that I sympathized with her, but, because it is against my personal ethos, couldn't tell her what to do. We talked for a while, and I went back to bed again.

About 4:30 or so, I was awakened by pounding on the front door and her bf screaming incoherently outside. A few moments later, the window above the bed where I was sleeping, along with the blinds, came crashing down onto the bed where I was lying, and psycho bf crawled in through it, nearly on top of me.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he yelled, before exiting the room. I decided that I should get up and see what was going on at this point, for my own safety, as well as hers (he had firearms in the apartment), so I pulled my jeans on and went into the hall. She was backed up against the wall, telling him that she had called the police again, and that they were on the way. He noticed me and turned around.

"Sorry about all this, bro'" he said, in a surprisingly mild tone. "But she's fucking nuts!" Then he left again.

This time, I waited with her for the police. An officer came (the same one as before), only this time, he actually filed a report. He took my name and asked me what I had seen, and I told him. When he asked me my address, I told him I was homeless, and that I had been offered a bed for the night. He asked me why I was homeless, and I explained the story, of how I had stuck my neck out to help some friends, and they had burned me (more on this later).

"I think we had a call like that, a while back," he said, eying me suspiciously.

"If you did," I said. "It wasn't me." It's amazing how some people react when you tell them you are homeless. I notice that a lot of people suddenly look at you as if you aren't quite trustworthy, as if something is wrong with you. One guy recently, an older man, upon my telling him that I was homeless, looked at me strangely and asked, "Are you gay?", as if that had anything to do with it. I asked him why he would ask such an absurd question, and he mumbled something about a lot of "gays" being homeless. I told him that that was one of the most ignorant things I had ever heard.

Anyway, the cop went to look for psycho bf, and I stayed up with M. for a little while. I finally put the window back into place (kind of) and went back to sleep, with one eye open.

I woke up in the morning, and psycho bf was back. I changed into my riding gear and got my stuff and got ready to leave.

"You busted things up!" she told him. "Even your own laptop!"

"You made me do it," he whined (actually WHINED). Isn't it amazing that it's never the abuser's fault. "You made me hit you!" come to mind. Anyway, I was on my way out the door and he said, "I don't want you staying here any more." I was about to say, "No way in hell, you drunk, psycho lunatic fuck!I'll take the possum any day (or words to that effect)!" when he said: "Not you. I mean her." I split.

Of course, my tire was flat and I had to walk to work and fix the tire before I left. M. had told me to tell either Me. or D. at work that she wouldn't be in that afternoon, and explain why, so, when I got there, I told Me., who said that she knew something about the story.

"She's afraid that, if she leaves, he'll lock her out of the apartment," I said. Then added: "He's a violent, abusive, alcoholic psycho." Then I went to work.

I worked a 12-hour shift, then headed back to the Possum Hilton, suddenly appreciative of it's relative peace and quiet. I settled in for the night in my sleeping bag. I had just got to sleep when my cell rang (I have GOT to remember to put it on silent when I sleep!), and it was M.

"My bf really felt bad about last night," she said, sounding as if nothing had happened at all. "We had a long talk, and he's going to stop drinking. Hey. Do you know anybody you can score some weed from? You could come over and we could get high, and you could spend the night. I really need to get totally stoned tonight."

"Uh," I said, half asleep and the other half trying to put my head around this conversation. "I'll get in touch with a few people and I'll get back to you." Then, I went back to sleep. The phone rang again, an hour later: it was M. This time, I put it on silent.