Wednesday, August 29, 2012

ROW 80 DAY 48 – DOES PROFESSIONALISM MATTER?


I started pondering this question after I got shouted at on FB this morning. I had a mini-meltdown, you see. After the speechifying and bloviating started to wind down at the RNC and Channelside last night, here came the limos. Although I do not live directly on Nebraska Avenue, I can see it. The prosses strut their stuff and lean into the cars to display their wares. The boxes thump that hard rhythm to be heard blocks away. This is where the rich and famous get arrested for picking up 2-dollar whores; think Darryl and Dwight and countless others.

After I heard about “brave” Ann Romney and her cancer-surviving, ms’ing existence and how she is okay with doing away with coverage for pre-existing conditions, I started losing it. I really do not fare well with these things. Just from a logical and financial point of view, how is it going to benefit the country in the long run, if people with pre-existing conditions are denied coverage for their care and medicine? Won’t it end up costing far more than just paying for routine and preventive medical care? We have to fix the broken stuff first.

The fact that Hillsborough county spent 500,000.00 to get me back on my feet and then paid for everything, eye surgery, MRI’s broken bones, EMGs, medicine; I mean EVERYTHING, only to take away every scrap of coverage when I received my Federal SSDI check so I could put a roof over my head and eat points up this lunacy. It got even stupider when I was told by Social Workers, Doctors, and Insurance Agents, “Wait until you’re so sick and go to the ER.” It costs MORE FUCKING MONEY THAN IF I WAS ON A MAINTENANCE PLAN!!! HELLO FEDERAL GOVERNMENT!!! HELLO STATE OF FLORIDA AND GOVERNOR CROWBAR!!! I have to incur at least 960.00 every month before Florida Medicaid will cover me. I get 1160.00. If I faithfully pay 959.00 what do I do? Go live under the overpass? Stupid on top of stupid.

But of course, it is not about the money; it is about control. So I had a big hairy bird on FB last night. Witness this:



And someone who has ASS for brains says “"You don't have to like me, but, be professional. Accept those who do well and get off their ass!"  (Emphases are mine.)

Okay, okay. Well, I’m not getting off anyone’s ass anytime soon, that’s not how I roll, but the “professional” got me. Are we all working for FB? What is a “professional?” By my definition and the way I experienced it in my two careers, it was this: “A professional is a person who is paid to undertake a specialized set of tasks and to complete them for a fee.”

FB isn’t paying me and if they are, I’m filing a grievance NOW! I haven’t been paid in four and ½ years by the bastards. When I was paid to play viola, there was none finer. When I was paid to support computer systems and networks I reigned supreme. FB is a place where people post silly pictures of cats and stupid sayings. This is not a professional environment. I can be as professional or as hellish and obnoxious as I want. I don’t have to respect your opinion. You sure as hell aren’t respecting mine. I don’t love you any less, but quit being ASS and think logically; quit feeling.

On that topic, when I was talking about being poor and homeless yesterday, something I really hate is entropy. I have entropy in my head, I will not have it anywhere else that I control. My house and my person are shining examples of that. I am always clean, well-dressed, and well-tended. It may be dollar-store well-tended, but who cares. JC is always clean and he has loads of dress t-shirts. I have a rich, rich life. These poor bastards I see who fumble around the streets, dirty, drunk, disoriented are tragic. It boggles my mind. There used to be this one woman, she always said “hi” to me like I was royalty or something. Her name was Allie and she was a beautiful girl. She was being pimped by this guy named Charles; the same pimp who picked me up when I fell and was so injured. Go figure. Anyway, he’d have her so drugged up, she either didn’t realize or didn’t care that Charles was pimping her. Another blind love.

She’d be sitting on the curb in these shorts that were filthy and a tank top and flip flops. Her hair was dirty. Once she’d even shit herself and here’s Charles pimping her.  Just heartbreaking; he's in prison now and she is in rehab. I hope she makes it; she's a sweet thing, but oh, so ill. I can live amongst this, and gladly. I’m not at all unhappy. JC’s Supplemental insurance guy told me this morning I’m not mentally ill; I’m frustrated, due to my intelligence. I told him that is not the case; I live in my head and the company is fine, but make no mistake I am mentally ill. I just don’t think a bunch of piss-ant politicians and their cheering minions are right and I will continue to call bullshit when I see it. I also don’t think any of this really matters. It’s all man-made.

I digress. I like being here; I fully believe this is where I am meant to be. All the heartbreak, ill health, loss of most of my material goods have made me the person I am and I really like that person. But I have to work hard to keep that likable person. This means I call bullshit on any and all, even myself when I see it. It also means I keep a tidy house. Some may wonder what one has to do with the other, but to me when the house starts getting dirty, or messy, the entropy, the carelessness from outside is seeping in. It’s no coincidence that when I was committed in March, the house was a total wreck and so was I. I hadn’t really cared for myself or done the dishes for almost the whole of February. I understand now when I hear some religions equating their version of Hell with chaos.

Tidy, clean, not necessarily the neatest. Honesty, integrity, love and honor. Celebrate life. Feel and create and think and laugh. Be professional? That’s some petty shit, right there.

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