Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Friday, Jan. 21, 2005 - 12:57 p.m.

You know, it occurs to me I'm really angry these days. And it really spills out when I vent here. I think my NY Rez for 2005 - coz you know St. Katie; why make a New Year's Resolution before March if you can at all avoid it - is to be more aware of my anger here and try to tone it down. I reread yesterday's post, which I tend to do the next day, to see how it sounds, and boy howdy, is that thing angry. I just don't respond well to certain things these days, and it is ironic as all hell that in expressing my frustration with intolerance, I am, myself, intolerant.

Is it okay to be intolerant of intolerance?

I'm thinking yes, but perhaps one must express one's intolerance in slightly more tolerant terms. I guess I feel pushed around a lot these days. I feel disposable. I feel like the prevalent attitude of the people in power in this country and of a great deal of society is that since I don't make x-amount of dollars a year, I do not count. And being told I do not matter, do not count, am in effect a non-person really bugs the hell out of me. Earlier this week, someone who did not know I am unemployed made a point in a rant to me of talking about people who aren't working and how they like to sit on their lazy asses and collect government monies, and oh, by the way, have I noticed how most poor people (which by his definition are people making less than $100,000/year) have really crappy health and are dropping dead of heart attacks and the like, bilking the health system out of money because they don't have health insurance and can't pay their bills, and oh, yeah, they're all morbidly obese, too. Only poor people are obese, apparently. I waited until he finished and then said, you know, Bill, I'm not working right now, haven't been able to find a job for 4.5 months, and when I was working, I did not make even $30K a year. I do not have health insurance, I do not go to the doctor, even for the burgeoning asthma problem I'm developing, and last time I checked, I was not pushing maximum density. Know what his thought-filled and witty response to that was?

"I'm not talking about you."

Who, pray tell, are you talking about, then? Oh, right; people on welfare. Which I am not, so I'm okay. What he doesn't get is that I am only not on welfare by sheer force of will and the skin of my teeth. If something even semi-catastrophic were to happen to me, I don't think I'd have much choice. I do not have parents or family who are going to swoop in and save the day or nurse me back to health. I quit college because I was working at the same jobs people with MFA's were and making the same amount of money. I was following my dream, working steadily in my chosen field, and making more than enough money to live on, renovate my home with, vacation, and still save up, so what the heck did I need with a college diploma? (Ah, the folly of *that* decision.)

Then I got cervical cancer, and that pretty much yanked the rug right out from under everything. Lost my job, lost my savings, lost the awesome little guest house I had renovated from the carriage house it had been before it stood empty for 70 years or so. Not happy with that degree of havoc, I chased the cancer shot I was still paying for with a little ovarian-cysts-endometriosis cocktail requiring another $25K worth of surgery (that'll fuck your credit), and I've been scrounging to get back up to where I was ever since. It was hard, but I didn't mind it so much, because America was a place where hope lives and breathes and keeps you going when you wanna quit. Everyone belonged here and everyone had a shot, and health insurance actually came with your job. You could invest in stocks and save your money and get by just fine. I believed in this place. I believed in myself.

And now I'm disposable. I don't count, because I don't buy into the Patriot Act and all the other crap the Bush regime and their enthusiastic following are selling, and not only do I not make enough money to matter, the opportunities to make it are fewer and farther between and coming along less and less often. And it's not like I want a damn boat and a big house and a big screen plasma television. It's that I want the same standard of living I grew up with; I don't want to worry if the roof leaks or my car breaks down. I'd like to get my car a/c fixed in this desert where the temperature is in the triple digits 3-4 months out of the year. I want health insurance. I want to be able to save money so that when I am old, I can afford to eat real food in a house with a good roof and doors that actually fit into their jambs and don't have giant holes at the bottom of them for the rats to come in. I want to be able to go home to Texas sometimes to see my friends, or take a trip to Europe. I want Social Security to still be there when I am old enough to retire (a luxury I will not have), instead of having it's entire 1.4 Trillion Dollar surplus raped and pillaged to pay for the "war" in Iraq and cover other monies lost to tax breaks so that people like Ken Lay and Robert Crandall can buy another boat or house in the Hamptons.

I want to matter, damn it. Because I work hard. I try hard. I don't fuck over my fellow human beings. I'm nice to people, even people who don't appreciate it. I hold doors open and I say please and thank you and yes, ma'am and no, sir, and I don't behave like I'm the only person who matters on the road or when I go out in public. I say I'm sorry when I'm wrong or make a mistake, and if I burn my tongue on hot tea, I take the responsibility for it myself, rather than suing the big multi-national coffeehouse. I believe everyone deserves a fair break. No more, no less. Just a fair break. All I want is equal treatment and decent pay and the recognition that as a human being and a hard worker, I am deserving of respect just as much as anyone else who gets it. And more than some, because I'm not walking around screwing over anyone to get ahead, which is apparently the accepted norm for a lot of people these days.

So I get angry. I get frustrated. And I don't always make the effort I should to keep it level here, and for that I'm sorry, because I think most people who read here are probably pretty much in the same boat I am, just trying to live their lives politely and nicely with everyone else in the world. So if you'll excuse me, I have an entry to edit into a more polite tone.

And that's my New Year's Resolution this year. Feel free to take me to task if I slip.

Peace out,
Katie

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