Author Archives: Morgan

Fond memories of the far right coast – continued…

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Read the first part first

Alrighty then, where were we? Ah, yes…I had just discovered the ‘transitional housing’ by the train station. I ended up only staying there one night, thankfully – those cots weren’t that comfortable. Everyone that stays there has to do some sort of an intake interview with someone who works there, and I was no exception. When they found out I was under 21, they told me that there was a youth shelter on the other side of downtown. (I had, by this point, discovered that Portland was not really a ‘quaint little town’, but an actual city, and a fairly nice one at that.) They said I could stay there that night, but I should head over there the next day.

There were lots of people staying at this shelter. Many of them were kinda scary. Some of them seemed really nice though, just down on their luck – much like myself. One in particular I found to be somewhat interesting, as he carried a guitar around with him. I, of course, decided to strike up a conversation with him. I was an artiste, you remember. So we got to talking. I can’t remember his name for the life of me, but I’ll never forget the things he told me. He showed me around town a bit, bought me (a very meager) lunch, and was just generally terrifically nice to me. We both layed out our life stories, or particularly the part of our lives that brought us to our shared situation. He was quite a bit older than me, probably in his mid to late 30’s. It’s amazing how quickly you form bonds with people when your circumstances are less than desirable.

When I had told him how I ended up homeless in a strange town, and that I was going to head to West Virginia, he told me something I’ll never forget:

“So you’re just going to run away again?”

I remember that that statement hit me like a brick in the gut. I’d never looked at my actions in that light, but once that light came on, it blinded me. That’s exactly what I was doing. Running away from my responsibilities, running away from facing not just the things I had to do, but facing my life. It was past time that I took control of my life, and made it happen, instead of just going with wherever it took me.

He also said to me “You know, Portland isn’t such a bad place. It’s a good place to make a stand, to start your life, to make things happen for you.”

So I did. It took me a while, but I did it. I made my stand, and I named Portland my home. There were times when I almost moved away, went back home, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I love this place, and the experiences I’ve had here – good and bad. And right now, I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone’s.

Fond memories of the far right coast

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There are a few constants in my conversational life:

  1. I will get asked if my hair is naturally curly, and when I answer yes, the response will be various levels of envy which I do not understand in the least
  2. If the fact comes up that I was born in New York, I will get asked how I came to be out on the left coast.

So here goes. Once and for all, for posterity’s sake…here is The Story.

The year is 1989 and I was living in Syracuse, NY, after a miserable bout of trying to go to college. I was working for the Syracuse University Parking and Transportation department, a job laden with possibilities, all of which end up with me being sub-poverty level. My friend, co-worker and roommate, Judy, her friend Al, and I were all hanging out outside our apartment one day around October, bemoaning our circumstances. We were all three of us obviously meant for much more than this, we decided. And we all knew that Syracuse is the armpit of NY State, so that is certainly no place for such gifted young artistes as ourselves.

What to do, what to do. We decided that Out West was the place for us. And wouldn’t you know, Judy’s parents lived in Vancouver Washington, just a hop over the river from the quaint little town of Portland, where we could certainly find some work. From there, it was just a few miles down the coast to San Francisco, and on to Los Angeles, where our gifts and talents would surely be appreciated.

That was the plan, in a nutshell. Judy would leave for her parents house and grease the wheels. I would go home, say my goodbyes, and meet her after Christmas in Vancouver. We’d stay with her parents until we could find a place in Portland; by then Al would have finished his schooling up and would come out by bus. From there, we’d continue to work until we had enough money to head down to San Fran or LA. What we did at that point I don’t think we really considered, but what the hell, it was a big city with big city life and big city prospects. And the streets would be lined with gold.

It was all going according to our plans….until Judy and Al started getting a little cozy in the one bedroom hovel we were sharing. I was completely repressing the issues of my sexuality, despite the fact that I had already dated the same sex once. I wrote it off to the probability that I was bisexual. But when my jealousy of Judy and Al’s growing relationship started to cramp their style, they kicked me out. Boy was that ugly. They wouldn’t let me take half of my stuff. That guy Al could be damn intimidating.

So, let’s analyze the situation. I had no job, no money, no friends or family and no place to stay in a strange town. Pretty bleak outlook, to say the least. So I hailed a cab back to the train station, the only other place in Portland I knew, where I could collect my thoughts and figure out my next steps. Of course I had no money to pay the cab driver, and to her credit she didn’t press charges or beat me up when I started crying over the fact that I couldn’t pay for the trip. (yeah I do that sometimes :P)

I called a friend of mine back in Syracuse. He happened to be going to college in West Virginia, being one of those few people I met who actually *live* in Syracuse. A wonderful man, he set me up with a job, a place to stay with him back in WV, and he wired me some cash for food. Since my train ticket was round trip, I talked the Amtrak people into letting me go to WV instead of back to Boston, and I figured things would work themselves out. I checked my luggage at the station so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. The only problem left was the train didn’t leave for about 3 days. I had to find a place to stay.

So I figured I’d hang out in the train station, maybe hide out in the bathroom and sleep there at night. That didn’t pan out, since I didn’t count on the security being as efficient as they were, so I faced sleeping outside. Yep, it happened, I slept in a parking lot. For maybe a few hours at least. I couldn’t handle that for very long, and I just started walking around. I ran into these obvious heroin junkies who were very nice to me, and informed me of the homeless shelter just around the corner. So without any delay I made a beeline for there, and got to sleep inside in a cot. Yay!

To Be Continued….

The cost of parenthood

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My fertility doctor has prescribed a new drug to deal with my seeming lack of ovulation. It’s called Femara, and it was originally developed to help women with breast cancer. How they figured out this side effect, I dunno. I’m supposed to take it on days 3-7 of my cycle. So, I run to the pharmacy near my house to pick up the prescription…and find out it costs 60 bucks plus. I open the bag and take out the pill container, and see five tiiiiiiny little green pills. We’re talking smaller than those mini altoids. Tic tac size, except round. BB gun pellet size, if it’s a bigger one. Some quick calculations in my head, and I figure out that each one of these little guys is over 12 dollars.

Wow.

Imagine if my life depended on this stuff.

Early Mornings of a Northwest Night Owl continued…

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Category: Thoughts_
So, to continue. In all honesty, yesterday I was going to say that it just might…MIGHT… be possible that getting up early like that could be ok. But that was yesterday. These early mornings are starting to wear me down. I’m plain exhausted today, despite getting nearly 8 hours of sleep. And it’s more than just the early mornings…it’s the commuting. Having to commute back and forth through rush hour traffic almost every day seems to create a subtle shift in my quality of life. Before this move, I could go home for lunch if I wanted and relax on my back deck. If I wasn’t feeling well I could go home without affecting the work schedule of 2-3 other people as well.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s not so much the traffic and commute time, but the fact that I am no longer free to come and go as I please; I have to consider at least two other people as well. And that’s on the weeks when I’m driving. The other weeks, I’m essentially trapped at work.

But what’s the alternative? Spending probably a third more time in traffic, and a lot more money in gas. Considering my reduced income thanks to the taxes I now have to pay, the gas savings helps. So I don’t know…there’s pros and cons to this whole situation, and things need to settle for a bit before I can tell how much this will affect things. But until then, I’m freakin’ tired!

Early Mornings of a Northwest Night Owl

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So, now my job has moved. I used to work in a nice mellow small office, a state away (well, 12 miles) from Headquarters, 2 miles from my house, where I could waltz in anytime between 8 and 9ish. From the moment I left work in the afternoons to the moment I walked in my house, never topped 5 minutes, unless I had errands to run.

But now that is ALL different. The powers that be decided that I should increase my commute time by an hour on average, take a 10% pay cut due to the fact that I now have to pay state taxes to a state I don’t live in and increase my stress level exponentially – and all for the good of the agency. Phooey I say!

Well, in defense of this, me and my fellow movees decided to form a carpool to battle the insane cost of gas and other increased transportation costs. All well and good, you say. Riiiiight. The problem is these fine people decided that they want to leave – LEAVE – for work at 6:45. AM. In the morning.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

Now remember, I’m used to waking up around 7-7:30 at the earliest. And they want to leave BEFORE that. What planet are they from? I’m a night owl! I’m used to staying up until midnight, fiddling with this and poking at that, until I can no longer keep my eyes open. This is normal. Waking up at 5am is NOT.

So now it’s been two days of waking up early.

And crap now they’re all looking over my shoulder. So I’ll comment on my opinions of waking up early tomorrow….

Another great weekend!

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Check the link above (the title bar of this post, for those of you scratching your head) for pictures of my pals Scottie and Peggy’s camping wedding. We all went to Wallowa State Park out in the middle of nowhere and had a great time. There was also some pretty scenery to be had…perfect for a wedding backdrop.