It seems there's a sense of urgency, as Todd is making a beeline for the porta potty (the orange one). He's barefoot. But now he's run out of grassy real estate, thus, slowing his pace considerably across the uneven parking lot (strewn with loose pebbles and other debris). Usually he's got shoes.
In any case, I'm under a tree adjacent to the dog park area (within the park). Had a brief shower coming down, so I took cover. I did plastic-bag my wheelchair controller arm, but the raindrops were cold and wet - so I ducked under. I'm not used to these conditions outdoors. Heck, it's only 80° at 7:30 a.m. … talk about disorienting.
Meanwhile, we've got Hurricane Hilary bearing down on the southwestern quadrant of Arizona. We've got wind advisories in place, with expected gusts up to 50 mph here, later this evening. But back that way, it's going to be a whole lot worse. We are on the outer fringes. And really, that's where I belong anyway.
So here I sit beneath clouded sky. Moisture levels extreme. Birds active and audible. Beyond that, my near future trajectory is defined.
Based on all sorts of factors, implications, and a generalized lack of options, this is what I'm going to do.
I am going to move into a group home. It seems the ungrouped homes and the people within them do not want me. Or it's that they have too many pressing matters which they must attend to. Mind you, I am not a pressing matter. And perhaps, none of us are. It's only we who see the urgency in ourselves that we become so defined. Well, something like that.
Either way, unless I move into a domicile with another person, get my own apartment, or become homeless, I will not receive the full amount of Social Security funds I desire. So you know, the Social Services department at the nursing home doesn't know what they're talking about.
Or perhaps they do.
Really, they're possibly trying to hasten my exit, as I've been playing the role of whistleblower of late. The treatment my roommate receives is sad and awful (so I've been saying things). Then again, he doesn't help himself much either. He can. If he wanted to. But he's too down and depressed and permanently sunken into his deformed $50 discount mattress, which is wedged into a bed frame that squeaks like a mother f******* banshee 30 times a day.
No, that's not an exaggeration.
After being turned away by others, my only remaining options include: moving in with my ex-wife - which would place me upstairs in my former condo, the place where I was stuck in bed for six consecutive years.
Of course, I would be stuck again. I would be stuck in that very same room until I received approval from the disability people. Which may never come. But in so doing, I would receive $700 per month, my portion of SSI.
Option B? Live in her garage. But still, and even now, it's too damn hot. I cannot go without air conditioning at 110°. Nor can I do so at 100°. So that's not happening.
And then obviously the homeless option doesn't fly either. Too damn hot (among myriad concerns).
So the idea behind the group home is that it would allow me total freedom to leave. If my broker can find one.
Note: upon approval (and while living in a group home) I would receive $25 a month from Social Security, rather than the $700 option (living anywhere besides a care facility)
So now I wait for my agent to come up with options. One of the main problems is nearly all the group homes have an age minimum. And that minimum is 62 years old. I am not 62 years old. So she tells me that a good 75% of the options are thus nullified from the get go.
Another super important thing is that I need to be located within half a mile of the bike trail, the one that extends from Reach 11 all the way down to Shea Boulevard, basically paralleling State Route 51. A few gritty neighborhoods interspersed, but nothing of concern. I'm quite familiar with gritty and I don't have a problem with that.
I am requesting that she places me with a roommate who doesn't watch television all night long. That'll be the tough one though. That's what old people do. Most of them. Watch television incessantly. Night and day. Loud as possible. Full bore. No holds barred. And you ain't going to pry that remote TV controller from their cold dead hands, especially not postmortem… once rigor mortis sets in.
So I guess that's what I'm looking for.
My agent suggests I will be bored out of my flipping mind (in a group home), being stuck in and around a dozen old men and one random caregiver changing diapers and such. But at least I'll have my freedom! Well, ideally.
Also, finding a group home that allows its residents to roam free could further complicate my agenda. Yes, I do have an agenda. Perhaps one that's not all that impressive, but it is an agenda no less.
So at this point, that's what I'm thinking. And my thinking may not necessarily be up to snuff. But hey, I've got priorities. I've got rights. At least a few rights left.
And then if this SSI business remains unresolved into October, I'm going to move into my Ex"s garage for the cool season. It should be down into the mid-90s by mid-october. At least, that's the hope. It's difficult triangulating the global warmth in advance. Plus, we've got El Nino firing on all cylinders.
So that's where I'm at right now. And fortunately, I'm less angry, overall. My therapist came into the nursing home for a visit, Friday afternoon. And after twenty minutes of ranting and raving (me, not her), we got down to business. We delved into my assigned homework.
The problem being, the place where we discuss the most private and intimate life matters, is the same place populated by staff members taking their lunch breaks. So while we're having our one-on-one therapy session, any number of employees are sitting down within earshot, ingesting their sandwiches, soups, and salads. So whatever. People now know even more private things about me. Perhaps that will make matters better overall.
So nope, no privacy in a nursing home. No pride. No room for ego. Just a near constant infusion of intrusion.
That's where I'm at right now.
Arghhh - (hours later) now I am someplace else!
My primary physician came for a visit this morning. And she is (seemingly) a Group Home expert - as she's been regularly doctoring at several group homes in recent years.
Based on what she tells me, I'm going to have a very difficult time finding a group home based upon my age, and then also, based upon the amount of freedom I wish to attain. She explained that group homes are very similar to nursing home facilities, going as far as to suggest that I should just remain at the nursing home for the time being. It's also highly likely that the group homes will select doctors for me, rather than giving me a choice to select my own.
So yeah… everything is impossibly difficult. I just want to GO whenever I want to. And then as an added bonus, I want to sleep at night.