Blood: Call and Response

So, this low-rent, life on the skids thing has been a lot of fun for me to write about. The experience of going to the plasma center isn't always a lot of fun. Quite frankly, it is what I say it is: degrading --but I think I'm getting more than a check out of it, though I really appreciating having gas money or groceries or... well, that's mostly it.

I'm getting to know my city better --and maybe getting to know the people I probably identify with to some degree. I'm a colossal fuck-up --or to put it optimistically, a recovering fuck-up. I've made not necessarily bad, but certainly ill-timed and poorly thought-out choices over the course of my life.

And I am, largely, bearing the repercussions for those actions.

I think there are a lot of people there like that --folks who had children too young or married the wrong people or didn't pay attention in math class like they should have. Maybe they partied too hard when they were 19 or 22 or 25 ( I did that, too) and are burning that off. Maybe they were bad with money (again, me) or simply put their trust in idiots or criminals. Some of them are people without safety nets, who don't have families or who came from dire circumstances. Others didn't figure out about showing up to work on time until far too late.

Anyway, I know these people. I'm one of them. I'm thinking I should expand on the project, maybe go check out the soup kitchens and break bread among them. I'm learning stuff, I think, not just about those people, but myself. I need to learn more and besides... they probably have something to eat besides beans.

Check in with your opinion. I really want to know.