Day Ninety-Six

   ****NAMES CHANGED TO PROTECT PORTLAND'S STREET KIDS****

I don't plan on getting my wisdom teeth taken out when I wake up in the morning but that's exactly what ends up happening. They have openings in the dental truck today so I take one to get my wisdom teeth checked. I have to wait for a few hours for my appointment to open so I take Bernard's advice to go see the education and employment center like the obedient little homeless kid I have to be right now.

I'm not thrilled with the job readiness programs. It's hard for me. I used to work in my field. I used to have a career. I don't need these people to teach me about what it's like to live as a journalist. I already did that. I already know more about myself and my career than they ever will. I just need them to open doors for me to go to school and work again; to get back up since illness and unfair life circumstances knocked me down.

I get the paper work I need to fill out done while I wait for the dental truck. It's a nice day so I sit in the court yard while I do it. There's a guy I've never seen before sitting out there too. He looks like he's either just barely too old for our program or on the cusp of aging out. He tells me he was in the program back in 2008 and is just waiting to meet with the drug and alcohol counselor because he recently got out of prison.

He tells me the program doesn't seem to have changed much since he left. There are the same people mooching off the system, the same drama. We catch each other both looking at the metal tree sculpture in the corner of the court yard. Each metal leaf on the tree is a youth that has died. "I remember when they first put that tree in," he says, "There was only one leaf."

Now there are over thirty leaves. And that's just in the three or four years since it was put in. Thirty youth under twenty-five have died in three years in our program alone.

I get called in for the dental truck. The dentist is an old guy who flirts in a grandfather-ish type way with the patients. He tells me that my jaw hurts because my wisdom teeth are trying to come in but don't have enough space so they are pushing on my other teeth to try and make room. He has to cut my gum out of the way then pull the tooth.

Now, I'm terrified of the dentist. When I'm not having nightmares about dead babies and Upchuck I have nightmares about the dentist. I wasn't expecting him to say it had to be pulled right then but he says it's in the optimum time to pull it because the tooth is straight, all he has to do is yank it out. I take two Clondine, two Ibuprofens and two Tylenols. I'm shaking but I'd rather just get it over with.

He numbs my mouth then cuts the gums away. The tooth actually comes out surprisingly easy; it's less than five minutes so the tooth was obviously ready to come out. I take the tooth and they tell me to not smoke or eat solids for three days. Oatmeal diet here I come.

At the day program everyone keeps offering me soup. I HATE soup. When I had to have surgery all I could eat for weeks was chicken noodle soup because I threw up everything. I haven't been able to tolerate soup since and I'm not having any extra desire to eat it now that my tooth is out.

The anxiety pills have me so tired I can't even keep my eyes open. I ask the clinic for an ice pack then lay down outside with the pack on my jaw. I fall asleep using my backpack as a pillow. When Mother Goose wakes me up to close the court yard she asks about my mouth and offers me soup. The idea of soup just makes me want to cry, "I don't do soup. I can't do soup. I hate soup." I must sound pathetic because she gives me $10 to Safeway to buy soft foods. I still have food stamps so I intend to tuck the gift card away for my next big emergency.

I stay at the library until it closes at eight and chat with some of my sleepy friends. When the library closes I go to Fred Meyer to buy ice cream, oat meal and other soft foods that sound appealing. I sit at McDonald's until shelter opens. It's house meeting tonight so it's going to be a fun evening.

It's the longest house meeting agenda I've ever seen. There are over fifteen items. The meeting takes an hour. I end up getting in a fight with the ginger kid during the meeting. It gets rowdy and out of control and Director Lady can barely calm things down. I loathe those kids. I can't stand them. I'm sick of them making attacks on me just because they're jealous no one cares about their baby. If they weren't such pricks to me I would throw them a baby shower too; they just burned the wrong bridge.

I have no clothes left anymore. Kitten Lady has taken pretty much all of my clothing. I have no pants to wear at all tomorrow so I practically beg Bitch Lady to take us down to the shelter's clothing closet. She obliges. I haven't been to the shelter's clothing closet before and I'm surprised to find that not only is it big but it has a lot of nice stuff.

I get two jackets, some nice (even brand new with tags!) sweaters and some new Docker pants. I find an adorable skirt that Bitch Lady says I need to take because it'll look so cute. The zipper on the skirt is stuck but it has a tie so I can tie it closed. With leggings it'll actually be super cute despite the broken zipper. I lay it out to wear tomorrow since weather.com says it'll be 88 degrees.

I feel better about life having a few new outfits and I'm starting to look forward to the colder weather that is just around the corner.

--mm