The painted lady
This Blog was created with a powerful purpose. It was intended to be a documented journey that would span from the hard-knocked, bottomed-out, cursed bowels of poverty; all the way to the zenith of a full-blown, apple pie in the sky, over-the over-taxed, middle-class American rainbow.
This Blogger went to colleges. She went to trade school. She went to a gazillion entry-level positions. What she hasn’t paid in income tax, she has more than compensated for with poverty taxes.
This Blogger knows all about second shift, with no evening daycare, and never seeing her school-age kids. She’s done first shift, where she only sees her children two hours a day, and it’s when she was most exhausted. She tried third-shift underground life. She was seeing children a little more, but she was only barely conscious when she was trying to take care of toddlers.
This Blogger has gone through the glorious gamut of acronyms, from DHS, MSHDA, CSS, JET, WIC, UMHC, SSI, DMV, LCPD, LOVE INC., PCSS, IHA, CPS, MDHS, MRS, WS, EBT, ICCF, FBI, CMH, JIMHO, SA, and every food bank in at least four counties.
This Blog is written from the disjointed perspective of the least common dominant; i.e., the social out-group. This Blogger is poor. She has excuses for dangling on such a low rung of the economic ladder, but she hates excuses. She took the high, hard, road paved with good intentions. There were neon signs pointing the way. There were giant billboards blocking the scenery and persuading her, nearly mocking her, into taking that path. That path promised, a generous student loan, not due until someday far away when she was already rich, that path could lead this Blogger straight into a banker’s hours, salary job, in an office somewhere. It would be the path to paying for her own existence. That didn’t work. There were handicaps and disabilities that no one else could see. She pretended that if no one else knew, she could fake it.
Then this Blogger went in a different direction though, didn’t she? This blog jumped from the fast lane, over the meridian, to the handicap bike-lane, fell into a ditch, and now it’s is hanging somewhere over the walking trail. Instead of getting off the grid, she is thoroughly woven into it.
As a matter of fact, Kayla’s Welfare will represent the effects of a human who is now living within the boundaries of political interest. Life on Welfare is humiliating. Her food budget was never her own. She was awkwardly subjected to bi-yearly inspections, verifications, and re-certifications. No one could be accused of not having up to date smoke detectors in her home. Twice per year, she would fill out nine-page applications verifying how many bottles of shampoo she uses in a month; how much does she spend on lotto tickets, or how many times per month does her family eat out? Once per year, she would fill out four to six pages of background information regarding every person who lives in her house. She would send in hard documentation including, but not limited to; birth certificates, social security cards, driver’s licenses, school id’s, bank statements, paystubs, leases, utility bills, school verifications forms regarding attendance for all three children, medical documentation regarding Mercy’s CP, vaccinations, etc. It was okay. It wasn’t a great way. It’s a way, but the ends had their own means.
Her child is dead and this blog will be an outlet. Her list of diagnosis has gotten longer.
So has her list of strengths.
Presently, this blogger is not enrolled in any public assistance whatsoever. She is married, and her husband and she work hard to barely support their family. This is that adventure, too.
This Blogger has always been a warrior if never the princess. This Blogger is fighting the good fight, and if she can do it out loud, then she’s fighting it for all of us.
Kayla's Welfare 