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Eleanor Powell in "Born to Dance".

Eleanor Powell in “Born to Dance”.

Oh tired brain – you’re not making this ‘daily writing’ thing easier by being all crazy and caddywhompus. Poetry isn’t working… my rhymes have no rhythm and the words fall flat.

Mostly my mind is filled with anticipatory thoughts, which is fortunate as it’s keeping the voice of fear from screaming incessantly. I’m excited about my new job, lowly and crappy as it might be… it’s a new chapter… a chapter of learning how to reconcile my health with the reality that I have to keep going in spite of what doctors or lawyers say; by rights I should qualify for SSI – doctors and lawyers agree; the courts that drag it out for seven years do not.

However, with the walls crashing down around me I have no choice – it’s try to work 40 hours a week (which, with Oregon’s minimum wage at 9.10, isn’t actually much to live on for two people), on my feet or end up homeless, which would force my kid to spend even more time with the father she hates. I can’t let that happen… so, here I am: Back in the ‘conventional’ workforce vs working from home and, pitifully relying on family.

I’m excited about making it work on my own; regardless of the backlash, but at the same time praying that backlash won’t put me in the hospital. While working at said crappy job (Which has a few up-sides like getting to wear jeans and show my tattoos) I’ll still be perusing a career as a job development advocate – to help other folks who fall through the cracks figure out how to earn a living around their physical and/or mental issues so they don’t end up featured on the cover of Better Boxes and Hovels.

Oh – and I’m still working to publish… poetry, my cookbook a novel… it will all happen. I just need to find that magic place of ‘balance’ – balance of health and wealth and so on and etcetera… it’s a tap-dance really: Kick-ball-change-bandy twist-grind-pitch-kick-hitch-rinse-repeat…

I guess that’s all life really is… one dance after another on the various stages of our life. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll work on a jaunty jig and wind down with a sentimental waltz. Just so long as I keep dancing … *jazz hands* *exit stage left*.