Back to the Daily Grind

Yesterday was the first day back. And after twelve or fourteen hours, I found myself draped over the sofa, sleeping with my Bible cracked open on my stomach, trying to process the events of the day.

I went to the place I always go on Tuesdays. The President was supposed to meet with me to discuss the kids going on vacation outside the city, and our terms for paying for transportation. The house is a mess and needs serious spring cleaning. That's not going to happen unless all the kids are gone, so we thought that vacation would be the perfect time. But no. She stood me up. So...I helped sort donations, covered in cat pee because we still need to put a wall up in the office and the cats snuck in through the cracks. The donations were mostly worthless, and I'm probably going to get in trouble with the Packrat President because I threw away broken toys and bloody t-shirts. We can't get anyone to come in and do something about the termite problem upstairs because there is a mountain of plastic bag encased stuff as HIGH AS MY HEAD all through the corridor and the back corner. Now I know part of this is due to Christmas, where people think it's really generous to give bags of used underwear, and stained tee-shirts, broken toys, and stinky, unwashed old hosiery to the poor...but part of this is simply a refusal to ever throw anything away. Ever. Even if it's a ripped up rag of a t-shirt because someday "I might use that as a pattern for making new shirts."

I am ranting. I know. But where else in the world will you find the following collection of identifiable junk?

antique dentist's chair and compressor, IntelliVision and a Playstation 1, various generations of half-assembled computers, a kit for creating silk flowers, eight partial encyclopedias from the 1980's, a three-inch stack of atlas pages separated from their books but still useful because "someday the kids will need to cut these out for school projects" (never mind that they're maps of the USSR!), a bag of grandma lingerie, 1970's era tile building blocks, stacks of ripped backpacks, a box of old, clogged hairbrushes, Playboy magazines from the 1980's (yes, these were a donation. Nice. They got thrown out yesterday, by me...)...

One of the little boys had a huge open sore on his arm. It's been there for days, according to the other kids. He'd had a temporary tattoo on and wanted it removed, so one of the other boys took a harsh sponge and some water to it...

There is NO skin left on the spot where the tattoo was. I don't understand how the kid didn't take the roof off with his screaming. He should have screamed. He should have cried his eyes out. But nothing. He didn't say anything to us until he came bleeding to ask for help, days later...

So I treated it as best I could. It's somehow more shocking to see an open wound like that on black skin. Because when you can see that much pink and red, it's because there really isn't any skin there...and oh, it was horrid! D- promised to take him to the doctor today. The fact that it didn't heal, that there wasn't a scab or anything worries me. And the silence practically guarantees that he's been abused, because normal children don't keep quiet like that. They wiggle when you pour hydrogen peroxide on their wounds. But he was Mr. Stoic and Silent. At five years of age. Made me want to cry.

He is, however, getting better at occasionally voicing complaints! The kids were eating lunch before me yesterday and were all whining about the food. The rice didn't look particularly good, so I told them they only had to eat their vegetables...and they took forever. As they finished, I picked up my plate and managed to swallow just one bite before putting it down. I don't know what that meat was, but it tasted like manure and dirty feet. The worst thing I've ever put in my mouth. Must have been cow stomach or something. I had to apologize to the kids!

I'm going to the universities today to find out about possible classes. Wish me luck!

Until later...