Caffeine to the rescue, and more


By Max R. Weller


Homeless Philosopher’s morning tonic for a happier outlook on life.

I’ve had half of one of these big jars of regular instant coffee ever since my friend cleaned out my locker at Boulder Shelter for the Homeless some months ago, as I’ve been a resident in the godawful Boulder Manor Progressive Care Center (see Google reviews) since early May. I got it out of my closet this morning and went to the back entrance to the kitchen shortly after 6AM for hot water, and I drank two big mugs of it, one before and one after my daily hot shower with Ivory soap. These three things are remarkably efficacious in producing a better mood, even though my severely arthritic right hip is as bad as ever . . . No more decaffeinated coffee for me.

Probably the biggest reason I’m willing to accept Boulder Manor’s decision to discharge me effective 10/7/2016 and decline to file an appeal with the State of Colorado (although there is an element of retaliation against me involved, because of what I’ve blogged about BM) is that this environment, where the lowest-common-denominator of behavior by the street bums in residence goes unaddressed by the new management, is causing me to slide back into clinical depression. Been there and done that already, more than once with suicidal ideation leading to brief hospitalizations, and I’ve always been more upbeat living outdoors despite the physical suffering I endure. (Honestly, I’m wondering how I’ll be able to get up off the ground on really cold mornings this coming winter.)

I’ve observed other residents here in declining mental health, too, so it’s NOT just a personal weakness in me. Example: my new roommate, who is disabled due to a stroke, and receiving both physical and speech therapy. Unfortunately, he’s almost completely unmotivated to do anything to help himself; despite having the most wonderfully supportive significant other (her parents are both Chinese, so perhaps that’s in her upbringing) I’ve ever seen. This guy is constantly whining or using an angry tone of voice with her, as she tries to coax him into recovery to the extent this is possible to achieve. Long-suffering has its limits, I’m sure, and if this fool doesn’t get a clue pretty soon I predict she’ll dump him — and I wouldn’t blame her one bit. He was supposed to go in for surgery on Monday, but he got out of that by malingering (some vague complaint about not feeling well); last night, he refused to be assisted into the shower even though his lady told him, “_____, you smell!” She’s even asked him straight out, “_____, do you want to get better or just lie here in your bed?” His standard reply, which may be feigned sometimes, is that he can’t understand her words nor can he find his own.

A sad deal all around, and I intend to distance myself from ALL of the misery which prevails in Boulder Manor.

Even an old barn would be welcomed by me as winter shelter:


This one has since collapsed, but I’m sure there are others in sounder condition.

You’ll never see me in any homeless shelter. Also been there and done that . . .

Have a good day, everyone!


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