It's a grey, overcast morning at my work site in Redwood City. I'm sitting in the office, looking out the sliding glass windows that presumably, before the agency bought the building, someone's bedroom. The stairs and deck are all painted a darker shade of the sky's grey tone, although a futia colored plant sets off the bleakness with its wild pink-purple tone.
My tasks this morning have included giving the food shopping money to a man who I shushed a few minutes before, when he was blasting, and singing along to, the radio in the garage. The tune of the morning was "Santa Baby." I've given out medications to a few people. Virtually all of the residents here are on psychotropic meds to help turn chemical zips into chemical zings. When I began in this field, the idea of medications was quite anathma. Then the stories started coming in from clients about how dead they would be without the meds--for instance, the young man who had stopped traffic on the Bay Bridge by running naked, and unmedicated, against the flow of traffic. My position is much, much softer on the issue these days.
In a few minutes I'll go wake up people for the morning meeting, which exists basically to get people out of bed and moving into their days. This house used to not have such a morning prod, and people would sleep till all manners of horrible afternoon hours. We decided that it was important, for all the grumbling, that there be more structure and flow, and it has worked out well.
At 10am, I'll be off shift and heading back to the city, to hit the gym, then do some work before seeing an afternoon client. The coming weekend at my parents' house is a welcome break from city and work life, as we get to go up to Sacramento, where life is a little simpler, a little slower, and people wave to you with friendly smiles. Ahh...
