I have a new article about homelessness in Downtown Fargo published in Fargo's alternative weekly newspaper, The High Plains Reader. This issue is very close to my heart.
Here's an excerpt:
A woman spends another restless night shivering on a concrete floor, the only source of comfort a rubber mat, thin scratchy blanket and a lumpy pillow. It offers temporary refuge from the bitter Fargo winter.
A man found passed out in an alley Downtown is whisked away in an ambulance to the ER, then the hospital, to be treated for alcohol poisoning and dehydration. A day later, he is discharged into the street where he drinks more alcohol to quiet the voices he hears because of schizophrenia. As he stumbles down Broadway, a passerby calls police. He is taken to detox, then transported to jail for public intoxication and unpaid fines for petty offenses.
This is the typical vicious cycle of someone struggling with...
‘Your desultory twenties,’ my mother calls my lost time, trying to make it sound reasonable and fun, but it started before I was twenty and lasted much longer.”
Jennifer Egan, The Goon Squad
I stumbled into my twenties. I wanted to extract all the syrupy sweetness that youth and the twenties has to offer. I did so hungrily and eagerly, as though I was tapping a maple tree for syrup. I made reckless, impulsive choices. In other words, I found out you can’t try to taste all that sweetness without tasting the bitter too, growing wary. You can’t become full if you’re always making yourself hollow.
A few weeks ago I finally marched into my thirties standing tall, albeit a bit bruised and weathered.
I am 30. Three-zero. The words rolling off my tongue feel unnatural. Strange. What does it mean to be a woman in the upper-Midwest without a husband, a family, a mortgage, a dog? What is it about people in thei...