Calculating Public Health

I wouldn't want you to walk away with any miscalculations about me. I am about as wild and crazy as society will allow without confinement for my own protection. Whenever I read a self-marketing sign Please Help... Vacancies of home and body, Needing to be filled. I feed the bearers of these signs of society's emargination into raw and naked erase and start again. When I notice long-haired grunge, low-budget gypsys with backpacks and shopping carts, heading toward me asking to become excused for asking for things they need, I head in their direction to find our best redirection together. My husband begrudges every dime and points out I'm too wild for pouring mostly alcohol or worse down throats without a home. He claims they're addicted suicides waiting for death's embrace. But, I say this is too often true and who am I to judge those who explore doing their best of worst available options given all their dark stuff come before through self-medication mixed with sheltered soups and public kitchens? Were I or he on that street rejected by our own history of defeat I would hope to find those wise enough to stay with me long enough to help medicate my way, to suffer with my emptiness and ask me please to stay, tell them all my blues, sing and dance this suffering away. I'm retired. Have more cash than I could ever need, and don't want to go out that way, hoarding funds for those who already have too much while somewhere out there stands a homeless sign whose bearer prefers to drink her lunch. If our legacy composes both what we do for love and what we do not do from fear, If both our action and omissions, our positives and negatives, remain behind to feed and haunt our kids, then why would I not choose to offer medicines of caring when neglect is so clearly that of which this homelessness was made.