A full step behind the Joneses

Other than the hungry, happy people in Friendship Park yesterday, no more of my friends have received visits. I made it to Landslide with a friend last night. I walked up their cobblestone street, past the porch where so much activity is normally common; in the night there was nothing. Signs with my former roommate's handwriting hung from each door of the duplex, instructing ex-inhabitants and visitors to stay out and to call a listed number for legal help if the cops show up and start absolutely destroying shit.
Farther up the hill, the six remaining Landsliders were making coconut pawpaw ice cream and planning ways to secure their entrances to prevent the kicking-in of their doors. Half of them were set on sleeping on the porch just to avoid sleeping in bedrooms that, after having so many people come and go with flea-harboring pets, are nearly as uninhabitable as 5401 Harrison.
I left when we gave up churning the ice cream and left it for a night in the freezer, and I walked back up a hill I normally pedal: The Bus Lane, while normally a quick shortcut up to Oakland from the South Side and Uptown, is worth avoiding when laws are actually being enforced, especially on bikers, since we're all probably anarchists who have seven other, non-local anarchists living with us this week.
We all do.
It's obvious that nothing good will come from another police visit to a friend's house, but I'm hopping back and forth from one cop+citizen rendezvous point to another in an attempt to find the most action. Some houses have watch shifts all night, midnight to four and four to eight, avoiding sleep to keep an eye out for the longest outstretched arm (is it even at full extension yet?) the law has ever had in these parts. This excites me because I never sleep anyway. I'm sure a target community could really appreciate the bags under my eyes providing support for a night's worth of warning call, but I don't belong out there because I'm too safe.
I'm admitting right now that I am jealous. I see a few different types of people right now:
1. People who aren't quite sure what the G20 is or what they're doing here, but are willing to talk about and try to understand it.
1a. People who seem to understand what the G20 is and seemingly disagree with it, but still won't or can't do anything about it.
2. People who have no idea what the G20 is or what they're doing here, but are unwilling to admit that they don't understand it and yet still act like protesters are the real reason our city has become a week-long police state.
3. Friends who have undeservedly been harassed, woken in the middle of the night, forced to leave their city-tolerated but not-yet-purchased homes; who have had to disperse, leave town and regroup in smaller numbers.
4. Friends who have been working hard with their independent media, legal defense, medical assistance, food preparation, hospitality for out-of-towners, writing, organizing, concern.

I have found nowhere to fit into this multi-faceted pinwheel of roles.
I've experienced fear and outright disgust about the stories from my friends. At my job, where political discussion does not come up, I've spoken with civilians, both ignorant and understanding, about these events, making sure they know just how close I was to getting arrested or just how integral my part in the story actually is.
"Oh, I play soccer there every week. I just happened to be gourging myself on an O Pizza with fries and ketchup as toppings during soccer time." A convenient alibi.
"Oh, I used to live with them. I knew them before they were squatters." Similar to, 'I knew the band before they signed to Warner.'
"Oh, I was just walking out when the cops were showing up. (Missed out again.)" Pathetic. It's one thing to have the cops come to you based on who you are; it's another to happen to be with people who the cops want to visit because of who they are.

I don't know how to save myself from wanting to feel watched or important. The admission of my crimes that may not be truthful would feel like a cry for attention. I don't even know if my crimes were/are actually illegal. But I do not want to feel left out when everyone else's rights are being taken away.

Asking for help in this situation of self-created desperation is just another temper tantrum, but a more thoughtful example than putting a "Happy G20!" banner across my front door. I don't know what my friends would do if they knew I was jealous of how much they matter to law enforcement this week. I hope they would slap me and tell me to wait in my house until the end of the week: "We'll be over with cookies when it's all over," they would say.

Because if we really want to be truthful, sitting in my house and waiting for something to happen is all I ever do.