Today got off to a rocky start, and didn't really get much better from there. I e-mailed The XY yesterday to ask whether, seeing as how his late payment of the child support had cost me my health insurance coverage, he'd be willing to cover the most expensive out-of-pocket drug as a goodwill gesture.
Go ahead and laugh at me, Hotter did. But see, I can't maintain the level of ill will I bear for my ex-husband in good conscience without at least giving him the OPPORTUNITY to Do The Right Thing. As I explained to Hotter, The XY and I are both Jews, and the fine arts of guilt-induction and blame-assignment are very important to our people.
The XY remains committed to his course of ever-increasing twatwhistlery, however, and threw in some bonus bullshit about how HIS child support isn't for MY health insurance, and Anthem wouldn't just DROP me like that (hahaha oh how I wish he was right about that), and it's my fault for not paying the bill on time anyway, but he guessed this was my way of asking for a loan and he SUPPOSED he could swing it in order to help me out AS AN OLIVE BRANCH even after all of the grief I have caused him IF I could promise a swift repayment. And then he launched into this long, sad tale of why he can't take the children for his weekend THIS time. And I will say that I'm proud of myself for not telling him to shove his olive branch up his arse. Instead I counted to ten and e-mailed him back saying that I'd only wanted to give him a chance to help mitigate the damage his delinquent payment had caused, but clearly he still did not prioritize doing the right thing any more than he ever had and clearly didn't care what happened to me AS A DIRECT RESULT of his actions (or, in this case, inactions), and I was not interested in setting a precedent of money-lending between us and thought it best that we both go back to keeping our personal struggles to ourselves. I then told him that a simple yes or no to his visitation would suffice in the future and life happens, so spare me the crying and oversharing about his life, the weather, and the traffic because *I* really didn't care what his latest excuse for not taking the limited parenting time available to him was.
TL; DR - The XY retains his title as The Lord of the Douche.
From there my day continued to suck with a desperate paperwork faxing hustle to avoid Big Child being dropped from his summer program for the gifted (mission accomplished THERE, thank goodness), me blubbering all over poor Hotter for no good reason (except that I'd skipped a dose of Pristiq trying to buy some time for Anthem to potentially pull their heads out of their arses, because once I pay out-of-pocket for the Pristiq I won't be able to pay Anthem even if I do get a managerial exception and they're willing to take all my money and give me back my coverage), spraying perfume in my eye while getting ready for work, and walking into everybody at work in shitty moods.
At work I was at least able to pull it together; something in me turns on the perky at all costs in front of co-workers and guests, and despite having sniffled most of the way there I managed to fix my face in the parking lot and wade into the shitstorm with a smile. And I guess maybe there's something to the whole "fake it till you feel it" thing, because I'm drained and anxious and bone-weary of everything being such a fucking struggle, but at least my face has stopped leaking.
If I disappear for a bit don't necessarily assume the absolute worst, but if things get any worse it'll definitely be for the best that I clam up for a bit, both to deprive Stalky of the spank-bank material and also to avoid being a bummer to y'all in general.
Send baby animals, prepaid hitmen, and brand-name SSR/Norepinephrine Inhibitors, please.