MFA Mama

read the right bicep

   The other day, while I was on the phone with the 911 operator, I realized that if I'm going to be on my own against the world, without an emergency contact, I really ought to find some way of keeping my relevant medical information on me at all times. Because when you're in excruciating pain and on the verge of passing out, spelling the name of your connective tissue disease for the third time after coaching someone who really doesn't want to be responsible for the information through the problem of not having a field on their screen in which to type such things (to which I say, in general, why the hell not because things like blood type and collagen defects may not be relevant to the PHONE CALL but can be crucial once you've reached the HOSPITAL, and in specific, GET A PENCIL AND A PIECE OF PAPER, PLEASE) just seems extra cruel.

   I'm considering getting it all tattooed on the front of my torso. Because believe it or not, that is less expensive than having it engraved on an anklet, and also impossible to lose.

   I digress.

   My friend Dr. Anonymous deserves a medal for putting up with me. Not only did she handle the phone call on Friday with polite aplomb (after dismissing Hotter's suggestion to call an ambulance out of hand, because FUCK THAT GUY AMIRITE, and spending a further five minutes down at the workshop in screamy contemplation of my symptoms since Big Child was due home momentarily and I didn't think he ought to see me when he walked into the house, I realized that maybe I was not the best problem-solver and called Dr. Anonymous in as a tiebreaker) (I still feel bad about that phone call, because I was having an extremely hard time toning down the shrieking enough to form semi-coherent words and suspect I did a poorer job of it than I thought at the time), but she also gave simple enough instructions that even I could not find a way to weasel out of following them (it's like she knew I'd try to drive myself to the local teaching hospital and expire on a sidewalk somewhere after trying to parallel park a straight-shift car that does not idle rather than trust a valet or security person with the task if she left ANY room for interpretation), namely "Emergency room. CLOSEST emergency room. Now."

   I just opened up the Facespace to a message from Dr. Anonymous; a mutual friend of ours has been trying to talk me into accepting a loan and pursuing COBRA so that I can try to get some more medical treatment and I've been saying that no, I will not borrow more from a friend than I will realistically be able to pay back and wouldn't invest in COBRA right now if I had the money anyway because my car is on its last legs and my almost-eight-year-old is still sleeping in a toddler bed. Said mutual friend brought Dr. Anonymous into the thread as an appeal to authority, and Dr. Anonymous instead said something along the lines of "oh holy shit I didn't even KNOW about Hotter and I am SO SORRY all of this is happening right now," and I replied with "oder gor oder gornit."

   The tattoo on my right arm is less specific than the one I'm considering with all of the medical information, but it's a lot more succinct.

 

   For those who have been asking, the most likely cause of my physical misery seems to be adhesions from previous surgeries, which isn't something emergent enough to fix on an uninsured patient so the hospital sent me home with strong narcotics and instructions to take them with Miralax, and I am no longer in acute agony but am still distinctly unwell. Eschewing solid foods makes it bearable and I think I'll be okay for work tomorrow.

heartbroken

   It kind of seems like every time I come on here and say I'm taking a hiatus, I end up having lots to say in the very near future. So I won't say I'm taking a hiatus. I will say that things here are not good, and I don't know how much I'm going to feel like writing for a little bit. My marriage might be over, or else maybe Hotter is having neurological issues, or possibly both. He had a headache for a few days and then the day before yesterday he was kind of a jerk, and then last night it's like he had bet someone fifty bucks he could get me to punch him in the fucking face (if that's the case he lost the bet, but only just barely, and if I had medical insurance and/or stronger bones I probably would've gone for it). He said some things he isn't going to be able take back even if he decides he wants to, and called me some unprintable names, and hurt my feelings really badly.I finally had some wine and started yelling right back at him, which didn't make me feel any better but did make him add "alcoholic" to the list of things he was calling me, and said some things I didn't entirely mean. I'm not proud. I'm also not sure it really matters whether he actually meant everything he said or was not himself due to something neurological, because if his neurological issues are going to make him periodically exploit what he knows about me, my past, and my deepest insecurities to hurt me as much as possible then I don't know that I can hang with that. So it comes down to my either having married an(other) irreparable asshole, or being one myself for holding a medical condition against someone who (usually) loves me. Either way I'm sleeping on the couch, which makes my neck hurt, and suffering a serious case of heartbreak, and it really sucks.

now what?

   I think I've applied for every job within feasible travel radius that I am even remotely qualified for. Monster, Snagajob, Craigslist, and the local paper have run out of new ideas for me. I'm still working my ass off for Temp Agency #2, and spoke with Temp Agency #1 today (they found a part-time job I'm qualified for, although I ultimately decided to pass since I need something full-time, either through them or something I find on my own, and this gig would have run mid-May through October...that didn't seem fair to the client since I'd totally bail if I got a full-time offer during that time...I do however have another one-off gig I'm working for them this coming Saturday).

   I'm a little worried about what to wear to job interviews. I've lost twenty-two pounds in the past couple of months so everything is baggy (including my bras--I may be reduced to stuffing for the interview next week), and my roots are pretty heinous but I don't want to spend the money on a box of hair color. Or should I? I don't even know if they'll notice that. 

   Meanwhile back at the ranch, I'm freaking out about the whole "no health insurance" thing. Hotter has Medicare, and the boys are covered by their father's insurance; it's just me with nothing. I've been able to stop taking Nexium without any ill effects as long as I avoid gluten, and I do miss Mirapex, but not enough to pay out of pocket. So it's just Pristiq and Synthroid I'm still on. I can't afford to sign up for an individual plan currently, so everyone cross their fingers that my lungs behave and I don't do any worse than break my stupid toe for the next...however long.

   We have less than $100 to our names, and no end in sight. It's terrifying. A kind friend sent us a box of groceries from Amazon.com, but pretty soon we're going to start running out of things, and I have no idea what we'll do.

   Please post funnies and pick-me-ups in the comments, if you've seen any good ones. I'm trying hard not to succumb to depression right about now and keep telling myself that we've always found a way to manage before, but I'm really worried.

in which WellsFargo kicks us while we're down

   I deposited $300 in cash yesterday, which I withdrew from Hotter's individual account where his disability checks go (why? Because he likes for us to pay $12 in fees every month to withdraw the money from an out-of-state bank at a local ATM, it makes him happy somewhere deep in his soul, to the point that he's willing to fight with me EVERY SINGLE MONTH ABOUT IT), to cover checks I wrote yesterday, and today? Wellsfucking Fargo charged us FOUR overdraft fees, because apparently cash isn't good enough for them and the deposit is still marked as "pending" in their system.
   So I just had the pleasure of breaking down in ugly snotty tears on the phone with Wells Fargo, who initially told me it wasn't their problem, then amended that to "well, how about we refund HALF?" Because hey, great, then Hotter will only reject ONE donor organ and I can maybe feed 1.5 of my kids! I asked them what they were going to do next, come to my house and take my dog? They finally decided to refund three of the four $35 fees, which I guess is good, but when $35 is a third of your total net worth and you don't have any hope of anything coming in any time soon that fucking hurts.
   I hate Wells Fargo. HATE them. I swear, every time I think it can't get any worse, they bend us over and screw us, no lube. And as soon as it stops raining here I'm going to walk to the nearest branch office (yeah, the Beater is...not so good) and close the damn account.
   I...am done. I'm just done. This whole situation is just hopeless. 

yay and boo of the day

YAY: Guess who has two tits and a job interview next week? Okay well technically I have the tits now, but...damn. I ruined it, didn't I?

BOO: Not only did the Hotel California not give me the six hours of PTO I requested a good week before the parting of the ways on my last paycheck, but they also deducted the full cost of two weeks' benefits from my last paycheck...which was dated four days AFTER my last day of employment with them. Fuckers. That kind of took me all the way back down from "Temp Agency #2! Job Interview! WHOO TITS!" to "I'm going to die alone, in a cardboard box under a bridge."

   What are YOUR yays and boos from today?

back

   Okay, so here is the deal now that I am done freaking out about it/going on hiatus.

   I no longer work for the erstwhile Job #1. It's absolutely fucking outrageous how that came to pass, so outrageous in fact that I think I'd better not run my mouth about it on the record, even pseudonymously. There is rather a lot of money at stake in certain...investigations...and I'm going to let that all shake out before I comment in any way. There are stories to tell though, oh yes there are.

   I have filed for Unemployment, but am hoping to have another job in place before I'd receive anything through that (there's a brief waiting period). I have one more paycheck coming, and a couple of bucks on the one after that (but nothing to write home about), and I've picked up work for this Saturday and next Saturday via Temp Agency #1. We're okay for the rent, the electricity, groceries for the next week, and the next bottle of Prograf. After that, I don't know. Hotter's eye surgery, sadly, is canceled, and I have NO idea how I'll afford my Pristiq (Synthroid and Symbicort are cheap and I can go without Mirapex and Nexium, although I'd prefer not to obviously).

   To add to my enjoyment of the above, the MFA Beater has been suffering grave mechanical issues, and was briefly unfuckingdriveable. I almost called out on my last day of work because of it, but managed to flog it downtown. Immediately after the shit hit the fan, I picked up a couple of applications within walking distance of the Hotel California (as we will start calling my now-previous employer), since I was already downtown, then barely got the fucking thing home. In a way this was good, as the workout I got (equivalent to a Stairmaster on low--think LOTS of revving the gas and stomping the clutch) kept me from getting emotional in any way until I was home. Today Hotter took a ratchet set and his feelings outside and rendered the Beater functional again by the skin of its teeth, so that's good.

   What else? Bumpus ran away. He slipped past Big Child, ran outside as if to greet the XY, who was here picking the kids up for dinner visitation, and just kept going. He was MIA for two hours. MICROCHIP YOUR PETS, Y'ALL. Now he's back, mysteriously damp and in need of a bath, and I have fond memories of being screamed at by my ex-husband on my front lawn to mull over when I wake up from tonight's round of nightmares in a cold sweat (yeah, HIIIII ANXIETY DREAMS).

   I'm trying to look on the bright side here. While the circumstances suck, I'm reconnecting with my kids in ways I haven't been able to in months and months due to work obligations. We're eating meals together as a family again, and thanks to the garden and beasts of Squatter Workshop, so far everyone/thing in the household has had enough to eat. If I were capable of timetravel I'd go back and kiss myself, with TONGUE, for getting rabbits. One fluffy-fryer only yields as much human-grade meat as a large commercial chicken breast, but its' giblets and trimmed skeleton yield three days' worth of meat for Isis, who would otherwise be subsisting on supermarket eggs about now (our four geriatric hens only produce enough backyard eggs for human consumption--we keep "dog eggs" in the fridge and crack one into each bowl of kibble we serve Bumpus to encourage him to eat more and help keep weight on him) given that she's a speshul preshus snowflake who's allergic to grains (including rice--WTF, ISIS?). So that's good. And finally, while I will miss those amazing benefits forever, working for the Hotel California was starting to take a toll on my mental health, and had been for a while. I won't go so far as to say I'm glad their underhandedness and illegal machinations forced a parting of the ways, but I'll admit to a certain amount of relief that it's OVER.

   Also, while life is sucking a fat one currently, I have some truly amazing friends, who have plied me with funny animal pictures and ratchet extensions, YA lit for my Kindle via Amazon and grocery money via PayPal (ain't technology grand?), sound advice and commiseration. Thanks for being awesome, everyone. Y'all know who you are.

   This too shall pass, like a kidney stone, slow and painful. ONWARD!

   And how are all of YOU?

 

in sum

Figure One: Via @SatanInSingSing on the Twitter.

hiatus

Things won't be getting better any time soon after all. Hotter and the boys are fine, and eventually I will be, too, but things are about to get really, really hard financially, and I just...can't. I'll be back when I have nice things to say again.

what would you do?

   I have some dilemmas, and thought I would crowd-source them because sometimes y'all are wiser than I am about things:

I. Hotter's eye surgery. Do I cancel it because we are broke as a joke, or forge ahead because 1) VISION and 2) if things keep going as poorly as they are at work I may not have this excellent insurance coverage for long. My knee-jerk reaction was FUCK NO WE ARE NOT CANCELING IT but am I being stupid about it/making this harder than it needs to be?

II. Big Child's birthday. It's in six days, and we're still going to be overdrawn, and I don't know what to do. I can PROBABLY bake a cake with what we have on-hand, so there's that, but as far as gifts go...not so much. Do I 1) talk to him about it, explain things, and let him choose a gift that I will buy after we're back in the black or 2) _________ (I don't know--ideas?). He will be twelve.

III. Work. Things at my job...could be going better. Today there is a mandatory meeting wherein Management will address something monumentally shitty they've done to every single person in my department (in essence they have given everyone a huge paycut in a way that may or may not even be legal). A lot of my co-workers plan to quit on the spot if the meeting goes poorly. I am not that rash, but do I 1) hang tight at all costs, because BENEFITS and hey, this is my chance to really ingratiate myself with The Powers That Be or 2) take the time and energy away from the rest of my life to actively begin searching for something new and hopefully less shady?

dominos

   So the field trip check that I wrote bounced after all, because my ex is a douche and paid the child support late, which cost us one overdraft fee, and now there'll be another for the $30 check for THAT (online banking means you can watch your life implode in real-time, and see the charges BEFORE the fees hit), and that means the three pending charges will EACH generate another $35 fee, and the bottom line is that we are never, ever going to get out of this hole. $175. Just in fees. JUST SO FAR. I keep thinking we're allllmost back to good and then BOOM.

   And Big Child's birthday is in one week, and there's nothing coming in before that.

   There's nothing coming in for over a week, and I'm going to need gas to keep going back and forth to work before then, and we're almost out of milk, and people insist on eating three times a day, and we need prescriptions filled, and a wrench-extender thingy to install the new sparkplugs I bought before this happened, and lunch foods for Wednesday's accursed fucking field trip...

   I feel like I'm going to throw up.