November 14, 2016
I had some thoughts about money but they’re hiding under my sadness right now. I’m still heartsick by the elevation of someone who is supremely unqualified to the office of the President.
I don’t disagree that politics as usual has been terrible for some parts of the country nor that we haven’t done nearly enough to address those ills. Some of my dear friends live in those economically depressed areas and I’ve spent a fair bit of time in medium-small towns, enough to see how wholly devastating it would be when the primary source of employment shuts down and leaves you with next to no choices. And I have tons of firsthand knowledge of how much being poor in America sucks. And because I understand all that, I particularly can’t see why anyone thought that DT would actually do anything to fix that. He’s certainly the brick through the window of the Washington establishment, I can understand a resentment running so deep that you’d do anything to express it. Remember my dad? But then what? If you’re wielding a vote to Show Them, should you be putting your vote into the bucket of a con man? Is he really the guy who’s going to help your problems? Or is he going to carry on blustering about unconstitutional changes to make it seem like he’s addressing your resentments? He’s a reality show host, a failed businessman who by his own admission hasn’t paid taxes in many years so hey when you wonder why we can’t afford to properly educate our kids he’s part of that problem. He’s all about flash and celebrity. What could possibly pass for a reason to have faith that this person would actually address that which ails the working poor? When I was holding down three jobs, and sick, with a sick grandmother at home, tended by a sick mom, and an unemployed dad, things were pretty damn tough. I didn’t love where the Bush economy went and I struggled mightily under Bush policies. There weren’t enough hours in the day to cover the bills. I for damn sure couldn’t afford health insurance for my family and if I was no longer able to work, there was absolutely no way I was going to get insurance coverage or have the means to live a marginally useful or tolerable life. At any time during those years, had someone proposed DT as an answer, I still might have just thrown up on them.
Note that I am aware that HRC is an imperfect choice. But guess what? Any career politician would have been. It’s the result of having spent your life in public service that you have a record to be judged by. When has DT ever served in the government or military? Half my family is military. I was military bound as a teen, if my body hadn’t betrayed me.
All that said, I’m not going to say “not my president”. I’m not going to say he IS because I’m not there yet either and I may never be but I’m not going to do what Obama haters were doing all eight years either. If the American experiment is to stay alive, if we are to continue to have a peaceful transfer of power, we have to respect the process even if I cannot respect the man. Not that I could blame anyone who is saying that because part of my soul is still hollering NO NO NOPE.
We have midterms in two years. We need to work towards breaking the stranglehold in Congress. I don’t say this as a Democrat, I say this as a thinking person who doesn’t think it’s good for either party to hold all three branches of government, no matter who it is. That’s too close to absolute power for my comfort.
My grandparents witnessed the rise of fascism and communism, my parents lived to escape it and gave us a shot at better lives here. Now I hold my child close as I observe an awful lot of parallels between DT’s rise to power and Hitler’s: rising to win the election by preying on unrest and discontent, fomenting hatred, making sweeping claims to make the country great again. There are plenty more if you’re looking. It’s enough to give this history student the shakes. “…make the trains run on time”, indeed.
Edited to add
Nicole and Maggie published this today, and it’s timely considering what I’ve been wondering we need to do: Getting an oxygen mask on: Protecting oneself monetarily
And while I’m working on that in the background, as much I can without tipping over my boat, I’m reaching out to metaphorically squeeze a shoulder, tell a friend I’m here for them, tell another friend I’m thinking of them and promise to help in any way I can. I need these bright spots of positive to help me deal with the dark.
September 18, 2012
It’s Day Four of narcotics. Narcotics that my doctors dole out as soon as I ask for them because they have no answers for me, because they know I’m not kidding, because they know I don’t ask lightly and because they know I’m not at risk for drug abuse, I practically never use them.
Because steroids don’t work, because every physical therapy has been tried, because every other avenue has been tried, because I grit and bear it every single day of my life. Because I don’t have any other options but to suck. it. up. And hour after hour, I live in pain. And unless it is literally paralyzing, blinding, cut my damn throat now please pain, I don’t take narcotics.
And it’s Day Four of the narcotics.
The thing is, they don’t work like you’d think they do. They’re no picnic. They don’t just magically smooth the pain away like a silk glove, they don’t make the world a happy shiny floaty glowy place. It’s not an All Better for two, four or six hours pill. They make me barfy, they make my hearing go in and out, they give me cotton mouth, I get dizzy or fuzz-brained or talk funny, they make parts of me numb or more sensitive or any number of crap odd things. The more I take, the worse it gets. It does, usually, take the edge off the worst of the pain. And when your pain is so screamingly bad that none of the regular medication can even dent it, it’s worth the side effects.
My god, I want my body back. Every day, I’m grateful I can walk, I’m grateful I can talk, I’m grateful if I can raise my arms or hold a pen, bend my knee or sit cross legged, I’m grateful I can earn a living and take care of myself, and my family and friends and I can finally walk my dog again.
Like this commenter TPP said,
your health situation seems to fall under the “mild” spectrum. There is no doubt that getting out of bed, pushing through long work days, and taking walks are difficult, but the bottom line is, you are able to do it with willpower.
To some degree, yes, that is right. So I am so incredibly grateful that I can get out of bed, when I can. Absolutely. And so thankful to have been able to get as far as I have.
At 21, I was terrified that I would be a bedridden cripple by this birthday. And every time I am bedridden for days and weeks, I wonder, how long, this time? Will this be it?
I deliberately set several goals for my 30th birthday, fearing that if I didn’t get it done by now, I would never be able to reach for them again at my rate of deterioration. Honestly? It wasn’t totally unwarranted.
This weekend triggered those feelings in full force.
I was assured on this very blog, back then, by a very dear friend not to lose hope because medicine would continue to advance, much as my condition might. She was not wrong, but though medicine might have made progress, I still have no real diagnosis. Though I’ve pursued far more help in the past few years than in the preceding 17 years because I was so put off by doctors telling me my condition was all in my head and there was nothing to be done, I’m still nowhere with the medical profession.
So this week, I find I’m so far past the end of my rope, with this nonsense which wasn’t solely about the dog, but really from the offhanded selfish attitude that I don’t matter except in the context that their business is tended to. I’m done with family, and definitely not depending on them for support. I’m nowhere with them.
I certainly give freely but on my terms. Especially when there’s never reciprocation – I never require reciprocation for my gifts but there is absolutely an end to this well.
Damn it. I Want My Body Back. I want to feel right again. I want to feel true to myself again. I want to set my feet on the ground and trust in the stability of the earth, like an athlete again. I want to feel the wind blowing past, love the sun on my face, on my arms and legs and back and stretch my muscles and feel the burning of exertion, not the burning of pain, like a shame of failure and weakness, again. I want to blow it all out on the track, sprinting for all I’m worth, knowing that I can throw myself on the ground and catch my breath again the same day, not three weeks from now.
I wrote this a while ago, out of frustration, never sure if I wanted to share it because it feels ungrateful because I did at least once have this, but I don’t mean it as a complaint. I can miss all I’ve lost while still appreciating all that I do have in my life right now.
This is just apt right now.
**********
I want my body back
Morning.
Joints, roll call.
Who is fit for duty?
Roll call.
Start at the bottom: locked in rigor.
Toes are swollen. All of them.
Needs ice.
Top of the foot.
Needs heat.
Don’t turn that ankle.
Needs compression.
No weight on that hip.
Needs more heat.
Spine’s tweaked.
Needs adjusting.
Can’t raise your arm, that shoulder’s real messed up. Wrists are out of it today.
Don’t breathe so hard, ribs are gonna burst, tear or something.
Chest is compressed, don’t lean forward.
*blink*
Fingers are cracking. That’s kinda gross.
Who’s fit for duty? Anyone?
Neck’s only half bad.
No headache.
Left side’s mostly in commission. Elbow’s busted up but …
Today’s a good day, then.
What was it like again, once upon a time?
I want my body back
Leaning backwards and forwards, hefting and running
Lithe and sweat, burning and all
Punching and kicking, stretching, breaking, building, leaping, again!
Give me twenty.
Give me another.
Another,
Another,
Again!
Tip at the waist, keep your back straight, keep your center of balance low.
Reach further, further, breathe out, reach further.
That hurt? Good.
You’re not trying hard enough til that sweat burns your eyes.
Laughing,
Driving,
Comradery
in the pursuit of perfection.
I want my body back
Brushing a coat, picking out hooves, saddling up,
all rituals and bonding
Sitting a seat, a rider’s seat, a true rider, not a passenger, long years away,
reins in hand,
Hands behind your back,
Back straight,
Shoulders back,
Knees bent,
Heels down,
Head up,
Move with your horse.
Use your weight, shift your body, not your hands,
Fly!
I want my body back
Pick up your pace, pick up your knees, higher, higher, higher
In your nose, out through your mouth,
Elbows close to your sides, like blades,
Work it, work, work,
Exhilaration.
I want my body back
Warm cuddles,
Tiny fingers, little toes,
Perky nose and microscopic eyelashes.
Yes, I’m your aunty, no, I can’t keep you. I
think your mommy would miss you.
But a piggyback ride home would be the best way
to get home, don’t you think?
After we climb that tree and catch that cat,
and teach you how to play one
more
game.
I want my body back.
**********
June 21, 2012
Every time SingleMa tweets travel deals, or StackingPennies finds another awesome trip package, my heart leaps and sinks.
We just had a lovely time in March, aside from catching a horrible bug that lasted nearly three weeks, and already I’m ready for another getaway.
Why?
This is in large part a reaction to the ramped up stresses of other areas of my life. I had high expectations for work-life balance out of the promotion and just when I was digging into the new responsibilities, the position, and the support, a professional hipcheck sent that into a complete tailspin. Thanks.
Not ready to get into all that right now, but the upshot is my brain keeps thinking about places not here. The extra stress has my teeth literally on edge and my body so reactive with nonstop pain that I’m going with it, mentally. Travel is the lie I tell myself for sanity’s sake.
Where to?
At first, I was yearning after an introduction to Barcelona and Paris even though my Spanish is now atrocious and French is non-existent.
Then, Fab Fru-Gal’s jaunt to Italy reignited my love for the country and all the delectable foods.
Katherine’s travels to Tokyo Part 1 and Part 2 and Kyoto booted Japan back into the top Want to Go There Someday List.
When?
Any and all these places would be fantastic but scheduling has become more rather complicated these days. I think we’re going international, at least 3000 miles away, next year for about 4-7 days for a wedding.
A comic convention is still on the table, despite the fact that I may or may not be able to get tickets for SDCC next year (!!) We are still absolutely committed to continuing my tradition of going to a convention because no one wants to see my heart break completely.
Add to those bigger bits the usual routine travels to see the family and vacation budgeting of time and money gets tricky. And call me sentimental but leaving Doggle for too long starts to make me sad too. It helps when we are seeing people with dogs but I much prefer to have our very own pup staring us in the face morning and night. I’m getting a wee bit of an inkling of what it’s like to have a child.
And so, I simply dream.
Where would you go, if you could just GO footloose and fancy-free?
January 30, 2012
It’s been weeks of waiting, though not with bated breath which brings back memories of an awful man who punned “baited breath har har” and thought he was terribly funny when he was only terrible.
Waiting for the next shoe to drop ….
Waiting for decisions to be made ….
Waiting to make my next move….
Waiting….
There was life to live these many weeks, one day after the next, and so much to do in the name of survival but most of the time it all felt very much a hidden game of suspense. I didn’t know what to call it at the time, but I was, the whole time, admonishing myself not to play to any perceived or imagined result during this waiting game.
Just a week and some days ago, one of the few people I felt free to speak to in some way about this asked after my progress when I had reached my Zen state and he was astonished that I wasn’t fretting over the length of time I’d spent waiting.
But having progressed to the next stage of waiting, I’m sharing the fact that I’m waiting. For a thing. I can’t say for what publicly until I have a result – that’s just my rule, I can only say that I am.
I’m not worried, precisely. I’m not afraid of the results whichever way they go, I’m just waiting to see what develops from here. It’s a strange place, this.
October 17, 2011
I’m /headdesking/ so hard right now. I’ve made a huge mistake.
Back in June, we combined cell phone plans and I took over the financial responsibility for all four phones. Our family plan share 1000 minutes and unlimited text messages. It’s been a few months, and between having unlimited mobile to mobile minutes, and not using a ton of daytime minutes, we were fine on that plan. Since 250 daytime minutes isn’t much per person, I normally use Google Voice on my computer during the week for domestic calls to keep my minute use down as well, so that helps.
I let myself get complacent on this last billing cycle and didn’t check in, not even once, on it. And I’m paying dearly for that inattention.
PiC and I went way over our minute allotment. Shockingly over. I can’t even believe how much. On top of that, my mom’s phone listed five charges for Premium Services; those junk charges you get hit with because of any number of spammy services that sink their hooks into you the second you respond to their junk texts or however they do it. Well, they got my mom. Five of them, over two days, at $9.99 per.
For my part, I think my transgressions were the worst during two weeks out of the billing cycle,when I was sick at home, working most of the time. I was taking regular and conference calls on my cell phone instead for no good reason. !!!!
PiC went double on his allotment as well but I don’t even have the patience to see why. I just told him about the bill and left it at that.
*For the record: my parents were at or under their minute allotment of 250 mins/each. Only PiC and I went over ours. And considering we can log in online or check our minute usage via our phones or online??? UGH. Inexcusable carelessness.*
T-Mobile’s complying with my request to remove the Premium Charges and block any incoming charge texts for a month for free via a free trial of the Family Allowance service, but that’s going to take a couple months to remove $50. The remaining $400 is on me because I noticed too late to change the billing plan to a higher rate/minutes package – you have to do that during the billing cycle.
I can’t even tell you how hard I’m kicking myself. I haven’t seen a bill this big since the days of idiot brother yore, before I removed all long distance capability and stopped paying any cell phone bills for him back home.
This drives me crazy, not just because of the enormity of the bill itself. It’s also because of the way we’re currently handling our finances.
I’ve been dancing on a tightrope where PiC and I share but don’t share. We split but don’t split expenses. We’ve been discussing ways and means of combining but since I won’t do that until we get married, I live in financial purgatory where I’m only partly in control of some things, totally of others, and not at all in still others. It’s driving me a little crazy and making me careless. Careless enough for my hands to have slipped off the reins when they shouldn’t have.
There’s a vague sense that I knew this was coming. Not this specific thing but that some sort of financial issue was looming because of our laissez faire compromise style of management. Because I wasn’t controlling every last detail myself. And because of that vague sense that something, somewhere, was going to go wrong sometime, I’ve been trying to force all aspects of my life into financial order, still without imposing myself on everything. Like a bit of a manic fool, I’ve been paranoically looking over all the things I do control and trying to not to miss anything but worrying about all the things I can’t fix. Just like I used to do in the bad old days when I was paying the bills for my family but not actually in charge of them. Awful, in other words.
There’s an actual solution for this, you know. We could actually combine finances. Or set up a real system. This idiot’s excuse for a process was bound to crack, or I was. It was just a matter of time and a fool’s bet which went first.
April 25, 2010
It’s meant to be my supremely lazy Sunday by which the following are banned from my list of Things To Do: no cooking, cleaning, laundry or other chores.
Instead, SO kindly scribed the following stress-free suggestions for consideration:
– Buy a cardigan for the office; these bones would greatly appreciate extra warmth, p’rhaps a parka?
– Go out for brunch; there are a few folks about the area I coulda shoulda called up
– Massage; medical necessity, actually
– Reconnoiter the local garage sales on Craigslist
– Check out the Martin and Osa sales online
– Use the BOGO coupon at Jamba Juice
It’s a cute idea, but right now my idea of destressing actually includes: not spending money, not leaving the apartment, and catching up on work. Taking out all the housework is splendid though I will pay for it later.
It seems nonsensical, but hear me out. At least one-third of my stress is powered up by the knowledge that I have a million things to do and bills to pay. The balancing act of living frugally and earning “enough” is precarious and altogether draining. As it is, just not pre-cooking for the week would have me in knots if I weren’t at least well ahead of the game on one freelance project after logging hours yesterday evening.
Thanks in no small part to rising early (another abnormality when I’ve got any choice about it), today has been both semi-productive yet restful. There’s a banana nut cake with extra walnuts cooling on the stove, some leftover Indian food warming in the oven, and not an unmanageable amount of work slated for today.
I haven’t watched any TV yet (Serenity! Battlestar Galactica! Dr. Who! White Collar! Bones!) this weekend, but if I wrap up at least another project by mid-afternoon, I could still squeeze in a geekfest. After I defrost the chicken, that is. A girl has got to eat something, sometime this week.
Bonus Question: should I trek out for this week’s coupons and a few bags of Trader Joe’s pretzels for work? I need carbs to get through the day.
May 27, 2009
Just when it seemed like things were moving along swimmingly, I got the following notices in quick succession last week:
WAMU Investments: My rolled-over account is still alive, with 2 cents in it.
Ugh! Is it unreasonable that I just want m’darned account closed for good? No. No it’s not. Not long after the letter arrived, I saw that the brokerage account had been converted to a Chase account. Maybe I can get the two cents applied to my credit card balance. 😛
Citibank: My CD expired on May 15th and I have to call or send a letter via postal mail to make arrangements.
Why can’t I just log into my account and click on a box that says: cash out my CD! or Rollover! The CD department had the nerve to question my cashing it out saying, “we have excellent interest rates, and you won’t be earning nearly as much interest in your checking account.”
Uh, I’m not an idiot. I’m not leaving that money in my checking account, duh, and your interest rates are Not Nearly Awesome Enough. Hmph! I was perhaps a little huffier than the situation called for since I was in no mood to hear a sales pitch.
Prudential: A letter in the mail stated that they never received my long-form and that my application was being closed. Lies! I’d already gotten a letter from my employer stating that my increased life insurance was approved and in effect. But I called anyway to be sure, and found that sure enough, my policy is in force. Chalk another one up for wasting my time.
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Emigrant Direct: In a fit of pique, I started to transfer all my money out. Except it gets marginally more interest (0.05%) than ING Direct, and they’ve both peeved me something special with their blockage of Yodlee. So I guess most of that money can stay put. But I feel like locking up about 10K in a CD at 2.25% APY. No, it’s not great, but it’s a full percentage point above my Citi savings accounts.
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Today’s the day. Y’know. The Day.