Sunday, October 9, 2016

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures, and Vera

Desperate.  That's pretty much the word I'm looking for to describe my current state of being.

And just how long did that take you to figure that out?  Oh, nice new deco, by the way.

A couple of minutes ago.  And thank you, Dear Reader.

You're welcome.  Now, aren't you supposed to be in mourning or some shit?

I am.

Then why the hell are you online, posting up all kinds of sad stuff?

Um, because it's my blog, you goof.

Yeah, yeah I know.  Isn't there something good you can talk about?

Well, it is the Ten Days.  I'm in a shiva period.  I constantly bitch about my poor financial choices and not being held by someone so I can extract my pain through eye water.  What more do you want?

A rainbow butterfly unicorn kitten.  Because you definitely need one of those.

Heh, that and a million dollars.

I can't help you with the million dollars.

Figures.  Seems like nobody wants to help me anymore.

Now why do you say that, Vera?

For starters, I canned case manager #2 and the organization she worked for.  I'm sick and tired of being played by folks who think they can take advantage of me.

And because Monday is a federally recognized holiday, I won't be able to do shit until Tuesday at the earliest.  For example, I need to notify my county case worker that I no longer have a case manager on my behalf.

Have you ever thought that, maybe, you're being too hard on them and yourself?

No.  They're lucky I'm not suing for gross negligence of my time.

If professionals do not want to work with me, fine; say so.  Don't leave me fucking hanging out to dry in the cold air.

I'm done dealing with assholes.  If, for some reason, my health insurance dictates how I get treated by these folks, then I'm better off being an agoraphobic recluse living in the Hocking Hills.

Life is not fair, Vera.

Yeah, I know.  Time for me not to be fair, either.

I wouldn't go that far.  You just keep putting your name in "perseverance," and you will do just fine.

Heh, right now I'm a fucking union break from persevering.

And if that's not enough, earlier in the week I found out that my former roommate from 2008-2009 has breast cancer.  Yesterday I was told by a mutual friend that my former roommate's prognosis is pretty bad; the cancer was also spotted in numerous places on her brain.  She now waits to hear if the cancer has spread to her liver and lungs.

She's only 37 for fuck's sake.  My heart aches for her because she is an amazing writer with a sweet and caring personality.  She should not be worrying about whether or not she will make it to 40.

Hell, I would trade places with her if it meant she could live somewhat of a better life.

Again, Vera.  Life is not fair.

And?  What's your point, Dear Reader?

Don't let your friend's troubles become your troubles.  Let your friend deal with what she needs to deal with.  You, my friend, deal with what you need to deal with.  Like being Mixter Broke Azz.

Fair enough.  I do have a homework assignment from the psychologist that I must complete before I see him again.  But with one of my credit sources going over by $14 (thanks in part to a ginormous interest fee I didn't see becoming that large), I now have to scramble back to a payday loan and hope for the best come Tuesday.  I may not see my psychologist again until November or even December.

To say that I hate myself is a fucking got damn understatement right now.

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