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[personal profile] vanillafluffy
It just keeps getting better--if, by "better" you mean epic levels of suckage.

Last night, I managed to take a chunk out of the side of my foot. I didn't feel a thing, thanks to the peripheral neuropathy, and only noticed what I'd done when I realized I was bleeding all over the bathroom floor. Aspirin regimen? Thank you, Dr. B.--my blood is indeed well-thinned.

I managed to drop my phone and crack the already has issues. This didn't help. And because it's three generations old, there's really not a lot I can do about it, especially without help (IE, going to a repair facility, because I'm NOT NOT NOT letting GK near it, not after she killed my Nook trying to fix the battery). It's a minor crack up in one corner, but it makes me anxious anyway, because I'm afraid it's The Beginning Of The End.

Remember the biz with my meds yesterday? Well, since I was supposed to have a different doctor's appointment today, and I'd never gotten a confirmation number from the insurance-transport people, I figured I'd better CALL them and see what was what. I set an alarm for 8 a.m. and rang them up..."No, we don't show anything for you in the system, you're listed as 'Inactive'." Grrr. So I canceled the appointment, which truth be told, I wasn't feeling up for anyway.

Couldn't got back to sleep. Got up. Had breakfast. Napped for a couple hours, did laundry between crying jags. Lately I start crying at everything and nothing.

I'm so eternally frustrated; I'm stuck here, GK acts like I'm asking for a kidney every time I need to go shopping or to pick up a scrip...I knew when I came back here that I wouldn't see her as often as when we were living together, and when I was out in the Valley, I was resigned to sightings being few and far between. But here? Six miles is NOT the dark side of the moon, I figured two or three times a week was reasonable--but apparently *she* thinks otherwise. Yes, I thought I'd be taking buses, and until I got sick, I *was* walking back and forth to Walmart. Now, though, I'm not doing that well, and I need some help. Which, when I get it is scant and grudging. And then she starts asking if I've called X about Y, and what have I found out about Z, and I stare blankly at her and she goes off. She calls it "being proactive", I call it, "If it's such a big ddamn deal, why don't you do it?"--and sometimes she does, but there's no discernable pattern--it's like being gas-lighted sometimes, I swear to god.

Then there's this place, which is...disappointing it the kindest word for it. Remember how happy I was about my shiny new linoleum tiles? I should know by now, you get what you pay for. (I was so pleased that I actually liked a pattern that was "just" 69 cents!) Well, they're shit. They don't adhere well, the edges and corners ride up and they're brittle, so they chip--I'm pretty sure one of those rough edges is what tore up my foot--and while I can replace the chipped tiles, there's absolutely no way I can tear them all out and start over. That, plus all the boxes, and the mess on the porch, and all the projects that GK keeps saying we're going to do--AT THE SAME TIME that she's telling me Thursdays and Fridays are the only days when she may have time for me...and the kids have summer school...and she may be moving again....

In the middle of crying, I keep sobbing, "I want to go home!". Part of me is homesick for my old place, although by now, I would've ended up on the street because I was out of money and people to borrow from. And I miss Mb and SBJB something rotten. But really, it isn't so much Florida I miss. I own this place, but it doesn't feel like home, it's that simple. It's a goddamned shoebox crammed with boxes and sheets on the windows and the walls are closing in. And the only people who have my back is you guys, it feels like, and while your love and support are crucial, I would sell my grandmother for someone to hug on a regular basis.

So there you have it. A perfect shitstorm, a tornado of turds, a hurricane of guano.

Hope your lives are better....

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