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For starters, I've been up since 4:30 yesterday afternoon. I was up til about 4, writing something that will be read by maybe two people, if I'm lucky, because nobody seems to give a toss. I finally decided the thankless task could wait.
I tried to catch a nap, because I have a movie on the schedule with GK later (Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again!). Too cold, couldn't sleep (76F in the room and I had two blankets on of me). Finally got up, pulled on something warm and picked up my phone to set a playlist...found instead a text from GK saying, "YOU have less than one month to obtain a handicapped parking permit or you'll be sitting on the grass for the Lindsay Sterling show".
The old pass expired--I have the paperwork for the new one filled out (by the doctor who retired), in a folder, last seen sometime BEFORE the living room was cleaned. No sign of it now, and I've been going around in circles for hours looking. And GK, who dropped this little bombshell, is going to be gone for most of the month due to 2nd son going off to college--they're taking him there--followed immediately by a family wedding on the opposite coast. Subtract from the remaining time her dandy new job and her volunteer work-for-swag at the Balloon Fiesta office. This stinks suspiciously like one of her "Do this yourself, it's good for you!" schemes. Except that in the interim, I have a total of FIVE different medical-type appointments, including another go-round of extractions. And yet somehow, if I *can't* find the damn paperwork, she expects me to go collect another one from Dr. Bitch and go file it at the MVD. Jesus wept.
Wait, it gets better! Yesterday evening I noticed a missed call from the Bariatric Clinic. So I sat down and called them in between hunting for that bloody folder, thinking oh good, I can get scheduled, hooray. As if. No, the nice lady had two pieces of news for me, ONE, that the nice doctor I'd met and liked is retiring (ANOTHER ONE?! WTF?!) and TWO, that they're showing my secondary insurance as family planning only. At which point I damn near had an aneurysm. And, because it's been more than a month, they also want me to have a visit with my counselor.
She promised to look into it and call me back while I checked the exact date and time of one of those multitudinous appointments...I did, AND had yet another look around for that stupid folder while I was waiting. No joy.
She called back, someone had entered my insurance incorrectly. Oopsie! Apparently family planning was added to my coverage for some unfathomable reason, but they had it as f.p. only. *eyeroll*
So at this point, I have less than two hours to sleep if I *could* sleep...I am very tempted to say to hell with the movie and drag her in here when she arrives to help me find the gorram thing, since dollars to donuts it's she who put it wherever it is. Because otherwise, it's going to be about three weeks before I get another chance....
So in short, I'm feeling overwhelmed, underappreciated and very tired.
I hope someday, after my successful surgery, after I've lost a fuck-ton of weight, when I'm feeling better and there are fewer catastrophes competing for my attention, that I'll be able to look back on today and laugh. Or better yet, forget it completely.
10:25 a.m., ETA: Ha! Found the fucker! No idea how it got to where I found it, and I *still* haven't found the notebook I thought it was in, but that's one last thing to stew about.
...
I tried to catch a nap, because I have a movie on the schedule with GK later (Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again!). Too cold, couldn't sleep (76F in the room and I had two blankets on of me). Finally got up, pulled on something warm and picked up my phone to set a playlist...found instead a text from GK saying, "YOU have less than one month to obtain a handicapped parking permit or you'll be sitting on the grass for the Lindsay Sterling show".
The old pass expired--I have the paperwork for the new one filled out (by the doctor who retired), in a folder, last seen sometime BEFORE the living room was cleaned. No sign of it now, and I've been going around in circles for hours looking. And GK, who dropped this little bombshell, is going to be gone for most of the month due to 2nd son going off to college--they're taking him there--followed immediately by a family wedding on the opposite coast. Subtract from the remaining time her dandy new job and her volunteer work-for-swag at the Balloon Fiesta office. This stinks suspiciously like one of her "Do this yourself, it's good for you!" schemes. Except that in the interim, I have a total of FIVE different medical-type appointments, including another go-round of extractions. And yet somehow, if I *can't* find the damn paperwork, she expects me to go collect another one from Dr. Bitch and go file it at the MVD. Jesus wept.
Wait, it gets better! Yesterday evening I noticed a missed call from the Bariatric Clinic. So I sat down and called them in between hunting for that bloody folder, thinking oh good, I can get scheduled, hooray. As if. No, the nice lady had two pieces of news for me, ONE, that the nice doctor I'd met and liked is retiring (ANOTHER ONE?! WTF?!) and TWO, that they're showing my secondary insurance as family planning only. At which point I damn near had an aneurysm. And, because it's been more than a month, they also want me to have a visit with my counselor.
She promised to look into it and call me back while I checked the exact date and time of one of those multitudinous appointments...I did, AND had yet another look around for that stupid folder while I was waiting. No joy.
She called back, someone had entered my insurance incorrectly. Oopsie! Apparently family planning was added to my coverage for some unfathomable reason, but they had it as f.p. only. *eyeroll*
So at this point, I have less than two hours to sleep if I *could* sleep...I am very tempted to say to hell with the movie and drag her in here when she arrives to help me find the gorram thing, since dollars to donuts it's she who put it wherever it is. Because otherwise, it's going to be about three weeks before I get another chance....
So in short, I'm feeling overwhelmed, underappreciated and very tired.
I hope someday, after my successful surgery, after I've lost a fuck-ton of weight, when I'm feeling better and there are fewer catastrophes competing for my attention, that I'll be able to look back on today and laugh. Or better yet, forget it completely.
10:25 a.m., ETA: Ha! Found the fucker! No idea how it got to where I found it, and I *still* haven't found the notebook I thought it was in, but that's one last thing to stew about.
...