Unprotected
[I did have this password protected. I don't know why I decided to take the password off, and maybe later it will be back on. So, getcher drama while you can! Comments are off because, well, if no one commented I'd probably get freaked out, thinking no one cares about me (yes, I'm mental), and if people did comment saying "suck it up" or "it'll be okay" I'd be all "How do you KNOW it will?" which is... well, mental.]
Do you know what? I hate that I am so whiny. I hate it. That’s why I password these– because I hate myself for all the self-pity I’m putting out there. I know this is nobody’s fault but my own. I KNOW. And I hate myself for this all happening. And I want to write it down somewhere and I hate myself. Hmm, have I said that enough times? This stuff is just my knee-jerk reaction, whining about my life, pity-party stuff. I will hopefully get over it soon.
Okay. So. We are poor. No, seriously. The type of poor where we may be homeless soon. We can’t ask our parents for help, because hey, our parents are also not rich (my dad’s on medical insurance since his heart thing and that’s barely enough to support my parents, Rob’s parents aren’t employed at the moment). Rob is working, but that is barely enough to keep us in food, and pay a bill now and then– we haven’t been able to pay March’s rent yet, and here it is nearly April.
So today I called my insurance company to see what was holding them up. They’ll have a decision for me around April 24th.
April 24th.
Fuck.
Our electricity will be shut off soon. Our cell phone has already been shut off, and our phone-phone is coming soon, I’m sure. We’ve already gotten a first warning from the apartment people saying that we’re late on the rent for March (duh) and that they have the right to kick us out if we’re late twice, which we will be, come April 1st. Great to know. I’d sell stuff on eBay, but I really haven’t got anything to sell that would bring more than $10 total. Unless someone out there wants to pay to see a bald lady crying — that might be entertaining.
Rob is so stressed that he doesn’t sleep at night. I’m so stressed and guilty-feeling about his stress that neither do I. I know it’s my fault, and even though Rob tells me to let it go, that it’s not my fault, it IS, and I feel incredibly guilty. Why did I get sick? Why is it taking me so long to get better? I know I’ll be going back to work in May and that is great, but I am not ready to go back now, so it’s a matter of sacrificing my mental health or living in a box. So yes, I hate myself.
I tell all this to the insurance people (well, the bill part, not the not-sleeping part). They tell me there’s nothing they can do to hurry it up. I know it’s my fault for not being on it sooner. I KNOW. But that doesn’t help me now. I mean, we need, like, $1000 to just get by right now. That’s without food, without medication, without gas for the car. Fuck. Off. Me.
I’ve fantasized about a million ways of getting the money but I wouldn’t make a good bank robber and no matter how many times I try, I doubt that anyone’s just going to be like “Hey, Louise, you look like a really nice person. Thanks for telling me that my shoe was untied. Here’s $100″, let alone having it happen ten times in one day. I’m worthless. I hate money. Fuck-a-doodle-doo.
Hee, I said a lot of f-words. I am going to go wallow in pity and lie in bed for awhile before I try to figure out what to do about all this.