Happy Birthday, Victoria!

Today is my little kitty's birthday. She is 6 years old. I think this makes her middle-aged in cat years, but that hasn't dampened her spirits. She spent the first few minutes after midnight happily chasing her tail around in the middle of living room floor like a kitten. She is my pride and joy and a never-ending source of entertainment. She's also, at times, a little fuzzy monster with a propensity for biting, clawing, and breaking things. It depends on the mood she's in. But, most of the time, she's my little angel. There's nothing more pleasant or comforting on a tough day than to curl up on the couch with a good book and a purring cat. So, today I'm grateful that I have her with me. Happy Birthday, Vicky!

Fog

For weeks, I felt like I was alone in a small dark room with a broken flashlight. It was a familiar room, but lonely. I could hear the voices of the people I care about, but I couldn't see them. I couldn't find a window or a door to open to let the light in, afraid to move lest I stumble and fall over something unseen in the dark. Then a door was opened slightly for me, and I could see a little glimmer of soft light shining through the crack. In that light, I could begin distinguishing the features of the room I've trapped myself in. Surrounded by my past mistakes and fears and unsure of what lies ahead for me, I tried to slowly make my way toward the door, cautious not to stumble over some unseen fear or disguised mistake left undiscovered in this dim little room.

Since that door was opened, I have been wandering around in a fog. I'm here, but not quite all there, if you get what I mean. I go to work, but I don't really feel like I'm there. I get the work done, but it feels like someone else is doing it. I just seem to be going through the motions of my life. I'm neither happy, nor sad...I just exist. It's a strange place to be in, but I've been here before as well. I'm glad for the reprieve from the sadness that has clouded most of the winter for me, for the light that has pierced the darkness of my room ever so slightly, but I still feel lost and confused. Although I am exhausted all the time and dizzy some of the time, I am hopeful that the medication I've started on will help open the door to my little room wider and flood it with the warmth and sunlight that seemed like a distant memory not too long ago. Maybe someday soon I will find the peace I seek.

Loans

I have been struggling for the last 3 months to get IDAPP, my loan company, to stop sending me notices of delinquency. I'm still registered in school. I have been for the last 3 years and therefore shouldn't have to pay anything until I get my degree, and yet they still keep sending me notices. I've called and complained 3 times, and each time they tell me it's been taken care of. I've had the school call them even. Then, Sunday I finally decided to open my mail from Friday only to find that IDAPP had sent yet another notice, this one reporting me to a credit bureau. Given the rest of the debt that I'm trying to pay down, a threat of more debt problems or legal action is just beyond frustrating. How many more phone calls do I have to make? I'm trying to get an education here! Why can't these people just get their shit together before they destroy what little of a credit rating I have right now?!

So I called first thing Monday morning to get it straightened out yet again. They were closed...damn holiday. So, I called this morning. Usually, I can be polite and congenial even when I'm ticked off, but not this morning. This morning, the poor person who answered the phone got an ear full from me. I've apparently lost my ability to be nice to these people after having to talk to them 4 times now about the same damn thing. The man claimed that it is straightened out. I don't believe him. I fully expect to receive yet another statement next month. He claims that I wasn't reported to a credit agency...that was just a threat, he said. I still don't believe him. I won't believe him until I don't hear anything from the collections department for months. And even then I'm not sure I'll believe him.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

I've had extremely bad luck with finding a doctor since I moved to Chicago almost 7 years ago. I loved my doctor back home, and I had hoped that I would find the same kind of connection with a physician in the big city. Unfortunately, it didn't happen. For years now, I've been bouncing from doctor to doctor, trying to find one that I could trust. Every one I saw at the University of Chicago was too busy to care or I would have to wait 3 months to get an appointment to see them. I've had a deep fear of doctors other than Doc Wild from good old Manistee for many years, and the situation with the U of C just gave me a reason not to go.

I've kept that up for years now, avoiding doctors at all costs until I absolutely must go or am dragged there kicking and screaming. A few weeks ago, at the request of a friend (dragging would have been involved I'm sure if I had resisted), I went to yet another doctor...the only one we could find covered by my insurance policy with an appointment available for that day. The guy was a creep in the creepiest sense of the word. He sat in his small office, with the TV blaring some Spanish soap opera. I told him what I needed from him, and he listened half-heartedly. He examined me, sort of, groped me while listened to my heart, wrote down that I had a fever of 101 without taking my temperature, and told me that I needed to come back for a thyroid test because I am overweight. He wrote me prescriptions for an antibiotic for my cold, cough syrup, and Tylenol (for the fever I didn't have). When I asked him about getting me back on my antidepressants, he told me that I was a nice girl and that I would be OK. What the hell kind of response is that. Then, he demanded $60 in cash, paid directly to him and not the nurse up front. I ended up giving the $60 to the nurse anyway and demanded a receipt because my copay is only supposed to be $10 with my insurance. It was basically a wash, because what I really needed that day I didn't get. I should have decked the guy to be honest, but I wasn't exactly thinking straight at that point.

Yesterday, I received the statement of charges from my insurance company. The creep charged my insurance the full $100, saying that I only paid the $10 copay. I got swindled! I basically paid this guy $60 to grope me and tell me that I'm a nice girl. I feel violated and angry. And people wonder why I detest doctors.


Note: Thankfully Monday I found a doctor that isn't a groping creep, so maybe I won't have to go through any of that anymore. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

And the Nominees Are...

I just got off the phone with Steve Harold, the director of the Manistee County Historical Museum. I'm so excited that I can hardly sit still, which is why I'm writing in my blog rather than doing my job. As part of my classwork for this semester, I have to write a nomination for the National Register of Historic Places. It has to be a real nomination. I can't just make something up like I did for my museum project a few years back. So, my original thought was to nominate my brother's building. He bought a historical building (what was a stable back in the 1880s) a few years back to remodel into a garage of sorts, where he could work on cars to his heart's content with all the equipment he could dream of. It was such a huge undertaking, and I'm so proud of what he's accomplished with it, that I wanted to honor that by getting it listed on the Registry. Unfortunately, he's done too much work on it, and it's historical integrity is now lost. At least, so says my professor who made a stop in Manistee specifically to see it.

Bummed though I am that I can't do that building, a call to Steve Harold has changed my spirits. He has a project that the research has already been done on...a high-end Victorian neighborhood on and around Cedar Street. For those of you not familiar with Manistee, and I'm sure there are many, check out this map. I will be going home for a few days in March to get the research, see the sites, and fill in any of the gaps that might be there. I'm so excited I can hardly stand it! I'm actually doing something real with my degree, and I don't even have it yet!

TGIF!

I'm so glad it's Friday, mostly because I woke up this morning convinced it was Saturday. I couldn't figure out why my alarm had gone off at 4. Why would it do that on Saturday morning? I never make that mistake. By pure providence, I didn't turn it off, I just kept slapping the snooze. I did that for two hours, dozing slightly while listening to my kitty purr contentedly on my knees, until I heard my upstairs neighbor running out the door yelling "I'm going to be late for work." "Work? He doesn't work on Saturdays...he's a lawyer," I thought to myself. And then it hit me...it was Friday, it was 6:04, and I was going to be late for work too! My boss is a huge stickler for punctuality, and I had just been talked to about being late last week. I got up, flung my cat off the bed after she bit me for moving, and jumped into the shower. I hadn't laid out clothes for work or packed my gym bag or made a lunch or set my coffee pot up to make coffee for me automatically. This was all doable, but it had to be done without a hitch or I was going to be late.

After the quickest shower in history, I ran about trying to pack bags and find clothes to wear for work and get the coffee pot started. Hitch number 1, I was out of coffee. How does that happen?! I'm a coffee fiend. How could I possibly run out of coffee? I remembered a sample packet of french vanilla coffee Gevalia had sent me to try to lure me back to their mail-order program. Thank you Gevalia! I may never order coffee from them again, but it was thoughtful of them to send me a sample so that I didn't have to go without coffee this morning.

Once I got the coffee pot off and running, I went about getting dressed. Finding a suitable outfit, I scrambled to find a pair of nylons to wear with it and (hitch number 2) promptly put my thumb through the last good pair of them I own. There really is nothing more frustrating than being in a hurry and ruining a decent pair of nylons. The damn things are expensive to replace! With a little help from my clear nail polish, I "fixed" the pair I had on and continued running around. It was 6:25. I had to leave the house at 6:30 sharp in order to make it to work. I still had a towel on my head, and I hadn't brushed my teeth either. It wasn't looking good.

I hurried with my boots, packed a pair of shoes to wear at work, grabbed coffee from the pot that was still running, and ran out the door...at 6:35. I didn't wait for my car to warm up. I didn't brush the snow off of it. I just drove. Every slow person, erratic SUV, Mr. Fix-It truck, school bus, and CTA bus was on North Avenue. Remembering the speeding ticket I got the last time I was late for work, I drove relatively slowly (only 7 mph over instead of 12). By some luck of the gods or the Irish, I pulled into the parking lot at work at 7:25 and managed to get to my desk by 7:32. I can't figure out how I did it, but at least I did. Thank God it's Friday, because if this had been Saturday and I had done all this, I would be really pissed off right now!

Egg Salad

Well, it's that time of year again...Lent. It's meant to be a thoughtful time of self-reflection and sacrifice, as those of us in the religious world prepare for the death of Christ on the cross and His resurrection on Easter morning. What most Catholics view as 40 days of things they can't have, I've always viewed as a new beginning...a chance for things to start over better than they were before. I've sucessfully defeated the winter and it's hold on the chemicals in my brain, and I'm ready to enjoy life again in whatever capacity I can. Sure, I really hate that I can't eat meat on Fridays during Lent and that I have to fast on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday and that I should give something up for those long 40 days as a way of paying penance for all the sins I've committed (believe me, I would have to go a lot longer than 40 days to make up for all the sins I've committed according to the Catholic church). Those activities are less than pleasant, but I do them...partly because it's so ingrained in my head that the thought doesn't even occur to me not to, and partly because I feel stronger having done so. I'm not sure that's the point they were trying to get across to me as a child growing up in the Church, but it's what I get out of it now as an adult still trying to grow up.

So, in honor of Ash Wednesday, which just sort of snuck up on me this year (call it preoccupation with life, I guess), I had my first egg salad sandwich since last year at this time. It's one of those delights that I only treat myself to during Lent when I can't have the burger or chicken sandwich I really want. Instead, I have a nice big egg salad sandwich on rye bread. It's such a simple pleasure and yet it means so much. Here's to a new beginning and many more egg salad sandwiches!