I'd Rather Be Bored

...Than so busy, I can't think straight. Because when I DO get that busy, I just want to kill people. And since I don't have any of my weapons with me, I'm not only not able to kill people, I still have call after call to take. And I can't tell my customers to kiss my large, white ass.

Oh, Crap

I forgot to take my pill again today! It's Randy's fault, him and his damn prescriptions! And I tried to remind myself, too.

Arrrgh!

I am so not together! I forgot to order Randy's temazepam! Criminy, I can't believe I forgot! I feel soooo dense.
I'm not real sure it actually does anything anymore, but that's not an excuse.
Not exactly boosting the ol' self-esteem. If I had self-esteem.

Terry Nichols Guilty!!

On all 161 counts!
Yes, I know the original trial was just for the 6 federal agents in the building, but, damn, this trial was a pointless waste of money! And Nichols shouldn't get the death penulty, he should rot in jail.

I Am Sooo Bored!

Calls are kind of light, today. And we've had some computer problems. So, we Customer Service Agents talk amongst ourselves. We tend to let our paranoid (and not so paranoid) imaginations run wild. Ok, I've said in a previous post that I work for a membership-driven travel service. I'm in the basic CS, the 48 states, air, car and hotel. It seems like we're doing less and less. And we've heard rumors of our department closing. And we get anxious. Like, I don't sell well, which is why I'm in CS and not out on the floor as a travel agent.

I am going insane! There are 7 out of 9 available. God, I wish I could get online games at work! I'd kill for Bookworm! I guess I could dig out a magazine. Or read a book. My knitting in the car, so that's out. I'm not really in a knitting mood, anyway.

Thunder! Moore people will be getting skittish. Understandably, but still annoying.

I guess I could go over one of my recurring stories, my favorite, right now, is David and Charles, and Billy is good, too (my others are kind of derivative), but I get frustrated because they have no end and I end up dwelling on them all the time. How do I know if they're any good? Just because I like them, doesn't mean they're good. Even if they ARE good, I don't really know how to get them out of my head. Maybe someday I'll write them down here.

Yeah, and maybe somebody will actually read this, too!!

Bad Credit Sucks

We tried over the weekend to buy a truck, a 2002 Ford F250 - Powerstroke Diesel, got a great price for it, couldn't get a bank loan, and we don't want to finance through the dealership. It was a good truck, but not really what Randy wanted. He doesn't want a foo-foo truck, he wants a work truck - diesel - cloth seats - either club or crew cab - wants 4x4 but not with the shift on the fly button. Oh well, it would've been too tight anyway.
And, actually, I'm kind of relieved. I don't need to be any more freaked out about money. And, let me tell ya, I can freak myself out real quick just thinking about which bills are due and when.

Oh, it's phone, electric, gas, car, insurance.

I Feel...Almost Happy

I'm having a pretty good day. I'm a little bored here at work. But the slacker side says "I'd rather be bored than busy!"
I'm in the Customer Service Department of a large membership-based travel service. Why am I in Customer Service? Because I'm too concerned with helping people, than making a sale. And I'm pretty good at it!

I Can't Believe It!

Those Kirk Humphreys ads blow my mind! Everything he takes credit for, Ron Norick was responsible. All Humphreys did was shove Bass Pro down our throats - at our expense. I hope he doesn't make it out of the primary!

I'm Down

But I'm not desperate. And yes, I DID take my pill! Of course, missing 3 days didn't help. I still don't think Zoloft is working. I guess I should switch to Paxil CR (the last in the formulary). Yes, Paxil works for me, BUT it also makes me unable to orgasm. YAY!!

Now Where Was I...

Do I keep rattling on about myself, or go off on another tangent? Like how much I really, REALLY, REALLY hate my prescription coverage. Or my worries about my husband. Or my son, the honor student.

You know, I know I'm not supposed to worry about things I have no control over, but somtimes you just can't help it. My husband's big (in a good way), almost a foot taller than me, handsome, funny, smart, and has arthritis that covers pretty much his entire skeleton. We don't know how it happened.
The year 2000 wasn't great. Our try at having a motorcycle shop was nearing an end. I cracked up and lost my job in the International Department at a major car rental reservation center (mostly my fault). RW one day noticed his neck hurt, and we made an appointment for a local chiropractor for the next Monday. Sunday, he went riding at Stillwater with a (fair weather) friend, took a horrible spill (we should still have on video somewhere), up over the handlebars, down on his head or neck. Yes, I screamed. Did we rush to an emergency room? No, my hubby changed back into regular clothes, videotaped other riders the rest of the day. He even drove home, at first because there was a decrepit wood bridge that I was scared to drive over, then he said he couldn't get out of the seat (and I felt like a crumb). He was in pain, but, hey, he was going to the chiropractor the next day anyway. So we're at the chiropractor, she takes xrays, then puts him on the machine that zaps your back. When she came out with his xrays, she was literally white as a sheet. RW laughed and said, "Well, I know my neck's not broken!"
"No, but it is fused." Then she showed us. She had RW take xrays of the rest of his back at our local (deathcamp)hospital. She recommended he see our php (who I would have swore was the oldest doctor on the planet). Yet more xrays. We learn it's not just his neck that's fused, it's almost his entire spine. He recommends a rheumatologist. Back at the shop, I look up rheumatologist on Encarta, which, of course, leads me to the arthritis entry. When I find ankylosing spondylitis, I yell, "I found your back!"
Now, Mama had rheumatoid arthritis. Daddy had a little osteoarthritis. I even had a piano teacher at Oscar Rose Junior College with Lupus. But ankylosing spodylitis, or DISH (diffuse ideopathic skeletal hypertosis), we had never heard of them. What happens is bone grows and fuses the vertebrae together, usually from the tailbone up, RW's from the neck down (he can look left and right a little, but has no up or down). There is a gene associated with it (hla-b27), but RW doesn't have it. No real family history of arthritis. It was just sort of out of the blue.
The rheumatologist told him he was screwed and faced a world of pain. He recommended he try for Social Security disability. Everybody told us, "You be turned down, you'll have to have a lawyer." Well, everybody but the doctor.
Most inane question SSA asked, "Do you watch TV?"
RW's answer, "Hell yes! I'm in pain, I'm not dead!"
He was approved. In fact, the agent asked him how he could even move. We learned he would be reevaluated in seven years. To see if he's gotten better. "Get better?!" I said, "I was just hoping you'd to stay the same!"
That was four years ago, I wish he had stayed the same. It's now spread to his shoulders, knees, now hips, and has the heel spurs from hell.
He's in constant pain. Pain med-wise, he's taken vioxx (worthless, tore up his stomach), celebrex (ditto), advil liqui-gels (worked better, tore up his stomach), the duragesic patch (made him vomit, he says it didn't work that well).
That's the background of husband worries. And it all gets tied up in money worries and health insurance gripes. Last September, my work changed prescription coverage. It sucks. I can't use Walgreens, which I prefer, I have to use Eckerds. And if I don't set up recurring prescriptions as mail order, I have to pay a percentage, instead of a lower copay. I'm Ms. Not Together! I think of getting refills when I run out! I'm not together enough for mail order. What the hell is wrong just getting it at our local pharmacy? And God forbid it's not on their formulary! You have to pay full price! RW's has like 6 different prescriptions right now - oxycontin for pain, generic phenergan because oxy makes him vomit, lotrel for blood pressure, paxil cr for depression (not working), temazepam to help him sleep (not working well), and now a prescription laxative.
My health insurance almost doubled, it was $44.00 a pay period last year, this year, $83.00. Did the benefits double as well? They didn't even stay the same, prescriptions I've gone over, I have more copays this year. Who do I gripe to when nobody cares? They'll just spout off about containing costs.
Not Mine.

Frist Post?

I haven't been reading blogs for long. Actually I just started reading them this year. I just kept thinking, "Jeez, I'd like to do that!"
Of course, being Ms. Not Together, I also wonder why anybody would read anything I would have to write.
But, ya know, I've spent too much of my life being afraid of what people would think of me. It's providence, I happened onto this while trying to get to one of my regular blogs. I love to write, even it's about nothing.


So, I guess I should introduce myself. I've now spent more of my life depressed than not. I'm on 100mg of Zoloft (formularies bite!) that I don't think is working (well not as well as Lexapro - nonformulary). My first depression was from the prerequisite traumatic event in third grade - I had a teacher who spanked me for not finishing my work (even though my mother told her the best way to teach me - I didn't learn the way everyone else did - she got the "Are you a teacher?" routine) - until I was about 20/21. Depression in itself being self-defeating, I gained weight. Yeah, fat AND SHY. No, I take that back, I went waaaay beyond just being shy (and I swear nobody understands). I had RULES (Don't speak unless spoken to...Don't look anybody in the eye, that you don't have to...if you're friendly with someone in one particular place, but you see them in an alternate place, don't acknowledge them - they might not want to talk to you...etc)! Needless to say, I kind of coasted (ghosted?) through school. I got out of elementary school knowing no math at all. Mama and Daddy didn't have a clue as to how to deal with me (this was the late '60s). And I idolized my sister - she was perfection to me. I was different. The list goes something like this:
I was fat/they were thin (Daddy wasn't really thin though)
I have green eyes/they have brown
I'm shy/they're outgoing
They're smart/I'm...not
Oh, and I'm a blond/My sister and Mama had brown hair (Daddy white)
I tried to do everything my sister did, she being my ideal. Yeah, that didn't really work out. Now there were some things I did for myself. I took piano lessons (recitals were killers). I did take ballet for a while, but Mama and Daddy couldn't afford it (it was around the time my aunt was getting divorced from her worthless-ass, abusive husband (and I'm still glad he's dead)and my Grandma was living with us, too, I think). And I read almost anything put in front of me. But the things I did for myself, it's like they didn't count. I can't really explain the things in my child's depressed mind. There's no logic to it. I hated myself.