I am finally calming down after what feels like a week of stress. My anxiety levels are sky high, and I am doing the best I can not to let it develop into a manic episode.

I'm doing pretty well.

I'm scared about the surgery, not the surgery itself as much as the time needed to recover afterward. I'm going to have my right arm strapped to my side for two weeks, and be seriously compromised for about two months after that. It will mean lots of asking for help on my part.

I totally hate that.

And the weird thing is that there are plenty of people in my life who not only care about me but WANT to help me, a fact that perpetually takes me by surprise, this idea that I am a person who is cared for by such amazing folk.

I just am overly attached to the idea that I'm independent.

*sigh*

So now I'm just going to spend the week cleaning, in a futile attempt to A) keep it from getting too terrible while I'm laid up and B) so that if I die unexpectedly my mom is not shamed by the condition of my place. She'll be busy being sad that I'm dead, and won't need the distraction.

So the Fuck Ups Formerly Known As DSHS just sent me a packet saying that I am approved for food stamps and medicaid through the end of July of next year, and also, if I don't send them a bunch of stuff my medicaid and food stamps will end in a month and also, the interview I had to call them to have on Monday because they didn't call me when they said they would? I apparently missed it and will have to reschedule or lose everything.

I am so full of hate right now, I could incinerate things with my MIND. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

So please excuse me while I gobble ativan as if it were Pez and drink Coke Zero until this gets resolved.

So, one of the screws in my glasses was loose, and being me, I tried to tighten it, but then THAT didn't work, so I figured I would UN screw it and then RE screw it, and purchased one of those tiny screwdrivers for the purpose, and sure enough, I got the screw unscrewed. Except I couldn't get the screw back in, because I am not dexterous enough and perhaps my fingers are too fat, and certainly I need the bifocals, although that didn't REALLY matter because , well, I don't know.

The point is my glasses are still broken, for a given value of broken.

Also, the state of Washington has taken away my Medicaid, and that made me have a panic attack, and take an ativan and cry on the phone to my sponsor, but I'm ok now, partly because of the ativan but I've decided to give the credit to my sponsor, because the ativan didn't have to deal with me crying over the phone, and she totally did.

So now I just have to keep my head from caving in, but just til Monday, when everyone comes back from holiday and I can finally get shit done.

The End.

PS Oh yeah, and I am A) getting my hair cut and B) going back to my natural color, whatever that is.

Best. Card. Ever. Grant sent it to me, I found it in my email box this morning, and if you have to start a day, reading this is the way to do it. It's his 5 year blogiversary, so stop over and say hi, even though he ruined the internet.

Also, upon reading yesterday's post, Fathead immediately called me to talk about my arm hurting, because that's just how we roll.

The Orthopedist's Office has scheduled my surgery for the morning of July 10. *sigh* Good news, but I am sick of being sick, and so it's also tiresome.

And now I'm off to do errandy things. Amuse yourselves, hmmmmm?

I am completely fucking tired of explaining to people that my arm hurts.

*sigh*

I called the orthopedist today, in the hope of scheduling an end to this particular torment and the beginning of Gimp Watch '09, but I found out that the reason why the assistant hadn't called me back is because she hadn't been in this week, and also I was fucked because no one in the office could schedule the surgery and so even though ALL SORTS OF PEOPLE ARE WAITING FOR ME TO GET THE DATE, AND MY ARM HURTS LIKE THE PROVERBIAL MOTHERFUCKER, AND MORESO EACH DAMN DAY, I was just going to have to wait until everyone got back next week.

This is the point at which my head exploded.

I explained, with EMPHASIS, that I would NOT be waiting until next week, that I would NOT put off the dialysis unit that was holding a place for me and I WOULD HAVE A GODDAMNED ANSWER TODAY OR THEY WOULD FEEL MY WRATH. And it would STING.

And then the poor girl who had been tasked with calling me to tell me that I had to wait and got way more than A) she had expected or B) she got paid to deal with told me she would tell someone who actually had answers and they would call me back. This was 3 in the afternoon.

And remarkably, I got that call at 5:17 that evening. This woman was very apologetic, and promised me that she would call me by end of business Thursday with a surgical date. Then she apologized a few more times, and I, magnanimous in my triumph, graciously told her that it was ok, it could have happened to anyone and I was sorry that I had yelled at the poor girl who called me earlier. There were more apologies and then we ended the call with expressions of mutual good will.

And thus do the days pass at the Casa Del Kaply PNW.