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2004-07-27 @ 11:08 p.m.
waking up to sirens

I live across the street from a fire station. It’s not a good place to live when you don’t like noise. About six months ago, I was absolutely overjoyed when a crane appeared along side the building one day and took down the big frickin’ fire horn that blared like a World War II air raid siren everytime some granny called 911. Now if you have ever stood directly in front of a fire alarm, while it is blaring, you have a good idea of how loud it is. Your eyeballs bleed.

And our fire siren was one of those multidirectional ones, meaning it spun around as it blared, annoying man, dogs and raccoons within a 5 mile radius. And forget about talking on the phone or watching TV while its whining. And of course, I have the double pleasure of living within 7 feet of a massive air conditioning unit which goes on and off 3000 times a day, so in conjunction with the fire alarm, and the sirens, I have been slowly being driven crazy, in tiny incremental units since I’ve been living here and Lord knows, I don’t need any help.

I did have a 3-4 month break from the fire siren. It was taken down, as I started to mention, for several months and I thought somebody had finally come to their senses and gotten all the firemen beepers, and we would forever be free of ear bleeding and premature insanity, but sure enough, about two weeks ago, in the summertime when all the windows must be open, a new fire siren was installed and now we must endure its dulcet tones, not once but several times each day.

And now all I have to say is....people, don’t call 911 UNLESS YOU REALLY REALLY MEAN IT!!

Because that little blaring bastard woke me up at 7 a.m. this morning. Instead of doing its usual once around blaring thing, I think the damn thing got stuck, and I thought the Nazis were bombing the North Side and we should be scrambling for our bomb shelters or something. Fuck. Shouldn’t they have a Not-Before-7 a.m. clause in the fire siren constitution?

So I was startled awake by the siren, and the A/C unit, which goes on about 5 a.m., was already sounding like an Air Force One helicopter doing flyovers on the roof of my apartment and I was lying in bed going yup, yup, yup, we’re having fun. Some people listen to birds in the morning. I listen to heavy machinery.

And then “A” called me at 8:02 a.m. I think he thought he woke me up, because all people think that people on disability sleep until noon. “I have a meeting during our appointment...” My heart sank immediately, because if ever there was a week someone needed some shrinking, it was this one. “...can you come in at 9:15?”. Phew. Thank God I still had an appointment. And fortunately I had dyed my hair last night, so I didn’t have my usual Tuesday morning hair washing to do.

I had a lot of anxiety going in this morning though. I’ve been sort of poking around at some anger I had at “A” this week. Its been a combination of him abandoning me rearranging his practice, some things he said last week, his sending me into the nanny situation (the things that happened weren’t his fault, but he did know the score on what the guy was like), some billing issues that have been causing me anger (his billing company hasn’t billed me since early May, and they keep telling him they’ve billed me, and they’re full of shit, because his bill has never hit my mailbox. “A” even suggested that maybe the bill got stolen because it looked like a check. Huh? I don’t live in a fucking ghetto. I live in a middle class neighborhood full of Catholic Eye-talians who drive tricked out Chryslers with Jesus statues on the dashboard. Why would they want my shrink bill? Its just that his billing company sucks and its taken them two years to finally figure out how to get the most out of Medicare. Congrats guys. Its about time for chrissakes!

Fortunately we had a fairly good session. He was eating his cereal. Two bowls of it. Slurping it like an eight year old. Yup, that’s my “A”. I talked about Married Guy a bit, but I mainly concentrated on my severe financial crisis, which seems the most pressing. He seems to think that full time employment is my only answer. But I just can’t see myself slipping from 3 years of disability into a sudden full time job, without some real difficulties. I have nasty mood swings. My brain is fried from the meds I take. I suffer from paranoia and I feel like everyone hates me... Other than that, everything is hunky dory.

I can see myself possibly starting out in a part time job, where I get used to working again, and seeing if I could handle the stress. Its really the stress that put me on disability. It was just shortly after I left my last job, that I was put into the mental hospital. I just can no longer handle stress.

But he was nice about things today. He wants to talk to my case manager and suggested that I might possibly get into this local program, which I can’t mention, since it will give away my location. They help with employment and housing. And then when I went to my women’s support group this afternoon and the leader in that group suggested the same organization. She is actually employed by them, so she said she would make a call for me, so we’ll see.

“A” did have our group this week. I had thought the group was history last week, when he said we weren’t meeting. And I had been sad about that since I really enjoyed the group. Hottie Tom was a no show again. He’s the nanny guy’s brother, and even though I don’t personally have anything against him, I was happy he didn’t show. It would just bring up anxiety for me to be reminded of my time up at Testosterone Manor.

But as mentioned I did go to my women’s support group in late afternoon, and they are going to do something for me, which is really going to be helpful. Back in February one of our group members was extremely distraught and nearly suicidal, and the leader of the group had something that was akin to an intervention. It wasn’t that we were telling someone to stop drinking or doing drugs, it was just a group of people stepping in to help someone who was floundering in their life in a big way. They met on two Sundays and brainstormed on how to help this women, emotionally, financially, career-wise. All different people from the group and from her life joined in and lists were made and actions were taken by various people, and this woman ended up quitting a job she absolutely despised and and finally marrying her partner (she’s a lesbian), and other than a few bumps in the road, she has been a lot happier in the intervening months.

Well, my group is going to do a “circle” for me this Friday. I wanted to ask for one, but was too shy too, and of course, as usual, I didn’t feel worthy. But today, “K” fortunately suggested it, so she asked who I wanted to have come. I really don’t have anyone, other than the people in the group. She asked if “A” would come. I said no(!!!). Married Guy? No. He’s on the way back up to the mountains with wifie for a week.

I could only come up with my mom. Am a little a lot nervous about that, because I have bad-mouthed her for a long time in group, and suddenly there she’ll be in the flesh. Am hoping none of the girls will feel the need to admonish her for being such a bitch to me most of my life, but I felt that I needed her there nevertheless. I did warn the girls that she would probably try and take over, or feign a heart attack or ask the lesbians if they’re lesbians. Oy! What am I getting myself into? But I really need help, and if I can get 5-6 people coming up with some ideas for me, and maybe help me network my graphics skills or possibly help me find a part time job or some under the table work, it’ll be worth the minor mommy dearest discomfort.

But please God, please don’t let her do anything stupid!!

So this is all transpiring on Friday at 4 p.m. It took me a while to get up the courage to ask my mom to come to it this evening. I told her about it initially and then she changed the subject, like she always does. Guess I’ll have to warn her on Friday about that bad habit of hers...you can’t change the subject. Witty is the main subject....ya got it? You must talk about Witty. This is Witty’s Intervention.

I know it’ll be foreign to her...not to talk about herself. I just hope she doesn’t start crying and saying, “oh, woe as me, its my fault she turned out so fucked messed up.” Because that’s how it always goes. The first time I ever went in the mental hospital...what did we talk about? Me being in the waiting room ready to be signed up to go into a mental ward? Nope. She was crying bitter tears saying it wasn’t her fault I turned out the way I did.

Ok, if you say so. We’ll blame Dad and the barometric pressure in Miami.

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