2003-08-25 @ 9:30 p.m.
|Could there possibly be a longer day on record? Oy! I knew it was coming, but I still couldn't prepare for it. And I didn't sleep much leading up to it. And I'm still on antibiotics trying to recover from sinusitis. I just like my days as long and stressful as humanly possibly just to prove what a tough cookie I am.
Bipolar-Girl! Superhuman strength! X-ray Vision! Enough nervous energy to generate power for a small New England town! Able to kick the Energizer Bunny's ass in any competition!
Ok, its really just synthetic manic energy coursing through a tired out body that doesn't know any better. I think that is why I am so sick and worn out right now. I'm manic, but my body doesn't know enough to stop and rest.
I've had a week. Let me tell you. I have found a new rental. Its a little house, next to a larger house in a middle class neighborhood. I went to see it with my mother (since I'm no longer allowed to rent places on my own, because I have poor judgment due to mental health issues). Its nice. Its in good condition. It has a yard. No noisy neighbors clomping around upstairs. No screamy brats peering in my windows. No jumping over toys and gum wrappers and bikes as I walk up the sidewalk. No half-wit maintenance men showing me their butt cracks.
The only fly in the ointment was this nutty fruitcake of a real estate woman who showed us the place. A little Italian woman, about 4 foot 8, huge white beehive hairdo, about 80 years old. My Mom and I have alternately called her bubblehead and the Chihuahua woman. Friendly, loud. She was already handwriting a lease up when I went in the owner's house (also an Italian lady named Rose). This was all right since I wanted the house, but maybe a little premature. Everything was hunky dory until she asked for $750. $500 deposit, $250 for her fee. WHAT!! All I did was call an ad and she showed me a rental for 15 minutes and then she was writing a lease longhand for 10 minutes. She was making more money than my shrink.
And she didn't even have to see me cry.
I, of course, did not have $750, laying around in my purse. I don't even make that much a month on disability. She abruptly got up and walked out of the kitchen. We were like...what? I offered to give her a check for $250 to hold the house (I didn't even have the $250 come to find out. I did, but barely. I had $257 in the bank), but it was no deal. She wanted the entire amount right then. I had an appointment two days from then with my social worker who I knew could get me financial help, but I did not have anything til then.
But according to Bubblehead it was: Nope, nope, nope. Couldn't hold the place. Gotta show it to other people (obviously a huge list). Chop, chop! I said ok. Bubblehead left on a cloud of hairspray. As we were leaving the owner said to my Mom, she hoped I got it because I seemed nice. That night my Mom called the R.E. agent to talk to her again. The agent hung up on her 3 times. She'd be chitter chattering and then abruptly hang up. Not angrily. Just being a nutcake.
So all weekend I was stressed out. I had talked to my social worker Friday. Monday I was to have an appointment with a United Way agency and they would most likely approve me for some funding for the down payment on the rental. Unfortunately I needed the name of the owner of the house in order to get a check. So I got smart (despite the meds that erase my brain). I used the reverse directory on the internet and found the people's name.
Heh, heh. One point for Bipolar Girl. None for Shifty R.E. woman who wouldn't tell us their name because she thought she'd lose her commission.
So I went this morning and was able to get approved for the funding. But wasn't able to get the check today. So it was one more day of waiting for the nutty real estate wacky. And I had to make the call. Even my mom was afraid to call her and she's not afraid of anything.
But this was a good one. I saw my shrink today. I had given him as one of my references. Well, I guess they called him. I had forgotten to give him a heads up. The woman (supposedly the owner Rose, but this question sounded far more like wacky-wacky) if I was "crazy" and would I "hurt her". Its funny, I had not mentioned I was from Crazy Tribe, nor had I brought my bloodied machete with me the day I had looked at the cottage. (It was at the blacksmith getting sharpened for my next killing spree). Yeah, I was a little perturbed. I used to talk freely about being bipolar, but I don't anymore. When people ask why I'm on disability I usually tell them I have fibromaylgia. Its not a lie. I have fibro. It's just that its not the reason I'm on disability. And besides, its none of their damn business.
So I'm getting the check tomorrow and signing the lease. And hopefully this will be the last I'll see of Bubblehead. Otherwise I may be driven to violence.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty