2004-01-27 @ 3:07 p.m.
|I really think if they ever make my life into a movie Jack Nicholson should play me. Its true I'm a girl, but only HE could handle the industrial strength hissy fits I like to throw. Like this morning for instance....
I still have whiplash. Whiplash+PMS= fucking-get-outta-my-way-or-I'll-break-off-your-penis-and-feed-it-into-a-fucking-blender-and-hit-puree.
Ok, I'm a little perturbed.
My case manager never answered my e-mail regarding transportation for my shrink this morning. I had written her Sunday night, to get transportation Tuesday morning. That's a decent amount of lead time, right? No reply.
So I called her co-worker this morning at 8:30 to bypass her obviously worthless assistance, and got a Medicaid cab of my own. So there!
So I'm waiting out in the driveway at 10. It's blizzarding out...as usual. What is this...like Day 312 of snow? Last blade of freakin' grass I think I saw was June 23rd. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Seems to be a theme here. The waiting thing.
The co-case manager had said if they didn't arrive by 10:15 to call the cab company back, which I did.
Oh, the weather is kinda bad, we're almost there. Fine!
So I went back out. My neck was really paining me by then. Maybe because I'm getting uptight. Me, you say? The mellow wittykitty? The purveyor of all that is calm and collected?
I soon started stomping around in the snow. And then I started stomping around saying fuck Medicaid. Fuck Medicaid cabs. Fuck the universe. I then I had to go over and kick my car a few dozen times. Fucking car. You're stupid too.
It was 10:32 by this time. My shrink's office is about 12 miles away. I realize I'm not going to make it. I've already missed my appointment from last week. I really need an appointment. fuckfuckfuck.
Then I started crying and then I did some more stomping. And I had looked so incredibly cute when I had come out to the curb. So about 10:40 I went back into my house and called the cab company and told them not to bother to come...since my doctor's appointment was in 5 minutes. And yet they insisted on giving me the stock "weather is bad." thing AGAIN. And I said, "40 minutes bad??"
I then called my shrink and left a short weeping message on his machine. He, of course, called me right back, since, well, he had some free time just about then. He assured me I hadn't done anything wrong. Of course not. The fucking cab company had. He then asked what else was wrong. Unfortunately when you're having a meltdown, you can't always articulate the 20 lane super highway that is your head, so it just kind of comes out "yrhsnerfgr(sob-sob)ssnfucksnifrww(sob-sob)nnvbbww!" I did ask if he had any other appointments this week and he said no, which of course provoked one of those crying hiccup things from me.
I know, how totally girlie of me. Get a grip, witty, its only a shrink appointment.
But he did say, he would call me if he did. Me: smily face. Well, not really. I had just screamed fuck really loudly right before the phone call and my cat was still hanging from the ceiling, looking rather frightened.
So I threw the phone back down on the bed and thought, hmmm, how can I make this day just...a...little...worse?
I know, I'll go to my new food pantry. Cool!
So I had to wait around until 1 p.m. I was petrified driving. It was still snowing (of course it is, nitwit, its not freakin' July yet).
And I was soon walking through the doors of St. John the Baptist. And I think if I were a set designer, this would be Church Rectory circa 1976. Knotty pine walls, green carpeting. They even had Father O'Malley propped up in the corner.
And then, naturally, there was the good old painting of the Virgin Mary. You know the one with the eyes that follow you. It kind of creeped me out at first. That is until I heard a faint "psst" and realized she was looking right at me.
I suddenly felt really guilty about all the swearing I had been doing today, so I thought I had better own up to it immediately.
"Yes Virgin Mary, I know I said "Fuck" an awful lot today. Will you forgive me?
"Yes, my child. I understand. That was very mean for the Medicaid cab not to pick you up today. I would have been mad too. But at least you did not use my Son's name in vain. That was good."
"Oh, never, Virgin. He's a good guy. I don't have any beefs with him. Do you think this place will help me out?"
"I don't know. Do you go to Church?"
I kind of looked at the ground on that one.
"Well, not recently. I've kind of been on hiatus for a while. I used to go everyday. And then it was every Sunday. And then it was every major holiday. And then it was every Christmas. And now I don't go anymore. I'm sorry, Virgin. I'm not a very good Catholic."
"It's ok. No Catholic is (cough)perfect. Just as long as you are kind to people and treat everybody the way you would want to be treated, I think we can probably help you."
So I went up to the table with the old church lady. I had to fill out a bunch of paperwork and show proof of who I am, and produce my foodstamp card and practically promise them my firstborn. Come to find out my case manager sent me to the wrong food pantry. I am not in the right neighborhood to be served by this church, but the lady said, as long as I was already there to go ahead and get a bag of groceries anyways.
So as I walked out to my car with a bag of canned vegetables and a frozen loaf of potato bread, I felt somewhat ashamed at having stomped around so stupidly and said Fuck fifty-million times and even firing off a rather gnarly letter to my case manager about feeling blown off.
But I guess you have to look for the bright side of things, even when you're lost in a fucking blizzard, there's always that can of free pinto beans in your bag from the local food pantry.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty