Non-custodial parents

From time to time in this line of work, one does see issues between parents.

Occasionally we have a child whose parents have gone out of their way to collaborate in raising the young human(s) they created even after they're no longer together. Probably easy to figure out the kids in that family are usually well-adjusted and confident their parents will behave like parents instead of adversaries in the child's presence and at school functions.

There have been a few families like that over the years.
One of the kids I had in the program last year has parents who show up for him at school open houses and pizza nights, parent conferences and sporting events.

They go to some of those functions together and some include their current partners as well. All of them have made their child's needs the most important thing. It's a nice thing to see.

Sometimes there have been parents who are so angry with each other that their children are afraid when those parents inadvertently end up in the same general vicinity.

Sometimes that anger and lunacy has been directed at me, like this mom from 2012.
I'm still stunned from that one.
What a strange encounter.

It's part of the job though. Kids whose families are having serious issues are part of almost every group I've had.

This year is no exception.

We have a parent who is no longer able to pick up their child(ren) from my care.

So my goal (besides making sure that parent is not allowed into the building) is to make sure all the kids are safe. That's not different, of course. Safety is always our biggest priority.

But this is a special situation.
We have taken a lot of precautions.
Our safety plans have safety plans.

Our building is a locked facility, so unless you have the badge or enter the building through the front doors (where you're routed into a sort of airlock until someone pushes the button to let you in) and someone knows you, you're probably not coming in that way.

We have more than one way to get into the building in a hurry if it should become necessary while we are outdoors, though.

There's a door on the other side of the playground that's not in use during the school day. We have permission to place a wedge in that door while we're outside. We can get all the kids into the building in a big hurry if necessary.

We call 911 if the person manages to enter the facility, and have a different number to call if they're on the grounds.

Each different staff person who comes to work with us for an afternoon has to be fully informed about what's going on and what to watch for.

There's a bunch of legal paperwork and documentation for us as well as the school and it's all separate. We're not part of the district as a privately owned company, so we have extra rules we need to follow. State licensing is very specific.

We keep a walkie talkie with each of us at all times, each of us are carrying our personal cell phones and the site phone accompanies us at all times. Everyone has an electronic badge so we can open the doors from the outside.

The child(ren) with the troublesome parent are always within 10 feet of one of us in case it becomes necessary to step between the child and parent.

We move around the room quite a lot to make that happen, we don't want them to feel as if they're being watched or restricted, though. So we're a little sneaky.

I don't think the child(ren) know right now why they're not seeing that parent. They have not asked me. If they do, I will send them directly to the current custodial parent for answers to their questions. I'll be evasive and straight up lie, actually.
"I have no idea, you need to ask your parent."

But we're trying to make sure no one notices anything different in our little group. That seems to be working so far. Business as usual.

The parent in question is not a mean person, so I am hopeful that we will not see them. All the precautions are there just in case, as that's always part of the job.

It's just a little more... fraught right now.

May have mentioned this before.
It's not just crafts, tying shoes and serving snacks.

Letter to Work

Because my assistant is still out, I have had a variety of people visiting my site to assist me. I've heard about stuff that goes on in other several different programs from more than one co-worker.

I recently heard about a program where the site director is allowing children to color in her tattoos with markers.
Yes, I know.
What the hell????

We're not human coloring sheets. Good heavens. What an idiot.

But I don't want her to retaliate against the people she's been working with.
She's kind of an asshole to be honest, and has been retaliatory in the past by treating people badly when she perceives some kind of wrong being done to her.

So even though it was some of her people who talked to me, I did not mention them.

While the person who's doing this is doing it because she's an adoration junkie and wants kids to fawn over her, I don't think she has bad intentions. But she's not terribly bright. She needs to understand what she's doing and why it's not a good idea.

She's one of the 'I want to be friends with all the kids' type. She's worked mostly with preschoolers and special needs kids, so this particular gig is new to her.

None of those things matter, she still needs to stop with the stupid.

I wrote a  thing about grooming behaviors done by innocent co-workers a year and a half ago. Worth a look if you haven't seen it or don't remember.

I sent a letter this evening to the company's #1.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi Top Person,

It has come to my attention that Dingbat is allowing children to color her tattoos with markers. This means children are in close physical contact and being encouraged to touch her for an extended period of time. This is not a one time occurrence.

In addition, there has been a lot of full on hugging (from the front and the back) that is not the brief side hug that we should be doing.

This is not appropriate contact.

And even if the intentions of the adult allowing this are innocent, it's still grooming behavior. We do not know where our kids will go after they leave our care. We don't know what kind of adults they will encounter.

We have a serious responsibility to help equip them with the tools they need to preserve their autonomy and personal space.
We should be modeling a level of reserve to help protect them.

Close physical contact with kids increases the possibility of setting children up for people whose intentions may not be pure.

Regardless of our own intentions (pretty sure none of us would knowingly hurt a child or set one up) the physical proximity of our young humans should always be arm's length.

We are not their adults, we are their caregivers.
As such, we should be considering everything we do.
We should not be blurring a child's boundaries and possibly compromising their future safety.

We should also be thinking about how it makes us look as caregivers and how it reflects on (employer) .

As the adults in charge, we should not be allowing children into our personal bubble for any longer than it takes for us to ask them to give us space.
This is something that should be strictly observed at all times.

In addition to at least two staff members, I know that more than one parent has observed the coloring during program time so when it's brought up, you could say a concerned parent who wished to remain anonymous contacted you.

Because that's what I am.
A concerned parent contacting you.
This email was written off the clock on my own time using my computer.

I'm trying to deflect retaliation against the people who have spoken to me, so I'm the one standing up instead.

I'm not accusing anyone of bad intentions.
I don't believe that's an issue here.

Everyone should understand grooming behaviors, but the key is recognition. Unfortunately, we have to consider how a predator might think.

I'm not sure everyone is doing that when they repeatedly allow kids in their personal space and make it comfortable for them to linger there.

Is this something we could cover more in depth during our upcoming training as well?

Thanks for your time.

It's a preface.

I'm writing something that's ancient history, but what I'm really doing is giving you the backstory. Some things are going on at my current gig that made me think of all this.

Now no one is a crazy power tripping hag, and everyone seems to have the best interests of children in front of them, so I'm not worried about their intentions the way I was with those crazy bitches, but the reasoning behind why we are always circumspect in our physical dealings with children is to keep them safe even when they're NOT with us. And so far, I seem to be the only person who understands that on a deeper level. There's still the thinking that, "Well *I* won't hurt a kid!!"
Usually in a tone of incredulity.
As if I'm suggesting they would.
No. That's not what this is.

I wrote about being molested by the teenage son of the babysitter when I was three years old, so I'm sure that colors my thinking about this. I was not traumatized, and my dad handled the situation the best he could, but the fact that that long-ago teenage boy had engaged in playful touching in front of adults was part of the reason I trusted him.
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Back when I worked for the evil empire (Champions, a division of Kindercare. Where profit is the ONLY thing) that nasty human we had as our manager hired a bunch of her skanky friends.

Because it's not what you know but who you know, the fact that she did this over and over with multiple employers is out there (if you know who to ask... )
I know of three employers who won't hire her again. Can't blame them.

I still can't believe that bitch still has a job with Champions... or in any setting where she's allowed around children.

One of those shit humans Sherri dragged along everywhere she went wasn't just a worthless person, she was a danger to children, physically and emotionally.

Mykele was mean-spirited.

She deliberately hurt the feelings of the young people in her care. One of the people who worked with Mykele first and then came out to my site to assist me was stunned by how our little program worked in comparison.

Every few minutes she commented on how happy the kids were and how many things there were for them to do and how they were allowed to choose their own activities.

She had worked with the lunatic for a couple weeks and was actually ready to quit after witnessing how this asshole treated children every day.

One of the stories she told me involved a little guy named Matthew.
He was five. In Kindergarten.

This awful woman was very much in charge. It wasn't about the kids, it was HER program and only her ideas were good. She decided the kids were going to put on a play for their parents.

Every afternoon they had rehearsals, because, "It's going to be perfect!"

Since Matthew was small, his part in the play was small, too. He was expected to sit quietly on a cafeteria bench for about 35 minutes until it was time for him to say his one little line. Then, he would get up, stand on the stage and say it, and be told to go back and sit down. Rehearsal took at least an hour every afternoon.

I know you won't be surprised to learn that Matthew was a little fidgety. One lovely afternoon, the bitch attempted to make him sit down and shut up more than once, and finally walked over to him, shook a finger in his face and yelled at him until he crumpled to the floor, crying. Then she stepped over him!! and went back to rehearsing. She left that child lying on the floor, weeping. She ignored his anguish. Until she was tired of listening to him cry and went over, pulled him up by one arm and forcibly sat him on the bench. She told him he had better quiet down NOW. OR ELSE.

There were a couple other stories from the relatively new assistant. I did not see what happened firsthand, but I reported it to our regional manager anyway.

I went over our area manager's head because the once or twice I talked to Sherri (the ignorant narcissistic heifer who hired this awful excuse for a person) she did her hand-flappy-with-helpless-Texas-accent thing and said, "Gee, that doesn't sound like her!".
Boom.
Case closed.
You knew it wasn't going any further.

If we were unfortunate enough to be scheduled to work with Mykele during a school break program, we'd be working alone, more or less. She spent her time either texting or calling Sherri or interrogating us to make sure we were 'doing the curriculum' HER way. She wandered away with her phone, walking out into the vestibule, outside a bit. She went to her car a few times, too. I don't know what she was doing out there.

She brought in piles of candy which she ate in front of the kids, and she drank Dr. Pepper all day. She swore in front of them, too. Oh, not loudly, but when kids are there, you don't say fuck or shit or call your co-workers a dumb bitch. I know a couple kids did hear it, because we had parental reports about it. Which we passed on to Sherri (I did mine via email because having a written record which was date and time stamped was important)

While writing this, I read some of the really old emails I saved in case I'd need to have documentation. I'd forgotten that she asked more than one co-worker for narcotics, had put a hand up in a custodian's face when he asked her not to dump paint water in the kitchen sink and said, "I'm DONE talking to you!", invited a co-worker to a sex toy party about 30 seconds after they met and then I got bogged down in all the emails and I still cannot believe Champions pretends to be concerned about the children in their care when they still have fucking Sherri working for them.

So the worst thing Mykele did, at least in my opinion, was go INTO THE RESTROOM AND PEE WITH KIDS.

I wasn't there that day, but Karen was. Karen immediately told her that only one child at a time could go into the restroom and that she absolutely was not allowed to go into the restroom with kids.

I understand her reaction was ridiculous. She put her hand up in Karen's face, snapped, "I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG!" and waddled off, punching numbers on her phone so she could call Sherri once again. What a dumbass.

I don't know what her intentions with children were. I want to hope that she would never harm one. But for all her pieces of paper proving she was SMART and EDUCATED, she was one dumb hairbag.

Sharp Stick and Cookies

Everyone has heard 'better than a slap in the face with a wet fish' or  'better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick' right?

Thursday is sharp stick day for me...(and I'd prefer zero wet fish, thankyouverymuch)

Time for the 2nd vaccination.
Supposed to be the one that makes you feel like crap.

If the vaccine is effective, and from what I understand, it is, then I suppose feeling like shit for a day or so is worth the effort of getting up early, doing the whole shower/dress/drive to the MAX and go to the Convention Center again thing.

I learned last time that certain seats on the train are warmer in the morning chill.
One has to choose a seat away from the doors.

The little 3 seat area where only one person can sit due to Covid restrictions is perfect. I will be getting on the train waaaay out here so I'll have a seat pretty much where I want.

It's not as easy heading back this way, but not too bad, at least if last time is any indicator.

I should be back home by noonish, hopefully won't feel too crappy. My doctor told me this week that I should not take anything for the discomfort prior to the shot, that I should wait until afterward. I have read/heard that multiple times over the last couple months and still am not sure WHY I should do it that way, but whatever.

Stocked up on groceries and ready to toss some spaghetti sauce in a pan and have it ready for dinner tomorrow night. If I feel too awful, I will get Lyssa to help me. She is a really good cook these days.

So wish me luck. I want to get the vaccine so I can get back to work. Those shitbags in DC think all unemployed people are just sitting around collecting money and doing nothing. They don't like it because they think THEY are the only ones who should have a right to be paid even though they're not working. What a bunch of fucksticks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I drove up to 'my' school this afternoon to pick up an order of Girl Scout cookies.
Most convenient for me and for the leader to meet up there.

I was surprised at the emotional response I had when I drove into the parking lot, though. It's not a secret that I miss my job every day. Miss the kids. Miss making crafts with them and their enjoyment of all the little things they get up to.

I won't be surprised if the horrible company I used to work for and Fluffy's ass-kissing flunky at the district offices will use the pandemic as the excuse to not invite me back.
(The preceding sentence is horrible grammatically and I'm just too tired to mess with it. If you can't figure it out, send me an email and I'll help.)

The worst thing about that possibility of being kicked out permanently through NO FAULT of my own is that I am completely powerless to do anything at all about it and it makes me angry.

I ran into that bitch a couple times and went the other way. I  wasn't ready with something to say to her.

Now I am.

And I won't say it quietly. Even if a miracle happens and I manage to get my space back, I would still say the same thing if I saw her.

I'd loudly ask, "So, still hiring child-grooming assholes to harm kids at (name of company)?"

I'll bet she won't want to stay and chat.

Okay. Time to take my grumpy self to bed. I'm tired anyway.

Doctor Doctor

 Well.

I got the medical equivalent of 'I'm sorry you feel that way'.

She was 'sorry you didn't feel heard'.

To which I answered, "No, I didn't 'feel' that way, that was exactly what happened. I wasn't listened to here at the clinic or in the ER. No one gave a shit about what was going on, no one called me to see how I was later, no one seemed to understand the meaning of a medical emergency. Those aren't feelings, those are facts."

She wanted to know why I think my BP is down, why I haven't had so many migraines, why I'm feeling so much better.

Um, really?

So I told her I'm pretty sure the heartburn medication I was taking wasn't good for me. I said that was the first example of not being listened to.

I told her a little about the hospital visits and told her about my efforts to get someone to listen to me at the clinic while she was on vacation. I think she believes that since she wasn't there it had very little to do with her, but that's not true. She was the very first one to refuse to listen to me or consider that the heartburn medication was causing me problems.

I have a reputation for being good with words, and if you only know me from here, it's understandable for you to think that way. I write, I edit, I change things, I write and edit some more. I mess with it until it says exactly what I wanted to say.

There are times I come back a week later and fix something.

Occasionally an error gets past me and I have to fix that, too.

So I have control over writing, and can take as long as I want to.
Not the same in a personal conversation.
Dammit.


When I'm in the middle of a situation, it's hard for me to think quickly enough to have answers ready, sadly. Most people will say the same, when they look back at an event they say, "Oh I should have said _____." Or, "Why didn't I tell her ______?"

I managed to say a little, but not enough.
I just didn't have it in me today.

It didn't help that the early morning hours (3 to 6-ish) were filled with a huge thunderstorm, complete with flash after flash of lightning. I  couldn't stay asleep longer than a few minutes, and when Eric got up to go to the bathroom, I woke up again. 
So like 8 times in a 2 hour period. After not managing to fall asleep until close to midnight.

Ugh.

A large part of the problem with Providence is what they expect of the people who work there, from custodial staff all the way to doctors. They expect them to do more than is reasonable and instead of improving the situation by adding more staff they're nasty to people who can't complete all the work that's expected of them and they get discouraged and they quit.

Not only did I lose Dr. Dirtball, but more than one friend/acquaintance couldn't take the BS anymore and left. I've known at least five through my work (parents of my kids) who had a whole lot to say about Providence and the working conditions.

I could have said a lot more, but I'm okay with how things ended up.

My prescription is filled, I have an appointment with a different doctor in a few weeks and I'll see if I like her.

Desperation

In the State of Oregon, when you buy a soda or bottled water or Gatorade or some other drink in a returnable container the vendor charges you a 10 cent per container deposit at the purchase point.

When you take them to the bottle return, you get that dime back.

For a few weeks (a shorter time when we have a houseful of people) we toss our returnables into a green bag that's hanging in the laundry room.
Every once in awhile, we scan our little keychain barcode at the grocery store kiosk and get a little printed ticket that takes 20 bucks or so off our grocery bill.

It feels like savings, although of course it's not.

We paid that money out, it's just being returned.
When we moved to Oregon in 1989, the bag boy (yes, it was always a boy) in every grocery store we patronized had to personally count them. We'd go to the back of the store, usually a dimly lit and stinky area that felt like a stop in another dimension and press the customer service button.

(And why do they call it customer 'service' anyway? Asking for a friend...)

Eventually a kid would show up to count the cans.
One.
At.
A.
Time.

He usually wore latex gloves, but sometimes did it bare-handed. A really shitty job to have to do. Then he grabbed a pen with his sticky fingers and wrote a little ticket to take to the checkout. Fun times. And all we got was a nickel for each one back then, didn't go to 10 cents until 2017.

Next technological leap was a kiosk outside the stores. It was filled with constantly jammed machines and was another big pain in the ass.The kiosks were a stinky, cramped and crowded mess shoved off in some forgotten corner outdoors or in an open-to-the-outside alcove on the exterior of the store. When we had cans to bring back, we'd usually have to wait for someone to finish counting their cans so we could have a  machine to feed them into.

If it was winter, we'd have to stand in the wind and rain.
In summer, there were hornets buzzing around. All that sugar everywhere, I guess.

The machines were constantly jamming or full and unable to accept more cans/bottles.

Then you had to push a button. Over the store's PA system you'd hear, "Customer service at the bottle return." Sometimes that button would be pushed multiple times and NO ONE CAME to help.

It was frustrating and we finally got tired of the bullshit and started tossing our returnable cans and bottles into our bin at curbside.

Most weeks a little old man came and went through our recycling bin about 5 AM on Friday mornings and took them all. We figured that at least the stuff was getting recycled and that we were doing the guy a favor.

Going through the inconvenience of trying to return them just got to be too much.Not sure when, probably in the early 90s, the state 'improved' things by opening bottle return places.
Bottle Drop they call it.A roll of 10 Green Bags costs $2.00.
Then they charge 40 cents for every bag you drop off to be counted.

When we go in to get bags, they print stickers for us, too. Then when we take them back, they go into a little door on the side of the building and someone there scans the tag, runs the items through a machine to be counted and the money just shows up in our account. We scan our keyfob at the store and get a little paper ticket with a dollar amount. Present it when we check out and just like that, a big 20 or 30 dollars off the bill.

Since the plague hit, the lines at the place are all the way along the edges of the parking lot. There's no place to park. It's like an anthill.
They're practicing social distancing, but from the time it opens in the morning until it closes at night, there are people in line. Every time I've driven by since mid-March, the line is alllll the way around the parking lot and down the little drive into the industrial area that's behind the little plaza. There are at least 40 people in line at all times of the day.

So there are people asking on Facebook for anyone who is willing to donate their cans. People are willing to go stand in line for two hours in the heat to get their ten or twenty bucks.

Once in awhile someone offers some cans and bottles and there are 10 to 15 people wanting to come get them almost immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And our "representatives" can't decide how much money to give to corporations and their big campaign donors.

When this all started, they added a bit to people's unemployment benefits, which kept the economy going a little.

Not everyone got the extra. Some didn't get any help at all.
Which has led to people lining up to get a little bit of cash at the bottle return.

It's awful.

Think about how much worse it would be if they didn't even have that.

I'm scared for the direction this country is headed.

The moratorium on evictions is about to expire.
People have no money.
Many are hungry.

And the people who are supposed to be representing all of us are wrangling over stupid shit. I noticed that they managed to agree not to shut government down... meaning that they get to keep their gold-plated benefits and big salaries, and of course keep all the money given to them by their corporate bosses.

I'm starting to get more than a little angry.

I can't see that voting for one candidate over another is going to do a fucking thing, either. Since it IS both sides fucking off and doing nothing to help.

Answers

Well.

I was heard today.

Yesterday afternoon I called my doctor's office.
Even though she's out of town.
Because I am scared, dammit. This is a lot going on suddenly, and I don't like any of it.

When something that's supposed to HELP your BP actually makes it worse...a LOT worse, it's no fun. When they swing FIVE TIMES at the BP and completely miss, it's not fun, either. My readings have been horrendously high, the medications have made me sicker than hell, and no one is goddamn helping me.

First I got some twat on the line who wanted to tell me that my BP reading when I left the ER was 'stable'. And when I asked her if those numbers were an acceptable range, and told her my current reading, she said there was a discrepancy between my home BP cuff and the hospital reading.

Well no shit, Sherlock. That's why I brought my cuff in to check against the one in the office!!

I told her, "Yes, there sure is. But six or seven points difference isn't an issue in this case and a stable HIGH BLOOD PRESSURE is still high blood pressure. Are you not getting this?"

But I got pissed off, too. I told her that I'm completely sick of being patronized and condescended to and that I want a referral to a specialist because, "As of now, I am goddamn sick of being dismissed."
 
 So she said, "Hang on, I will have you talk to Diane."
(Diane is one of the nurses.)

"Nope. I talked to her twice last week. She doesn't give a shit. Is there anyone working there who cares about the patients?"

I'm not nice when I'm angry.
And I'm not just angry, I'm sick and scared.
So be nice when you're on the other end of the line, because you will be hearing some shit if you're not.

So when they do a referral, they do this test and that test so you're handed off to the next doctor with all your bloodwork and other stuff in a neat little package.

The person they had me talk to instead of Diane asked me if I'd come in today for those tests.

"Can you guarantee that it's not still another condescending asshole?" I asked her.
There were a couple moments of silence on the line. Then she said, "She's really good. And she's very nice and a good listener."

I told her, "Look. I realize that you're not the problem here, and that you're the one stuck with a phone call from an angry person. But consider... I wouldn't BE an angry person if I'd been treated with respect by everyone else. So I'm sorry you had to be the one to hear this, but I can't say I'm sorry for saying it."

I had several different tests today.

Also have some other things scheduled for Wednesday.

And there's one test they can't do there that I'll have to drive down to mid-Portland for. That's fine.

Today, though, someone finally listened. To everything I had to say. I went over my entire list. I told her about all the side effects I've experienced and about being dismissed and ignored and that I am no longer sitting and waiting for assistance, here's what I want, and yes, I want it now.

So here we go, I guess.
::sigh:::

When I got home and checked email, I found an email address to send my commentary to. I did that immediately, since it was all written up.  I'm not done, though. It's going to the state regulatory board as soon as I have the energy to do so.

I need to get a better saddle if I plan to take up tilting at windmills as my new career.

Medical 'Care'

This is what I wrote up for my review of Providence's 'care'.
Exciting epilogue... I had chest pain and some pretty interesting stuff going on AGAIN at 3:30 this morning so guess where I went AGAIN?

I did learn that if you present in the ER with chest pain they bump you to the head of the line, though. Expensive fucking lesson, I'm sure.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Some waiting area staff were not good at observing safety protocols. Security guys sitting in the corner at their station, masks dangling from one ear, heads two feet apart as they looked at stuff on a phone, laughing and chatting.

A woman came and talked with them awhile, she also did not have a mask on.  All three of them had a lengthy conversation, punctuated with laughter and hearty voices. All unmasked.

Since they're on the front lines, as they say, it seems to me that the possibility of them spreading Covid-19 even though they were not displaying symptoms, is bigger than average.

Most of the people in the waiting room were there because they were ill in the first place, so I can't understand the logic of sitting unmasked and exposing the general public to still more pathogens.

Upon my arrival I saw a person sitting to the right in the broad entry walkway  a little to the side. She was in a wheelchair, bent over at the waist, completely passed out, head lower than her knees. A white garbage bag full of her possessions and a purse were on the floor in front of her chair.

A puddle of unknown substance was slowly spreading under her chair.
I observed several Providence employees walking past the puddle, adjusting their route to avoid stepping in it.

So yes, they saw it.  But chose not to see HER.

No one stopped to check on the person who was not in a safe position, unconscious. Providence personnel came and went from the triage rooms, passed within a foot of her MULTIPLE times and didn't see her.

I finally pointed her out to a woman who was doing triage. She looked carefully at the unconscious person, said, "Well, that can't be comfortable,"

She got reinforcements who gloved up and went to move the patient. They tried to get her to sit up, but she was in very poor condition and unresponsive. They wheeled her away. The puddle of liquid was left on the floor. No one came to clean it up, although I noticed hospital staff still walked around rather than through it.

Another person was in one corner of the waiting area vomiting loudly and constantly for approximately 45 minutes.

Who knows what pathogens the unmasked Providence personnel (and already compromised patients forced to wait in the same area) were exposed to? I do understand the purpose of triage and that many patients were waiting, but it seems that one of the factors involved in triage is assessing the risk to others in the vicinity of the ill person and that someone who is projectile vomiting is not only in dire straits, but the people around them are at risk of getting whatever contagions they're spewing into the air.


I went to the ER because we have been working to get my blood pressure under control and failing.

We've tried several different medications and I've had some interesting side effects. I pay close attention to how I am feeling, take daily BP measurements and monitor myself.

The medication I had been taking was making me very ill, was causing horrendous spikes in my readings and instead of lowering my readings, had raised my blood pressure to dangerous levels, so I was in the process of weaning off the medication. It's dangerous to completely stop the medication all at once, so I was following the protocol set forth by my doctor.

As I was getting ready to go to bed on Thursday night, I suddenly became very raspy-voiced as my throat started to feel closed. My breathing was working okay, but a deep breath caused me to feel something like sand swirling in my chest and my throat and made me cough.

I began being dizzy. I became weak-kneed and sweaty. The cough and sandy feeling worsened.

Those are not good symptoms, and coupled with the discontinuation of the medicine, made me decide I should seek medical attention.

I'm not sure I could say I actually received medical attention, but that was the goal. I feel confident that during the entire time I was there, no one actually listened to me.

They sort of listened to my *words* but clearly attached their own meaning to them.

I felt dismissed and patronized.

I do understand that the people who work in the conditions of an emergency department see a very broad picture of society and various amounts of lunacy in an unpredictable and sometimes shocking manner. And that ER medicine is not a clinical atmosphere. Had I not been dealing with the blood pressure issues and medication-go-round, I wouldn't have even considered visiting an ER.

I repeated several times to the various staff that NO I was not in pain, I was having something like glass in my throat. That and the extreme high blood pressure and dizziness were my symptoms. I did NOT have a 'sore throat' which was mentioned by each staff person I encountered.

They did check my blood pressure, I suppose.
So there's that.

Under Pressure

So about four years ago my BP started creeping up.

My doctor decided I should take medication for it, prescribed some, and I didn't take it. I didn't really get much opportunity to discuss it with her, she left the medical practice and I got shuffled off to the next doctor.

My BP didn't go down. It didn't really go up, either.
Doesn't matter what the numbers were, they weren't great but they weren't scary either.

Going to visit the doctor always started with sitting in a waiting room full of sick people, sensory overload (blaring TVs with periodic announcements about how I need a fucking flu shot and I should quit smoking, neither of which affect me...Nickelodeon for Old People) and an argument with a series of skinny little girls about me getting on the scale.

I think they're interchangeable, those girls,  there's like a warehouse full of cloney little medical assistants with various pastel stethoscopes and cute little scrubs and they just... swap 'em out now and then. I never get the same one twice but they all look scarily alike to me. And they certainly behave the same way.

I'm sure the opening arguments don't help my BP reading.
But the last year or so, it started going up.
And up.

My she-was-new-once-but-now-she's-familiar doctor wanted me to take medication to control it.
I gave it some thought and allowed her to prescribe some for me.

It did not make the numbers lower.
It also made me feel crappy.

I won't give you the whole list, but my scalp itched.
The base of my spine itched.
I seemed to be prone to fungal infections, my feet and other places were driving me fucking insane. I used a lot of foot spray.

I think the worst thing was how it affected my breathing. I looked up side effects, people had complained of 'tightness' but that wasn't precisely it. Digging into my memories of 7th grade science, I decided that the alveoli, which are the tiny little sacs at the end of the bronchial tree, were now sparsely filled with ground glass.
I could breathe okay, but when I breathed deeply, I noticed the little sandstorm swirling around in my chest.

Also, I couldn't sing right.
There wasn't a froggy in my throat, but my voice was a little hoarse and I couldn't hold a note for long. My vocal range was smaller by about three notes in the higher range and possibly five or six in the lower.

It was sort of a pain in the ass if you wanted to know and even if you didn't want to know, well, you know now.

My voice is one of the only things I still have going for me. And while I don't often get it out and share it with the whole world, it's sort of fun to have it and know that (theoretically at least) I *could* share it.

A couple months ago during our weekly grocery expedition, I was telling Eric about my once a week commute to the office and the fact that I used that opportunity to sing karaoke. He made me sing for him. That was sort of fun.
 
I did okay, but I noticed my voice didn't feel right.

So I told her after the four weeks of 'try this and let's see' that I hated the medicine and why.

She was unruffled, changed the medication.

Am I the only one who gets pissed off that you can't get your money back for a prescription that doesn't work? You can get a lamp that doesn't work and take the damn thing back. Or a shirt that doesn't fit. Shoes. Televisions. Whatever.

But a medication that doesn't work or causes horrendous side effects?

Caveat emptor.

Assholes.



The next medication may have improved the side effects the tiniest bit.
Not enough that I'd call it better.

So we tried a third one.

Now I had all the same effects as the other two medications with the added bonus of crazy spikes in BP readings. Not only was it up, it was WAY up. And down and up and down, but never in a normal range.

Also, I started feeling crappy. Tired and weak and not like myself at all.

I went back in and my doctor thought maybe we should increase the dosage.

Silly me. I trusted her.

I felt worse. You'd think I'd have figured out it was the medication, but I just thought I was a little under the weather.

This past weekend I felt really shitty. So I checked my BP about every three hours. Kids, it was fuckin' crazy. A roller coaster. I stood up from my chair in the living room, made it to the kitchen and felt so weak and dizzy I had to sit down for a couple minutes.

So I called the doctor's office on Monday morning.
I told the perky phone person that I was feeling awful, that it was the medication. I told her that I knew a person should not just stop taking the medication, but that I wanted to stop taking this drug NOW.

I told her what some of my BP readings had been and she told me that I shouldn't take my BP so often!

I'm not sure she was aware of the patronizing tone in her voice, but she said, "Your blood pressure fluctuates during the day with different activities, so you should not take it more than every few days."

Um, okay. So we're messing with dosages and something that could kill me and we're going to quibble over frequency of measuring? Dafuq?

She assured me that someone would call me back by the end of the day.

No one did.

Tuesday morning I did a little reading online to try and figure out on my own how to stop the crazy stuff.

I cut the dose in half and took it three hours later than usual. I sent an email to the practice asking for help again. I let them know I found it alarming that a medication that was supposed to help was making things worse.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I stated clearly that I no longer wish to take this medication.

 

I was HOPING someone might have a few minutes to call me back and explain what steps I should take next in order to stop taking a medication that is obviously harmful to me and making me feel unwell.

 

What I got instead was, "It's not a good idea to take your blood pressure a lot. Your blood pressure fluctuates all day."

I felt dismissed and patronized.

 

Am I the only person who can look at the history of BP readings and see that, although my blood pressure was elevated, it was NEVER like this until we started medications?

This has not made me feel confident about my care.

Wednesday, no one called.
I could have called THEM, but why the fuck bother?
I did the half dose again, an hour later than the dose I'd taken on Tuesday.

I was more than a little pissed off that no one had called, though.

So they got this:

Still waiting for someone to call me back after 48 hours.

What the hell?

 

Man, good thing it's not important.

Or at least not to anyone but me.

 

Is this a new level of care?
Just ignore people until they go away?

Asking for a friend.
The clinic called at 8 this morning while I was still sleeping.
I got one eye open enough to see who was calling, hit the ignore button and sent it to voice mail.

It was my doctor. Included in the message were instructions on how to taper off and then stop taking the current medication.
And the news that she'd be sending a new prescription to the pharmacy I use.

Didn't need the instructions since I took care of it.
I won't need whatever they're going to have for me at the pharmacy, either.
I looked it up.
Nifedipine. You can look it up if you want to.

I don't want to die from high blood pressure but I won't take any more medications for it.

I wondered aloud last time I was in about the heartburn medication that was prescribed to me about five years ago after I lost my voice for four weeks and it turned out to be burned vocal cords from reflux.

"I wonder if that's what's causing this?"

She responded to my concern about the omeprazole by telling me I probably should do a sleep study. I've brought up the heartburn medication before, but she didn't seem to think it mattered.

We're about to find out if it matters, because I've stopped taking that, too.
Even if I have to sleep sitting up until I get used to being without it.

I had asked the wrong question of Dr. Google when I first started taking it, 'omprazole side effects'.

Turns out I should have asked 'connection between omeprazole and high blood pressure'.

Holy crap.

Did you know that some studies have said you have a 40% higher risk of having a stroke if you're taking omeprazole over the long term?
Well, you know it now.
And so do I.

So if you're still with me (and if you're not I totally understand, other people's medical stuff is pretty boring and most of you don't even know me, so double boring) here's where I am.

No more heartburn medication.
Skip tomorrow's half dose of BP medication, take a half dose on Saturday, skip Sunday, half dose on Monday then done with that shit, too.

I hope I don't die from any of that.
I expressed that opinion on Monday when I talked to the clinic but even the fact that I was seriously concerned about my safety wasn't enough to get a call back from them.

I can see why so many older people (odd to consider myself an 'older people' but I will be 60 this year) are labeled as grumpy and unwilling to take care of themselves when what's really going on is the people charged with their care don't actually care all that much.

"Worry"

I love my parents, and I'm glad they're still around.

I guess they're happy to still be around, too, although that old 'quality of life' thing can't be very good. Both of them are falling apart, have been for a LONG time. Like 30 years. No, I'm not exaggerating. I wish I were.

One of the first things that started them down their current path was Dad being diagnosed with high blood pressure, a thing he refused to take medication for. It didn't get better. (Duh).

During that time, Mom had a fall.

Several falls, I guess, in quick succession. She  started having issues with her balance and lack of physical condition at the same time.

But she had a particularly damaging fall over the railing of their deck. The deck was only 2 feet off the ground, but the railing was 5 feet above dirt level. She was deadheading the flowers that grew along the railing, but instead of standing on the ground, she was leaning over the railing from the deck and reaching out. She over-extended and flipped over the railing and landed with her upper half in the grass and lower half on the flagstones. I suppose she was fortunate, had her head landed on the rocks, the outcome would probably have been worse.

She was proud of that fall, telling me during the next few phone conversations in an enthusiastic tone that she was, "Bruised from head to toe! I'm just black and blue all over!"

We (my brothers and I) tried to get her to go see a doctor. Maybe get an xray.
She wasn't willing to listen. Brushed us off.
It took a couple months for all the bruises to fade and for her to feel better.
 
She got a lot of mileage out of that story around town, I'm sure. In John Day, exciting things like that make a person the story of the day... everyone calls everyone else to share under the guise of the 'prayer chain' and the story gets more lurid with every telling.

I could wander away from the topic here and tell you stories about the things I heard while I was growing up. The phone would ring, my mom would be really, really amped up while she wrung every detail out of the caller and even more animated as she rang the next person in the gossip machine and passed the story on.

So Mom fell. And fell and fell and fell. She fell while getting into the shower. She fell while getting out of the shower, although not necessarily on the same day. She fell while gardening.  While doing the laundry, vacuuming the floor, getting out of her car.

But the original big fall she'd had apparently broke or cracked three vertebrae. How do we know? About five years after that big fall she (FINALLY) got some xrays. They pinpointed THE fall as the event that caused it.

She started having some issues with pain. Her hips and back (gee, wonder why??) hurt quite often. Her doctor prescribed pain medication for her so she could sleep at night and she refused to take it because she didn't want to be a drug addict. I attempted to reason with her, "Mom, even if you develop a chemical dependence, so what? If it helps you and you are able to feel better and rest, why is that an issue?"

With a little more discussion, the real reason surfaced, "Oh your dad is a worrier.  He doesn't want me to be like your grandma was."

Worrier is a euphemism for asshole, I am sorry to say. Whenever he is mean to Mom, which is quite often, that's what she uses.

"Oh, he's such a worrier."

There have been scores of incidents over the years. One of the more recent was the refrigerator debacle. For whatever reason(s) a LOT of people have read that post, not sure why. It explains a bit about my dad and his meanness, mostly directed at my mom now that it's just the two of them.

He's always been mean. I know it's mental illness. I know he can't help it. But I also know that he's been enabled and allowed to be that way, that Mom was never willing or able to stand up to him. One of the results of that kind of thinking was the lack of protection/buffer between him and us when we were kids.

I never doubted he loved us, but it was very obvious he didn't like me once I had the nerve to grow from a child into a woman. There's more about our relationship here on my blog, actually. I'm not going to link any more, it just makes me weary to read it.

I've tried to mend our relationship before. Even though I WAS A CHILD and it wasn't my fault, I still tried. I left home because I couldn't stand it anymore. I'm glad I did, it saved my sanity. It was the right thing for me to do. But he's just gotten meaner and more out of control through the years.

Once he retired, he no longer had to maintain a sane facade for the general public. And he really let it go.

So tonight I was doing the usual online chat session via messenger with Mom. And she told me Dad has a medical appointment in Bend tomorrow at 11 AM. It's a little over two hours for them to drive there. But Dad insisted they be ON THE ROAD at 6 AM. When I asked Mom why so early, she repeated the same phrase, "Oh your dad is a worrier."

He hasn't recovered from the anesthesia's effects, although he was already starting to lose it a bit, and they're getting ready to anesthetize him again. I asked Mom why they can't find another way to remove the stent, and she said, "Well the doctor says they have to do it this way."

Here's the thing, though. If he had a medical condition that precluded general anesthesia, they would find another way. But because my parents ALWAYS do the medical equivalent of 'yes dear' with every doctor they encounter, my dad's going to come out of the surgery an even bigger worrier than he is now. My mom will bear the brunt of it, half the time I don't think she even notices. She turns off her hearing aids or buries her face in her phone and ignores him.

But the downside of her tuning him out is this. The last time he got really sick and needed to be hospitalized, Mom didn't even notice how much his condition had deteriorated, their house keeper was the one who suggested that he might need to be seen as he was, 'sort of gray'.

Meanwhile, he will be a worrier.

You might think that it's not my problem, and you'd be right, it really isn't. He can be shitty and mean all day long (and usually is) and it won't affect me. I just feel really bad that the effect of his meanness/anger is all dumped on Mom.

I hate changes.

I really do.

I was less-than-thrilled to get an email from the principal last week asking me to come get my things out of the school.
"Hi, Susan. The district is asking for all belongings, things hanging on walls, etc. to be cleared out of rooms.  Unfortunately, the ask is no different for our partners.  We will be on site 6/3, and the following week on 6/8, 6/9, and 6/10.  As per the district, you are allowed to bring one adult to help you with your closing out efforts.

I hope you and your family are continuing to stay safe.  Please let me know if you have any questions.

Best,
Principal Man
I hate it.

I'm sure y'all remember what happened last year when the district tried to dump my program.

It seems reasonable to me to think that my program will never be allowed back into the building or ANY building in this district.

Considering they did not follow written policies and procedures 'cause Flunky was kissing the ass of Fluffy and her lovely ferret-faced spousal unit and Morally Bankrupt Daycare Inc was brought in.

And because it was that rotten hag Fluffy who started all that,  I feel personally singled out and I resent the SHIT out of it.
For all the good it will do.

So the plan is for me to go in on Wednesday and get all my personal stuff out of there. My employer has to come in and pack up the rest and take it out and who the hell knows if I'll ever see any of it again.

I am not allowed to pack up the other things that belong to the program (most of which I've donated) because I am a furloughed employee and collecting unemployment.

Lyssa is going to come help me. I'm glad I'll have an opportunity to say goodbye to school staff.

And Wednesday afternoon I'll be standing with them to wave goodbye to the entire school as they parade past in their cars with their families.

Some of the kids will not be in cars, they'll be parading on foot across the street. There will be no physical contact. No one will hug me. I won't have to smile, though, 'cause we're supposed to be wearing masks.

Mine will be tie dyed.
I did call the manager person and ask if I could wear an official uniform shirt while I wave.

After some discussion amongst themselves, they decided that would be okay. I hate those damn shirts, but I feel like I should be wearing one.

I have a terrible feeling that the parade will be my final goodbye to a place I've come to love.

I really hate changes.

Because life was too boring.

Today's title is a rhetorical answer.
Doesn't require a question.
One could probably use it in a variety of situations.
Next time you don't know what to say, try it.
And when people look at you like you're weird, explain the meaning of rhetorical answer.

So when we last caught up with each other, my dad needed surgery.
He'd been flown out of the little town he lives in and taken to a slightly larger town with better-equipped operating rooms and more choices in surgeons.

There was some arguing from him, he thought his chances of surviving the surgery would be greatly increased if they brought him here, to OHSU.

We managed to convince him that his chances of contracting the virus were also greatly increased if he went from a location where there are ZERO cases to Portland where there are hundreds.

He had that surgery on Friday.

But when they got in, they found a complication that would require a second surgery.

So he had another surgery a few hours later.

A second time under anesthesia, a different surgeon.In an elderly person, general anesthesia usually has built-in complications. Drug-induced dementia/delirium (they're not the same) as well as a bunch of other potentially bad things.
Look it up if you're curious.

Smacking an old man who has underlying health issues with double doses of crazy drugs is probably not the best idea ever.

A man who is already a little more grumpy than most and already paranoid on his best days.

I love my parents. I'd like them to be around for many more years. I don't think that's a realistic idea, but I still want it.

Dad has been confused, angry, confused, paranoid, angry and confused. It doesn't help that no one is allowed to come to the hospital to visit him. Mom hasn't seen him since he was put on the helicopter.

She doesn't ask questions of medical personnel, she just sits and nods and does the medical equivalent of yes, Dear with every doctor visit.

He didn't want to stay at the hospital. He was afraid of catching you-know-what, although there are zero cases in that hospital.
He was combative, mean, confused. Also confused and making no sense.

He threatened to get the president involved if they wouldn't let him out and became very angry. When I talked with him this afternoon he sheepishly told me that he had called them 'a very bad name' but he couldn't remember what it was. He also said he'd apologized to them.

Poor Dad.

We are hoping that he will be able to go home tomorrow. They're trying to arrange a home health aide, my mom has a ton of physical issues of her own and can't take care of him and everything else she has to deal with.

As his condition improves, we hope that my parents will be able to stay in their home.

There's a ton more, but I am trying not to put a bunch of personal medical information out there.

I'm worried about them.
It's a five hour drive when the weather is decent and I can't take care of them, either.

We're hoping that the effects of the anesthesia will wear off and that Dad will be okay soon. My brother said he's much more rational today than he has been.

Precedented.

Is precedented the opposite of unprecedented?

Spellcheck has queried precedented, of course.
But do you know what it means?
Or have an idea of what it should mean?
Okay.
It's now a word.

If you're one of those people, you can use it as your new word for the day.
It's pretty much a public service and you didn't even have to go out, mask or no mask.

You're welcome.

Okay, so.

This time in our lives is weird and disjointed and surreal.
Or maybe it's just me.

No, I don't think it is just me.

We're all living in a horror show.
Our "representatives" don't give a shit how many of us suffer and die.
In fact, they'd like everyone to get back to work.
Their stock portfolios are suffering too, ya know.
Unprecedented.

But while all this UNprecedented shit is happening, there's the regular stuff, too.  The precedented stuff.
You still need to pay your phone bill. Shop for groceries. Do some laundry.

Annnnd.

People get sick from things other than the killer virus.

So night before last, my dad was feeling sick.
He had horrible abdominal pain, he told my mom, but he refused to let her call the on-call doctor.

They were both up all night, Mom trying to take care of him (as she has been doing 24/7 for a long time) and Dad being pissy and not allowing her to call a doctor.

And Dad's version of pissy is worse than most. Isn't pleasant at all, believe me.

I get the not wanting to admit he was sick.

Denial and avoidance are a couple things I'm really good at, too.

I don't hold it against him, but it has to be exhausting for my mom, who isn't in great  health herself, to take care of everything all the time. He definitely doesn't make it easy for her.
(see codependent /codependency)

So yesterday morning he finally allowed Mom to call an ambulance. There was no way for him to get into the car, and Mom certainly could not help him do so.

He was taken to their small hospital and subjected to a battery of tests. Which were inconclusive, but they think it's his gall bladder.

If that's the issue, they're equipped to do a simple removal but not equipped to handle all his other issues at the same time.
He has heart issues.
Other things going on.

Except they think it might be his liver.
He had hepatitis waaaay back when, so he doesn't have a great liver anyway.

So they put him in a helicopter and flew him to Bend. The highway method wouldn't have been a good idea because of those other health issues, if he had a heart attack or whatever they would not be equipped to handle it. In addition to just, you know, curves and bumps and stuff.

So here's where I've thrown up my hands and yelled in frustration.

My mom, who is nearly 81 years old, decided that she needed to make the drive to Bend so she could be there with Dad. Except she can't. She's not allowed in the hospital. There are no motels open. It is a complete waste of time, energy etc for her to go over at all.
(see codependent/codependency)

She was going to go last night right after the helicopter took off, but my brother convinced her that after she'd gone all night without sleeping, driving West while the sun was going down and the deer were on the highway might not be the best idea.

She agreed after a whole lot of arguing, and stayed home and slept all night before trying to take the trip.

So now she's at my brother's house. He lives about a half hour away from the hospital where my dad is. She won't be comfortable, she has a ton of health and pain issues of her own, she won't be able to get into the hospital to be with my dad, she is spending money to board the Tasmanian Devil, gas money etc.

My dad told her not to come. My brother did, too. I strongly suggested that it wasn't really a great idea.

She didn't listen to any of us, of course.
I love my mom with all my heart, but common sense is sometimes not her strongest suit.

I worry about them both. They really could benefit from assisted living, but that's not something either one of them is interested in.


I worry that when one of them dies, the other one will follow quickly. Not unusual, they've been married 60 years.
But it makes me sad to contemplate any of it.

So there isn't anything I can do.

If we were living in precedented times, I'd take off work and drive over to Bend to be with Mom while she's there and worried.  But of course here we are. No one knows what the hell is going on, how long it will last, who will live, who will die.

Ughhhhh it makes me crazy to contemplate.

I don't do 'thoughts and prayers'.

However, I did come up with an idea of a thing I can do to help.

I'm a little broke right now, haven't worked in awhile, but I contacted the place where she's boarding the dog and am going to pay the bill.

Which is unprecedented. Ha.

Pieces of Normal

I've been considering those things in my life that are going along as usual.

There are many.

Stuff to eat and drink.
I'm having a hard time not constantly snacking, actually.

I can sit around in pajamas all day if I want.

But I've been putting on actual clothing every day so I guess I'll notice if my pants start to get tight.

I have time.
Lots of time to do the laundry.
Fold it and put it away, too.

I have shows on Netflix, Prime, DVD.
Facebook, email.
Text messaging.

I have a ton of art supplies. I'm drawing little pictures while I watch stuff with Eric in the evenings/on weekends.

Planning crafty things for when I do get back to work, the kids really enjoy that (me too) and you can never have too many craft ideas, right?

Playing with LEGO.

They're not six feet apart.

Yes, I try to find something to laugh at every day, too.

But if you know me, you know I worry.
All the time.
About all kinds of things.
Things that I can't control.
Things I *can* control.

I worry about my kids, both the ones I get paid to hang out with and the ones I manufactured myself. My own two are nice enough to text me every day, or most days, and we chat back and forth a bit.

I wish I'd harvested everyone's email address before we got booted out of the building on the 13th. As it is, I have contact info for a few of them. So I checked in with the ones I could this evening, told them I can't wait to get back to our regular routine.

I refrained from speculating about how long that might be, but the longer we're locked up, the less likely it seems that it will be short. Especially after the way it's been handled so far.

I don't like uncertainty.
I know I'd feel better if I knew that the people I love would be okay after this. If I knew that *if* I caught the plague I'd be one of the people who has a mild case and survives. The control-freak-I-have-always-been-and-always-will-be doesn't want to give up my control.

I don't want to die, which is pretty common, I think.

The upside of the control freak thing is that I finally stopped smoking (for the second time 'cause I stopped in 1987 when I was PG with Matt) back in 1992 when I was PG with Lyssa and didn't start again 'cause I had this horrible thought... that someone else would marry Eric and raise MY children if I wasn't there.

I've always liked being home. Sitting around in pajamas if I feel like it. Watching whatever I feel like watching. Baking cookies. Doing not much.

But now that I'm staying home to try to avoid giving or catching this virus, I'm not having a lot of fun. I'd like to go goodwill hunting. Or to work. I have always enjoyed my job, it's not fun for me to be missing work.

It doesn't do a lot to help with paychecks, either. I had a full paycheck this past Friday. My next check will be one week instead of two. Then, nothing. No idea how long this is going to go on.

Eric's still working for now, our governor has mostly shut down the state but construction is still going on, and landscaping falls under that classification. His new job has him testing backflow devices for commercial accounts and he's really not in contact with people much.

We're fine.

Here's an interesting thing I've noticed.
Everyone I've ever done business with sees a need to fucking spam me send me email to tell me what they're doing to help ME right now.

The power company isn't going to shut off my power if I don't pay.
Maria Pope, CEO assured me they're not going to add late fees, too.

My insurance agent is doing everything by phone, email or carrier pigeon. Kidding on that last, pigeons can't afford to be out right now either.

The latest was an email from Dave Watson, CEO at Comcast.
Blah blah blah blah... our people are working from home, we're adding free content, blah blah some more.

Dave.
Why don't you cut everyone's bill by 15% and quit screwing the population?
That would be helpful.

I'm going through my stuff again and tossing more out.
Been working on that for ages.

Apparently the tunnel is longer than I thought, since I can't see any light at the end of it, but every little bit helps, or so they tell me.

We had planned on selling our truck before all this shit happened, so I'm looking for the title. You know how you put something in a safe place so you can find it later and then have no fucking clue where you put it?
Or is that just me?

So what's normal in your life right now?