Hormones are a BITCH, baby!

*sigh* So I am a moody wench at the best of times, and actually went on birth control not so much for the obvious reasons, as to help regulate my hormone level, as people tend to prefer me to be NOT psychotic. Unfortunately, due to continuing fall out from the insurance clusterfuck through the uni, I've ended up off my birth control for the last month or so. Which means that my hormones are rollercoastering. This feels roughly like being overcaffeinated, sloppy drunk and paranoid, all at the same time. Add in the kitty adventures, and we're not talking about a fun time being had by me at all. Some days are worse than others. This one appears to be heading in the distinctly "worse" direction.

Fangirl that I am, for some reason this particular mental stage seems to be characterized by an obsessive need to watch my favorites in hurt/comfort scenes, which intensifies the emotional discomfort, but in an oddly pleasant way, sort of like poking your tongue into the hole where your tooth used to be. Really not pleasant, but bizarrely compelling. And the lesson we should all take away from this is? Hormones are a BITCH!!!!

Fangurrrrrl

I'm a geek. I'm actually quite proud of that. I have a long litany of science fiction and fantasy shows and books that I've read and watched and loved, and even better than the entertainment is the amazing people its brought into my life. I would be the last person to deny that there are some really weird and disturbed people in many of the fandoms (I've seen them) but there are also some people who just enjoy a show so much they want that good feeling to continue, long after the season finale airs and long before the season opener premieres. I'm just saying, I'm a geekgurl and a fangurl and I wouldn't miss the fun I've had being both for anything!

Cats. Cats Who Fight...

I never intended to have three cats. I really never intended to have two cats. But when our cat somehow escaped off the balcony of our genteel ghetto second-floor apartment and didn't show up for two weeks, I was ready to change the story for my ten-year-old son who is far more tender-hearted than I am. So off we went to the Humane Society with his piano teacher, who is a cat and rat fanatic. We came home with a pair that had been brought in together, and the next day my son left for camp. All was well. I was slightly stressed but everything seemed to be going smoothly. Two days later I get a call that my cat had been brought to a local pet hospital.

Don't get me wrong. I love my cat. Cats. But at the moment we're in that touchy adjustment phase, and in a very small apartment, a little cat urine goes a long ways. Especially when Blueballa, my older cat, decides she's going to play goalkeeper for the litterbox. Yes, I have two now, but it took me a while and money is tight, even tighter than space! This is not what I needed. More stress. No, I have no intention of getting rid of any of the cats, but right now, I really wish they would just get along and stop peeing except in the fucking litterbox!

The Summer of My Discontent...

If you haven't already seen rather clearly, I hate my job. Its not a bad job, and in this putrid economy where work is so scarce people would cheerfully take a job for Mr. Scrooge just to HAVE a job, I'm grateful to have work that pays me enough to take care of myself and my son, in respectable if slightly upscale garage sale fashion. What bothers me is the expectation that when times are bad, "we're all in it together" and take paycuts and angst over clients who don't pay their bills or the heating expense or whatever. But when times are good and the money starts rolling in, suddenly we're back to "management" and "staff." All two of us.

But its more than that. I hate having to cater to the whims of my boss and her petty, tight-fisted and mean-spirited ways. I hate having to call and harangue clients whom she doesn't like, while other clients she considers "worthy" get a pass.

Center of the Universe

Its true, I have seen the center of the universe. I know, you science types out there are saying that's impossible, can't be, but I have proof. How? Well, it all started with the software consultant we were using, who was, by the way, a replacement for another software consultant who had been found wanting. After getting off to a good start by making the boss happy and resolving an ongoing problem, trouble set in. She got sick. And then she had the effrontery of STAYING sick. My boss, Ms Flaky New Age Reiki Woman, was casting aspersions right, left and center about the software consultants motives, and had finally settled on her intent to "demand back her deposit."

That morning when she came in, I noticed a newspaper clipping sticking out of her bag. It was an obituary notice for the slacker software consultant! I was horrified, and so was my boss, but for completely different reasons. Apparently my boss was staggered at the unprofessionalism of this person who "couldn't be bothered to advise her clients she was seriously ill." No, I am not making this up. That is a real quote. With her usual efficiency and briskness, Reiki Woman then proceeded to write a letter to the spouse of said software consultant, prefacing it with an expression of sympathy for his loss, and then getting right down to the important part - getting Reiki Woman her money back pronto!

So how does this relate to the center of the universe? Here is proof, that my boss, Reiki Woman, IS the center of the universe. Because if she WASN'T, then this behavior would be nothing short of heartless, selfish and appalling. And that can't be the case, because Reiki Woman is in tune with all beings and the flow of life! She is an "old soul" who has learned many, many life lessons and is not focused on belongings or money. Right? Right???? *excuse me while I throw up*

Fun with Clients...

Meanwhile, back at drama central, aka the office, Brain Damaged Boy was in fine form. He had arrived unannounced as he always did and we commenced having one of the five conversations we usually did, i.e. as follows:

Him: "Why do I have to pay child support?"

Me: "Because the state orders it."

Him: "Even though I have no money? Why didn't you tell them I have no money?!"

Me: "We used your paycheck stubs to calculate it. What you pay is standard for the state."

Him: "But why do I have to pay child support and the mortgage?"

I usually check out at this point in the conversation, otherwise I would have been arrested several weeks ago not long after we took him on as a client. In all fairness, it really isn't his fault. Smart, good-looking guy who happens to have been born Asperger's spectrum and then got a brain injury while he was in the Air Force. Since my son is also learning disabled and struggles in social settings, I get it better than most people would.

But let's face it. Family law is intensely stressful and difficult. People are rarely at their best when they're in the middle of divorce or a struggle over how much child support is gonna be paid or who gets the kids when, so it's an emotional black hole, no matter how hard you try to hold yourself apart from it. Add into that my drama queen boss, who is never to blame for anything, even if what I did is exactly what she said to do, and I'm already running low on emotional stamina for dealing with much more than your average crazy client.

Enter Brain Damage Boy. Yes, hugely politically incorrect, feel free to castigate me. But it is NOT my job to teach him social skills. Dealing with him at least once a day in person, and usually three or four times on the phone has really worn out my p.c. trigger. But fortunately for me, and unfortunately for BD Boy, he's hired Ms. Money Obsessed Attorney, and while she's let him slide because he's been bringing in big chunks of money, the other party just changed to a different attorney my boss loathes, so looks like we're out! Of course, there's always another needy, clingy, crazed client just lurking around the next corner. Gotta love my job. Not!

Universities Hate Working Moms!

Why is it that because I want a real education from a real university and not one of those fake ones you can get from the "online" colleges, that I can't get a little more cooperation and assistance from my school? I'm not talking about hand holding but just something a little less labyrinthine when you're trying to make your way through the maze of requirements, classes, schedules and programs that is commonplace in most higher ed organizations would be great.

My experience, after attending a community college and two state universities, is that if you don't fit in the box they've got for a college student, too bad, so sad! Foolish me, when I first started college, I had dreams of dropping my son off at daycare while I took night classes after work. I was quickly informed that the daycare hours ended at six. Even most of the classes that were held at "night" began an hour or more before I could even leave the office. I think what makes it so annoying is the schools are so self-congratulatory about how flexible and accommodating they are. Ummm, not so much.

Plan B, online classes. Not ideal, but the only option open to me. I managed to make my way through all the general education classes required for my degree. Believe me when I say that biology online has a set of challenges all its own! By the time the choices at the school I was attending had dwindled to almost nothing, I had already decided to shift to another school that would hopefully be a little more challenging. Again, not so much. Oh well.

The new university was great, and the best surprise was the health insurance coverage you automatically were enrolled in if you took over five credits. Since I had a choice at my dinky two person office between having my benefits go toward covering my daycare expenses or towards my health insurance, I hadn't had any coverage for over a year since thanks to the fabulous health options in our wonderfully advanced country.

But my happy happy joy joy moment lasted until I tried to enroll for the insurance over the summer. True to form, there was a clause buried deeply that only certain online classes were counted towards those five or more credits. For my spring term I had inadvertently registered for classes that were considered "self-support" which meant I had not only not had coverage for the last three months unbeknownst to me, but I was also no longer eligible for coverage over the summer. Great.

The university, like most gargantuan institutions, works on the squeaky wheel principle, so when contacting the administrator of the clinic got me no results, I contacted the provost (another weird word only used in universities). That's looking slightly more promising, but in the meantime, the first of the notices from the insurance company have shown up, with a large figure in the "you may be billed this amount" section. ARGHHHHHH!