Filling in for B....

Approximately 2 hours west of me B is sitting on her couch. Surprise Surprise! (Just kidding B!)

I received a phone call tonight that B is having shoulder pains and numbness in the hand. She has visited her chiropractor several times but has yet to receive any long-term relief. B asked me to post and ask if anyone has had this problem in the past, and if so, what type of doctor you saw for help. Also, has it gotten better?

I was going to use this opportunity to also give out all of B's most dark, deep secrets but my four year old is currently being entertained by the electronic babysitter so I should probably cut that short. Maybe.

--April

Still Struggling

My fear of abandonment has been well-documented on this blog. This past year has taught me to never take someone for granted because you might not get the chance to tell them everything you wanted to say. You might not get to yell or scream at them and tell them how much they hurt you.

I have a friend, whom I'll call Jory. He and I were friends for over a year. We hung out on New Year's Eve together and I liked having him in my life. He was one of the few people that would come to my work to go out to lunch. I trusted him and enjoyed spending time with him.

In early April I wrote a post about the behavior and actions of jealous women. About two days before I wrote the post I got a call from Jory's on-again-off-again girlfriend. They were definitively "on-again" when she called me. Jory actually warned me before it happened that she might call since he found her looking through his phone. She had found my number and quizzed him on who I was and what I was doing as a contact in his phone.

The call went something along the lines of this:

Crazy Woman (CW): "Hi, you don't know me, but I think you know my BOYFRIEND *emphasis not added* Jory"

Me: "Hi CW. I don't know you but I've heard a lot about you. I do know Jory. How can I help you?"

CW: *obviously a little taken aback at my lack of surprise and shock at being called by her. She probably didn't realize that this wasn't the first Crazy Woman that I've had to talk to on the phone* "Umm...What is the nature of your relationship with Jory?" and she begins to speak really fast here, like all of her words were smashed together, "You see, because he's asked me to marry him and bought me an engagement ring and I want to know who you are and what the nature of your relationship is with him."

Me: *now really surprised* "Wow....Congratulations. My relationship with Jory is none of your business."

CW: "It is my business. He wants to marry me. Were you with him last Thursday night? Why won't you just tell me!?"

Me: (thinking, "She really is crazy. Disentangle yourself from this conversation immediately) "Jory and I are friends. I was not with him on Thursday. Never call me again."

CW: "Ok" - hung up.

I called Jory after she hung up the phone, but he didn't answer. He actually never answered again. She accused him of cheating on her with me and he decided that the "safest" course of action was to prove his love and devotion to her by cutting out all female friendships, including ours. He was just gone, this person that I had considered a good friend. I never even knew what had happened.

Then Smith left in the same way, without ever saying goodbye. I didn't even realize that people could treat each other like this. It never occurred to me.

Jory called me a week ago. He and CW had broken up in showdown that involved police, kids, and a follow-up visit from Protective Services. Crazy Woman isn't just an acronym with this woman. He called to tell me how upset he was, not by the five months that had passed since he stopped speaking to me, but about losing her. He drove past the gym where they work out, saw her car, and was physically sick.

I'm supposed to understand. He's made that much clear to me. I'm supposed to understand what he did and forgive him for his trespasses. I'm still struggling with the forgiveness part. I don't really want to listen to him talk about CW. I don't really want to hear him blow off my feelings by saying, "I wouldn't worry about it," like they don't matter. I'm torn between believing that everyone makes mistakes and deserves a chance at forgiveness and protecting my heart from someone who clearly isn't invested in treating it well. I'm still struggling.

Free Money!

I haven't been able to write because I'm in the midst of having a $300 panic attack. Normally my anxiety costs me little beyond an upset stomach and calorie consumption in the form of chocolate chip cookies. Not this time.

This time I was sitting in Zac's room, folding up his fall and winter clothes that might have a prayer of still fitting him when the temperatures dip under 90 degrees, when the feeling that something was wrong hit me full force. My chest tightened up with every pair of pants that I folded. By the time I got to his closet, I was breathing in and out of my mouth with my hands on my hips trying to not hyperventilate. I was scared, panicky, uncertain, and bowled over by the immediate sense of wrongness that packing Zac's clothes was inspiring. By dinner time, I was crying freely and nonplussed by Zac's refusal to, once again, eat anything that doesn't come out of a box produced by Nabisco.

The feeling lasted on throughout the week. I decided to do some more research on the apartment complex that I had put down a deposit for. Before deciding to rent the place, I had toured at least 30 other apartments. In the Greater Houston area, there are two types of apartments: 1) Luxury units that I can't afford; 2)Old and shabby units that have appliances older than I am. Since I'm not made of money, I went on a quest to find the nicest old and shabby unit that I could find within my budget.

I thought I had found it. It was a complex about 6 miles from where I work. It was built in 2003, has a beautiful floor plan, great amount of square footage, and comes with a washer and dryer. I jumped on it. The thing about the housing crisis, even in cities like Houston which have been largely inoculated against the economic problems of the rest of the country, apartments go fast. Even the apartments that I looked at three months ago are now completely full. They've started waiting lists on places. Fewer people are moving out and purchasing homes. I was tired of finding a nice place only to learn that they didn't have any units to rent. When I found out that this apartment had units available, I couldn't go and cash in my money order quick enough.

That's the first problem: the apartment doesn't take checks for the application fee ($85) or the deposit ($200). Both the application fee and deposit are non-refundable within 48 hours. I had to get separate money orders for each. The second problem is that the apartment is located in an incredibly depressed, poor part of Houston. I figured that I would trade grocery shopping at night for a washer and dryer.

That didn't quite work out though.

In my haste to secure the apartment, I didn't do enough research. When I started researching the complex, I found out that it wasn't just the sale of drugs that was the problem, both in and outside the apartment gates, it was blatant drug use that most people complained about. People openly smoking weed and blaring their music. Car theft was one of the most commonly reported crimes, followed shortly behind attempted murder.

It's taken a couple days to realize that there is no way that I can move into this place with a toddler. I'm not even sure that I would move in if I was living by myself.

What's interesting is that prior to this period in my life, I never second-guessed myself. I knew within the first two days of my visit to Smith that I was going to go there for college. I didn't hesitate before signing up to go to Oxford for a year. I think I maybe looked at Mongolia on a map before I joined the Peace Corps (maybe). I have always been the type that just jumps and hopes for the best.

Lately, my jumping has been off-target. I second-guess my decisions now after a string of life events seemed to indicate that I need to think more before making life-changing decisions. Although, I also think that I need to listen to my instincts. Something is telling me that it's wrong to move into this apartment. It was an instinct that drove me to research the place further. I often wonder if I should listen to my instincts more, like I used to before I ended up alone with a child.

The only way I can wrap my mind around a $300 mistake is to think of other times that I've given away money to large corporations or governmental entities. In so certain order, here is a list of the times that I seem to be giving away free money:

1. Car Insurance Premium ($500). I've hit two cars in the past 12 months. ($500 x 2 = $1000) for the privilege of getting my car fixed by the company that I pay $102 each month to.
2. Health Insurance Co-Pays ($25 - $45). I see my primary care physician at least twice a year ($25 x 2 = $50) and I've seen my OB-Gyn at least four times in the past year ($45 x 4 = $180).
3. Dental Insurance Co-Pays ($75-$600). I'm not even sure you can call these co-pays. I'm still at a loss to figure out what exactly dental insurance really does. I had six cavities filled (approx. $400), two root canals ($150 x 2 =300, not including the crown) and one root canal redone ($75).
4. Speeding ticket ($225 fine), Driver's Safety Course ($25), Request Copy of Driving Record ($10).
5. Failure to control speed when I rear-ended a school bus ($195 fine).
6. Three year gym membership to a place that I'm lucky if I go to once every three months ($49 x 12 x 3 = $1764)
7. Ez-Pass sticker on my car to be able to drive on a tax payer-funded toll-road ($40 x 4 = $160)
8. Apartment rent on the apartment I subleased for 8 months when I moved back in with my parents ($75 x 8 = $600)
9. Fees on a potential apartment. ($85 application fee + $200 non-refundable deposit = $285).
10. Fees on new potential apartment after getting the shit scared out of me by researching the first potential apartment ($35 application fee + $75 administration fee + $150 deposit = $260).

Let's add that all up and we get to...$5,529. Provided I stop rear-ending vehicles and getting fined for going over the speed limit, I could drastically reduce the amount of money that I give away.

Put into this perspective, line item#9 appears minor in comparison. Losing $285 on an apartment where I might have to deal with weed-smoking, car-jacking neighbors, doesn't seem that bad. In fact, it might be one of my better decisions to let the money go. Instead of donating to charities, I might just start donating to corporations, just to do my part to keep the local economy afloat and all.

Justice

My therapist accused my of trying to change the FOB by teaching him a lesson. I told him that I cared less about the lesson and more about the retribution.

My nature I'm not a venegeful person. I believe in seeing the good in people and beauty in the universe. That faith has been severely challenged over the course of the past year. Hopefully, when I'm old and gray, I'll see 2008 as the year that I lost my childlike belief that "good things happen to good people. As long as you continue to be good, you just have to wait for the good things to happen."

Sometimes you may have to wait a long time. In the interim, things like your car a/c will go out three times in a week or your vagina will develop its own ecosystem that is openly hostile to the area of delicate skin around it. It will become the Iran of your body. You will be one missle-test away from deciding just to nuke the whole damn region and revisit the issue in 500 years. Even then, with the threat of nuclear war dangling below your belly button, fate has no need for "niceness".

I always believed that if I was "nice" enough or "good" enough that the world would play by the rule book that I imagined was fair. My rule book is simply, really. If I'm nice to you (both the world at-large and individuals), you will be nice to me and not do things like end a relationship without saying good bye, abandon a child, or cause a school bus to quickly apply its brakes while turning right on red.

The cliche that you can only control your reaction to events dawned on me after I called the Attorney General's Office on Wednesday. The AG's office had issued a Writ of Withholding for the FOB's wages back in May. He had used his social security number on a job application in Florida and it was flagged for back child support due. The name of the place that the AG said the FOB worked was ridiculous. It sounded like a name of a seedy strip club, but I had faith that child support would begin to flow like a river around a sea of half-naked women.

I waited 45 business days for FOB's employer to start garnishing his wages. That's a little over three months in calendar time. It's also the legal length of time given to employers to begin garnishment. On Wednesday, the interim ended. I called the AG's office and asked them if there were any new developments on my case. Their answer was "no". The P.O. Box that was listed as an address for the employer didn't seem to actually exist. The AG didn't have a phone number or a home address for the FOB and didn't have a way to contact him. Funny enough, I don't have that information either. Nor does his family. It's almost like he's avoiding child support, which isn't surprising. I'd avoid owing the government $4,000 if I were in his shoes.

The AG representative told me that there was nothing more that she could do. They didn't have the means to investigate the case.

I hung up the phone and experienced rage like I have never experienced before. In those moments of sheer anger, I realized that I would trade monthly child support for justice. Imprisoning a man for non-payment of child support always seemed silly to me before I became a parent. You can't earn more than $.28/hour in jail and a criminal record made it more difficult to get a job afterwards. Then I became a parent and I understood that it's not about the money. It's about honoring commitments and responsibility and the FOB is the one person in my life that is legally bound to follow the rules of being "good". I wanted justice, just this once. I wanted retribution. I wanted him to go to jail and sit there every night thinking about the child he created.

So, what directly influences justice in America? Money. I could write a whole other post about the flaws of the American justice system, or I could start calculating how much money I'd be willing to spend to find his ass. The number got to be pretty high in my head, especially considering the fact that I put off going to see the Ob-Gyn for three months because of a $45 co-pay. "I have good credit," I thought. "I've always been so good about making sure my I pay my bills on-time, even if it meant that money was tight until I got paid again." I could get a loan. I could find him.

Before I did that I did a little more searching on his employer. Turns out that the AG had the full legal name, which didn't come up in any google searches because the business was doing business under a slightly different name. Some creative typing later and I was staring at a well-design website for an upscale restaurant chain. The FOB doesn't work at the store where the P.O. Box used to be located (two years ago, before the company moved its corporate headquarters). He works at the store an hour a way, in central Florida.

I called the AG's office back and gave them all the information I had, including the name of the FOB's manager and phone number to the restaurant. I asked, not particularly nicely, that they begin enforcing the court order and hold the FOB in contempt. I got a lot of excuses that primarily involved not having a home address to serve an order to appear in court paper to the FOB. I'm not sure how much easier it could be, though, to call up an employer, say you are with the AG's office and get the home address that an employee listed on their W-2.

The AG's office has 15 business days to determine the course of action regarding enforcement. In three weeks, I'll know what I need to do next to find justice. I've been good and nice long enough.

Three

This is from Wildflower's wedding. Thanks so much to MNS for sending it to me. I look like I'm actively trying to wrestle Zac to the ground because he didn't want to stand still in the picture. He wanted to run around and play at the "party".

He's turning three years-old tomorrow. I can't believe what a little person he's become. He loves to tell stories that usually end with him trying to catch something or stop something from falling. He now has two imaqginary brothers, Sammy and Arthur, who play with him all the time, but that doesn't keep him from looking up at me sweetly and asking, "Will you come play with me?" everytime I'm within 50 ft of him.

Lately he's been obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine and can tell you the names of all the engines, trams, and diesels. Before I started watching the tv show and reading the books, I couldn't have even told you the difference between a tram and a diesel, but I can now. I can also tell you all of the names of everyone on "The Wonder Pets" and "The Backyardigans".

Three. Wow.