Started from the bottom now we're...here, I guess?

I know it's been a while since I've written. I got a lot of partial drafts of things saved but haven't had energy to write in months. But I've come to a crossroads and need to sort out my head.

I'm losing my job. Sort of. My company lost their contract with the facility I work at. I've been offered a new position with the new company stepping in to take over. This means I lose all my seniority and benefits with my old company and have to start over from scratch. I really love my current company and being forced to leave sucks. It's very frustrating and there's been a lot of crying and freaking out about it.

It makes me feel like a failure. Last year after my rent kept increasing, I had to downgrade between renting my own home to renting a room in a house with roommates, and losing the independent feeling I had living on my own. I've been single for months, choosing to focus on my career instead. Now, that's going down the drain, and I'm left trying to grasp for something meaningful in my life and coming up empty. It feels like everything is falling apart around me and no matter what I do, I just slip backwards.

But I've been here before. Facebook kindly reminded me recently that three years ago, I was recently divorced, pseudo-homeless living out of a motel on North First Street in a city where I was alone and knew no one, starting a career in a completely new field I had no prior experience in. I had no money as I'd drained my savings to make the move work, and my car had broken down on the drive over the mountain pass and was off in the shop for weeks. I was starting over with almost nothing, alone, and admittedly terrified.

Things aren't quite as dire, and I keep trying to keep that perspective. I have a functioning car and a semi-permanent residence. There isn't as much money as I would like in my savings, but I'm not flat broke riding on credit either. I've gotten three good years of experience in my new career, and I have a second income with the same type of work to back me up. I have good friends both in work and outside of work.

So, I can do this. It feels like I'm starting over, but I need to keep reminding myself I've been through worse. I might be hitting a reset button on the job, but I've still made progress in other areas of my life. This is just another chapter in a very long book, and I can get through it.

In the meantime, I am currently accepting all positive thoughts and vibes as I wade through this transition.

On chicken purses and financial responsibility

On Friday, which for me is like Monday, I started up my car and noticed a soft grinding noise whenever I turned the wheel to the right. It was still there at the coffee shop and I thought, "That's concerning. I should get that looked at Monday."

Two miles later as I pulled into work, the grinding had escalated to an awful metallic screeeeeeeeeech that was constant regardless of wheel position. "That....sounds awful and I need to get it looked at right fucking now!" I thought.

I had roadside assistance to cover my tow, but I knew I'd have to foot the repair bill for whatever was wrong. Was it the brakes? Did I shatter a bearing? Did the CV joint go out?

All day I worried. I had just got back from a mini vacation, where I spent a lot of money on frivolous crap, and here I was looking at probably at least a $300 repair, possibly more, possibly much more, and I had just blown money on crap like a chicken purse. A chicken purse!

It's a purse, shaped like a chicken.

If I had psychic foresight, I would have never blown money on something as frivolous as a chicken purse! 

I mentally prepared a list of plan B's in case the repair came out to over $1k. I have credit cards hiding somewhere in a storage unit I could go fish out. I could cancel an upcoming business trip which would break my coworkers' hearts as it's an excuse for us to go party. But the car repair was most important. I had to find a way to pay for it while kicking myself for wasting so much money.

Finally at 3PM I got the phone call: it was a rock in my rotor. They didn't even charge me for the repair! (Thanks, Chris at Bill Harris! You always treat me good!)  The only expense I ended up incurring was an Uber ride from my work to the shop.

So did I learn anything from this experience? Did I learn about what's important in life, and about being financially prepared? Do I still regret my frivolous recklessness with money?

Um, have you SEEN the chicken purse???

Chicken. Purse.

WHY WOULD I EVER REGRET A CHICKEN PURSE THIS THING IS AMAZING!!!!

PS: I love all my coworkers who freaked out when the tow truck arrived and were all, "KATT! Your car is getting towed! Need us to go beat them up?" I mean, they were willing to go jump a random stranger they thought was taking my ride, no questions asked! That's family right there. I love them!

My dog the anti-emotional support animal

I was recently reading a thread where someone was struggling to find pet friendly housing. Whenever I am in the same situation, someone inevitably suggests "just register your pet as a service/emotional support animal!" This is wrong on multiple levels, makes it difficult for people who legitimately need service animals, and is illegal. You should not fake a service dog or an ESA, people! 

But even for those reasons, there's another reason: my dog is the exact opposite of an emotional support animal.

The face of a shithead

Recently, I ended a year-long relationship and while it was a choice I had thought long and hard about and was the right choice to make, I still needed to have myself a good cry. My dog does not like it when I have a good cry. He gives me a side-eye, gets up...

...and the little shit leaves the room. He left for the bathroom, the room where dreaded baths are given, because he would rather sit there than deal with my drama. This is not unique to this past week's falling out; he was this way during previous breakups, during my divorce, during any time I needed a good ugly cry session.

He's a fuckhead who literally would be the worst emotional support animal.

Giving zero fucks about my feels

Oh, but if he's feeling anxious? You'd better drop whatever you're doing and comfort him!

This morning at 3 AM my fire alarm decided it had a low battery and randomly went off. My dog cannot stand fire alarms. It took him over half an hour of whining and shivering against me after I had thrown the chirping fire alarm outside (because 3 AM is too early to deal with that shit and I didn't have a battery replacement). 

If anyone is getting registered as anything, I should be registered as his emotional support human.

In fact, I designed a shirt designating me as such, because at this point might as well. You can click on links and order one yourself if you want:

Emotional Support Human T-Shirt
by bhskittykatt

Someone said that I should have put "Please Pet" instead since I'm officially single again, but I'm also introverted and don't want people randomly touching me. So is my dog. So this seemed most appropriate.

I wrote a sad venting poem

Sometimes I think I've moved on and everything is behind me, and sometimes I write poems in the shower. Usually I forget them shortly, but this one really wanted to come out, and I promised myself I would write more, so who am to deny it?

So here's a sad venting poem I wrote in the shower tonight.

Poison

It was perfect blue skies on the island,
Making out in the meadow, up to something good,
And the fighter jets on their training runs
Took a low pass overhead for a closer look.
But even then it was falling apart,
And we couldn't hide it from our counselor.
Every night all the shouting would break out.
Even then you were talking to her.
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison,
And we drank it with our wine every night,
And we looked no worse for wear on the surface,
But we were slowly dying away inside
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison.
The deadliest poison;
We weren't alright.

On the surface, everything seemed sweet.
We were made for each other that's what everyone said.
We did everything together all the time,
But when we got home that's when I would dread.
Because words don't leave visible scars.
Because throwing dishes is only breaking things.
Because being locked in a room doesn't leave marks.
Because punching the wall by my head only emotionally stings.
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison,
And we drank it with our wine every night,
And we looked no worse for wear on the surface,
But we were slowly dying away inside
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison.
The deadliest poison;
We weren't alright.

Now you're gone; I'm older, and I'm wiser,
And I know what my own worth is,
And I thank you for the lessons,
Because I'll never forget the days when
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison,
And we drank it with our wine every night,
And we looked no worse for wear on the surface,
But we were slowly dying away inside.
We were toxic, colorless, tasteless poison.

Here's a real "Own Your Morning" post

I love Women's Health Magazine, I really do. After many years of new subscriptions and subsequent subscription purges, it's the one magazine I always keep receiving. But in recent months, they've had these really pretentious "Own Your Morning" articles where women who apparently don't have to actually work and have an abundance of free time share their morning routines, and I find it obnoxious. No average woman I know has that time in their day! These women do workouts and have brunches and read books and stuff, all before their workday? Puh-leeze!

If I wrote one of these "Own Your Morning" articles, it would look like this:

GREET THE MORNING At 4:00 a.m., the donkey brays. The witching hour has ended, and the donkey lets us know. We have survived another night, and the donkey wakes us up to make sure we know. SCRAMBLE THE DRESSING My alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m. and it's immediately off to work. I feed the guinea pig and let the dog out while throwing on scrubs and running a brush through my hair. If I am fast enough, I'll swipe some eye shadow and mascara on, but often I go sans make-up. There's no time for it. The day is calling. ORDER THE BREAKFAST As I warm up the car at 5:40 a.m., I open up my Starbucks app and order a coffee and an oatmeal. I like that I can customize all the options in the app so I can limit the sugar and fat in my beverage. I hate their coffee regardless, but my breakfast will be ready for me and I don't have to wait in line. HUNT THE FIRST PATIENT At 6:15 a.m. I am at worked and clocked in. I scarf breakfast while skimming charts of my patient list for the day. Then it's off to lurk about the floor to see who is awake. Whoever I find first becomes the lucky victim who gets their physical therapy before the facility serves breakfast. That's the price you pay for being an early bird. MORNING CAFFEINE BREAK The coffee wears off around 9:00 a.m., so it's off to Tom Tom Espresso next door for my next caffeine fix, either another coffee or a flavored RedBull. Sometimes I'll even get a sugar cookie because at that point I don't care about healthy, I'm just trying to stay awake through all my treatments. CHART FRANTICALLY My morning ends at 11:45 a.m. when the facility serves lunch. I either microwave a Lean Cuisine or order Uber Eats and consume my food hunched over my computer, charting on all my morning patients between bites. If I'm working in multiple facilities, I'll scramble to my car and make a mad dash across town to the next building, pausing only for another coffee. When you're on the go, you can never have enough coffee!

Which came first, the phone or the phone call?

I had a better idea for this blog but it's on my phone and my phone is DEAD. I was watching Netflix, reached over to check my Facebook on my phone (which had 40% battery before I plugged it into the charger half an hour prior) and it was a paperweight. I couldn't even do a factory reset on it. Something failed inside the phone and it failed dramatically.

So I went online to figure out how to file a claim with Google Fi as the phone is less than a year old. Guys, you have to call them. The entire point is the phone doesn't work, but they want you to call. What cruelty is this? MY PHONE IS BROKEN; WHY DO I HAVE TO CALL TO FIX IT?!?!

Okay, well it's Google Fi so it works with Hangouts which I can use on my laptop. Except the phone number is 1-844-Talk2Fi. In every help forum I could find, that was the number. Which is great if you have a phone with a keypad that has the letters. But if your phone is broken and you have a laptop and you are calling with Hangouts, you have this:

There's no keypad with letters; you need the actual numbers to type in. So I went on Facebook and messaged the first friend that said they were online, and I was like "This sounds weird and pathetic, but can I send you this phone number and can you look at your keypad and convert it to an actual NUMBER for me?" After she figured out I was serious I finally got the number. (Yes, in hindsight, I probably could have done an image search for a keypad, but I was in an emotional state!)

To rub salt in the wound, after you start a call on Hangouts, this happens:

Those shifty mutherfuckers.

So I call and the call is fine except they have my old address. I moved like a month and a half ago and I could swear I updated the address, but whatever. The rep updates my address and reads it back to me and it's all good. My shipping labels to send back my old phone are mailed to me and the new phone should be en route.

Except they shipped the phone to my old address.

I got on a web chat with support to see if there was any way they could possibly stop it in transit. I am so glad it was a web chat because I wanted to scream. First they asked if I could go get it from the old address. Um, I can't take time off work to camp out in front of my old address where strangers live and then take the package off their porch when it arrives....that's creepy. Then they tried to see if they could have FedEx call when they were ready to deliver the package and have me update my address with them at that point. How would they call if I didn't have a phone?!?!

I ended up with a vague "We'll contact FedEx and figure it out," which wasn't very comforting, especially since today the email says they delivered it. So now I've left a message with my old landlord to see if they can get in touch with the tenants to see if they have the package, though without a phone I am not sure how I'm going to coordinate a pickup if they do have it.

I'm up to over 48 hours now without a phone and I might shank something. Pray for me.


And the cherry on top of this entire cake? The night my phone died was the same night someone hacked my Facebook account and tried to send themselves almost $2000 through Messenger. Fortunately I don't have any payment accounts hooked up to Messenger (and if I did, none of them have that much in them, hah! *sobbing*), and Facebook was on it and locked my account almost instantly. So I had to change all my passwords in the morning.

I can't file a fraud claim, however, because Facebook wants a copy of my ID to do so, and I don't have a phone to take a picture of my ID with! I tried to fill out a claim without my ID because I don't care if they keep the Messenger payment account locked; I just want to be like "yeah that wasn't me that was fraudulent", but you can't submit the form without attaching a copy of your ID. Guess I just have to wait until I someday get my replacement phone, if it ever even happens.

TLDR Google Fi and Facebook support both make me want to cry (and may have made me literally cry...no I definitely literally cried).

EDIT: I went trick-or-treating at my old address and got my phone?

And when I opened it and opened the Fi app, do you think my address was updated? Do you? TAKE A WILD GUESS?!?!?!

Holy fuck, how many times do I need to update my address before they GET it?!?! Get it together, Google! PEOPLE MOVE!

Why I'm leaving the church

As a Roman Catholic, it's hard to watch the recent news coming out of Pennsylvania and other places. It's been an ongoing issue for years, but the recent news shows just how high up the chain of command the corruption goes. It's upsetting, it's infuriating, and it's disgusting.

As someone who has been sexually assaulted and abused by an ex husband, I have a special sympathy for the victims. The more I reflect on it, and how long it's been plaguing the church, the more I've come to a central conclusion.

You see, I simply cannot support an organization that supports child molesters and suppresses the voices of victims. I can't give money to an organization knowing that some of that money could be used to shuffle corrupt priests within the organization to hide their sins. My local diocese is currently under a lawsuit for sexual abuse. Even if it wasn't, I don't even want to peripherally support any of the corruption in the church.

I'm not turning my back on God, just the church. God is divine; the church is an organization built and managed by fallible humans. To conflate the two is an error.

It's an inconvenient truth, and saying "not my church" or "but the church still does other good things" is not good enough. The issue is widespread. The sexual abuse of innocent children is horrific itself; the relocation of priests and intentional hiding of this abuse by leaders in the organization is downright criminal and unacceptable. Beating around the bush isn't going to solve it. It's time to hold the bishops, cardinals, and the Pope himself responsible directly. It's time to stand up for the victims. This cannot be tolerated. It's wrong, it's unholy, and it needs to come to a stop immediately.

If the church ever manages to fix things, then I will consider going back. But for now, I'm out. I'm not sure how fixing things will look, considering how widespread the issue is. Serious reform and reparations are required.

To those who have been victimized, I am sorry. I"m sorry you went through what you did. I'm sorry you had to hide for so long. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to leave the organization that abused you. But I hear you. I recognize you. I believe you. And I promise, I will not support your abusers. I am listening.