Insomniac Nightmares

Yesterday, the move began. Had to move, as Salem was getting too expensive, the lady of the house’s commute was too exhausting, all the doctors I need are too far out, and our neighbors suck with their habits of blowing pot smoke under their door and into ours (or out their bedroom window, where it drifts directly into ours) and bioweapons grade insect infestations that crawl up from downstairs. Living in an upstairs apartment for a gimp like me was also massively unpleasant.

I wore myself out, because as is my penchant, I said “fuck it, I’m gonna get shit done” and pushed myself well past my breaking point. Still isn’t even close to done. I got all the dishes moved. Which is a greater accomplishment than you might think (there were roughly 10 boxes of dishes, all fairly large and slightly overpacked, which had to be lugged downstairs, tied into a truckbed, transported 30 miles and then unloaded in a rainstorm), but still not that great. I set the bed up. I got internet turned on. Hooray.

In the process of all that, I got a call from one of my doctors, saying the words I’ve been arguing with 6 doctors over for nearly a year and informing me of the appointment where it will be marked on official documentation, so perhaps my employer will quit stalling and actually pay me (and my lawyer will have the paperwork he wants to send to SSI.) “It is not safe for you to return to work. We’ll see you Friday for your documentation.”

I’m torn on that. On the one hand, it’s somewhat of a relief; it means that maybe I can finally help pay some rent, catch up the credit cards that are maxed and delinquent, that sort of thing. It means there’s hope for at least some income trickling in soon. On the other hand, it probably means my employer’s going to let me go once they pay it (since at this time it appears unlikely I’ll be going back any time soon, surgery or no), which means no insurance (which is already on the verge of cancellation as it is.)

It also feels like a punch to the gut. I’m one of those weirdos who actually wants to work. I liked my job. I’d rather be doing it, and working to the next tier position. Maybe one day I can go back, but it’s likely I’d be starting from the bottom again. That’s assuming I can get my surgery, survive the refractory period, and have significant quality of life increases from it after the six month recovery time expires.  Lots of ifs, there.

Anyway. My brain’s up in the air. Trying to figure out how I’m going to get my computer, PS4 and television to the new house (let alone the furniture.) The rain and driving a Ford Ranger (small cab, short bed) makes moving electronics an exciting proposition. But I’ll figure it out. Hopefully. I’m still trying to do a post a day (doing this at the old house, since I haven’t yet dismantled my “writing corner”) and pretend I actually do stuff with social media, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep that up over the next week. I’ll do my best.

Hope everyone out there is well.