No Room at the Inn

It looks like Cousin Karen won't be coming up for the weekend.

She had the flu last week. And you've heard way too much about the state of my buttocks.

I paid the rest of the bill for the bug exterminator. $$$. I have to pay half a year's car insurance. $$$. There are some other triple digit expenses in there. Right now, I don't have the change to show her a nice time.

If it was just her, I would still feel obligated to pay for her bus ticket and any meals we went out for. I know I could just drag her down Oak Tree Road in Edison and she'd be thrilled half to death.  If it was Cousin Danny, I would feel obligated to pay for more than that - he's never been to NYC. I don't think a dirt water dog is what he had in mind for fine dining.

And - oh, yeah. I still haven't touched the house.

I'm going to call her tonight and ask if we can postpone it. Maybe 4th of July. Maybe Labor Day.

So. It's going to be one of those "Everyone's Gone to the Moon" weekends. Any suggestions? How weird is it to go on a picnic by yourself? I think I can safely sit through a movie in a theater. Ideas? Thoughts? I'll think up some things, some cheap things.

I'm sorry the cousins aren't coming but I just don't think I can hack it right now.

I Must Keep in Good Health and Not Die

Actually, I can do either. I can't do anything in between. I can't get sick. I can't get hurt. But I (preferably) can stay in good health or I can die. Anything else is right out.

I'm thinking of canceling my health insurance. I can't afford to use it. The money it would free up would ease my worried mind greatly.

When I went for my physical, the doctor wanted me to have an ultra sound done of my tummy. She wanted me to have an MRI for my back and hip. She had great aspirations for me, but the end result is that I haven't had any of that done.

And when I went to the gyn a little earlier, she wanted me to have a mammogram. I'm not having a mammogram. Because honestly, if there's anything going on in there, I don't want to know.

When I was updating the "Jingle" blog - actually, before that - it occurred to me that maybe I don't have ten years left. In a weird way, I hope this is true.

I was talking to my insurance agent today and he was nagging me about Roth IRAs and I told him, "I can't afford to retire. I can afford to work. I can afford to die. I cannot afford retirement." He laughed uneasily. No, I don't have life insurance with him. I don't have life insurance, period. What would be the point?

Of course, this all coincide with or is because of the medicine drawer running low to empty. I have to go this evening to pick up everything.

This morning when I got to work, exactly on time for once, I sat in my car in the nicely darkened parking deck. I leaned my seat back and I slept! For half an hour, but still, it amazed me that I could sleep anywhere other than the pile of mattresses with no peas under them.

Then later I was sitting at work and I realized why I have not been beating my brains out at work.

It's because I really don't give a fuck. Stock options, tranches, expirations, I really don't care. It's about as relevant to me as some rock falling into a quarry in Italy.

I realized that I haven't cared for a long, long time. Probably since Fezziwig & Co. made me walk Spanish down the hall. But I think it might have been earlier than that.

Maybe I'll care if I medicate myself.

When I see the young 'uns at work, when I see how fired up they are about dividends on expired options and how deeply they're into it, it's a nostalgic moment for me. I remember caring that much. And I remember what it got me.

No. Truthfully? I don't give a fuck. I only care as long as I can keep getting a paycheck. Maybe I'll care if I medicate myself.

A New Cool

So, how good is Lexapro?

This is how good it is.

I just paid most of my outstanding bills:

- Mortgage
- Gas & electric
- Phone
- Garbage collection
- Car insurance

And today when I got home from work, I found in my mailbox a bill for $1,000 to Hoity Toity Medical Group. $100 of that has been hanging around forever, but the $900 was for the CT scan of my mighty brain.

Normally, it would have me shrieking and crying and running to my bed to cover up my head.

But no. I looked at it. Thought a distant, wow, that's expensive. And then I put it in my purse, thinking, hm, guess I better call them tomorrow.

Part of it's the Lexapro.

Most of it is having this happen so many times over the past nine months that it barely rattles a window and hardly shakes the foundations of Ma Maisonette as it would have a year ago.

Stand in line, I think to HTMG. You'll get your chance. Everybody will. Even if it's just $50 at a time, you'll get it.

In the meantime, it's not worth hysteria or tears. Just a resigned shrug, a quick raise of the eyebrows, and into the purse it goes, so I can call HTMG at lunchtime tomorrow.

Ho hum.

2 Mental 2 B Treated

As Ari advised last night, I spent some time today trying to track down the information about my insurer's "behavioral" (ie, loonies) section. I also called the Employee Assistance Program.

The EAP hooked me up with a guy who sounds completely unthrilled about treating me. In fact, just talking to him creeped me out. I am seriously considering asking E to come along with me for my appointment. It's at 8 on a weeknight. This is not that unusual. I've seen Ari that late, but this guy is an unknown to me.

I called a couple of therapists. One who sounded really nice isn't taking any new patients. The other, hm we'll call her the Snotty Bitch Hobbyist, talked to me for maybe five minutes. She asked me some questions, I answered them honestly. I told her Ari thought that for awhile, I should be seen on a weekly basis.

Her tone throughout was haughty and distant.

"I'm afraid I just don't have the time to dedicate to someone with a condition as serious as yours. It just wouldn't work out."

Are you saying I'm too mental to give counseling to? Because that's why I'm hearing.

I turned around and called my insurance company. The guy didn't sound surprised. "Yeah, we've heard that before with some providers. But better to know now that to get two sessions into it and find out she's really not dedicated in helping you."

I called a psychiatrist who needs to partake of his own medicine. Whatever they prescribe for OCD would be good. Here's his voicemail greeting:

"Thank you for calling Dr. OCD. I am currently with a patient. Ongoing patients are advised to call me between 1 and 2 pm on Thursdays and Mondays. New patients are advised to call me between 10:15 and 10:20 on alternate Wednesdays. Please be sure to leave your name, telephone number, astrological sign, a list of the last times you washed your hands, and your clothing sizes so I can outfit you in 'clean room' gear before you come into my office."

Okay. Maybe it wasn't quite that bad. But I don't want to see this guy.

I found out that after a $500 deductible, the health insurance company will pay for 75% of my visits with Ari.

But as I was driving home tonight, I thought, I don't ever want to see him again. I don't. I don't like the way he treated me last night. I don't like some of the assumptions he made. I walked out of there feeling ten times worse than I felt walking in and that is not what I'm paying for. Actually, I could have spent $80 with my massage therapist for an infinitely better result. I'm sorry I didn't think of it yesterday afternoon.

It used to be that the hardest part of getting a mental person to a doctor was convincing said whacko to go to a doctor. Now the hardest part is finding a doctor to go to.

Honestly, I wish I could just spend the bucks for a massage every week and a gym membership. I can't help but think the end result has got to be better than this.

Yeah, yeah, I'll keep looking, but I have to tell you, I am not optimistic. At. All.