Well, Tammy and family are finally moving out of the trashy trailer in the trashy trailer park. They've bought a newer better trailer in a newer better place. Halfway to where we used to be. [Why couldn't they have started there, all those years ago? Sigh.]
It's a good thing for them. They need more room with another kid(that would be Warren. They didn't have him when they moved in many years ago.), and both kids getting bigger all the time. Their new trailer even has a second bathroom.
I'm going to miss them.
I'm being left behind -- by my choice. Tammy would have made room for me, somehow, if I had wanted that. But, since they found another trailer, and not a house; since they found another trailer park and not a yard/farm/woodlot -- there really wouldn't be room or privacy for me.
You know me, I need a certain amount of privacy, which I'm not getting under the current circumstances. And it's making me crazy and cranky and mean.
Of course, the whole of everything in my life is making me crazy, cranky, and mean. Who knew finding an apartment could be so difficult? Especially one that I'd actually want to live in. Since I can't get an apartment I actually want to live in, I may as well stay in this trashy trailer I don't actually want to live in. I'm already here, after all.
There is always someone saying this person will help, or this agency will help, but the truth is its all lies. There's no one to help. Not with this stuff. I tried to get help to keep my phone number when my phone died -- the number that contains your birthday -- but after a week I gave it up. A new fucking stupid number that I don't want or like (although it IS in numerical order, which is kind of neat.)
I tried to get help, and no one would help me.
And trying to do all that's needed for JFS and keep up has been even more confusing and frustrating. They won't even do interviews now! What kind of social services is that, when they flat out refuse to speak with clients in person, face-to-face, even when the client explains the necessity?
Even my go-to people didn't offer any help. One even indulged in name calling me for asking.
So, I guess I have been busy achieving the full fledged loser status of widowhood. I'm a useless leftover. A pain in the ass. I don't deserve home or help, having outlived my usefulness as a human being.
Ah well, every day is another day ticked off the endless calendar of drudgery and senseless breathing.
Someday I'll reach the end of that list of days.
I wish I could talk with you.
It's a good thing for them. They need more room with another kid(that would be Warren. They didn't have him when they moved in many years ago.), and both kids getting bigger all the time. Their new trailer even has a second bathroom.
I'm going to miss them.
I'm being left behind -- by my choice. Tammy would have made room for me, somehow, if I had wanted that. But, since they found another trailer, and not a house; since they found another trailer park and not a yard/farm/woodlot -- there really wouldn't be room or privacy for me.
You know me, I need a certain amount of privacy, which I'm not getting under the current circumstances. And it's making me crazy and cranky and mean.
Of course, the whole of everything in my life is making me crazy, cranky, and mean. Who knew finding an apartment could be so difficult? Especially one that I'd actually want to live in. Since I can't get an apartment I actually want to live in, I may as well stay in this trashy trailer I don't actually want to live in. I'm already here, after all.
There is always someone saying this person will help, or this agency will help, but the truth is its all lies. There's no one to help. Not with this stuff. I tried to get help to keep my phone number when my phone died -- the number that contains your birthday -- but after a week I gave it up. A new fucking stupid number that I don't want or like (although it IS in numerical order, which is kind of neat.)
I tried to get help, and no one would help me.
And trying to do all that's needed for JFS and keep up has been even more confusing and frustrating. They won't even do interviews now! What kind of social services is that, when they flat out refuse to speak with clients in person, face-to-face, even when the client explains the necessity?
Even my go-to people didn't offer any help. One even indulged in name calling me for asking.
So, I guess I have been busy achieving the full fledged loser status of widowhood. I'm a useless leftover. A pain in the ass. I don't deserve home or help, having outlived my usefulness as a human being.
Ah well, every day is another day ticked off the endless calendar of drudgery and senseless breathing.
Someday I'll reach the end of that list of days.
I wish I could talk with you.
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ReplyDeleteI did try to help.. I spent 2 hours on the phone trying to keep your old number and im the one who activated the new one. I wish i could make apartment hunting go better but,theres not,much at all i can do
ReplyDelete