I talked to my shrink about Michigan Rehabilitation Services. I told him that I suspected he was confusing it with something else because they seemed to be focused on getting handicapped people into the workforce. He assured me he wasn’t and that they define “handicapped” very loosely and that my long-tern depression could make me an excellent candidate for them and that they would love to place someone with as many skills as I have. Cool. I said they might want documentation of my depression and he said no problem. Woo hoo! My sucky moods could be a boon.
I also decided to use Duolingo to get a little Greek back into me. I spent three years in a Greek Orthodox church learning Greek from an actual Greek lady, Zana. She’s a hoot. Once, at the bookstore, we were all sitting around the table and people were asking where each other were from. One girl was from Traverse City, which is up by the tip of the pinky finger, where she pointed to on the top of her left hand. Everyone was pointing to the anatomical area they were from. Zana was highly confused, started pointing to her left hand wildly and saying, “Why everyone keep doing this?” Someone went to the atlas section, came back, and opened it up to Michigan. I pointed to the Flint area and added, “Yes, we really do call this the ‘thumb’.” Zana Litos is also a PhD and teaches at LCC. She was always frustrated with her American students who don’t know basic world history, like where Mesopotamia is. In Greek, “meso” means between and “potamia” means rivers; hence, “Mesopotamia” is between the rivers. What rivers? The Tigris and Euphrates, of course. I always knew it was in the Middle East around Iraq, but had never thought of it from the Greek perspective. To her, it was obvious. She thinks American students are slow. And, for the most part, she is right.
I am looking forward to knowing if MRS can do anything for me. And I have figured out how to change my keyboard to Greek at will. Οπα!
A couple days ago, a hospice worker came in. Barry doesn’t qualify yet, but I feel so much better. I walked around the mall wondering why I would feel so much better without Barry qualifying.
I think it’s because I know what the next step is. And the next. I feel like I am not so alone.
The weather also may play a factor. A couple weekends ago, it actually snowed. Lake effect, of course. Yesterday, it was in the low 80s. The first blush of dandelions was everywhere. And the grass is suddenly green. We still have standing water everywhere, but it has been breezy, which helps dry things out.
I may be feeling hope now. I see the next phase. My shrink recommended Michigan Rehabilitation Services because they help people get back into the workforce. I have an orientation next month. Because I now have some help with Barry, I can get a job. I won’t be sitting around the apartment waiting for one of us to die. I hate feeling like a vulture. He is not going to like any of the upcoming appointments, but there’s not much I can do about that.
Another reason for the feeling of new beginnings is yesterday was Holy Saturday, when I was chrismated 14 years ago. Today is Pascha (Eastern Orthodox Easter). I don’t care about any of it anymore. I thought I would miss it more than I really do. I am celebrating my independence from everyone’s opinions. It feels like freedom.
I’ve had a cold for the past week. I am starting to feel a little better.
What happened was that one of Barry’s AA friends said she would take him to his Sunday meeting for the next couple months until they moved up north. Then she reneged. I had gotten my hopes up, told my friends I was getting more help with Barry, and looked forward to having the apartment to myself (however briefly). Then she wrote a letter, saying it was God’s sense of humor. People wonder why I’m not a Christian anymore. She doesn’t want to know what I think of her god.
Anyhow, my body can’t tolerate the up-and-down cycles of disappointment/hope.
On the upside, my shrink is looking for the name of some agency that helps place people like myself in jobs. That would be super cool. I just don’t want to get my hopes up again.
I’m getting Barry used to other people taking care of him. It’s all coming out of pocket for the first twenty days of service. The insurance company does everything within its power to make using their policy just not worth your time. It’s like having a $2000 deductible.
Once I get into the new swing of things, I will know what my availability for work will be. I’m sure someone will want my skills.
For now, I’m drinking lots of fluids and taking plenty of vitamin C.
I am excited. Monday is the first day of the home care worker coming in and watching Barry.
I finally have a “next.” I feel a need to update my resume and try soon to get a weenie job. Is this what hope feels like?
My urgency comes from becoming fifty this year and having wasted so many years concerned with fulfilling societal expectations. I need to be intentional regarding everything and not allowing myself to “go with the flow” (which always goes downhill). My life is more than half over and I have never had a career. I have been too busy wasting my life and trying to be a good girl.
I am learning to manifest what I want and need. Persistence is the name of the game. I wish I could “trust the universe” to give me what I need, but I have wasted far too much time trusting others to meet my needs. Somehow, being female, I end up being expected to meet everyone else’s needs while mine go unmet. For example, I believe that workplace equality will always be a joke as long as women are simply expected as a matter of course to be the family caretakers. That’s just the way it is and, as long as women continue to play that role willingly, that is the way it always will be.
I have certain goals. One plan is to get more current on human resource laws. I have renewed my SHRM membership. Another is to rest up and get clearer regarding what I want. My life has not been about me in years and I am exhausted. I can’t sit around watching mind-numbing TV and figure out where I am going, all at the same time. I have been deliberately not sitting with Barry while he watches endless TV. He and I are on separate journeys. I am not planning on going to the grave with him. Many caretakers do not outlive their patients, but it is now looking like I just might. This is new.