Like many others who are similar I suffer from an enormous amount of guilt. Some of it deserved and some of it not. I always say I have a guilty conscious, and I tend to think that if, given a long enough time span, I can certainly figure out why it was definitely my fault. I also have a lot of confidence issues and more than my fair share of grief lately. Add to that the fact that this is my fourth living room in the last three-hundred-sixty-five days and you end up with a very sad, broken author who feels like he just can’t get anything done.

A dead mouse on a paper towel
I’m fairly certain Remington didn’t catch this guy. Fairly certain.

It is Wednesday night as I sit down writing this. Usually I go through a couple passes with my writing, set up the metadata for the post and post it. I do the formatting on every pass after the first, and post it when I’m tired of looking at it. I’m not sure if that’s important in any way other than I just wanted to explain my process so you can understand that it’s unusual for me to spend more than an hour or two on any of my postings.

It’s not a long process, is what I am trying to get across

But at this point, I have spent more than a week trying to decide what to post for my post that I wanted to put up on Saturday, so that’s I could publish it Sunday. That didn’t happen, obviously. Instead I have been trying to figure out how to say I’m not doing well. I feel like I am not writing what I want to write. Mostly I am feeling that I just don’t want to write. The depression has been awful of late. I’m the kind of person who is usually still opening up his eyes as he is walking to the bathroom before he even notices he has gotten out of bed. But the last couple of weeks I have spending longer and longer getting out of bed, and looking for more and more reasons to go back to bed. I’m so afraid of what’s going to happen during the day that I just don’t want to move at all. That I don’t want to wake up, even.

Here’s a f’rinstance from the last month. I spent all the money I had paying off all my bills and collections in January. So by the time I finally moved in to my new apartment, my bank account was empty and I was living off of the cash my mother was sending me. I was incredibly grateful she could help out, and that she agreed to help out. BUT, she paid to get me in this place and is paying rent until my disability programs can catch up and pay for me to live here. But mom is a retiree herself on a fixed income. So I’m trying to spread the “Please help buy me a lunch love” around. So I went to a food bank. The food banks in Ohio were amazing. The food I got from them would always include a couple pounds of ground beef plus some other kind of protein, tons of canned food I couldn’t wait to make, several desserts at least a box of cereal. I don’t recall there being a lot of produce, but it was ALWAYS at least enough to feed me for two weeks.

The same can not be said for the food bank I went to in Maryland. Two or three meals, maybe? Everything I could think of to make with it required something or more than something’s else to purchased that were the protein. A small bag of rice, a sweet potato, a lot of celery… Nothing great, nothing I got excited about.

So my dad needed some help and offered to buy me some groceries if I came down. The first week it was supposed to snow, so I went down the next week. My groceries are being stretched at this point. My fridge is mostly empty because I couldn’t afford to buy the basics… it was getting ugly. But I went down to Dad’s and we got a fair amount of groceries, not a lot of refrigerated or frozen goods, because I knew I was staying the night and driving home the next day. But time with dad is almost always and enjoyable and we had a good visit.

Just a side note here, and maybe I will get more into it at some point with their permission, but I think it is so great to have a dad at this point in my life. We could not see eye to eye for the longest and the fact that I get so excited to just go hang out with him makes me really happy. The fact that I am close with both of my parents at this point is absolutely mind blowing to me. They are both really interesting and great people for totally different reasons, but I just wanted to point out another way I am obscenely lucky sometimes.

ANYhoot, so I go to dad’s have a great time, and drive home. Upon coming home I discover that the mouse pictured above was dead on my carpet, and then discover the fridge is not running. I send a message to maintenance. Five hours later, I discover the ice I put in to freeze had not frozen so I send another message to maintenance saying the fridge is not on. The next morning I wake up and get a note that both of my notes have been marked completed because they were duplicates. The day after that I go to the office to complain because of the notes being marked completed. The office wax’s shocked and appalled at this behavior. And especially that I was concerned about my insulin and they would send somebody over within twenty four hours. So On day three of no refrigeration I called the office to say nobody had been over. They promised somebody would be there within the hour. So the day after that when nobody had been there yet, I called and screamed at somebody new and told them my insulin was surely dead at this point and wanted to know what the hell they would do about it. They promised to call me back within the hour. Two hours later I called again, this time I informed them that I had found there social media and that I was going to be posting reviews and photos of the dead mouse and fridge as soon as I got off the phone with them.

Ten minutes later the maintenance man showed up. Kudos to them for being a 21st century company.

BUUUUUUUUTTTTT, when the maintenance man moved the fridge he knocked my bottle of wine that I was saving over. He cleaned a little and then ran and got a shop-vac. The floor is stained. After he left I discovered that the floor was covered with a half inch off water. Three days later, somebody came over to look at it. On a Friday. They noticed the water was gone, and told me it was from the repairs on the apartment above me. After the weekend they came and did the drywall in my kitchen. Nobody did anything about the dining room carpet, but I’m sure we’ll have some mold at some point.

It took 10 days to finish getting my refrigerator repaired. Five days to get it working. None of this is helping my general anxiety. But I’m trying. The fridge is only one of many problems I have dealt with since I moved in.

I thought it was going to get so much easier and I could just sail past the grief of losing my friend and having to move three times since she died June Sixth, twenty-twenty one. Living laurie-less has been less than luxurious.

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