Inside the system

I have to admit that during law school, my least favorite classes were those that had anything to do with money. I am not business-minded (obviously) and have a strong aversion to all things corporate. So this bankruptcy business is...in a word...awful. But having filed the initial paperwork and navigated my way through the local rules of procedure, I'm thinking, after all this, that I might change my career path to become a pro bono bankruptcy attorney...or some kind of lobbyist for bankruptcy reform...in my spare time. The fact is, there is NO way your average Joe could navigate this nightmare of forms and numbers and procedures and blah blah blah. And really...do we need to overburden people in financial trouble with the added costs of attorneys and insane filing fees? It makes no sense unless you adopt a punitive approach to bankruptcy theory (and I will respectfully leave out my political diatribe here; save for to say that I think that, at some level, punishment is exactly what is going on in our bankruptcy system).

I'm sure there are a lot of people who think, "Hey, you did this to yourself...deal with it." And there is some part of that that is accurate. I fully accept my part in this and the bad decisions I made to get myself here. But I don't really need, in addition to all the other crap I'm dealing with, to be mentally, emotionally and financially flogged by a system that is supposed to help. I will gladly do what I need to do...but it doesn't need to be set up to be so difficult that it is virtually impossible.

They say change comes from within.

I wonder what kind of change I can create in this...

New shoes

I bought new shoes. New shoes that are totally NOT my style. High heeled fake croc black patent leather open toe shoes. And I mean HIGH heels. I got them at Payless so they didn't cost a fortune...and I almost had fun buying them and wearing them for the first time.

I know what you're thinking, "Why wouldn't you have fun buying new shoes?" Well see, the last pair of shoes I bought was the pair of black sandals I bought back in April. My dead baby sandals.

Yes, even shoes.

First time mommy question # 86730662

Gah! Every time I've got this mom thing figured out that first kid of mine throws me for another loop!

Sam has started making this noise. I don't really know how to describe it. It's a cross between a grunt and a throat clearing and a singing note. It almost reminds me of the old-person noise I make when I bend down to tie my shoes. Except he makes it all the time and it.is.driving.me.crazy! Watching TV. Reading. Sitting at the table. Walking from one room to another. ALL THE TIME!

Is it a phase? Is it some weird verbal tic because I've finally screwed him up that bad? I know it's not right to be critical of the weirdness your child presents...but he stops it if I tell him to stop it. So it seems he has control over it. I don't get it. WHY is he doing this? And how do I get him to stop it for good?

I don't really expect an "answer" here. Just needed to give this one a voice, I guess.

Not ok

Yes, I've moved the virtual furniture around here. It's a lot easier than moving actual furniture, so that's probably why I find it so fun to do.

So remember the girl who lost a baby and thought the world would stop turning? Remember how she went on and lost another baby almost a year to the day of the first one...had another screaming baby boy who is absolutely one of the most amazing people she knows...and then lost a third baby? Remember how she moved onward and upward and distracted herself with all sorts of things so that she made everyone around her feel like she was "ok?"

Yeah...well...I'm here to tell you that she's been lying to you since April. Because, come on people, it's NOT OK! I'm NOT OK! For shit's sake...the fact that anyone believed that is absolutely utterly amazing and makes me question whether anyone who knows me AT ALL has a freaking brain. (OK...that's a little harsh...but really? I'm ok? You bought that?)

So the fact of the matter is, when you deliver two dead babies and have to have an "abortion" to deliver the third dead baby...well...it fucks you up. Big time.

My particular breakdown has dropped a big fat turd in the middle of our finances. The only bills I've paid since April have been the mortgage (it's always late)...the daycare bill (we are $1300 behind for the month of April where I just didn't pay them and blew that money on who-knows-what)...the electric, water, internet, tv and phone bills (only when they threaten to shut off service). The bill collectors call multiple times a day. Let me tell you a little secret...bill collectors don't seem to understand that I would gladly pay them if only I had the money. But I don't. And I'm not inclined to find it for them anywhere. Maybe that's irresponsible. Maybe that's childish and I should grow the hell up. But...meh...

We will be filing bankruptcy...and I don't care. I don't care about any of it. In fact, a part of me hopes they foreclose on this damn house so I can have a mental breakdown and just give up on caring about anything at all.

I think this particular breakdown began the day the bill from Cleveland Clinic arrived...for my abortion. Yep. Given the tears that erupt when I merely type that sentence, I'm pretty certain that was the trigger. I couldn't look in the mail anymore. Bills went unopened into a basket on my desk in the dining room (I took the laptop up to my bedroom so I wouldn't have to SIT at the desk at all...more on that in a minute). In fact, there were only a few occasions when I looked through the mail all summer. Much to my surprise, there were a couple lovely notes and a gift in there from some of my blogosphere friends (thank you for those). But even that didn't convince me that I needed to be connected with this process anymore. And so the mail piled up...literally...so you could no longer see the basket they were tossed in/on...to a point where the mail was falling off my desk onto the floor whenever someone would walk by. I didn't even clean it before I had an APL volunteer work session at my house in October. I just didn't care who saw it. Still don't really.

But that's not all.

When I was pregnant at the beginning of this year, I retreated to my bedroom as much as possible...and I have stayed there since. Sure, I go out and do stuff. I go to work. I volunteer. I shop every once in a while (generally when we are faced with spoonfuls of ketchup for supper). But...I eat in my bedroom...watch tv in my bedroom...hide in my bedroom. Christmas is coming. The time of year when I found out I was pregnant and had all kinds of silly dreams. Fuck Christmas. Another reason to hate the hap-hap-happiest time of the year. (Don't you just hear choirs of angels singing here?)

Is this what giving up feels like? You CAN'T be anything you want to be? You CAN'T have it all? You just deal...however you can. And if that means hiding in your bedroom for months and bringing financial embarassment to your family...then so be it.

And before someone jumps in with the depression counseling or medication talk...don't. OK? I'm not in the mood for loving advice OR a swift kick in the rear. I'm just not in the mood to listen to anyone tell me what I should do. Listening to people is not high on my list when my heart AND my head have been shredded into millions of tiny pieces. I don't give a rat's ass what any other person on the face of this planet has to say about it anymore. I just don't. And with that, I turn off comments to this post to save us all from the asshole who will inevitably post all kinds of insightful advice and force me to delete this whole fucking blog with the press of a button.

I'm blogging today from the dining room...where I've cleaned off my desk and reset my laptop so I can type this very whiney post that may force me to delete this blog anyway. It's a start I guess.

Yeah...so in short...not ok for a while...getting a little better lately but imagine Christmas will really suck...pretty new blog template.

So who knows anything about filing for bankruptcy? Oh yeah...I need comments on if I want an answer. OK...I'll leave comments on. But if ONE SINGLE person crosses my imaginary line in the sand on this one, I will delete delete delete. You have been warned.