January 31, 2014
12:00 a.m.

Happy Friday!

Well, we just spent about an hour with no electricity. It's rather chilly in here now. And since it is snowing like mad outside, I think we can expect to lose power again. So I think I'll make this short.

There's a storm out there, people. Please be careful when you hit the road in the morning.

I will not be surprised if there's no school tomorrow. There's already a lot of snow on the ground.

Just having a great time watching the recording of "King of the Nerds". (Did I mention we watch some crazy shows around here?) If anyone has ever seen the movie "Revenge of the Nerds", you should know that two of the stars are the hosts of this show: Robert Carradine and Curtis Armstrong.  It's all pretty funny. Any show where contestants fly on brooms is worth a look. Check them out on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KingOfTheNerdsTBS

Anyway, I'm out of here, I don't want to risk my computer having a sudden shutdown twice in one night!

Good night!

January 30, 2014
6:03 p.m.

This evening I would like to give a big "thumbs-up" to a young lady named Nicolle Cruz. I don't personally know Nicolle, but I do know that she is an amazing, loving and giving woman who was willing to undergo a painful procedure to donate a kidney to her friend and mine, Tim Seeley.

I know a lot of people, myself included, who have made the decision to donate organs when we pass away. We will never know the people we might help, and none of us will be required to go through surgery and recovery in order to give that help. I am not in away trying to diminish organ donations from those who have passed--it is a wonderful thing to do. Living donations, on the other hand, require the donor to go through an operation and the recovery that requires, and those who are willing to do such a noble thing should be honored for doing so.

And so, Nicolle, I honor you. Because of you, Tim will go on to touch many lives with his many talents--writing, cooking, working and just being with and loving his family. As his friend, I am very thankful for that. May God bless you, Nicolle Cruz, and let you become a loving light to those who may choose to follow in your footsteps.

I am praying for your speedy recovery, and for yours, too, Tim Seeley.

God bless you!

January 30, 2014
12:02 a.m.

Thought I was done, didn't you?

I saw this on my feed and thought I'd share it, because I have found that people who know what it's like to do without often become the best advocates for the poor.

http://blog.patrickrothfuss.com/2014/01/concerning-cake-bilbo-baggins-and-charity

I guess you'd have to copy and paste to get to it, but believe me, it's worth taking a minute to check it out.

Just tried it, it works.


I'm thinking good thoughts and sending out a prayer for Tim and his wonderful donor. He came through surgery well--they both did--and I'm so excited for him. It's literally a chance for a new life.

People can sometimes be so amazing. I do wish that we would hear more about the amazing ones and less about those seeking their fifteen minutes of fame by doing something horrible.

I really am done for the night, now. Honest.

Good night.

January 29, 2014
8:57 p.m.

We watch some crazy stuff around here. Tonight it's "Opposite Worlds". Having recently read the "Hunger Games" series, I'm wondering how long it will be before we start killing each other off for entertainment. It's not that much of a stretch.

Personally, I'm not very invested in these kids of shows. I have never seen an episode of "Survivor". But the kids like it, so I pay minimal attention as they watch.

Oh, good, now it's time for "Psych". This one I'll pay a little more attention to.

Yup, and now we're watching Michael J. Fox. I should probably be trying to do something productive!

I'm done watching stuff now, I think. I have been avoiding adding up the bills and figuring out the drug program for my insurance. Why can't I make a choice one time and have it just continue til I die? For that matter, why can't I just pay the bills once and have that take care of everything til I die.

That is so not going to happen. Darn it.

Anyway, it's pretty much the end of the month, so once again, it's assemble the bills and figure out how pathetic the food budget will be for next month.

I really hate that my life has come to this, and that's why I have worked so hard in the past couple of years. I don't actually have to go back to work. My disabilities are not going to go away or get better, so I can continue as I've been doing. But I want to go back to work, because I feel like I'm too young to be retired.
My studies went well, I graduated with honors, I got that certification--no mean feat, the test was challenging--and now all I can do is apply, send out resumes and hope. And it would be nice to have a couple of bucks left at the end of the month.

I'm not really complaining, because I've been in worse situations. The winter after I had my first car accident and had to have back surgery--horrible. I had four kids to feed and no income at all. What a nightmare.

So I'm not in a horrible situation, things will be fine, but I do want to be able to get a job and put something away for when I really should retire. And hopefully a little something to leave for my kids and grand kids. It won't be millions of dollars--wouldn't that be nice--but a little something, at least.

Anyway, don't need much, I am a very blessed woman. I have children and grandchildren, parents and siblings and even a couple of friends, and that is the best form of wealth there is.

In the meantime, I think I really need to invest a little in some more supplies and make enough jewelry to hit the flea market this summer, just in case I don't have a job by then. Whatever I don't sell always makes good Christmas presents!

That's enough out of me for now, I think.

Good night!

January 28, 2014
11:40 p.m.

Watching my DVR recording of "Supernatural". Any Garth episode is a fun episode.
http://buddytv.us/1hLd3Nv

January has been kind of a long month. I got home from Wyoming on New Year's Eve and promptly caught the flu, so I've spent a lot of time sick. Ugh!

I went to see my councilor at Vocational Rehabilitation this month. She made me an appointment with a place that helps women "dress for success" by matching them with donated clothing. I still need to reschedule my appointment with them, because I was too sick to go.

Honestly, I thought I might need clothes for a job interview by now--well, I hoped--but no one has called to inquire about my brilliant resume and newly won job skills and certification. At any rate, both of my brothers gave me gift cards for Christmas, so I have bought a couple of things that would probably be just fine for an interview--unless I have to wear a power suit, which is so not me.

Anyway, I think I will call my councilor tomorrow and see if it's okay to just use my new X-mas clothes for interviews, if I ever get one. There's no need to spend money on me or give me clothes that someone else possibly needs more than I do.

Now, on that note, I have to come clean and admit that going to that appointment was hard. It was hard to make myself leave the house.

I should be going back to school every Thursday, too, to keep up my skills and learn new things, maybe hopefully start getting a line on the ICD-10 upgrades that I'm going to need to learn soon in order to be marketable. But I don't seem to want to leave this house.

Oh, I've been out with Sam and Valerie, but I don't think I've gone anywhere alone since I got back from Wyoming. Maybe a walk or two, but not far.

I've got to buck up and go somewhere in the next few days. If the weather is ugly Thursday, I'm not going to go to school. I don't need to get sick again. But I need to make myself get out and go somewhere, alone, as soon as possible. The longer I go with only a walk to the mail box, the harder it's going to be. I'm watching the weather, and at the very least I'll take the bus to the library this week.

Have to do it. It's far too easy to fall into the "shut-in" mode.

It scares me, you know. I want to get a job. I've been out of the working world for a long time now, and it gets boring and lonely. But what happens if I get a job and have to fight myself out the door everyday? I've got to beat this reluctance to go out. I don't know where it's coming from, but it's gone on for awhile now, and just when I think I'm better--BAM! It hits me again.
 
And it's not that I'm afraid of anything. Once I do go out, I'm fine. I talk to people, I take care of my errands, I don't freak out. It's just this...reluctance to leave. I don't know, maybe I'm losing it.

Okay, enough with the crazy lady stuff.

Tonight I want to end this with a prayer and lots of positive energy going out for my friend, Tim Seeley, who will be having a kidney transplant tomorrow. May God bless you, Tim, and your family, and keep you safe and well through this life-transforming adventure. May he also bless and keep the generous friend who is donating a kidney so that you can continue to be in her life. This world is full of wonderful people, and knowing you and your situation is a wonderful reminder of that.

Good night.

January 28, 2014
12:12 a.m.


I am an avid reader. I love to read. I started reading on my own at about the age of three, because I loved curling up with my mother to read a story, but sometimes she tried skipping over things or changing the words. Unacceptable. So I started reading to her. I'm sure it started out as memorization, and I do remember looking at pictures and making up my own stories, but I'd been reading on my own for quite a long time before I started school.

Once I did start school, I was a bit ahead of classmates, and it got me into trouble because I'd finish my work and then want to chat up whoever was sitting nearby. I got moved around a lot, but there wasn't anyone I wouldn't talk to. Finally the teachers wised up and sent me off to the school library when I finished my work so the other students could finish theirs.

The school library was great, and of course the librarian was my buddy. The first book I checked out from there was "Old Yeller." The librarian asked my teacher first, because it should have been a few years above a first grader's reading level, but the teacher told her I'd have no problem with it.

Well, I had no problem with the reading, but--oh my God--I sure had a problem with the story. That was the first book I'd ever read that made me cry. I'm not talking a couple of tears and a sniffle or two, either. I mean heaving sobs and a desire to quit before reading the end. Lord, lord, my poor mother. She sat with me so we could read to the end, and later she complained to my father about the serious lack of judgement on the part of my teacher and the librarian in giving me such a tough book to read.

Well, that scared me. What if she went to my school and said something? Would I be banned from the library? Would I have to stay in the classroom and sit at the teacher's desk reading the so-called adventures of Dick, Jane and Sally? Heaven forbid!

"Please don't say anything, Mama," I begged. "I'll try to choose happier books from now on!"

Of course, my mother would never deny me my reading rights. She promised not to raise a fuss and assured me that this would not be the last time I read a story that would bring me to tears, so I'd better get used to it. My father just chuckled and said, "That's great advise; how's that working for you, Mama?"

Not long afterward, I discovered the Public Library.

As members of the Catholic Church, I'd been enrolled in weekly Catechism classes. After school, a few of my classmates and I would walk from our school to the building where those classes took place. We'd study our lessens with the Sisters for an hour and then walk home.

On one fall afternoon one of my classmates told me she had to return a library book before walking home and asked if I'd like to go with her. I asked why she hadn't done it before we left school, and she informed me that it hadn't come from the school library, it had come from the real library.

Well, I certainly wasn't going to pass up a chance to go to a real library, so after class we walked to the corner,  crossed the street and marched up the stairs of the first real library I'd ever been in.

Oh, it was heaven! Books everywhere, shelves and shelves of them! We'd entered the upstairs level, which was adult books, and my friend led me to the staircase that took us down to the Children's Library. The walls were covered with brightly covered posters, and again there were shelves and shelves of books. Only these shelves were shorter, more accessible to the little people who wanted to reach them.

I was ecstatic. My friend returned her book, quickly chose another and checked it out. I wandered here and there, drinking everything in.  My friend told me she had to leave, and I told her I'd see her later, and just kept looking, pulling out a book here, and a book there. I'd only been allowed to check out one book at a time at school, and if it was the same here, I wanted to be sure I got something good.

The librarian came over and remarked that she didn't remember seeing me there before.

No, I agreed, this was my first time.

She told me I would have to get a library card in order to check out any books.

I had a little change in my pocket and fearfully asked how much it would cost.

She looked surprised and then laughed merrily. "It doesn't cost a thing!" She explained that the only time I would have to pay for anything at the library was if I returned my books late. Then I'd have to pay a "fine". And if I lost or destroyed a book, of course I would have to pay to replace it. "But I have a feeling you're very responsible, aren't you?"

I assured her that I was. I wasn't sure my mother would agree, but anything to get those books. With the librarian's help I filled out a form and was issued my library card. I'd never felt so grown up! Then she informed me that I could check out two books and could have two weeks to read them before they had to be returned. I chose "Bambi" and "Peter Pan". Not the Disney versions, but the actual books. I checked them out and signed my name on the cards. She stamped the return dates on the cards on the inside front covers, and I skipped up the stairs holding my treasures and headed for home.

About halfway there I looked up and saw my mother marching toward me. She was scared to death--and mad as hell as a result--but I was so happy I completely missed the look on her face. "Mama, Mama, look!"
I yelled, racing to meet her. "I went to the real library, and got my own library card, and look, look! I got to take out two books, Mom, and I'll read them to Melanie and--what?" It had finally occurred to me that she was giving me a very strange look.

"I've been looking for you for an hour," she growled through gritted teeth.

"But--but I--an hour?" Wow. That went fast. "Mama, I'm sorry, I--"

"Never mind." My mother took my books, hugged me, then shook me a little. "Don't you ever scare me like that again!" She thrust my books back into my arms and we headed home. She was quiet for a few minutes, then asked me to tell her all about the library. I understood that I wasn't going to get into trouble--this time-- and made sure in the future to always remind her that I'd be going to the library after Catechism class. It became a ritual that lasted through all my school years.

As a child I knew that I had scared my mother badly that day--my father, too, as it turned out--but until I became a parent, I never fully understood the depth of that fear. So tonight I'd like to say: I really am sorry I scared you, Mom and Dad.

The magic of the library still lives in me today. I can easily enter and spend and hour or so just searching to find the perfect story to live in for the next couple of days. And I can honestly say that there were times in my life when books have literally saved me. But stories of those times will have to wait for another day.

For now, I think I'll crawl in bed with my latest story--I've only got a few pages before the series ends--and hope that later sleep may find me for a while.

Good night.

Ah, crap, the world has gone crazy.

News story this morning: Sixteen year old sets himself on fire in school cafeteria. http://kdvr.com/2014/01/27/fire-causes-evacuation-closure-of-standley-lake-high-school/

Why would someone do something like this? What goes through the minds of these kids who want to kill themselves and/or others?

It's easy to blame violence in movies, t.v and video games, but things like this have been happening for decades, long before video games, long before television, long before movies. If you read the Bible, you see numerous stories of suicide, torture and murder. The same is true of any historical record.

If there might be blame to assign for those who commit school shootings, mall shootings, suicide pacts, etc., perhaps some of that blame might go to mass media outlets. Those who crave their fifteen minutes of fame will certainly get more coverage by doing something bad than they will for, say, helping their neighbor shovel snow. Which is a damn shame.

Why is it that bad news sells and good news is pushed to the background? What is it about human beings, that we crave to "see the blood"? We're a messed up species!

I have no plans to kill myself or anyone else, but the fact is that one of these days, I will die. When I do, if I discover that reincarnation is a reality, I promise to request coming back as a dog. Today I'm kind of ashamed to be a member of the human race.

Because, damn me, that was the first news story I read today!

I'm gonna go look for a good deed story....


January 28, 2014
12:08 a.m.

Feeling bad about my last post. I ranted a bit about what the world is coming to and never once mentioned that I feel really bad for the young man who set himself on fire, and that I hope he can recover from his injuries.

As a parent, I wonder what the last several hours have been like for the family. Surely there are feelings of guilt, wondering how they might have missed the signs that something was wrong enough to lead to this. I feel very sorry for all concerned right now. I pray that they all make it through this horror.

And of course, I still wonder what this old world is coming to.

January 27, 2014
1:06 a.m.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am one of the crazy people who don't sleep.

I don't know why I don't sleep. I like to sleep, really, I do, and when I can do it I love it a lot. It's like: "Ahhhhh! I'm sleeping! Yay for me! Don't wake me up, please!"

But sleeping is not something I'm good at.

I think it started in childhood. Like, I was afraid that if I went to sleep, I might miss something.  What I might miss in the middle of the night when everyone else in the house was sleeping, I have no idea. A falling star?
An alien invasion? A robber, maybe?

Then came the "Dark Shadows" years. I loved the show, raced home everyday after school to watch it.
Ghosts and vampires and witches, oh my! And I was all of seven years old. I wasn't afraid of anything on the show...
until bedtime. Then it was...race across the room and leap onto the bed so nothing could grab me by the leg and drag me underneath it and into the ghastly world of who-knew-what. I slept with a rosery with my blankets pulled up firmly around my neck, just in case. I'd scare myself silly with this story and that, but oddly enough, once I managed to fall asleep, I never had nightmares about any of those things.

No, my nightmares were firmly planted in the real world. My real fears were of bad things happening to my family. things no one could control, like car accidents and fires and bombs.

So my bedtimes changed from scary storytelling to worrying. What if Mom fell down the stairs? Who would help her if it happened when Dad was at work and we were at school?
What if Dad didn't come home from work? Why wouldn't he come home from work? He always came home from work. What would change that? Well, there could be an accident. He could get called away to save the country. He was a hero, wasn't he? Why wouldn't someone call him away if the country was in trouble? They would, of course they would. After all, that was my dad!
What if someone hurt my brother and sisters? What if they got kidnapped? How would I save them? Because, of course, I would have to save them; I was the oldest; I was responsible for keeping them safe. By God, I would kill anyone who tried to hurt them!
What if the house caught fire? (At this point I'd get out of bed and wander through the house, making sure nothing was on fire.)
What if someone broke in? (Up again, checking the locks.)

To save myself this nightly angst, I started sneaking into the bathroom to read until I thought I was tired enough to fall asleep. Sometimes I fell asleep in there, curled up on the floor on a towel in front of the tub.
Or I'd lie on the floor near the bedroom doorway and read by the narrow strip of light from the living room.

After finding me asleep on the floor enough times my parents decided that I could have a lamp next to my bed and read myself to sleep. It beat the heck out of getting me up from the floor to send me to bed, where I'd start the cycle all over again and not get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning, then beg for "five more minutes" in the morning.

Thus began my lifelong habit of reading myself to sleep. I do it still, but not as well as I used to. These days I have arthritis in my back and my hands. I can no longer lie on my stomach to read, which means I have to hold the book in my hands while lying on my back. I'll read until my hands refuse to grip the book any longer, and then I have to give it up whether I'm ready to sleep or not. You can only drop a book into your face so many times a night before you decide it's time to cash it in!

Over the years, doctors have told me to sleep in a dark room with no distractions. No television or music. Ha! If they ever had to deal with the crap that goes through my head in a silent room, they'd never advise something so laughable!
I've tried it; of course I have! I want to sleep, for crying out loud. I'd read until I couldn't any more, then turn out the light and close my eyes. The waiting would begin.
Then the thinking would begin.
First, I'd calculate how many hours I could sleep if I fell asleep right now.
Then the lists of things I needed to do the next day would start up.
Then the lists of all the possible things I may have screwed up today would begin, followed by the ways I might be able to fix said goof-ups tomorrow.
A peek at the clock. Cripes! An hour has gone by.
I recalculate how much sleep I can get if I fall asleep right now.
I wonder what my parents did today, and chastise myself for not calling more often.
I try to remember how much gas is in the car.
I try to calculate how much money I have in the bank, how much it will cost to fill the gas tank and how long it is until payday.
I worry about buying groceries--people have to eat.
I add and subtract, trying to decide if I'll need a full tank to make it til payday.
Another peek at the clock.
Another hour gone.
Recalculate sleep time.
Give up. Turn on the television. Listen to other voices besides my own. Listen to a program and a half before falling asleep.
Wake up two hours later and decide it's not worth it to try to sleep again, since I have to be up in ninety minutes.
Lie there and listen to another program.
Doze off and wake up in a panic, sure I've overslept and will be late for work.

Ugh!
For the past few years I've at least not had to worry about getting up in time for work. I've been on my own schedule, which means I'm up until all hours of the night, reading, writing, making jewelry or drawing. I always keep the t.v. on to keep my own voice at bay, but I still don't sleep. I just lie there and pretend to sleep--it's cozy, at least.
In the last year I was diagnosed with sleep apnea and told that it was probably the reason that I cannot stay asleep once I finally fall asleep. I have a C-PAP machine that I use nightly, and I believe I do stay asleep longer now, but it does nothing to help me fall asleep. I'm stuck with this.

This is going to be another one of those nights when nothing--books, t.v., music--nothing is going to help, so here I am. I suppose if I can write about it, and gripe about it, I might be able to bore myself to sleepiness.

And if not, at least I have something to do!

Blogspot, thanks for listening. Hahaha!

It has been a nice day. Sarah came to visit with her family, and I was so happy to see them, since the last time I saw them was the weekend after Thanksgiving. They live less than 2 hours away, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I get to see them whenever I want to.

I grew up in a small town and after I married I lived there for another 13 years. Most of my family was 5 minutes away during the first 30 years of my life, and when I finally moved, it was only a half an hour trip to visit my parents.

At the age of 39 (!) I went completely bonkers and moved away. Far away, by my previous standards.

It was 1999, and life had gotten strange. I had become a grandmother. My son had moved away. Two of my three daughters were leaving. I had booted my husband. And suddenly, I got a job offer from a company in Denver, a job I had not been looking for or given any thought to. It just kind of fell in my lap.
I thought, well, maybe it's time for a change. God knows I didn't want to weaken and let the husband come back, and I might have if I was still rattling around in that big house like the last pea in a restaurant sized can.
It was lonely, just Sarah and I.

So I accepted the job. I packed up my stuff and ran away.

And I don't regret the move, not really, except for the fact that I can no longer make a quick trip to see my parents, or run across town to visit my kids.

I live in a suburb of Denver My son and his lady live with me. Two of my daughters live in Oklahoma, and the other lives in Greeley, CO. I have seven grandchildren now, and five of them are in Oklahoma. While I get to see my Colorado babies at least once a month, the others I'm generally lucky to see once a year. But in 2013 I was lucky enough to get to see them three different times, which is a record!

Yep, 2013 was my year for family vacations. In April I flew to OKC and spent 3 weeks, alternating between Katie's house and Tabitha's. My youngest grandchild was born during this visit. What a blessing!

In July, Tabitha and Trey brought their kids, Kaylea, Rafe and Wade, and Katie's kids, Shayla and Byron to visit me for a week. Katie and Eamon had to stay in OKC to work, and we sure missed them. But we all had a great time.

In November, they came again, along with Katie, for a family Thanksgiving, our first in several years. Eamon had to stay in OKC and run his Sonic store, so he was certainly missed. We had a wonderful dinner. My house was full, what with all my children and grandchildren, plus extended family and friends. I had over 30 people in here. Wow!

Finally, I spent three weeks in Green River, WY with my wonderful, fantastic, terrific parents. That was my first Christmas at home with all my siblings in 10 years, and it was SO NICE!

I don't anticipate having another year like 2013 as far as seeing my family members on a regular basis goes. I'm trying to return to work, which will restrict my ability to travel often and my ability to have visitors to my home. I mean, they are always welcome to come, but if I'm working I won't get to spend as much time with them as I would like.
So I resolve to really appreciate the good year I had and to cherish all the memories we made. Family is so important to me, and I thank God for them every day.

Hoping for some more great family days soon!

Good night!

January 25, 2014

I've never blogged before, so...new experience! And why not? I'm trying to re-design life (again), and I love to write. I've certainly written journals before--lots of them. They're good for thinking things out, and I have a lot to think about.

I've been unemployed since June, 2010. God, that's a long time! 

I never wanted to be unemployed. I was working at a job I loved, with people I cared about. I enjoyed the customers. I would have been happy to stay. And stay. And stay. 

But, no. 

I wasn't fired, or laid off. I had to quit--or likely end up in the hospital.

It was so frustrating! After years of working as an Optician, suddenly I developed allergies to my workplace. After nearly 3 months of trying to remove mold and any other allergens that we could think of, I was wearing a mask at work, sitting right next to an air filter much of the day and unable to speak above a whisper. I suffered several asthma attacks a day, sometimes coughing so hard I'd end up vomiting.

Still, I hoped that we would come up with a way for me to stay. I didn't want to be without a job. How would I pay the bills? What would I do with myself? Where would I ever find people so wonderful to work with and for?

Then came the day when a new customer came in, saw me in my mask and rapidly backed out the door despite my assurances that I had nothing contagious.

I was bad for business. It was time to go. I gave my notice and my boss began looking for a replacement for me. Two weeks later, I was out the door.

Depressed and sick as a dog, it took nearly 2 months to get my voice back--sort of. I searched online for another job, filled out applications, made a resume and started going out to search in nearby neighborhoods.

I visited other Optical offices, believing that my allergy was only to mold. It was not. I'd also developed allergies to acetone and spray cleaners. I found that I couldn't tolerate being inside anyplace that had an on-site lab. I couldn't be near a building that also housed a nail salon. I couldn't stay anywhere when someone was washing windows with spray cleaners or cleaning a floor with pine-sol. I couldn't leave my house without an emergency aspirator. I still can't.

To top things off, the arthritis in my hands started getting worse. Winter arrived and with it came increasing joint pain. My doctor gently suggested--not for the first time--that it was time to apply for Social Security Disability.

Now, I had been resisting that application since a car accident in 1994. My back was badly injured, and even after surgery I have suffered with the residual pain. But, by God, I could still walk, and I kept working. 

After a second car accident in 2002 I had two surgeries on my shoulder and an MRI of my back revealed degenerative disc disease and the fact that I have a congenital nerve defect in my back that cannot be repaired. 

Whatever. I wasn't giving up. My asthma was under control. I could still walk and so I kept working.

Well, I could still walk, but I could no longer do the work I'd spent most of my career doing, because I could no longer breathe within the work environment. My hands could no longer reliably perform the tasks necessary for the job. 

I decided it was time to retrain. I called Vocational Rehabilitation and made an appointment to see if I'd qualify for their help. They ordered my medical records and approved me.

Then my councilor recommended that I apply for Social Security Disability.

I felt a little ganged up on. To prove everyone wrong--and give myself a boot in the butt and make myself work harder to get a job--I applied.

Withing five months, Social Security had made me an appointment with one of their doctors.

Within six months, I started receiving disability. No denials. No lawyers necessary. 

I know it's stupid, and I know I should have just been grateful, but I cried my eyes out. Disabled! Me? No, no. I can still walk! 

Well, Vocational Rehabilitation has allowed me to go to school and obtain a Certification in medical coding, and I know that as long as I can find a location that I can breathe in, I can work again. I can be good at this. I graduated with honors, and I passed that certification test, which was not easy. 

But I'm terrified, and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I'm over 50 and, like it or not, I have disabilities. Who is going to want to hire me? I'm not afraid of the work, I can do the work. I'm afraid I'll get hired and then discover that the building I'm in has a mold infestation, or the person in the next cubical wears perfume, or the cleaning staff uses chemicals I can't tolerate. 

I don't want to feel this way. 

I've applied to several places now, and so far, no one has called. I want someone to call, but I'm scared that I'll go to a job interview and suffer an asthma attack. I'm afraid I'll have to explain the three and half year gap in my job history and the interviewer will decide I'm not worth the risk. 

Sometimes I'm even afraid to leave my house.

Fear sucks. 

And on that note, I think I'm done writing for now. 

Over and out. Good night.