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April 26, 2004
Your Monday Dose of Unimportance
Is anyone else annoyed by the word "co-conspirator?" It seems to me that the "co-" is entirely unnecessary. Can one conspire alone? I believe not. Pretentious little "co-," what are you doing there?
Posted by hilatron at 05:56 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack
April 21, 2004
Project Dad #3: Regressing
I have apparently reached the stage of crisis management mode where I turn five years old. Today has been characterized by a great deal of pouting and the intense desire to stomp off and refuse to play anymore. I actually had to bite the inside of my mouth to keep from making rude remarks at staff meeting because I just have no interest whatsoever in all this nonsense, and frankly, my job seems slightly unreal at the moment anyway. This probably has a lot to do with the fact that I spend most of every day not working one bit: instead I do Dad Homework, obsessively check e-mail, or simply fail to concentrate on anything whatsoever.
Two things happened today to cement my mood of uncooperative self-pity: one, I had one of the longest, most surreal and mind-boggling bureaucrat interactions ever. I love this shit. I need some information from this one company, and I called them this morning to make sure they had the paperwork and that it was "on file" in "the system" so that anytime I call them I will be recognized as an "authorized participant." Check, check, check.
I called back two hours later to be faced with a stone wall of technicalities and slack-jawed incomprehension such as I have never before encountered. I told the same story fifteen different ways and none of them worked. I used my Snippy Voice. I used, entirely without pretense, my Almost Crying Voice. I used the phrase "my attorney." I listened to a bureaubot read to me from the paperwork which I had sent them in a Hooked-on-Phonics manner that made it clear that the meaning of what she was reading was entirely obscure to her. I had exchanges like this:
Me: "This morning, I talked to Rebecca, who told me that everything was okay."
Bureaubot: "No. You talked to Sandra yesterday, and she send you a form that you need to fill out."
Me: "My attorney talked to Sandra yesterday, but today, this morning, at about ten o'clock, I talked to REBECCA. She told me that the certificate of guardianship that you already had 'on file' in 'your system' will act as a substitute for the form."
Bureaubot: "That's great! So as soon as we get that form back, we can give you the information you need."
Me: "You see, actually I do not need to send in the form, because THIS MORNING, Rebecca consulted with Legal and determined that what you already have will replace the form."
Bureaubot: "What is it that we have?"
Me: "A. Certificate. Of. Guardianship."
Bureaubot: Well, usually we need a power of attorney for cases like this. I can put you through to Sandra and she can send a form right out to you."
Me: "Gaaaaaah! Rebecca said that the certificate would take the place of the form."
Bureaubot: "Well, I'm going to have to consult with Legal about this. Can I put you on hold?"
The second thing is that I had to say no to an invitation, the better to stay home and swim in the mess of disorganized paperwork I have inherited prehumously from my father. Turning down dinner with some co-workers should not be a big deal, but in my current mood it became iconic, a symbol of all the ways in which life has changed and will stay changed, this whole new thing of having to answer for someone else's quality of life, of realizing that shirking my responsibilities can now hurt someone besides just me. I am very much wanting to stomp my feet on the ground and say it's not fair. Let us hope that my new color-coded filing system will have a similar cathartic effect.
Posted by hilatron at 07:02 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
April 19, 2004
Visit and Purchase, Mortal
New stuff now available at the 3WAuctions Spring Crafts Fair. Mine is here. Everyone else's is here. More to come!
Posted by hilatron at 10:46 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
A Pox Upon the Boston Marathon
...and all its sweaty progeny. I needed to do a ten-minute errand in Cambridge today. Total travelling time: three hours. Total number of trains I couldn't fit onto: three. Total number of misidentified trains I rode on and then had to go back and switch directions at the very worst possible time and place: one. (Hello, Arlington Station at 5:30pm.) Total number of train cars I rode on that had no AC and were filled with adrenaline-drunk marathoners: one. Total number of words that do not describe the smell: all of them.
Posted by hilatron at 05:43 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack
April 14, 2004
Project Dad #2: Welcome to the Merrimack County Probate Court
So, you want to be a Guardian!
Becoming a guardian is a complex, yet simple, yet virtually guaranteed, yet fiercely contested, yet easy, yet intimidating, process. We are certain that you have already received the three-page guardianship form, the 32-page explanation of the guardianship form, the supporting web site for the guardianship form, and the three appended one-page forms that you may or may not need to file with the original form. In addition, please be aware that you may or may not need other forms that we have neglected to mention at this time, and for which we take no responsibility. Here are some other materials that will be helpful to your case:
Here is a brochure about the Merrimack County Probate Court. You will notice from the pictures that the courthouse itself was dipped in resin in 1968 and has not changed since. The employees, however, are newer models, added circa 1982.
Here are your and your loved one's right to privacy. We have already shredded them for your convenience.
Here are the conflicting answers you will receive every time you ask a question more than once. Please note that this clause applies even if you are asking the same person as before.
Here is the Thorazine you will need to take after having the same conversation with your loved one (hereafter renamed "Proposed Ward, The") fifteen times every five minutes.
Sign here to waive your right to "this will happen, but later."
Here is the fear of what slow poison you might have drawn from the gene pool, yourself.
Here is a bottle of whiskey. Drink liberally while realizing that you must also have the same conversation with various court and medical institution representatives fifteen times every five minutes.
Here is a list of the symptoms you may develop which directly mirror the symptoms you point to as evidence of The Proposed Ward's need for guardianship. Please check all that apply:
[ ] Insomnia
[ ] Memory loss
[ ] Tendency to repeat self
[ ] Inability to eat properly
[ ] Inability to maintain safe, clean household
[ ] Confusion
[ ] Disorientation
[ ] Irritability
[ ] Paranoia
[ ] Obsessive need to write everything down on slips of paper
Here is the unwillingness of everyone you encounter to commit to even one basic fact, just one thing that you can cling to as an absolute.
Here is a fixed smile. Apply this to your face and don't remove it, especially while visualizing yourself strangling a blank-faced bureaucrat with his or her own intestines.
We hope that this introduction to the exciting world of guardianship has been helpful. For more information, please refer to the following supporting documents:
"A Tour of the Merrimack County Probate Courthouse"
"The Landscape through a Pinhole Syndrome, or Why No One Will Ever Give You More Than the Absolute Narrowest Interpretation of the Information You Asked For, Even If It Is Clear to Any Sentient Being That of Course You Need to Know Much Much More"
"Guide to Proper Obsequiousness: How Not to Piss Off Government Employees (Too Much)"
Posted by hilatron at 12:57 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack
April 11, 2004
It's Good To Be a Heathen
Today was a minor triumph because I managed to go to the grocery store and not either a) fall into a clinical depression or b) buy more unnecessary canned goods.
For the first, I must have Easter to thank, because the place was deserted. I might (according to some) be going to hell, but in the meantime, those religious holidays are sure good for getting your errands done while everyone else is in church.
The second is maybe a sign that I am gradually relaxing from the vibrating, piano-wire-taut stress that has typified life lately. For awhile there, I kept being convinced that we were out of nonperishables that we were, in fact, fully stocked with, and the cupboards overflowed with olives, peanut butter, and split pea soup. If you are ever worried about my mindset, check the pantry. If you find more than ten cans of garbanzos, it's time to call the men with the gentle voices and the piercing eyes to take me away.
Posted by hilatron at 03:25 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack
April 09, 2004
I still love you, baby.
It has come to my attention that those wishing to post comments are receiving a "you are not allowed here" error message. Well, it's not my fault. I do want to hear what you have to say, of course, I think you are the best, you know that. It won't let me in, either. At this point, based on prior behavior, I'm blaming my BITCHASS WEBHOST. Let us all scowl in their direction! Grr!
Posted by hilatron at 09:34 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack
April 08, 2004
One Booster Shot of Vitamin Sure, Stat
One thing that I am severely deficient in right now is certainty. Amidst the legitimate caution of medical professionals not wanting to leap to conclusions, and the bullshit cover-your-ass bureaucratic "Well, could be yes or could be no, please don't sue, mumble mumble" crap, and my own ability to forsee three or four potential disastrous outcomes to any option I pick, it feels like I am lost in the biggest, deadliest Choose Your Own Adventure ever. I am truly longing for some snap-snap yes or no, as evidenced by the voracious pleasure with which I...did my taxes last night. Math, forms, things that end! This I can get into. I came out about even, but it felt like a loss because my state taxes gave me a refund, and then my federal taxes took most of it away. Ah, well.
Work is getting a little wonky because of my new condition, though. I am all about the things that I can do in less than ten minutes, the things with clearly marked boundaries. List! Start! Finish! Check off! That's how I like to do it, baby. The long-term projects, or any chore that looks like it might mutate into something new as we go along, are getting righteously shafted.
Like the topper on my Cake of Slack, a project from months ago that I was already annoyed with seems to be resurfacing. There was this whole woohaw with the emergency exit maps, see. It was one of those projects where I started out reporting to one person with one simple goal: make emergency exit maps that were legible. So easy, right? But then each time it was discussed, a new person would happen to see what was going on and stick their poky little nose in and add parameters to it, so whenever I thought I'd won the Emergency Exit Map Challenge they changed the rules. Anyway, AT LAST I conquered them all. There was no one left who could possibly have anything to say about emergencies, exits, or maps of any kind. Now, the original in-charge guy has asked for a printout of the months-old, and may I add, never hung up, emergency exit maps, and he is walking around with them and a ruler muttering to himself. I swear if he comes up to me with another change there is going to be a terrible act with a three-hole punch in the offing.
Posted by hilatron at 01:05 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
April 05, 2004
Project Dad #1: What I Learned at the Hospital
Note: I have been collecting or thinking or percolating various snippets about Project Dad since way back when all this began, several eons/nine weeks ago depending on your outlook and my mood. I keep waiting for them to formulate, but the lazy snippets will not materialize nor edit their lazy selves, and frankly putting them all in one place would just scare you and me both. So I am going to start releasing them into the wild, finished or coherent or not, because my brain is getting full and I need to put something up on this damn website once in a while, don’t I?
Back to What I Learned at the Hospital
If you are the same kind of morbidly narcissistic ass that I am, you have probably spent at least a little time envisioning one or more of the following scenarios: 1) Languishing under the spell of that’ll-show-them attractive, wasting illness, or heroically caring for loved one with same. 2) Waking up in the hospital after a gruesome accident of some sort, perhaps missing a limb or two, or heroically facing a future with loved one with same. 3) Receiving a diagnosis of some sort of movie-of-the-week terminal illness, or heroically breaking the news to loved one with same. All of these scenarios probably feature either a) the appearance of many friends, family members, and old elementary school nemeses, whom you amuse with your resilient humor, impress with your quiet bravery, or dispatch with scathing truths; or b) you, heroically keeping up the spirits of, promising to care for, and fetching warm blankets and reading materials for, your loved one.
This is all, of course, total bullshit. What happens is this: the person in need of care and the person wanting to care are both at the mercy of the hospital, a machine that tick tocks along at its own inexorable pace. This means that you will not get to do anything, except wait for things to happen or watch things happen. If you are the person in the hospital, you will be cranky, because you will probably hurt and you do not get dinner when you want it but when they bring it and because people keep waking you up to take your blood pressure so that you don’t up and die and leave your heirs to sue them. If you are the visitor, you can rush around all you want, fetching books and requesting another cup of coffee for room 629 and asking the nurse things like “That…should that be swollen like that?” but it won’t make a bit of difference. The hospital will just do its thing, and you can protest or go along, as you wish, but the same things are going to happen no matter what you do. The hospital will let you yell and scream and squawk, to an extent; if it keeps you busy the hospital doesn’t mind. The hospital is so confident that your little insignificant belief that you might be able to change things doesn't phase it; you actually amuse the hospital a little, to be honest. That’s the thing about the hospital: it always wins because no matter what you say, the hospital can come back with “Oh, yeah? Well I’m keeping people alive here,” and how can you beat that? You can’t. The hospital has the best reason ever for being totally dehumanizing.
Posted by hilatron at 01:28 PM | Comments (6) | TrackBack