So... if you read the last post (and you should, it's...ranty. And context-providing), you know that I was on the verge of running out of some of my medicine and pretty much losing my shit last week. I wish I could say that I handled things gracefully, and without crumbling, but...
Nope. As if. This is me we're talking about, remember?
I dragged myself to the ER, a bundle of raw nerves and fear and jitters, and told them my sob story. Me being me, I got more and more worked up about it the more I talked to the nurses and doctor about it. Go figure. After like...four hours of observation, they finally give me my dose for that night, and tell me that they're sorry, but they don't have any beds in mental health available.
Really? I'm so spazzy when I'm worked up that you want to admit me? Jesus fuck.
Okay.
So anyway, they couldn't keep me, but at least gave me my dose for the following day and sternly advised me to check in with Behavioral on Monday. Which was cool, because I would have done that anyway, even if I hadn't had an appointment with my shrink then anyway. They hand me my papers, and I go off on my merry way.
Gotta ask: what's it mean when they list your "disposition" as group home/assisted living? Like seriously. Does the ER really think I need to be in a facility, or is that just what they put when you need help, but not commitment help?
So Monday came, and big girl things happened. I went to my shrink, who pulled some eleventh hour shit to get me a trick-or-treat bag filled with my meds for a month. I went to the rental office with Cookie, and we cleared up that whole omgwtfeviction thing. Aaaand...I prepped for an interview with the most amazeballs company ever. Like, international law firm billions of dollars we're on the cover of Forbes kind of amazeballs.
It's super exciting, and the position is pretty much tailored for me. The only way I can describe this whole job-finding scenario is going into Goodwill and finding a fucking Armani suit that fits like a GLOVE with the one week tag so you get it for a buck. I finally hit the nail on the head with a cover letter and resume presentation, and... fingers crossed will find out Friday or Monday that I got the job. (And that they waived the contract period and are bringing me on full time so I get bennies starting October 1. But that's kind of...the Disney ending to the whole thing.)
Meanwhile, in the land of live action, I capitulated and said I'd work at Dairy Queen, because it's money and the job is pretty much on offer to anyone willing to take it. I'm kind of amazed that the lady running the store hasn't put out a bunch of uniforms and hiring packets in a cardboard box out front with a sign that says "free to a good home." That's pretty much how getting a job there feels. I start there Friday, which is hilarious because I will hopefully be able to walk in on my first day and be like "...fuck this I'm out."
We shall see! I feel like a kid at Christmas, running around trying to find mom and dad's secret present stash and dropping hints that it would be super swell if there was like... a giant box of Transformers or a fat stack of new comics under the tree come Christmas morning. (Speaking of Christmas, this law firm gives like...two days off for every major holiday and half of the bank holidays. No weekends. Amazeballs.)
Things right now are...not great. I'll admit it. I'm not going to let this potentially life-changing thing eclipse the fact that we're in the financial shitter right now. But they're looking up. There's a glimmer of hope.
Which probably means that the universe lifted the toilet seat and is about to piss on my face. >.<
We shall see.
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