I saw my therapist today, Pam. She’s a great MDT counselor. I may loose her due to “changing” counties. Even though it’s MediCal, she works for Contra Costa Health Plan. Bleh! Like I care now. Bureaucratic hogwash. I need to find out from Alameda, when they get my file. I could loose Jessica, my Pathology Therapist. Great, start from scratch. The last year doesn’t matter. At least to paper pushers.
For me not to be “homeless” anymore, they’ll want my paperwork, my bank records, and they’ll see monthly fees for storage units. Not $600, but getting there. If I can afford that, why can’t I afford a room? An apartment? Because, an apartment costs more than that, and electricity, and water, and garbage, and maybe internet. For low income housing, I need a job. That is a big problem. I don’t know what I can do anymore. And my resume goes against me now. A former Assistant Controller wanting to work at Barnes & Noble? A Project Manager wanting to be a clerk? I know I’m making a big deal out of it, but I used to run HR, hired and fired people, surveyed resumes and made recommendations. Hell, I taught a class at a JC for those entering or re-entering the job market. I know!
I have to find a job, part time (I think, I don’t know how well I can handle it), and hope and pray I don’t screw up and get fired. Why do I have to? To live like a human being. To have money for gas for my car, car insurance, a cell phone, and my storage units. To hopefully qualify for low-income housing so I don’t have to pay for storage units anymore. I can salvage a semblance of a normal life, while still pursuing my Social Security claim and lawsuits against those cretins of medical care. Maybe I can prove I can’t work anymore in my field? Maybe.
I got a request for a signature for medical records by the person investigating my claim against the Nurse Practitioner who had me 5150’d. That’s progress. She will pay, that craven dishonest human.
More changes, more issues for me to deal with.
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