Insomnia has it's advantages.

Since my recently acquired sleeping pills only work for about six hours, I have been awake since 4am-ish, but at least I can finally post. It's strange; we are happier with our surroundings than we have been in years, perhaps ever, but my drive to write is only just returning.

Maybe I should start with a recap of the past few months in short. New jobs for both Longitude and I, back on unemployment for me, horrible nursing home experience (as an employee, not a patient), adventures with Paxil, baby to daycare, baby in pool, baby not a baby anymore, lots of walks, enjoying Portland and our suburban life, ACTUALLY MEETING FRIENDS, attempting social outings, chasing new opportunities, and being at peace.

I can't believe how happy I am in this place. It's like all of the stars aligned for us for once. This last ditch effort before moving back home has become one of the best decisions we've ever made. I have a few posts in the recesses of my mind, and some interesting and/or enjoyable events coming up.

Death is my friend.

It started before I began working at nursing homes, before I had lost anyone really important. I have yet to figure out how or why it came to be, but I have a great relationship with Death. 

Clearly, the whole 'god' idea didn't stick, even after 12+ years of Catholocizement, but Death and I definitely understand each other. On one hand I am incredibly lucky to have not yet lost a grandparent, parent, sibling, spouse, or child. But on the other it totally sucks to have lost two friends, of the type that are so uniquely themselves it makes the missing so much stronger.

Anyone who spends time in a nursing home will realize that Death can be kind, welcomed, and appreciated. (It has to be more time than the yearly visit to grandma where you hold your breath the whole time and try not to look at anyone.) I don't get angry at Death. I grieve, clearly I grieve, but each time I learn of another newly transitioned soul a chain-reaction of emotional events gets triggered, but never anger. For some reason, I feel that Death is a familiar friend, this entity who will see me through the hardest of times, and I know Death with always be back soon enough.

As a kid, I always wanted to read the obituaries. I rarely, if ever, recognized a name, but I liked to think about Doris Jones, 84, and those she was survived by. I liked to imagine that Melvin Smith's family would donate money in lieu of flowers to the American Cancer Society  so that countless others might benefit. I also secretly dreamed of becoming a funeral director. (Secretly, because it's not something you tell people when they say, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" in their sing-song voice.)

The show Six Feet Under has brought me more comfort than anyone could imagine. Maybe it's the comfort of knowing that there is an end to this long journey on Earth, although hopefully it won't be soon. 

I think the changing of the seasons has made me go a bit off, as usual.

Update: This is as big as I can get it. I could try to scan it at a higher resolution, but the letter says:

Your check is being returned to you for the following reason:

The check is made out to us, but the form we received is for services by another entity.

Thank you for your prompt attention in this manner.

(the date of the check is six months before the date of the letter. they are very prompt.)

Who can tell me why I can't embiggen the image in the previous post? It makes the previous post pointless.

Perfect Example

Everything Longitude and I do in life takes at least three times longer than it does for average folk. He says it's because god hates us. I don't buy the whole 'god' story, so I think we just have an aura of defeat that follows us. 

Many months ago, I was considering getting an Illinois nursing license. I knew it was going to take forever, of course taking into account the aura. I worried about my alma mater not filling out the paperwork right, or some strange hold magically appearing on my old student account preventing me from ever getting my IL RN license. Within a week, I had every piece of documentation needed except one. I called the Oregon State Board of Nursing and explained what I needed, and they told me that although they had no idea what I was talking about, I should send in the blank form anyway, and include $12.

Several months after that, I had decided that getting said license was a moot point, but I still wanted to know where my check was and what had happened. The evil troll who always answers the phone told me that there's no way it ever made it there because every piece of mail crosses her desk only and she knows everything and it was impossible that it ever had arrived. Of course I raised my voice (it takes an unbelievable force to make me get out my assertiveness monkey) and said, "IF IT NEVER CROSSED YOUR DESK THEN WHERE IS MY CHECK"? I finally dropped the subject, thinking that if it ever came through our bank account I would buy a gun.

A few days ago, we received this; notice the dates on both the check and the letter:

 

Incidentally, we now live just blocks from the OSBN, but I am currently unarmed.

Drought

I have a great post in mind, but it needs a supporting document. This would require putting the USB cable from the printer into the side of the computer, putting a piece of paper in the scanny part, and clicking a few things on the screen. Due to recent events, this is apparently too much. I should mention a few? Here:

roommates moved in, baby getting four top teeth at roughly the same rate, job interviews, orientation for new job, food stamps, unemployment application, cold weather, baby increasingly more proficient with mobility...

not in that order.

On the bright side, I am employed, Quacky's teeth are almost through the gums, and the maintenance dudes have been working on the pool/hot tub the past few days. Also, we splurged and bought a bottle of Admiral Nelson's. More to come. Really.

Accepting Ativan Donations...

Today was pretty bad. One of those days where you think about a possible worse-case scenario and it lives up to your expectations and then some. I'll spare most of the details, but recount just one example for good measure.

After a particularly frustrating outing, we got back just in time for me to call about the student loan consolidation I had been waiting to hear about for so long I've lost track. I had already called twice before, asking what was taking so long. (My original application was received on October 25.) At the time, they said they would re-do the request to my lenders for the pay-off amounts for my loans because it had already been two months. Then the evil woman on the other end of the phone asked me if I knew I would lose the forgiveness benefits of Loans X and Y if I consolidated. (X and Y are currently under cancellation, and get paid off little by little for every year I work a certain number of hours as an RN.) Bastards.

I had no intention of consolidating X and Y. But, the application said that under penalty of death by nuclear fallout I must report EVERY student loan I have even if I don't want it included in the consolidation. I remember typing in the account number for Loan X and thinking about how livid I would be when they screwed up and added it even though I checked the "No, do not f&cking include this in my consolidation" box.

Of course, because of the curse that I have always carried, which has been somehow exponentially increased after taking my wedding vows, they screwed up. It will be another 60 days before they "review" my case and "see if they can fix it". 

The silver lining to this day is that I had this wonderful memory of one of the first friends I made in college. I remember having a day like this one has been. I stormed out of the underground library in no mood to talk to anyone, and there he was. We lived in the same dorm, which had a church attached to it, and he said, "No matter how busy you are, sit in the church for ten minutes before you go up to your room".

I remember that sense of peace that I could find in the chapel of St. John's. A aesthetically pleasing place to sit and think in silence with other people who were also sitting (or kneeling) and thinking. Maybe it's time I found a nearby church that's pretty on the inside. Otherwise, I think I need an Ativan prescription. Either way.

**************

At the end of the horrible day, I was driving in our new town and saw a sign that looked like a squiggly line next to a large tree. A few feet ahead was an area where an actual large tree trunk was spilling onto the place where the road should have gone. Instead, the curb curved to make room for life. I heard the voice of Mr. Rogers asking if I had learned my lesson for the day.

Home is Where Your Crap Is

So I'm pretty sure we have never felt at home so quickly than this move to a town that no one, not even Mr. Garmin guy, can pronounce. As soon as we had a little bit of our junk here, I felt like we had lived here for months. 

The move was an adventure as are most things in our life.  We had it all planned.  Our Medford lease was up on the 26th.  We had picked out a new place in Tualatin on our trip to Seattle the 8th.  We were planning on moving up the weekend of the 16-17th.  I had calculated the cubic feet of crap that was deemed worthy enough to make it to our new place.  We had two friends that were going to help up pack up and pull a trailer with his Jeep.  According to Uhaul online, he could pull the 6x12 trailer which would mean 400 cubic feet of our crap would fit in there.  We had the trailer, his jeep, and our two cars to get 4 people, one baby, one dog, one rabbit and any crap we cared enough about to take with us.  The calculations were done, we knew what would make it and what wouldn't.  We could do it.  One trip.  

On our initial move to Oregon, we had planned on moving with almost nothing and just starting anew out here.  Then her newly acquired employer gave us a relocation bonus so we decided to get a truck and pull our old car.  We were still going to get a small truck to save money and limit the stuff that migrated with us but the smallest truck that could pull our car was pretty large.  It held 800 cubic feet of crap.  And since we did not have to thin out and prioritize what came with, it all did.  Actually I think more than our stuff did.  Since we had room, people gave us stuff (useful at least) and we PACKED all 800 cubic feet of it.  

Now we have since gone through all of it and kept only what we needed (we are trying to be minimalists) and I had calculated it would fit into our 400 cubic foot trailer and 3 cars.  Our wonderful friends came down from Portland to help on the 17th to pick up the trailer and start loading.  We had been sick (well mostly Latitude and Ava) the prior week so I had not had time to pack up everything to have it ready to go.  When they arrived, friend A and I went with his jeep to get the 400 cubic foot trailer from the local Uhaul center.  Upon explaining what we wanted to rent, the nice Uhaul employees says "ummm, you cant pull a trailer that large with that jeep. "  "Here comes my family curse better know as Murphy's Law" I thought to myself.  I tried to explain to the guy that when I went to reserve the trailer online at the mail Uhaul website it said that jeep could pull that trailer.  He said "yea, the website isn't that accurate, we go by our computers here (Uhaul network system).  Actually I have noticed that the website is wrong a lot."  

So I could not get the trailer we planned for.  I got the next size trailer down which was a 5x10.  The jeep could pull it and if we had to leave more stuff behind, so be it.  We went out back to hook up the trailer and found out that the wiring harness on the Jeep didn't work.  Luckily the trailer hooking up guy was super nice and came outside with a new wiring harness they we could buy and then install.  It was a relatively simple system, it just piggybacked off the tail lights and only took up an hour or so to hook up.  We got the smaller trailer and went home to reevaluate the plan.  

Once home we realized the trailer we were able to pull was only: 200 cubic feet.  I bet most of our readers can do the math...  

Obnoxiously, we had to drive five hours south to get a second load a few days after the initial move. The only redeeming quality of that trip was leaving the baby at home. We were actually able to work as a team and get things done. I was thinking that walking in to our old apartment would make me nostalgic for the day we brought our tiny daughter home, or the day we first saw the "Entering Medford" sign after our five day drive. Instead, I realized that the only thing that gave that place an ounce of comfort was having our stuff there. It felt like we just had an extended stay at a pretty crappy hotel. I could set up a tent in someone's backyard and feel more welcomed.

Perhaps things are looking up.