I had a good night last night. Sleep pretty good, once I went to sleep. I took 1 mg of Lorazpam. Up early checked the emails, FB. Didn't go to twitter yet, not sure if I really like it yet. I have a busy week coming up. Monday my daughter needs me to stay with the kids because of holiday. No problem I haven't seen them since last month. Wednesday I go for the Echo in the morning and that evening I go to another Lupus Seminar. Then Thursday I met my new Rhuemotologist. Still didn't get the bill for my medical records. I'm going to have to find time to go there and find out what's going on.
Still didn't get reimbursement check. I called Access-A- Ride and the woman in the reimbursement department was nasty as hell. They say you should receive your check in 4 to 6 weeks it's been 9. My mate sent receipts after me and she received her check. I should of spoke to her supervisor, but I'm trying not to be a bitch. I guess the woman who took my call is mad that she has a job during these difficult times. Damn she was nasty, when I questioned her about dates she didn't mention she said, "this is the last time I'm going to tell you." What kind of shit is that for a professional dealing with persons with disabilities. Okay I'm taking a deep breaths and exhaling.
I often get disappointed when I deal with people who work with the public and have such nasty attitude, when it's not warranted. She should loss her job for being nasty and get a job in a dark cubical in the back with no phone and no interaction with the public. She should enjoy that kind of job better, this way she can beat up on herself.
I always subscribe to the theory that you treat people the way you want to be treated. So what does that tell me. I should call back up on Monday and be a bitch, right? Nope, not me I'll just suck it up and be the one to curl up in the corner and wait for my check.
So where was I. Oh yea I got the apartment in the project and the new job as a bookkeeper in the Home Care Agency. My mother gave me some furniture, the mattress. I brought some second hand items and made a home. Rent-A-Center became my life savior. That's where the TV, the girls bunk bed and living room furniture came from. It was a two bed room apartment. The kids had the bedrooms and Mr. 23 and I had the living room.
Far Rockawy is a peninsula, border by the bay on one side and the ocean on the other. The air always tasted of salt, and there was always a cool breeze in the summer. In the winter the cool breeze was bitter cold. Traveling to and from work was almost a 2 hour journey. I would leave at 6:30 am and not arrive home until almost 7 pm. Mr. 23 would get there before me and prepare dinner for the kids. I would be tired and usually eat, shower and go to bed. I'm going to call Mr. 23 father now. Father helped them with their homework, we both attended parent/teacher night. Things were good. We had a 'normal life' for once.
Even my son who was having difficulties in second grade was doing okay. You see he was disruptive in class and the school suggest he have a psychic evaluation. He was diagnosed fine, high functioning and no problems. Here in Rockaway, just as in Jamaica, he associated himself with the wrong crowd.
When I moved back to NY he went to the neighborhood school. He was put in the first grade with children that were left back and trouble makers. These kids, also lived down the block from us. When my son who in school in Jersey was a star pupil, now he was just a statistic. I didn't know I had rights and could of pulled him from that class. All my teaching him to reading, writing and arithmetic, was all for naught, because the educational system screwed him. He had potential but he followed the crowd and wanted to hang out. I was always on his back, but he keep doing his thing.
The girls were fine. They had their room that I use to try and set up nice a girly and tell them to clean on Saturdays that took all day. While they were doing that I would be cleaning the apartment and talking on the phone with my sons' father in jail. Father never knew. I don't know why I use to talk to him. I knew he wouldn't be free for another 20 years or so.
After the apartment was cleaned I would cook and we'd play board games and watch TV as a family. Our apartment was the Kool-aid house. I would let their friends hang out so I knew where they were. They were good kids. I use to have them get together on Saturday morning and try and teach them black history, but they had enough of school during the week to sit in my classroom.
Eventually my mother gave me her car, our aunt gave her our cousins' car after he died. I loved that old dodge. Traveling became easier. Now I could shop at different stores, get home earlier, visit my mother more often. Take the kids out on the weekends, parks, movies and such.
Having a car didn't stop me from being tired and some weekends I would just lay in bed doing nothing. My hands would swell up and hurt. I couldn't use them, I would take Tylenol and the doctors would tell me it was arthritis. I use get my rashes, but that was normal. Father use to take care of me, he would cook, clean and take the kids out so I could rest. At night he would expect sex, as much as I enjoyed sex and a much as I was a freak. I was just too tired to have sex, even after resting all day.
He got frustrated and started going out and staying all night. He wasn't making any money to help with the bills and really there weren't any except the rent and phone bill. Car repairs sometimes. But like I did in Jersey City I would give him my money to try and "flip". I believed in that man more then he believed in himself. I was blind to his addiction for a long time. I know he was never with another woman, he didn't have time he was chasing drugs. A woman I would of been able to handle.
This one time he was gone for like three days. When he came home he had this bandage around his ribs and said he was in some accident and was in the hospital. We didn't have a phone so he couldn't call. I helped him take his clothes off, helped him in the shower. Feed him and tried to make him comfortable. That night in bed he start humping on me. The bastard played me again. There was nothing wrong with his ribs he was out on a binge smoking and drinking.
Just the beginning of his crack days and the symptoms of lupus surfacing.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Embrace today.