Category Archives: being broke

blur

I spent three hours of my crazy busy day at the Health Plus clinic. That annoying blurry eye thing plus painful feeling like something was lodged in my eyelid was really really bad today. My internal radar was beeping really loudly this weekend. So I borrowed money from Papaw and went to the doctor.

I seem to have a virus eating my fucking cornea, so it’s very good that I listened to my internal beeps. Doctor says I need a specialist, like right now. I ask him if he knows if I go through the low income clinic to get a referral or… and he cuts me off to tell me “No. First thing tomorrow. I’m making the appointment right now.” “But I don’t have insurance.” “Dude,” says the doctor, “it’s your eye. You like having two of them, right?”

So I have droppies for tonight and an early appointment and a small but manageable amount of fear that my eye is REALLY FUCKED. He said it was bad, that I’ve already lost vision in a tone that made me thing that vision isn’t just slacking for spring break and will be back soon but is actually gone gone.

I am as freaked out (and probably more) about an opthalmologist’s bill than I am about an eyeball virus. I am uncomfortable that there was an implication of my having less than two eyes but am comforted that the eye doctor who fit me in early will make it better. And then I am uncomfortable again that I can’t pay and that this is an expensive problem.

It is also annoying that- although I looked smokin’ hot in my fancy dress and nekked of hair legs- I had no smoldering sexy eye makeup to enhance the hotness.

Advertisements

support healthy births

I just got an email from Feminist Majority / Democracy in Action containing a plea for funding to help train midwives in Afganistan:

One in six new mothers is dying in childbirth. Sixteen out of every 100 infants born in this war-torn country die. Birth-related mortality rates in Afghanistan are simply unacceptable. Experts believe that the most effective strategy to reduce these needless and tragic deaths is to train more midwives to assist in childbirth. Unfortunately, the healthcare system in most parts of Afghanistan has been devastated and is not functioning. Electricity and supplies are often scarce. Many medical professionals have fled the country. Most Afghan women, even if they are pregnant, have never seen a doctor. Family planning is rarely available. And all of this is under U.S. watch — after we promised to provide Afghanistan with a “Marshall Plan” and to free Afghan women. We have an opportunity to help Afghan women and girls by providing funding to train midwives. For only $2,000, a new midwife can be trained in Afghanistan. One midwife will in turn be able to promote the health and well-being of countless Afghan women and their new infants.

OK, just stab me through the heart, people! I just gave them $5. Petty tiny thing, but if a few readers followed the link & gave their lunch money too, it would help. ure, we’re broke as hell, but it was the same as a mini-pizza & sodapop. And broke as hell by US standards is still obscenely rich from a global standpoint. No, I can’t afford basic fucking healthcare, but I have high speed internet and a cute car with a tank filled up with [the blood of the earth goddess] gas.

And, I’m ignoring the implicit idea that oh-so-controversial unnassisted births are dangerous because 1) UA birth freaks me the hell out, and 2) even if it was a pet cause, a chick can only fight so many battles in one blog. I’ll go out on a crunchy granola-covered limb and say that trained assistance in birth is a nice thing.

So go give up some cash, yo.

****

When I see “Afghan” it makes me think of my dear friend Sabina, who was my multimedia installation art instructor and an amazing woman and new mama. Sabina grew up in Pakistan and her work deals beautifully with ethnic, national, religious, and gender identity. She says that the way we Americans say “AF-gan” sounds so ugly. She makes it sound like the Aflac insurance duck. Very crass. She says “Afghani” with a lovely delicacy. The “fgh” is very liquid and almost a “v/w” sound.

open up my head and let me out

What’s on my mind of late:

Stress:
This is a new and exciting development: I’m anxious! I’ve also been too busy to get to bed before mindnight in a month or so, which means I haven’t closed my eyes until 1:00 am or later. I can be dead on my feet exhausted and I cannot fall asleep in less than an hour. The six hours of sleep I’m getting is, of course, chopped into bits by a certain hungry fussy creature. This all means I have a pretty pretty new cluster of zits and a very charming tendency to bite Bu’s head off &/or burst into tears at any random moment.

Clothing:
I have a wedding to attend Saturday and nothing appropriate to wear. I do have a small amount of store credit at a discount department store but it was earmarked for a new bookshelf for Emsy’s room. I hate being so goddamn broke that I can’t just go spend $20 or $25 on a pretty blouse without planning and worrying and sacrificing.

Blogstuff:
I’m constantly stewing this idea Lexie and I have for a parenting website. There’s got to be a way to make some money from my design skills and get me home more. I have some ideas, like a Cafe Press tie in with baby & mama stuff, and I’m thinking about a WAHM businesses directory or ad network or something. I need to research this more instead of just daydreaming.

I miss the old blog today. Wondering if we do our website thing will I be Roxy me or Me me? I dreamt I was redesigning my header graphic with a cool inverted colors dark daisy image. Cute. Some days I want to delete it and go back to the Me blog.

Blergghfghfh:
Too much thinking is being harmful. I have a song on constant repeat in my head: Paralyzer by Finger 11. This is a fucking great song. The guitar riff is crack. The name of that band makes me have giggles. Somebody’s running around hoarding all the extra fingers while some of us would be happy to have 10. /Snark.

…If your body matches what your eyes can do, you’ll probably move right through me on my way to you…

daisies & demons…

was going to be the name of this blog, but I liked the rhythm of DaisyBones better. “& Demons” would have been appropriate for raising a toddler, though. (When is she officially a toddler? I feel like she started her Terrible Twos at 11 months.) Some days it’s daisies, and then there are 24 hours like this one.

Today was a hard day. A crying in the bathroom at work and in the storage room while I pumped. A bags under eyes exhausted day. The Birdy was inconsolable last night from about 11 p.m. until 2:30 a.m. and I still don’t have any idea what was wrong. She wouldn’t use a teether and wasn’t biting (for once) at the breast. She never passed any gas, she had no fever, no sick belly. When she finally crashed we repeated the insane back-arching shrieking crying fit again a couple of times until she slept through 7-9 a.m. I slept in until 9 and went in late.

I can deal with a one year old and the attending chaos, but I was having serious doubts this morning about whether Bu can . Things were palpably tense between us on the way to work and it stayed with me all day. (We’re fine now after bonding over his rum and snuggling to watch a little bit of TV.) He keeps telling me how much better he is with the 4+ crowd than babies, and I keep hoping that’s true. I know some people have “baby” dispositions. I do- I can roll with the shit splatters & ear piercing squeals, but I know it’s harder for him. It’s so fucking frustrating that I’m working out of the home while he’s here with her. We’re looking into other options but I’m terrified to jinx the very vague plans by detailing them here, not that there’s much to tell. I doubt I’ll be able to work from home full time anytime soon, but something’s got to change.

So now she’s crashed, and I’m wide awake. Beautiful.

jumpy stress brain

I want a Xanax so bad.

Didn’t get a chance to call the YW to set up a scholarship, but I’m keeping on the exercise-not-drugs plan. Bu is awesome with the support. Totally bringin’ it. He said he was worried about me tonight. I’m not on the verge of a Serious Roxy Breakdown (TM) like in, let’s see… ’93, 96, and ’02, but I’ve got to address this before I get to that point. If I had health insurance, I’d have already started googling xanax + breastfeeding, valium + breastfeeding, etc. I can see the doctor for $15 at my clinic, where the midwives’ practice is run, but prescriptions aren’t covered. We make thismuch too much money for the drug help. Quell frustrating. I’ve also got to check in with the DHHR to see if we’ll qualify pleasegoddess for Emsy’s state health insurance. All of this is complicated 1,000 fold by the way our company’s set up. Our taxes don’t really show that we make anything from the company. It’s an S chapter corporation, so we take distributions which aren’t taxable but I have to report them somehow or they’ll bust us for fraud. I sent a printed report from our bookkeeping software. Hopefully that’ll do.

There was a long ranty post in my head while I did paperwork today. It was about how I used to have a punkish youthful disdain for the affluent and all things borgeuois, but now all I want in the world is a nicer home, clothes that fit and weren’t made in a sweatshop, and cash for organic produce. And I want a second car, which gives me green guilt. The public transportation system here is ridiculously inadequate, though. My options are two buses before dawn and at twilight or hitchhiking. {Insert towel reference here; I’m not coming up with anything.}

OK so I did google xanax + breastfeeding & it looks like a no go anyway so that’s for the best. I have a(n arguably less than stable) relative who used to share her prescription with me, so when I’m really in need I usually go to her and then the doctor.

Ooh! Shiny: looks like Valerian root’s OK as long as I keep an eye on the Boue. Valerian root works as well as Xanax anyway. Almost.