I feel like I’m taking crazy pills

Called a Public Assistance Agency and asked how we return an iPad that a client had been given by their program.

This was my experience. It is not embellished or edited to make it funnier.

Interrupting Lady: Hi, you’ve reached Public Assistance Agency, how can I help you?

Kate: Hi, My name is Kate and I’m calling from…

Interrupting Lady: Hi you’ve reached Public Assistance Agency, how can I direct your call today?

Kate: As I was saying, my name is Kate and I’m calling from…

Interrupting Lady: Yes, you’ve reached Public Assistance Agency, how can I direct your call today?

Kate: Uhh, can you hear me?

Interrupting Lady: Yes, ma’am, I can hear you just fine.

Kate: Then why do you keep talking over me? [silence…] Okay, so I’m calling from–

Interrupting Lady: Hi, you’ve reached Public Assistance Agency, how can I help you?

Kate: [speaking quickly, irritated] So my name is Kate and I’m calling from the–

Interrupting Lady: Hi, you’ve reached Public Assistance Agency, what can I do for you today?

Kate: Why do you keep interrupting me?


I called back, and a man answered the phone.

Psychic Dude: Thank you for calling Public Assistance Agency, please wait while I connect you to your party.

Kate: How… how would you know what party I’m trying to reach?

Psychic Dude: Only you would know which party you’re trying to reach.

Kate: …So who were you going to connect me to?

Psychic Dude: Well, what did you need?

Kate: I work for [government agency] and we’re trying to return an iPad that was given to her by your guys.

Psychic Dude: Can I have the client’s address?

Kate: Is it a different procedure for different addresses?

Psychic Dude: [sigh] Can I have their name then?

Kate: Her name is Jane Smith, and she lives in an adult care home, so getting her address wouldn’t have been that helpful to you.

Psychic Dude: Jane Smith… Jane Smith… [pause] We don’t want it back. It’s too old. Recycle it or something.


Everybody’s working for the weekend

I’m doing really well in school.

I’m working toward a degree in social work, and my union is paying for me to get my associate’s. After that I’ll probably transfer to the local university (which I dropped out of 12 years ago because I was not a stable person back then) and get my bachelor’s and master’s from there.

You can do a lot with a Master’s in Social Work. You can do so many fucking things.

Education means choices. I’ve worked for the same employer for over 4 years now, and I’ve been in my current job for just over two years. I was really in love with my job for the first year and a half. I get to help people. Isn’t that cool?

And then I got hurt.

I started seeing a new therapist today. My longtime therapist, who I saw for about 9 years but has since moved on to the more administrative side of things and in fact now runs the practice, recommended her. And we just clicked immediately. I like her a lot. I talked about a lot of things, because, y’know, first session with a new therapist. Instead of feeling exhausted afterward, I felt energized and excited.

And one of the things I told her is that I’m doing really well in school. I know I already said that, but it’s important.

My brain injury really fucked up my life. Most of my symptoms have finally abated, but some are sticking around and might be permanent. I can deal with those, I think. They suck, but I can figure it out.

My work performance has suffered. My overall health has suffered. My personal life was affected. I have terrible memory now. I have trouble focusing. My spelling and typing have gone to shit. I have frequent, sometimes debilitating headaches. I often feel despair, which passes, but it’s not fun.

Through all this, my GPA stayed fucking solid. For the last two terms I’ve gotten all A’s. This term I’m taking statistics, and as someone who hasn’t done any math above arithmetic for about 24 years, stats is a fucking challenge. But I’m acing it. I’m acing everything. I started college again at 39, and it seems I was finally ready to do it right. I’m a good student. I’m wicked smart. I’m doing it. It feels like I’m learning to ride a bike without training wheels. Look at me goooooooooooo.

But when it comes to work, I just feel so trapped. My husband and I have great insurance because of my work. I am getting an associates degree for free because of my work. I have stability because of my work. And it fucking beats a lot of other jobs I’ve had.

It’s just really hard to come back from what I’ve seen. It’s hard to know that if I get sick again, I’m kind of on my own. Leave and benefits won’t give me clear instructions. My short term disability insurance, which I opted into and comes right out of my paycheck, seems fucking useless. They’re still processing my claim and sending me forms saying that they’re still processing my claim. And my team, who I gave so much of myself to not let down, doesn’t really seem to care. I think they’re all sick of me being sick.

As if I’m not.

So I’m in school. And my grades are very good. And I’m going to get my degree, and then get the next degree, and get the NEXT degree, and then… then I will have leverage. I will have choices. I will be able to decide where I want to go next. I won’t have to worry quite as much, I hope. I won’t have to be an Office Assistant anymore, at the bottom of the totem pole, replaceable and negligible and treated like a liability because I had the audacity to get a fucking TBI.

So, according to the title of this post and the song that inspired it, “everybody’s working for the weekend.”

You know what I do on my weekends?

Statistics. And whatever other courses are required for my major. And I like it.

School means choices. I’m not going to fuck it up this time.