C'est Moi, C'est Moi, 'Tis I!

That's correct. I've not lost my fingers with which to type, nor lost my mind with which to think. I've simply had a long stretch of bullshit that's sucked away time that I'd normally use for writing on my little corner of Blogger.

Here are some highlights!

My car: my car engine bit the dust with 57,000 miles on it. Ironically I'd just paid off my car; the Powers That Be decided that now I no longer had a car payment, I could certainly afford a brand-new engine with all the money normally used for a car payment! In an ironic twist, the Powers That Be also decided to test my memory-- I remembered I had purchased an extended warranty for the car. The night my car died, I looked through the warranty paperwork and found it was set to expire ten days from the car's date of death. Whew. I was able to get an "new" engine installed with only 14,000 miles on it, paying only the $100.00 deductible, all under the expiration wire!

So. The above represents three stupid weeks of worry.

I moved to a new apartment, which I've christened "The Haven". Funny-- I moved from The Hamlet and have moved Next Door; more on that later. Frankly, the apartment is not very haven-like at the moment with unpacked boxes stacked against the walls and unhung pictures, but I know I'll be happy here. It has all the accoutrements a grown-up needs-- heat, a refrigerator, a washer/dryer and a fireplace! Another exciting development-- with the money I save in rent and utilities, I purchased satellite TV! I moved the second week of January and doing so in such close proximity to the holidays was a challenge, but it was well worth it. The Haven is quite small in comparison with the Hovel, having under 600 square feet. I've been obsessing about the organization of my stuff and have been purchasing magazines filled with cute storage suggestions (baskets, amoires), but as it stands right now, the Haven is a work in progress.

This deducted a month of worry and effort, still ongoing.

Mom: we moved Mom to a skilled nursing care facility, as she now requires 24-hour care. We shopped around looking at different facilities, interviewing their staff, sniffing around hallways for that horrible pee smell, trying again and again to convince these places to take Mom as a new resident even though she was Medicaid pending (a term I loathe and will fill me with dread every time I hear it for the remainder of my days). We finally found a place for Mom, her spot totaling 50 square feet (I am not kidding).

Advice to you from T-Bone:

Never get sick, never get old, and never run out of retirement money, especially all at the same time. You will find yourself in a Kafka-esque parallel universe where you will be asked for hundreds of tiny, seemingly insignificant receipts from Walgreens, five year old cancelled checks, bank statements, tax returns, deeds for sale of property, etc., etc. You will be on a weird schedule for paperwork submittal that makes absolutely no sense. No matter what you submit, it will be wrong and they will need more information. You will be told different things each time you call Medicaid and depending on the person you talk to, those different things you are told will increase exponentially with each phone call and each meeting.

While you are doing this, you will attempt to go through your parent's things deciding which items go with her, which items will be donated, which items will be thrown out, and which items will go into storage. You will realize your parent has more clothes than you thought she did, and in an effort to pare down the wardrobe, you will bring the items from her closet one by one for her decision to throw out, keep, donate, etc. She will whisper, "Keep it" to every single item except three shirts, and you will be frustrated. "Mom," you will say, "You can't take all of these things. There's no room!" and she will respond, "I don't care. I want to take it." You will then schedule a nighttime raid with your sister to go to Mom's after she's in her new place and divide stuff up yourself!

Here is where I thank The Redhead for her perserverance and tenacity while spearheading this operation for Mom's benefit. It seriously rivalled the landing at Normandy. Thank you, Redhead.

So Mom's in her place now, and she was finally Medicaid approved.

Length of time for this event: about three months.

So, I have some other stuff to share, but that's another post. You'll hear from me soon, dear readers. Thanks for checking back.