Withdrawal

Dear U.S. Senators, 

My monthly meds cost $72 a month.  Job-challenged, I pay $249 a month for health insurance without prescription coverage.  Thus, I cannot afford to pay for my medication.  My doctor successfully provided me with free samples for the first three months, just enough to get me addicted.  Then the pharmacists caught on and shut him down.  The solution?  Generic brand, $4 a bottle at Walmart.  The catch? Doctor can't write me refills.  The problem?  My doctor is in Albany and I am in NY.  A two way train ticket to get to and from Albany for my monthly appointment and prescript costs (at minimum, with triple A discount) $65.  + $4 prescription, and I'm only saving $3 for my generic pills.  

And that is why I am in withdrawal.  My head is spinning, my eyes are droopy, my stomach's a fickle bitch.  

Love,

LB

Welcome, Nelson

Verso Sciolto, the second, in which I make lists:  

Okay so, while still on my parents' couch, today has been quite the productive day.  Notable achievements are: 

1. Completed laundry (always a huge accomplishment)

2. Finished knitting scarf (turned out to be really ugly, will find another use for it)

3. Decided which grad school program I want to attend

4. Signed up for the GREs 

5. Got a job...maybe

6. Second blog entry 

While 1) or 2) or all of these items may seem trivial to the common reader, know that it is because you already have a life.  

If I were to instead rate the productivity of my day based on what I set out to do, I would have to fail myself, as the only two items on my LBDO list were 1) laundry and 2) go back to NY.  We all know 50% is a failing grade.  

My reasons for not going back to NY are superb: a)  I need a prescription refill from Walmart 2) I am lazy and 3) I have absolutely NO responsibility in the city.  And thus, I am still on the couch.  

I will at a later date unveil to you which grad program I have set my sights on.  This pause is to create the illusion of suspense-worthy drama, and also because I am sensitive to the superstitious powers of the jinx.  But as a teaser, I'll let you know what it is not: Psychology at NYU.  Dun dun DUN!  I did however realize that in order to get into any program I will need to take the GREs.  Test date: December 4th, 12:30 pm.  Bring on the verbal tongue twisters. 

The got-a-job-maybe thing is something I'm still confused about.  Previously mentioned mean ex-boss has been stringing me along with a job offer to work at her downtown NY office as an office assistant.  Mind you, it pays pennies, but the hours are flexible, and it comes with fringe benefits.  I had all but given up on her until she sent me an email today asking me for my available start date.  Now is the dilemma: to work for the world's meanest boss (albeit, 250 miles away from her might not be so bad), or not to work at all?  Suggestions are encouraged, because this is really a question of dignity versus rent money.  

For half a second I thought the no-money-for-rent thing might be alleviated by a new roommate, Nelson.  Sesi, dear Sesi, told me of our Nelson this afternoon, prefacing the announcement with "Don't get upset."  Turns out the reason Nelson is moneyless is because he is only concerned with cheese and carrying three common household diseases.  Yes, Nelson is a mouse.   The exterminator is scheduled to arrive at 9:30 tonight.  

If anyone has a Tom they are willing to donate, please advise.  

<3

LB

Verso Sciolto, The First

After years of mulling and procrastinating, I've finally jumped on the blogging band wagon.  So what, who cares, you ask, Joy Behar?  Most likely, no one at the moment.  And that's okay. Gone are the days of waiting for some fantastic project to inspire me to write a truly original blog, irresistible to the masses, life changing for the lost.  Here now is the kick in the pants from that voice in my head that has been committed to crescendo for a full year now (to the day): "DO SOMETHING!"

You see, as Julie and Julia has taught me, ideas sell.  Excitement, passion, deservedness, not so much.  But I no longer have time to wait to come up with the next best idea.  When day after day is spent sitting on your parents' couch, knitting scarves and painting doll house furniture, there comes a point when enough is enough.  

Enough? Enough. 

I'm not a TOTAL  loser.  I have an apartment in New York City, which, considering I'm job-challenged and broke, I consider an incredible accomplishment.  As of one month ago, I'm even fairly certain the place is roach free.  My next-door neighbor is a crack fiend, but he's friendly and offered me a discount on the next new cell phone I buy.  That's a good neighbor.  My two roommates both have stable jobs, and to their credit, they don't make me feel like a total bum when they accidentally come home from work before I've even changed out of my pajamas.  It could be worse.  I could be where I was a year ago to the day. 

Monday, October 6, 2008.  Not to sound too cliche--but this is the day the world came crashing down.  Having held myself together for the first six weeks of my stint as a sixth grade public school teacher, life was good.  I was eating one small meal a day, showering daily, dressing, and ceasing to flinch upon walking by reflective surfaces.  My internal alarm of tears woke me up every morning at 5:15 am, and my panic attack was over by the time I walked through my classroom door at 7:15.  This particular Monday my mother was in town.  Having visited for the weekend, she was not convinced life was as good as I had described.  Apparently one meal a day is not enough, and I should have been flinching when walking by reflective surfaces.  However, life continued as usual.  I went to school with a a smile on my face, a stop watch around my neck, and chalk in my hand.  When the day was over, two of my students had been suspended, another was taken out for a "psychological evaluation" (read: a day of silence interrupted by the occasional  "how do you feel?" in the school counselor's office), and I was alone in a dark classroom, in tears, asking my mom to come pick me up from school.  And that's when I snapped.  

Skip ahead one stint in a psychiatric center, one resignation from the DOE, one terrible job working for the world's meanest non-profit charity director, and here we are.  October 7, 2009. Once on a golden, fool-proof path to a prestigious life of academic luxury, I am now nowhere.  Struggling to figure out who I am and what I want to do.  Trying to make the best of it.  Counting my blessings for my wonderful parents who continue to raise their two adult children. 

And, writing a blog. 

So why, Verso Sciolto?  Back during my Live Journal Phase, I thought it would be cute to write down my feelings via a mess of jumbled fragments, seemingly meaningless and with no defined structure.  I looked up the literal Italian translation of Blank Verse, and thus Verso Sciolto. Perhaps not so much for my writing my style, the phrase seems to quite accurately describe my current situation: 

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:

Music term Verso sciolto means Free and Unrestricted (informal) lighthearted in tone.

Psychology: Extremely civil and pleasant. Unthreatening. welcoming.

Sciolto is an italic literal meaning loosely: noun:

• a replete freedom or libre
• the ideal of liberty

Please forgive wikipedia, as you will have to forgive me, from time to time, for not making any sense. 

And so, here my verso sciolto attempts to become a little less sciolto.  I have some projects in mind which you will be reading about in the coming days, but for now, please applaud my first entry.  

LB is writing again.  

<3