Here's something you might be interested in.
Yesterday, I got a letter from my dermatologist, letting me know that I have skin cancer again, and that I require yet a fourth surgery. Oh, she tried to let me know by phone, but she couldn’t get through. We have a new one and my husband couldn’t be bothered to set up the voicemail. Mr. Wonderful was too busy laying in bed and watching T.V. …
Last week, when I found out that he had been paying on three payday loans for years, I said, “I’m taking over your finances. Don’t even try to argue. First, you’re not paying on these payday loans anymore.”
“But that’ll cause my checking account to be overdrawn.”
“Too bad. You should have thought of that when you got into this mess. You’re better off owing the B of A. You can’t get out of owing the payday places..."
Then Mr. Wonderful told me that if he didn’t pay $130, it would cost him $300, so of course, I had to let him pay it. So what happens? His jeep breaks down, and now he can’t work at all. Not delivering pizza. Not as a merchandiser for Frito Lay. And his Social Security doesn’t kick in ‘til May 11. The Employment Development Department has only been giving him about $200 a month since November.
Now, he’s out the money he used to pay off the first payday loan, and he’s going to lose his checking account anyway, because he can’t pay off the second and the third.
Can it get any worse? It can. Our landlord is about to condemn my home, even though every contractor I’ve had come out here says the problems are cosmetic. But the landlord doesn’t care, because he thinks I’m stupid. He doesn’t know I have a few tricks up my sleeve, including keeping the whole matter tied up in court for so long, I’ll probably be here for all eternity.
You see, I sue for free. One of the few advantages to being poor is that if you want to sue in court, you just have to fill out a fee waiver, and you don’t have to pay the $300 fee. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just let myself go crazy, and see how much time that buys me.
A few weeks ago, he mentioned that Frito Lay hadn’t paid him his mileage money, but the amount was so small, I didn’t bother to follow up on it. We are so far down in the hole at this point, it’s going to take more than money—nothing short of a miracle, really, to dig us out.
I’m so tired of Craig’s problems and his inability to take care of himself, Mr. IQ of 135, that I rarely bother to ask any questions, but I did bravely venture forth yesterday, because it seems like it HAS been a long time, and do you know what I found out? Frito Lay owes him more than $500 and has for weeks if not a few months. What do you know? That amount would have been just about enough to save our house.
But I got good news. I became eligible for a loan. Oops, there was a glitch! I have to prove I have insurance on the mobile home, and the minute the loan lady said that, it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard anything about homeowner’s insurance in some time…
My dad used to handle the mobile home matters, and he died last summer. Having a lot of confidence in his ability to handle my affairs, I’d write him a check every month to cover my car, insurance, and my loans. But after he had a psychotic break due to steroid use in connection with his cancer, and the fact that it caused him to develop bipolar disorder, turned out to be disastrous.
My mom said that he had life insurance until he got a notice from the insurance company that his premiums would double when he turned eighty. So he cancelled the insurance and subsequently died the week of his eightieth birthday. Knowing he was making crackpot decisions like this was not encouraging.
My mother and I spent last evening going through his haphazard records, and couldn’t come up with as much as a sticky note to tell us anything about my mobile home insurance. Ah, but there was a copy of a check register from 2008, saying that he had written a check to Allstate for “Mindy’s mobile home insurance,” but where is the evidence?
I asked Allstate and the idiot behind the desk said my mobile home hadn’t been covered since 1998…
I’m contemplating not having the surgery at all, and just letting nature take its course. At least, I won’t have to deal with this s*** anymore. And Mr. Wonderful won’t even notice. He’ll just go right on watching T.V., until he says, “Honey, get me a beer,” and then he’ll find me dead on the floor, someday.
Yesterday, I got a letter from my dermatologist, letting me know that I have skin cancer again, and that I require yet a fourth surgery. Oh, she tried to let me know by phone, but she couldn’t get through. We have a new one and my husband couldn’t be bothered to set up the voicemail. Mr. Wonderful was too busy laying in bed and watching T.V. …
Last week, when I found out that he had been paying on three payday loans for years, I said, “I’m taking over your finances. Don’t even try to argue. First, you’re not paying on these payday loans anymore.”
“But that’ll cause my checking account to be overdrawn.”
“Too bad. You should have thought of that when you got into this mess. You’re better off owing the B of A. You can’t get out of owing the payday places..."
Then Mr. Wonderful told me that if he didn’t pay $130, it would cost him $300, so of course, I had to let him pay it. So what happens? His jeep breaks down, and now he can’t work at all. Not delivering pizza. Not as a merchandiser for Frito Lay. And his Social Security doesn’t kick in ‘til May 11. The Employment Development Department has only been giving him about $200 a month since November.
Now, he’s out the money he used to pay off the first payday loan, and he’s going to lose his checking account anyway, because he can’t pay off the second and the third.
Can it get any worse? It can. Our landlord is about to condemn my home, even though every contractor I’ve had come out here says the problems are cosmetic. But the landlord doesn’t care, because he thinks I’m stupid. He doesn’t know I have a few tricks up my sleeve, including keeping the whole matter tied up in court for so long, I’ll probably be here for all eternity.
You see, I sue for free. One of the few advantages to being poor is that if you want to sue in court, you just have to fill out a fee waiver, and you don’t have to pay the $300 fee. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll just let myself go crazy, and see how much time that buys me.
A few weeks ago, he mentioned that Frito Lay hadn’t paid him his mileage money, but the amount was so small, I didn’t bother to follow up on it. We are so far down in the hole at this point, it’s going to take more than money—nothing short of a miracle, really, to dig us out.
I’m so tired of Craig’s problems and his inability to take care of himself, Mr. IQ of 135, that I rarely bother to ask any questions, but I did bravely venture forth yesterday, because it seems like it HAS been a long time, and do you know what I found out? Frito Lay owes him more than $500 and has for weeks if not a few months. What do you know? That amount would have been just about enough to save our house.
But I got good news. I became eligible for a loan. Oops, there was a glitch! I have to prove I have insurance on the mobile home, and the minute the loan lady said that, it dawned on me that I hadn’t heard anything about homeowner’s insurance in some time…
My dad used to handle the mobile home matters, and he died last summer. Having a lot of confidence in his ability to handle my affairs, I’d write him a check every month to cover my car, insurance, and my loans. But after he had a psychotic break due to steroid use in connection with his cancer, and the fact that it caused him to develop bipolar disorder, turned out to be disastrous.
My mom said that he had life insurance until he got a notice from the insurance company that his premiums would double when he turned eighty. So he cancelled the insurance and subsequently died the week of his eightieth birthday. Knowing he was making crackpot decisions like this was not encouraging.
My mother and I spent last evening going through his haphazard records, and couldn’t come up with as much as a sticky note to tell us anything about my mobile home insurance. Ah, but there was a copy of a check register from 2008, saying that he had written a check to Allstate for “Mindy’s mobile home insurance,” but where is the evidence?
I asked Allstate and the idiot behind the desk said my mobile home hadn’t been covered since 1998…
I’m contemplating not having the surgery at all, and just letting nature take its course. At least, I won’t have to deal with this s*** anymore. And Mr. Wonderful won’t even notice. He’ll just go right on watching T.V., until he says, “Honey, get me a beer,” and then he’ll find me dead on the floor, someday.