Now that everything is broken, who stole my fucking glue?

I know, I know. It’s been forever. Things in my world seem to stand absolutely fucking still or whirl around like a tornado on meth. I have started year 2. I’ve actually made it through a bunch of seconds. Good for me. I still don’t own my house. I’m still stranded in Dipshitville, Indiana. By a dead guy.

So the big things. I am still scurrying around trying to make the shop make money. The next month is full of website revamps, new merchandise, training Wee Geek to be an employee, and madly looking for conventions that get what I do.

Other big things. I fired my piece of shit lawyer who was some evil mix of incompetence, stupidity, and just plain laziness. The new lawyer tried to tell me that it was that he was not intrinsically motivated to complete things that require executive functioning skills. I do believe that’s lawyer speak for fucking lazy. So the new lawyer promises I will own my house in 90 days. I just have to trust him to do some negotiating and pay everything off. The old lawyer would shrug his shoulders and tell me to let the bank foreclose. Fuck that, I need somewhere to live, jackass! I do not know how this will actually pan out because my experience with lawyers is not good. Long time readers know that I can speak fairly expertly on this topic.

Wee Geek is having to make some decidedly huge changes in his life. I am looking forward to this. However, the last month has reared a heads up of ugly truths that we will have to deal with. I realised that life with the Fixitguy has made me somewhat complacently trustful of people which has done nothing but cost me money. So trust issues that I had forgotten have popped up once more. Also, Wee Geek has had to face some of his own demons. A brief stint in hospital has put him on track with some good meds that seem to be helping with the depression and closing off the huge black hole that threatens to eat his soul for a bite size snack. It has also put some intervention in his path. So we have him set up for some counseling that we hope will get him through this hiccup. It has also forced him to think very pointedly about what he wants to be when he grows up besides Mom’s Indentured Servant, which truthfully is his life for a little while, but one that I hope he can drag himself out of sooner rather than later. He had a job shadow through his vocational rehabilitation services that seems to actually be the one. I have always wanted him to do something with his art and this may be his shot. He shadowed a tattoo artist the other day and really felt like this would fit him. I think it will too. Plus it has gotten him drawing again. WIN! Insert happy dance here.

I discovered that every month has indeed got a 24th. I kinna skated by it in December because I went to visit the maternal unit for a week over Christmas and was super busy. Long time readers will be interested to know that I visited my brother over this time who has made a decidedly concerted and concentrated effort to be in my life since the Fixitguy left me alone on this earthly plane. We are more alike than different on some things and worlds apart on others. But I feel like he is accepting of me for the general wacky chick I am and that is a good thing. He needed a little diversity in his life. Lol.

I feel life gliding by. I fill my evenings with crafts and with Wee Geek moving back home somewhat permanently for the time being, the craft supply hoard must get itself under control somehow. What that actually means is that life without the Fixitguy, although occasionally floundery, is starting to merge into some new pattern that perhaps he was training me for over all these years. I realised today that February 5th would have been our 15th wedding anniversary. Sigh.

There feels as if there have been many things that have happened. My UFOconspiracyfriend was hit by a car in downtown Dipshitville. Broke his arm in several places, but he is on the mend after a surgery. He is also bored our of his brain. Poor guy. I have not been a good friend with all of Wee Geek’s stuff, but we will soon be back on track with that as well. I have lots of crochet projects. I have orders for pink kitty cat hats and shark slippers which should keep me busy for a few weeks! So slowly things are happening with the shop.

So dear readers, watch out when crossing the road in Dipshitville, watch for updates to the shop, and cross your fingers for Wee Geek.

How to Survive Year 1…or the seemingly never ending morass of bullshit you must endure now that your spouse is gone

So, dear reader, we did it! We survived the first year! Congratulations. Pat yourself on the back, because obviously, no one else is around to do that for you! So… what?

You thought that things would be a lot different, didn’t you? Ha! Nope. You only survived because you don’t know how to not survive. You put your head down and put one foot in front of the other. Every. Fucking. Day. Because you had to. If you’re like me, you didn’t inherit a metric fuck-ton of money when your spouse died. You inherited an entirely new set of headaches that no amount of fuckitall is going to take away.

I thought that I would have my house paid off and I would be living somewhere else by now. Nope. My lawyer assures me he is working on it, but since he’s never in his office, and certainly doesn’t answer phone messages, I have no idea whether or not this is truthful or not. How hard can this be? The only thing in the estate was the house. But this has brought a completely new set of headaches. For one thing, I now owe more on the house than I did when Andrew died. Totally fair, right? No.

Also I can not change the name on my insurance account until the house is settled. Because God forbid what would happen if the whole thing burned down around my ears? Well, I know the answer to that. The insurance agency would issue a check that I could not cash in Andrew’s name to cover the contents of said house. Which brings us squarely into this week’s drama.

So, apparently the insurance company has been overcharging us for years. Thank you, Farmers. Not applying the correct discounts. So when I added the new car, apparently this brought this little black seed out into the light and they have been fixing it. One small refund check at a time. The bank said to sign his name and then mine and add “representative payee/personal representative”. Which I have dutifully done on every single check I have received. Until this week. Suddenly, the bank has decided that this is not their policy and that I have to get the check reissued. In my name. Sounds simple, right? Nope.  I call Farmers and talk to an agent who gives me a phone number to call. I call the number and get “virtual voting has ended”. Click. I call Farmers back. They give me 2 new numbers to call, one of which calls some black hole in outer space and never connects and the other, interestingly enough to Bank of America. Or at least, a class action lawsuit for them. Because apparently, they’ve  been overcharging people for years. So, I call Farmers back and get a girl who tells me that they just have to change the name on the billing account to me. This change should take 24-48 hours and I will get an email notifying me of this change before Friday. Email never appears. I call Farmers again. Different lady tells me that is not the case at all and that they can only issue the check to Andrew or to Andrew’s estate. Which does me no good. I call the bank and they tell me that they can’t cash the check because Andrew was never on my account. Grrr.

So this morning I went to the downtown branch of the back and cried. Playing the widow card with as much enthusiasm as having a whole hand of Aces at the Poker table. I have all the paperwork. I cry. I talk. I cry. The guy I’m talking to looks at paperwork. Looks at ID. Looks at paperwork. Goes and talks to someone. Comes back. Looks at paperwork. Says “follow me” and leads me to a teller who he tells to deposit this check. Sigh. WTAF. It never should have taken all of this effort a week after Andrew’s one year anniversary to do all of this. It’s insane. They should all be ashamed.

I know you thought I’d be living some kind of charmed carefree life by now. I’m not. Nothing has changed. I’m still barely making ends meets. Still working. Still trying to get Autiezombiegirl off the ground. Still barely surviving. Interestingly enough, I discovered the bottom of the depression barrel this week. Yeah….I’m in the basement of that, right now. But who wouldn’t be? Fuck. I can’t move on. Hell, I can’t even move until all of this crap is settled. So, I just sit. Spinning my wheels.

Bank of America sends me a little Asian guy every other day to hand me a yellow envelope that says “Please call immediately” and take my picture.

These are just a few of the things that I am still dealing with. A. Year. Later. In other news, I have also discovered that my heart is still absolutely broken. My tolerance for frustration is at zero. And I honestly think that I am heading straight to Applebee’s after  work and ordering drinks by color. Because I can. And because that’s how I adult. I feel like I have just put up with WAY too much this week. So, if you happen to be around…..

I’m disappointed. I really thought that things would be different in some small way outside of my husband being dead. It just all feels so….depressing. Sigh. You know me dear reader. I’ll get up and do it all over again tomorrow. But it is still overwhelming. And heartbreaking. And I hope that you don’t have to deal with this kind of bullshit if your spouse dies. Because it sucks. It really does. There are days that I just go home and go to bed because I cannot deal with even one more thing. I don’t know how to end this blog, today. So I will just end it with a period.

Tales of a Bully Become Lawyer

So for the second time in one week, I had to visit the lovely walls of the Delaware County courthouse.  I do not relish these trips. They are a gigantic pain in the ass first of all. Especially because my ex whines that he is too sick to drive to court, but he’s not too sick to stalk my kid and to sit around and think up ways to be a complete and total ass. It’s very frustrating for Wee Geek and me both that he seems to always get a pass for his reprehensible behaviour.

We are used to being different and to being called out for thinking differently, but court is the one place where our differences seem to be counted as a criminal offense rather than an asset. It is the one place that we cannot seem to make any reasonable accommodations work for us. Actually in the legal system, there is no such thing as accommodations, reasonable or otherwise, for people on the spectrum. Especially since we “don’t look autistic”. I’ve been thinking alot about what that means. The phrase looms up in my mind’s eye over and over.  What does autism look like?

In my family it is 5’2″ with auburn and purple hair. It is also almost 6′ tall with curly blonde hair. We are both extremely near sighted. We both have sharp, quick, and sardonic wit that will turn on you in a moment. We both have kind hearts that are way too big for us. So in our family it looks alike and different. We both have tics. We are both terrified of specific situations especially when they involve social interactions that we are unfamiliar with. But I see in Wee Geek a much better way to adapt than I have. He is so much better at blending than I am. I am amazed at this. His wonderful ability to feel so okay in his skin and to go with it. He tells me sometimes that he feels like an imposter, but he’s not.  I see his acclimation is almost perfect. Of course, I’m still comparing him to me. So, not comfortable in this skin.

So, court. My ex’s lawyer is nothing but a big bully. I imagine that she was just this awful fat kid in school that everyone picked on and then some smartass put her in debate club. Gave her the power to argue. Taught her how to twist the truth into an unrecognizeable blob that means less than the lies that they manufacture to transform them into sharks with bullies living inside. These bullies scream to get out and beat down others to make themselves feel better.

This Friday’s events could have been solved over the phone and through email and fax with my attorney. But no, the asshole’s lawyer is a bully and she threatened me that if I did not go to court on Friday that she would have a warrant put out for my arrest. If you ever for a moment doubt the insanity of my life, think about that for a moment. Think about the massive stupidity of that. It’s no wonder that the stress of the week leading up to Friday made me call a dear drag queen loving girlfriend and beg her to be my drinking buddy for the evening. The three of us NaNo buddies ended up in a local bar. I arrived first. Walked into this bar that is not a usual haunt for me at all with about 15 people sitting inside. Warning, this sounds like a joke….and all 15 sets of eyes turned in my direction and all conversation stopped. For one brief and paranoid moment I wondered if they had been talking about me. I know it’s ridiculous. But I actually thought this, though. I texted my friend. “Hurry up, people are starting to stare.” And a minute later, “Should I put my clothes back on?” The inevitable comment back, “No, honey, it’s not your nakedness that they are staring at.” For a minute, I laughed. Ignoring the double meaning of that. Preferring to laugh it out and be happy that at least my personality still makes me stick out more than being naked in a bar. Just for the record, I was not actually naked.

So, I awoke on Friday morning, after day 5 of crappy sleep with no relief, with at least a renewed sense of being able to cope for at least long enough to get through the fight I needed to wage. I also went with the advice of my lawyer to not give the bullying whore a dime. I was determined. She came out asking me if I agreed to the deal she’d sent to my lawyer. Which was that I would give her $10 a week on top of the garnishment that they are already taking. In Indiana, the maximum that they can garnish from you for a debt is 25% of your pre tax income. Believe me, what’s left over is barely enough to live on. If I wasn’t living in a home that my husband owned with him paying all of the bills, I would never be able to live on my own. There’s not enough left over. This garnishment serves another purpose as well, it makes sure that I can baarely help Wee Geek at all. It’s a damn good thing we’re both so resourceful.

So then the bully lawyer brings a paper asking me to agree to pay $25 a week. She accused me of hiding money. I offered to get a sheriff’s officer and go somewhere so that she could document that there is not a money tree growing out of my ass. She has seen the tax returns, she knows the profit from the book is minimal. My ex is allowed to make over $100,000 a year with no consequences, and I am punished for my meager teacher’s salary. I was emphatic that I would not be signing that paper. She threatened to take me in front of the judge. I agreed that we should go to the judge. I think he needs to hear that her slime ball client kicked his autistic son out of his house into the street without a car, with no idea of where he would go. He cancelled his health insurance and now he can’t get his meds. I think a judge should hear how he’s left our child with a disability and a mental illness without meds and without a home. She disappeared and came back with a paper that basically said I agreed to another garnishment. I did not leave the courthouse until that paper said what I thought it should say.

Ex husband slime ball piece of shit that you are, I know you stalk me online. I know you read my blog. It is illegal for you to open Wee Geek’s mail. In Ohio, he is a legal adult. You also cannot keep his Cobra paperwork from him. I intend to call the insurance company on Monday and make sure that they know that Wee Geek has not received it. That’s illegal, too. Not too damn much you’ve done in the last 20 years has been legal, but we are going to have to overlook some of that. Mostly because we can’t do anything about it.

Wee Geek and I constantly are amazed at how little his father has managed to actually do for him in the last 20 years. We are flummoxed that the court system has let him get away with it and has practically given him a paved access road for doing absolutely the bare minimum. There have been several moments when he’s done even less. Wee Geek tells me little things sometimes. I already knew that his dad was making him pay for everything he touched in his life, using the excuse that I wasn’t helping out in any way. Wee Geek now realises that his dad is a manipulator of the worst kind. He is so tired of his dad getting away with being a chameleon who makes people believe his lies. It’s a little pathetic. It is history repeating itself. This is the way that his father was as well.

So, after all of that. I came home with a headache the size of Texas and absolutely exhausted. I had not slept all week. I called in and told my director that I was done out and taking another personal day. I hate using my paid time off for stupid shit. I slept the afternoon away, intermittently chatting with my girlfriend. Answering a few calls. Talked to the Best Buy guy. I still don’t feel totally caught up on my sleep, but I think that I might actually be able to get some writing done tomorrow. Maybe I can talk my girls into Bingo again this week. We had much fun last week.

This has been an exhausting week. I am done out in so many ways. I do, however, fill like I won a little something. I’m counting it as a win, anyway. Don’t burst my bubble. That would really suck. I hope that I start seeing some more winning feelings coming this way. I’m tired of the way things have been. It’s as if the asshole is trying to make sure that Wee Geek and I cannot enjoy having each other back. It’s as if he is trying to make it so hard that Wee Geek thinks he has to go back there. That won’t ever happen, but I’m sure in the asshole’s twisted little brain that makes perfect sense. He’s an idiot.

So dear reader, Wee Geek and I continue to move forward. Make plans. Live together in these parallel lines. Enjoying each other. Learning how to move in this world as a team. No longer alone. Stronger by that virtue alone.

A belated blog post

I have been horribly negligent of the blog.  It’s mostly because we’ve had a lot going on and then we were on vacation for two weeks and then were bombarded again.

So to catch you all back  up to date, I had to go to court again at the end of May.  Of course it was the same old crap.  Although the judge did actually tell me that we were there to hear my side of the story.  No one listened, but we were there to hear it all. So this is the bits of pieces that I wrote while waiting and my commentary on the after effects of it all.  Next a mutant blog!

It’s so dementedly disturbing waiting outside court.  It’s a disorienting look at human nature and what it thinks is appropriate.  My ex always comes to court looking like he hasn’t bathed in 6 weeks.  He’s almost always wearing something that looks like he’s been sleeping in it for at least a week and that he’s slopped at least 2 meals down the front of it.

Two kids walk in wearing torn up jeans and t-shirts with inappropriate slogans.  They look like these clothes were their pajamas as well.  Some people wear what I presume are in Indiana standards, their good jeans.  The lawyers all look like slightly rumpled sharks and are fat and happy.  I always think that the picking must be good at the bottom of the sludgepile where they feed.  My ex’s lawyers are the fattest of all.  They have found a particularly good bit of sludge to eat from.  My ex is about 450 pounds, he’s probably the cream of the crop in sludge.

I always take deep breaths and try to keep my brain totally blank. There are so many awful social rules in court and I don’t understand any of them.  I wish someone would write a manual for autistic people who have to deal with the legal system.  Every subtle nuance-y rule seems like it’s amplified times 100 and the punishments for not following the rules seem so much more extreme.

I watch everyone carefully and concentrate hard on repressing my tics.  I’m sure that magnifies my stress level by somewhere close to a million.  I try very haard to not think of this as some kind of freak circus where the illusion is that my ex is a decent human being and therefore worthy of his words weighing more than mine.  But that is exactly what has happened though.  Unfortuneately for him, divorce court issued me x-ray vision and I now can see every lie for exactly what it is.  Of course, for some reason everyone else in this seems to have been issued rose coloured blinders.  For some reason these blinders make him look like some kind of upstanding guy when he’s really a small little man who hides behind facades.  How crafty he is to have learned such important lessons from his father.  Isolate the people you abuse and jump on a church bandwagon.

In all of this, I muse if the Bible banger that figured out the exact date for the Apocalypse could have made a gross miscalculaation of 24 hours?

The zoo in the waiting area has increased.  The mood has escalated and you can feel the anger and the mistrust and the evilness jusst seeping into the air.  It’s a noxious pool of toxic waste. It’s everything I can do to stop myself from throwing up.  This air is not good for autistic people who are barometers of human emotion.

It amazes me how unsafe I always feel in this place.  I know that it’s mostly because coming to court and having to be with my ex makes me remember every strike and every awful word that he ever said.  It makes me have to deal with emotions that I very successfully repress in my real life.  I know that it’s also because I am so stressed and I know that my brain does not function well under stress.  It doesn’t really function at all.  It tries to wrap me up in a little cocoon and protect me.

I know that they’ve done tons of research on Asperger’s and everything is carefully calculated to knock me off kilter.  I spend all of my energy just holding myself together.  There isn’t anything left over.  The other part of all of this is the unfairness of every decision. The judge threatens to throw me in jail every time I turn around.

I thought that once my son was 18 that all of this would be over.  But it’s not.  I always try to keep it in the back of my mind that my ex has some overwhelming feelings to want to hurt me so badly.  I don’t care and I am left sitting here an empty shell with no feelings or anything.  I don’t even care enough to hate him anymore.

It feel so poisonous in court that I can hardly breathe.

In the end, my ex’s lawyers tried to make it look as if I’m an idiot and that my appeal was a childish effort to strike out at my ex for taking my son away.  If only my motivation had been so simple.  In the end, they’ve decided that I’m going to fork out another $7000 in lawyer fees.  Seriously?  I must be sitting on a winning lottery ticket that I don’t know about.  It’s insane.  Where is all this money supposed to come from?

In the end, I am still in the same place.  I have no idea if my son is even actually alive, at this point I have doubts.  I have no idea what his mental state is, although, I am guessing fragile and fragmented at the very best.  I try to not think about it because frankly that well of depression just seems way too deep.

I can’t understand how the judge does not understand how his actions have tempered the course of events.  It’s frightening to me that he has gotten away with calling me retarded and telling me that I’m unfit as a human.  I realise that part of this is because my ex’s lawyers have done their research and understand how to hit me the hardest.

In the end, the judgement makes no difference.  There is no money for them to have.  There is nothing left for them to take that is imp0rtant to me.  All other relationships in my life are coloured by these court interactions.  All other measurements of trust are held up against these interactions.  All other measurements for safety are held up against this.  It’s just the way that it is.

I have no faith in the legal system.  I have no trust in it or in the officers that it employs.  I have no faith that the system will take care of those who cannot take care of themselves, because the system is there to hurt and belittle and step on you.  Don’t ever believe anything different.  My goodness these evil people have made me cynical!

Nothing has changed.

The vacation has made the next step very clear.
Watch out living entity of evil, I’m coming back for more.