Friday, January 16, 2015

George Takei Lies, Eases my Nerves. Or: The Disability Hearing

There is much to tell, so I'll settle into storyteller mode, and set phasers to awesome.

I arrive, while Shane's parking the van, and notice that Mr. Takei, Internet Deity, had done some promotional photos for the Social Security Disability Office. This is a thing of squee because I adore him. He's seriously the wittiest dude in the galaxy. We'd just watched "To Be Takei" the night before as I snuggled in a fetal ball against Shane waiting for my night-night meds to kick in. (They did not. Ever.)

Also, the that was easy bit is hilarity of the very darkest humor when you've been waiting since 2012 to get some goddamn help.

So, at last Shane and my lawyer, Fred*, show up.

Fred explains that my claw handed mutant-badassery is far stronger legally than "OHMYGODS my back hurts EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME & MY LEGS TOO just kill me!!!!!!! But there are like 17,000 different reasons and shit and oh also Phocomelia- have you heard of it? No... never mind, then." So he stresses that the hand is the primary narrative. (Or, Prime Directive, as I'm already going full-on Trekkie.)

Then he's just talking generally about presenting myself as a professional, educated mama who wants to work but can't. That's when I realize I've got a hoop in my nose, so I ask him if I should I remove it and apparently that was literally going to be the next words out of his mouth. So I go to pry it out; it has a little hinge.

I then notice that I'm wearing a three-quarter-sleeved sweater that shows my wrist tattoo. Luckily, I have no decent looking winter coat, so I'd layered sweaters. I change into the longer one and have to pay constant attention so it wouldn't slip and expose me as a punk-ass miscreant.

So it's me, Fred, the judge, the transcription-ist, and an occupational expert. The hearing is crazy short. It begins with the judge asking me my primary reason for seeking disability, and my answering, "My chronic pain, Sir, er, Your Honor, Or, Sir?" and my being immediately kicked under the table by Fred.

Then the judge reads bits of my file to me, and I confirm what I'd told Fred, and my 1,000 doctors. Then he asks the expert if a hypothetical woman born in April 1976 (and I nearly die trying not to laugh at this being termed a hypothetical question) could perform this job or that, given such and such limitations, and he testifies that I can't do any conceivable job. (The judge didn't ask about blogging sporadically and dragging illustrations out for several months.) It's pretty obvious then, I think, that he's going to grant me the benefits.

Fred's closing remarks are fabulous, as he brings up the fact that I'm proud and willful and play down my impairments. He even points out that I've been actually hiding my arm throughout the hearing, which was really my hiding my tattoo. He sums up my mental status, i.e. that I am a hot mess of depression and often stay in bed for days without bathing. I bite through my tongue so I don't giggle because while that isn't untrue, it's more often because my legs won't work for a few days and/or and Orange is the New Black season two is out. Although if you know what depression is, you know that's happened more than a couple of times with the stinky.

I won't know officially for about six weeks, but Fred was very comfortable telling me that we won.

Shane took me to Chili's for a celebratory lunch. I went crazy wild and had chicken quesadillas and a Coke. My skin is now a splotchy mess of hell because of the Coke's corn syrup, but the chicken was so fucking worth the cheating that I only have like 4% meat guilt. I'm thinking the hives/zits could possibly be karma as well as allergies. Like a mystical force talked me out of a lemon water so I'd be poultry-punished.

So, I now have to rest my ass for a bit then finish up the aforementioned drawings at long damn last.

Do happy dances for me, will ya?
I cannot happy dance, though I dearly wish to do so;)
Thanks for all the yummy positive mojo.
I love you guys like Takei loves a sexual pun.

Fred isn't his real name. I'm not entirely sure I'm allowed to write about the hearing, though, so no names. Except mine, Ms. Heidi Takei-Hiddleston.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

Forests and Films : The Only Reasons to Leave the House

Last night I demanded a date night—the going out kind. Often we stay in so I can rest Frankenspine flat and watch some Netflix or rent a movie. I had just enough sit-upright mojo for a theater, so we saw Mockingjay Part One. It did necessitate a good, thorough opiate-ing, so I'm not sure if my review is completely accurate.

My review is: Sleepy

Julianne Moore was good but not amazing (except her hair, which was breathtaking) but I forgive this because I'm in mad, hot love with her and in a parallel universe we are blissfully married. Ooh! No: In a parallel universe she's my hot linguistics professor in grad school (because in that world I'm going to be an etymologist) and we're having a very naughty affair. Yes; that's the story. 

Anyway, all the excitement was saved for Part 2, and I mean all of it. This installment should've been compressed into thirty minutes at the beginning of one  exciting action film. There were a few almost-great moments, and all of them were Woody Harrelson. 

I haven't decided what our relationship issues in another universe, but it definitely involves my being bendy enough for yoga classes with him.

So it was pleasant being out, mediocre movie notwithstanding.

I've been absorbed in designing and illustrating between bouts of bad pain days and a bit of illness last week, but Shane made sure to force me out of bed once to be beneath trees and sky. He sighted in his rifle, because he's planning to go hunting this season and I sat in the van relaxing with a meaningless doodle page in my sketchbook.

It was a nice break although, being me, I spaced out and forgot why he'd taken me into the forest and jumped in hilarious shock at his first shot.

And I had to pee, which was cool because I noticed this prettiness:

Looks like some swampy vibes were going on, but that's just me playing with Snapseed filters. I seriously dig the processed image, though.

And this is my drawing break over. I'll show up here sooner next time, I hope. It bothers me to miss a week of posting, much less two. 

Be cozy and well. I send you all imaginary virtual snuggles from my fireside. And remember, if you ever find yourself taking a wilderness pee and noticing lovely vines, go back afterward with your phone or camera. No one wants to drop their tech in pee.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

Wrapping Up #NaBloPoMo and the Gratitude Wall

I. Am. So. Damn. Tired.

I will catch up on the super fun promised posts, but mama needs a brief break. Very brief, because my creepy trees must be inked. Creepily inked. 

Meanwhile, enjoy a peak at a few of the things for which my family is grateful.

That's, separately, "Muppets" (misspelled) and "Life on Earth." With a wee globe. A brief reminder of the wonder that is a kid's brain.

And now, with a flourish, I collapse.