Bex is still here, in limbo. Airline won’t refund her money or transfer flight. Greyhound won’t take responsibility for their delay. Her family hasn’t even bothered to call to see if she’s alive.
It’s a big bucket of what the fuck.
And I’ve got everyone asking, “what’s she going to do?”
What can she do? I found a number for border patrol she can call for herself since she’s not a minor. I checked for flights but we don’t have $1500. She’d have to apply for a Visa extension in Chicago which would involve travel expense and filing fees and no guarantees.
I’m out of ideas. My family moved heaven and earth to get me back home when I got stranded in California. Yeah, there were a lot of lectures about my irresponsibility, blah blah blah but they came through. I guess for all their dysfunction they’re good people. (Not admitted without a serious fucking grudge simply because they can’t accept and be supportive of my mental illness, the most important thing on earth for me.)
So…where do we go from here. Deportation offers a free flight back to the UK. Anyone else have any ideas, feel free to share them. And don’t hesitate to stop by her page and let her know she’s not entirely alone.
I called my mom to see if she’d watch Spook tomorrow while I go to the shop. She proceeded to go off on me about this situation with Becca and what-is-she-going-to-do. Then there was YOU TWO NEED TO WAKE UP AND SMELL THE COFFEE AND DO SOMETHING! What it has to do with her and why she feels so strongly about as to scream at me is beyond me. (I am told she has swelling on the brain, a precursor to Alzheimer’s but she doesn’t want anyone to know.)
I’ve been stressing and worrying (Becca’s been dealing with excessive sleep while I have abided but I will start nagging her because while I can get info, she has to be the one to carry through since she is an adult and this applies to her.)
The suckiest part is, it’s totally a Visa issue. I’m not tossing her into the street. We didn’t even want her to go and god knows, she feels she’s got nothing to go back to anyway. But she can’t work here so has no way to support herself to get money to get back. She’s truly in a catch 22 from fucking hell.
Bad luck should be considered an exigent circumstance because everything that could go wrong that day went wrong for her.
And now…back to my frazzled nerves, utter clueless confusion, and my channeling satan child. (When she has an audience, wow, she goes psycho hose beast with the defiance and acting out. She even told me earlier her acting out if my fault for “taking me out places, you need to leave me home.”)
Thursday night is open house for her school. Yeah, I don’t wanna do that at all. So many people, parking issues, an unfamiliar building…I know it’s about my kid and I have to put on the big girl panties but honestly…I’ve had the big girl panties on for a week straight now, I really need out of them for awhile.
Maybe peace will return eventually.
I won’t hold my breath.
I need vodka with an arsenic chaser.
Vodka for me. Arsenic For the ass trash things and people around me. I broke that mirror 30 years ago, ffs, you’d think the bad luck would have ended by now. And you’d think it wouldn’t be contagious to others.
I’m like bad karma central.
Or that’s the shark week hormones making me moody and self pitying.
The only difference between my norm and shark week is the crazy is mutiplied by a google. Seriously. I’ll probably be manic tomorrow. Or crying. Or lethargic.
Come to think of it..aside from cramps, shark week’s really like every other week of my miserable bipolar life.
And now I feel shitty for even thinking about myself when I think of the terror and disorientation Becca’s feeling.
I’m not a great friend, I guess. Me, me, me.
Yeah, enough about me. Let’s talk about how you feel about me.
On second thought…let’s don’t and say we did.
(that’s humor, for the record.)