Disconcerting

As we move more deeply into summer, I feel overwhelmed at times with my lack of financial preparedness for this season of restricted income. This tends to come from promises I made to myself on the heels of living with my mother and stepfather. I never wanted to be in a position like they had been. And they had been in that position almost constantly. When was the next paycheck coming? Would there be enough to pay the bills? I promised myself that I would never live in such monetary limbo. I wouldn't take risks like taking a job that was commission only. I never wanted to own my own business and have to be responsible for generating income from that kind of unknown. Yet, the insecurity pops in from time to time. And now is one of those times.

Working tandem with that is the most recent request from Bill to up his spousal support 60%. It's tough now but it will be much tougher if a court orders me to pay any more support, even just a couple hundred dollars. I just squeaked through this school year as it was, and that was when I was getting paid twice a month. During the summer I get a paycheck on July 5 and then not again until September 20. I get one summer school check that will look like three weeks of a regular one. Then I have to get creative until that September check comes. I have one tutoring student and we are getting a yard sale together. But I will need a lot more than those will provide. What should I do? I don't have super skills but I have ideas: 1) street walk, 2) sell a kidney, 3) fake my own death, or 4) try to get the heart and cancer policies to pay up on Bill's hospital stays. Which one would you try?

Today I had a chance to look carefully at the Income and Expenses Report Bill filed with the court. He says his total monthly income is $3,242 and his expenses are $6,529. He says his rent is $1,350; I happen to know it's $875. He says his monthly out-of-pocket medical expenses are $1200; I have serious doubts. The costs could be the marijuana he smokes. But $1200? He also has $13,250 in loans against the Acura. I guess I won't be getting that thing back. It can't be worth much more than $13,250 at this point. He has a 'personal loan' for $7,500 for living expenses (is gambling a living expense?). He says he has run up $8,500 in attorney's fees. That's funny because I've paid his attorney $5,000. Hmmmm.... He says he's 'disabled'. That would be cool but for as long as we were together, he didn't get that classification. If he's disabled, does that entitle him to more money from Social Security? From me? Is he really technically now a card-carrying disabled person? Would have helped if he could have had the courtesy to do that while we were together....I know he's not above lying, and definitely comfortable with fibbing, but this stuff was filed in court. Is he aware of that? You do a little fibbing on a court document and there will be consequences. That's called perjury. But that didn't stop him last year. He also says he has about $175,000 in assets and all other property. What's he counting here? This stuff can be fleshed-out in a deposition, and that will be our next step. Maybe he should stop gambling.

Thirdly, today I had a glimpse into a side of someone that worried me. Fighting fair is a skill. It's a maturity skill. It's a refined art that involves some humility and a lot of self-control. Carmi had the week off last week. Kyle took care of Dad and did a very good job. We had some discoveries, though. Dad takes what he thinks are 'stool softeners'. (If you have a delicate mind and don't like poop-talk, you might want to skip this part.....) It turns out they're not just stool softeners, they're laxatives, and I think his taking them is a form of bulimia---or as my sister calls it-----southern bulimia. He takes these pills twice a day and expects to empty his colon three times a day. If he doesn't go three times a day, he starts perseverating on it. He starts drinking milk of magnesia and asking for enemas---and worse, he asks to have someone put on two pairs of exam gloves and get in to loosen things. The weird thing was that he was going at least once a day during the week. Apparently that wasn't enough. I hear this about the elderly, especially older men. We reduced his 'softeners' and tried to supplant with natural 'softeners' such as stewed prunes, prune juice, lots of fruits, and wheat grass. Dad sensed the change and soon was making the requests for additional 'fire power'. We said no enemas, no milk of magnesia. I talked with him about it on Saturday. I told him I was concerned he was obsessing about eliminating and asked him what he would say as a professional if one of his patients had come to him and told him they were taking two laxatives a day and expecting to 'go' three times a day. I got him to agree to take the stool softeners---if we can find only a stool softener----once every other day. Carmi came back today and I discussed this with her. Dad was already asking her for an enema which she was refusing to do. She said the cardiologist prescribed the stool softeners because many heart patients go into atrial fibrilation if they have to exert a lot of force to eliminate. So, pooping can kill you. Kyle, on the other hand, wasn't happy with that news. It was as if he had lost a battle and had been vanquished. He was in a bad mood to boot. He argued, refusing to let Laura get a word in edgewise, and it was shades of Bill. I felt both uncomfortable and sorry for Laura. This one-way ranting becomes no one. Inappropriately displaced anger is a no-no. It was disconcerting. But Kyle has an excuse: He's still new at this stuff, and he's still young. In essence, he's still trainable. I trust that Laura will work with him on this. She's too smart, too outspoken, too self-confident, and too conditioned against Bill's behavior to let this one slide.

Carmi has now informed me that Dad's impacted. Yep, that good woman has had her hand up there and she said it's balled up, the merchandise won't move, it's a stone in the middle of the road. Oy! Back to the milk of magnesia. Tomorrow I will call his docs. There's gotta be a better way.

We got to a point with Bill's dog where we were exhausted and feeling we'd have to keep him forever. While he was here, I couldn't let Quincy into the house at night like I usually did. Matt would bark all night long. We tried to cage Matt, but he pawed at the sides all night long. In the morning the giant metal dog cage was bent like crazy. Kyle had a high school counselor with whom he is working again. She lives on a two-acre ranch right by the high school up along the coast. She has horses and large dogs. She fosters and rescues dogs over five years old and over fifty pounds. Her husband just lost his dog two weeks ago and was considering a bloodhound for a new dog. He's also a retired sheriff's detective and has gone back to working cold cases and wants to start working on searches (obviously not for cold cases) with a dog. (The sheriff's search and rescue teams are all volunteers). Matt was the PERFECT fit for this guy. We took him out to visit the ranch. They came to our house with a dog trainer one morning. Then, on Saturday, they picked him up for good. This was all done, thankfully, with Bill's knowledge and approval. Bill had finally realized he is not going to be able to work Matt anytime in the near future. These people said he could visit Matt whenever. So, Matt is now gone. I told them how intelligent and inquisitive he is. I told them not to leave any food out. I told them he can open refrigerators. I guess they didn't fully understand. On the first day, he relieved them of a lot of food. If you do it right, he makes a decent Doggy-Dishwasher. If you don't, then you just have a nuisance.

Was it hard to give the dog away? Yes. I wish I had the space for the number of dogs I have here. I'm a dog-lover but something had to give. The people also wanted Quincy, but I'm too in love with him to let him go. Last night I finally got to bring Quincy back into the house after over three months. It was nice. Too bad he's in the throes of some major shedding. I guess it's time for his summer coat.

Is there a ranch along the coast that adopts or fosters sixty-year-old divorcees who need more space?