From the category archives:
Welcome to Jenny’s PBS (Public Blogcasting System) Fundraising Drive. I promise not to bump regularly scheduled programming for a week. I know these are sucky times for many, many folks. But if you’ve been waffling and losing sleep over which non-nonprofit charity to support, may I suggest you save Jenny and Her Daughters this fall, [...]
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I could go on.
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You want it back. You want your luck back. You raise an eyebrow at people who say blithely, “You make your own luck.” Your gut insists that the playing field is not that even, but maybe your gut is not as wise as you once thought it was.
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I’m making all the right phone calls, showing up for the right tests (the next batch begins next week), but what’s lacking here is a physician whom I feel I can trust, whom I feel is taking the pain, the bleeding, the various other troubling symptoms seriously.
They are not in my head—but it doesn’t help to have “bipolar” tagged on my charts, for sure. There is a shame that goes along with that diagnosis that pops up in offices, I have found: medical offices, government offices, law offices. As if I am less, in some way. As if I make too much, too much, of the world, and thus, of myself.
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The worst thing on the list is a weekly trip to the Department of Transitional Assistance. This does not mean they help you onto buses or airplanes or skateboards.
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Sometimes, it helps to get away. I go the water when I can manage it. I’d never been to Cape Cod. So I found a way to swing it, packed almost nothing, and headed off with a dear soulfriend who’s also assessing, seeking, wondering. We wander well together, always have. It’s a writerly retreat, with [...]
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“I can’t work on that kind of faucet,” says Keith the Plumber.
“Sure you can!” I say.
Keith gives me a peculiar look. “Nope, that fixture is about forty years old. I’m not insured to work on that. It’s not scald-proof.”
I mull this over. “I’m almost forty. I’m not scald-proof either. But my doctor works on me! Ha! Ha ha!”
If I am officially a loon, I’m really going for it.
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In case you’ve been decorating your house with, gosh, candy cane lights or tending to your own family’s selfish, needy-pants needs and you haven’t been checking my blog every seven minutes AS WE AGREED YOU WOULD, let’s recap, because I’m generous that way.
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Which profession is just dying to get its lucrative hands on Jenny of Breed ‘Em and Weep? Come on. Seriously. Tell me.
I need a fresh take on the matter. And in one week, I will award one of this post’s commenters a $25 Bear Bucks Gift Card to Build-A-Bear Workshop!
(***In keeping with the totally random swag, I will pick a name at random, out of a baseball cap.)
UPDATE: The winner, picked at random, was POGONIP! Thank you, everyone. Would you believe I’ve already started making calls (and I HATE making calls) and writing emails to get more information about various career paths you’ve suggested here?
Oh, yes. YOUR POWERS ARE WORKING.
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I know you and Wall Street have been going steady for some time. I can’t say I like her. I think she’s out for herself. She doesn’t give me the time of day. When I tried to get to know her better, for your sake, she said I’d need a minimum of $1000 before she’d even look at me. When I told her I didn’t have $1000 just yet because I lost my job and have $65K in student loans, she turned on her heel and walked away with her buddies, laughing. I think she was off to vote for herself for Prom Queen.
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