NOVEMBER 27, MONDAY
(3:19pm)
Brother 1: Is worried I won't get disability because of my inheritance (one has nothing to do with the other BTW) and he's afraid I'll spend my inheritance living rather than Will it to my oldest nephew.
Brother 2 (executor): Won't electronically bank because he says he needs my signature - which I also have, hello, ELECTRONICALLY. JFC!
Don't stress out.
Don't stress out.
Ohm.
Don't stress out.
And none of my doctors went into the office today so no appointments were made.
I want to scream.
(11:17am)
OMG I cannot wait until I move rooms tomorrow. It is so goddamn cold in this room. I'm just moving across the hall but that room has it's own bathroom and only a small window facing the front of the house as opposed to the entire front wall of bay windows. It's so cold. So cold.
My brother (middle child - in charge of the estate) is being unreasonable. He insists on mailing me a check. WTF is wrong with people? You don't mail money!
"I need a paper trail."
You get an electronic paper trail when you bank online. Add to that he's going into the estate bank which also happens to be my bank, so hey, how's about you do me a solid and deposit the check into my account while you're there?
"No. I need to mail it."
Why? There's no difference between you depositing the check into my account using my routing/account numbers, and me doing it. It's from the estate, right? You're the estate executor, it's coming directly from you to me. No third party. FYI, you can't deposit cash into someone else's account anymore. Not for a long time. You have to deposit a check - personal, cashiers, or money order. So... Why can't you deposit the check into my account while you're there?
(5:38am)
Turns out I can eat sweet potato but it's starch so maybe like two a week. My permanent grocery list pretty much. (sigh)
Olives
Sauerkraut
Fruit
Vegetables
Sweet potato
sunflower seeds
NOVEMBER 26, SUNDAY
(4:15pm)
I have another idea for photos tomorrow. I don't think I can hike all the way out to the Kill Bill church. Not alone anyway. Not right now. Not safe. It's pretty far out there.
I'm resting up today. I'm awake literally 6-8 hours a day if that. I'm so fatigued. Today I passed out after eating a late breakfast of chicken and red bell peppers. Eating is exhausting. Trying to find things to eat is exhausting. I can't eat - a lot. There's so much I can't eat. No pasta, rice, dairy, bread (as in any of it not even wheat) no red meats, no pork, no wheat or rye, no candy, no sugar, no flour... I can eat small amounts of fruit, vegetables, seafood, and chicken. That's it. Once I start hormone therapy and get estrogen back into my body I'm told I will probably lose weight rather quickly and not be freaked out when it happens. Because I'm at like stage 3 or 4 of Hashimoto syndrome the pain in my legs and feet are probably early onset osteoarthritis. Physical therapy won't reverse it but will (hopefully) keep me from being in a wheelchair - or needing the walker with tennis balls. Christ. I'd rather slit my throat. I knew something was wrong with my legs about 3 or 4 months ago. I'm too young for all of this. I need to start meditating or something. Anything to stop stress from eating me alive.
I've been awake for two hours and I already want to go back to sleep. I really hope the hormone therapy and medication get me back on track. My primary wants to change out all my Ace inhibitors and Stats once the neurologist and other doctors approve it so I'll probably be laid up for a day or so while my body adjusts to it. Right now just chilling with my Teddy Bear debating if I'm going to try staying awake or just give on and go back to sleep? I'm not really supposed to have caffeine either. Tea has much less caffeine than coffee, so...
I'm going to have to get one of those portable treadmills all the influencers use when making walking reels because it is goddamn cold out. This autoimmune disease prevents me from tolerating cold. I wear three layers of clothing to bed. Then again I'm in the front bedroom where one of my walls are all windows. I change rooms Tuesday to a less drafty room. So cannot get sick right now.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow's photo experiment. I really should buy a camera.
One of my housemates is hard asleep and snoring. Mmm sleep. I like sleep.
NOVEMBER 25, SATURDAY
(11:17pm)
It's only 35 degrees out and the neighbors have left their poor dog outside. It's cold and barking. Remember when I said humans will murder all animals either for social media likes, or from pure neglect? This is what I meant. Freezing temps out and they leave their dog outside. According to daddy (Google) medium size dogs can handle 45 degree temps. That's above freezing. 35 degrees is just barely above freezing.
And the guy who was booted out of this airbnb after whoever paid for his room cancelled payment, well one of the ladies that was staying here let him sleep in her car and apparently he destroyed it. I heard her screaming about it the other morning before she left. She was so mad. So she kicked him out of her car and left the airbnb. He hung around outside the house for one more day before eventually taking his shit from the side of the house and left.
Monday I'll call to make appointments and start all my therapies. I'm at this airbnb for two more weeks and then, if the estate house really does close on December 7th my brother will cut checks, a smaller pre-payment check for all three of us, and then I'll leave Lancaster and head back into LA for PT and hormone therapy. Some years ago there was a study done on women 60+ who received hormone therapy and got breast cancer and/or heart disease, which I thought were conditions hormone therapy was supposed to prevent. Then again, those studies were done on women 60+. Apparently if you're still going through menopause like I am there's less of a chance.
I won't deny beating myself up (severely) from my late teens to early 30's. I beat myself up pretty good. Actions have consequences. Although my medical conditions all have one symptom in common and that's stress. I'm one of those people who bottles my emotions up and then one day I drop a pen on the floor and scream "That's it!" and give myself shingles. Seriously. I had shingles in my 20's, an infliction people in their 60's and 70's get when their bodies are dealing with something like cancer. But no, I got it in my 20's because I internalize everything. I try letting it out more but I get tired. It's exhausting releasing anger when you're mad. Old angry AF people like Bob Gorden are probably the healthiest people in the world. He's angry 24/7 about everything on the planet. Shit that doesn't even concern him he gets super angry about. He'll probably live to be 100.
And speaking of Bob Gorden, after something like 10 days of calling him on the phone he finally picked up. So, I guess not dead on his living room floor. Not this time. We talked for 11 minutes. That's all I could take, 11 minutes. After 11 minutes I reached my pain threshold with him and got off the phone. He's just angry. All he does is bitch, yell, and complain about everything. He's an epic male Karen. I don't know why old white men get all Karen, at least women have the excuse of menopause. What's men's excuse?
The metro hardly runs on the weekends here in Lancaster. I mean, why would it. There's not enough people here for it to run. None ran on Thanksgiving. I'm going to try hiking out to the Kill Bill church on Monday but we'll see how far I get. These days I push myself hard to walk three miles - but then I pass out for six hours after. That's Hashimoto disease does to you. Especially when left untreated for a goddamn year. I would have treated it had someone actually told me.
And so, now I have more time to write. I'm going to knit myself a scarf. Two. The scarfs I liked were $30 apiece and I'm like, I know how to knit. I'll make them both myself for $15. I have time to kill. Soon, I'll have nothing but time. Time to write. Time to knit. Time to try another drawing. Now I take my snaps and post them on Twitter. Even the Guggenheim museum liked a few of my pics. I shot (and edited) those with my shitty cell phone. Imagine what I could do with a real camera. THIS YEAR, this year I'm going to shoot a 15 or 30 second Doritos Superbowl commercial for 2024. Sadly, without Aramis.
NOVEMBER 23, THURSDAY
(6:40pm)
Day 10 in Lancaster. Did you know the church in the first Kill Bill is out here. I'm going to try making the hike there - if my legs will let me. I walked three miles today and then passed out for two hours afterwards. And now my legs are sore AF. (sigh)
NOVEMBER 22, WEDNESDAY
(6:00am)
Oh boy. WHERE do I even begin? Should I start with the drama surrounding me and my brothers, or about the guy who refuses to leave the airbnb I'm staying in? I'll start with the guy.
I'm in Lancaster, CA. It's really pretty here right now. I'm seriously considering moving here.
Where I'm staying is across the street from a Mormon church - several of these by me actually and they're all so pretty I almost want to join. Almost. I'm renting a room at an Airbnb trying to chill out before my battery of doctors appointments and physical therapy resumes after Thanksgiving. I'm back to having a primary doctor, a cardiologist, a neurologist, and now a physical therapist for my legs, and an endocrinologist for hormone therapy to control the Hashimoto disease left untreated for a year thanks to my last Primary doc for not informing me. My thyroid is enlarged to the point if my pillow slides a certain way or another in the middle of the night I actually start to choke. So anyway I'm at this Airbnb...
A guy at the Airbnb checked in two nights ago. He came with like everything he owned. I'm talking a hallways packed with stuff. Someone kicked him out. The Airbnb homeowner was like, "You can keep this stuff in my garage for one night but tomorrow it all has to go someplace else." The guy agreed. He put his stuff in the garage and spent the night. Come the next day, yesterday, it turns out he didn't book the Airbnb room, someone else did, and that someone else then cancelled the room. Oh boy. This is why Airbnb does not want other people booking your room, for this exact reason. Well the guy got tossed out. He put all his shit from the garage leaning against the house, and basically now lurks the front door. The Airbnb host was like, "Do not let him in. If you have to go in and out I'll check the cameras beforehand." So this morning at 4am he was knocking on the front door, he checked my windows to see if they were opened and his stuff is still leaning against the house, outside my windows. (sigh) I feel bad that whoever booked his room did him dirty - but dude needs accept they did and somehow move on. So there's that.
On to my brothers. I'm the baby. I have two older brothers. Same dad, different moms. If you follow this blog (1. Thank you. 2. I appreciate you come here when you're super-duper bored. This is the free-iest entertainment online) When my brothers mom died last May, she didn't have a Will. To quickly recap, my brothers mom only knew how to get pregnant. Literally, that was all she knew how to do. Her mother didn't teach her how to do anything, and so she had no idea how to do anything nor cared to learn. When she died my oldest brother said lets make the younger brother head of her estate. I agreed. I wasn't going to do it. So we signed the responsibility over to him with everyone's approval. Now it's November, six months after she died, almost seven, her house finally closes sale supposedly December 9th. In the meantime I was not approved by my doctors to go back to work. I have a disability interview in January but I'm going to need money for the month of December. So I email my younger brother (who by the way is reportedly worth four million dollars) and asked him if he could spot me $2,000 until the house sale finalizes in two weeks. And he said no. He in so many words said, "The house sale finalizes December 9th. Can't you hold on until then?" It never ceases to amaze me when people ask stupid questions like that. I'm staying in Lancaster because it's the most affordable place to be right now. It's cheaper to commute by train to my doctors than it is to rent an Airbnb in LA's west side or even downtown where all my doctors are. Anyway, my younger brother said no. Look, I wouldn't have even asked him to spot the money for two weeks but he is the estate Executor who can pay himself back whatever is personally borrowed. He's in charge of all the money. But he said no. So my older brother stepped in and is helping me with the money. WTF is wrong with people.
My oldest brother spent last night texting me off the ledge. I have no idea WHY my younger (older) brother refused to spot me $2,000 from the estate money knowing the house finalizes December 9th, knowing my medical conditions, but, I internalize everything and my brothers know this about me. I internalize all my grief and anger because I'm hardwired since childhood not to express any "ugly" behavior when not physically provoked. My older brother knowing my current medical conditions, seeing the bullshit going on with our brother, text me down from having a heart attack last night. Stress will literally kill me. I'm so hyper nervy, all my medical conditions literally have the word "hyper" in front of it. I.E. Hypertension. Hyperthyroidism.
So my older brother, not worth 4 million dollars by the way, loaned me money.
And this guy is still sitting in front of the Airbnb house trying to get in every time someone leaves. Squatter. FRFR. Good luck getting him to leave.
Stay tuned.
NOVEMBER 20, MONDAY
(10:43pm)
The most frustrating thing in the world is having to be interviewed to get my own money. Take for example social security, I have worked and paid for social security since I was sixteen years old. That's like 100 years, boys and girls. As if I'm going to live to be 70! Ha! I'm lucky if I'll live to be 62! I planned on retiring at 62. I can do it. I check my social security status all the time as of late. I'll be eating peanut butter, but it can be done.
"You could still live to be 80" my oldest brother likes to encouragingly say. With all my medical problems why would I want to?
Just let me finish my magnum opus - my book. And then I can die. That's all I'm going to do in December anyway - write. And knit. write and knit.
(10:38am)
Someone needs to explain to Trump's attorneys how cameras work. Wow.
(3:18am)
Ah yes, housemates. There's a pig of a man I have to share a bathroom with. YUCK. It's usually Indian/Asian men, or men from any country where women had zero part in raising them apart from basic maid duties. I will never understand how someone can poop on a toilet seat and just leave it there for someone else to clean. Fucking gross. And people wonder why I only date white men.
NOVEMBER 19, SUNDAY
(2:19pm)
My generation was robbed of social media. ROBBED.
NOVEMBER 17, FRIDAY
(4:36pm)
Bob Gordon is presumed dead. Not surprising I suppose. I feared he had growing Alzheimer's for the past four years. And with no one to care for him I guess he got himself in trouble - and died. He should have lived a better life.
(1:22pm)
Just watched the last episode of Six Feet Under. After the second season I fast tracked the remaining seasons. This is why I don't watch TV shows on Netflix. I binge watch. I can't watch stuff like a normal person. I binge.
I'm looking at my Will. It's brutal. If you're in my Will and contest anything written in it - you're out. Meaning you don't get a damn thing.
(8:35am)
"You should have applied for disability immediately after your stroke."
I would have but I could barely piss by myself for three months following my stroke let alone go through the process of filing for disability.
"You should have changed professions."
And do what? Become a brain surgeon?
Everyone has great advice after the fact. Never no mind that I went through this alone. I had the stroke alone. I'm recovering alone. I'm going through having this autoimmune syndrome alone. I'm going to physical therapy alone. I filed for disability alone. The only thing people "helped" with - is vomiting advice AFTER the fact.
All the people who said, "Of course I'll walk with you." Never have.
And saying, "But you're so young" surprisingly also doesn't help.
The guy at the social security office who helped me yesterday file my claim was the second person to help me with any paperwork. The first person was the social worker who helped me get on MediCal in 2020 during Covid. Five months later I had a stroke.
Keep in mind, American Gen X kids had selfish asshole Post War/Boomers for parents. "I reproduced. My job is done. Now go outside and play FOREVER."
Fucking people. I don't care what anyone says about Newsom, I'd be dead now if he was some 2020 Republican. And while I do wonder what the meaning of my goddamn life is, I know it isn't die of a stroke. So thank you for that.
NOVEMBER 16, THURSDAY
(11:38am)
Just got back from the social security office. I've been approved to apply for disability. The social security office started my paperwork today. They gave me a few things to fill out and mail back with an upcoming date for my phone interview.
I'm officially old. I'm good with it.
(8:37am)
I finally started binge watching Six Feet Under, on Netflix. 20 years later it seems. It’s a show about sons who inherited the family mortuary practice, and their ever-rotating family. At my age prescriptions and death get mentioned in every conversation it seems. And Wills. Can’t forget Wills. What else is there?
In 10 minutes I leave for the social security office to TRY getting on disability. After my stroke in 2021, and now just recently having been diagnosed with Hashimoto disease, after a diagnosis of thyroid autoimmune disease fell through the system cracks a year ago, I can no longer work. I just wait for the heart attack that will kill me to happen, and prepare. Binge watching Six Feet Under now seems appropriate.
And just so you know…
On rare occasions I eat air-puff Puffs instead of Cheetos because I convinced myself they're made mostly of air and therefore healthier to eat. That’s how my brain works.
When I was 20 years old snorting a big fat line, I could suddenly get a hard sharp pain in my chest and exclaim, “Oh fuck! Ow! Ow!” while gripping my chest like Fred Sanford and stumbling backwards screaming, “It’s the big one Elizabeth!” but then the pain would pass, I would shrug it off and snort another big fat line. NOW, I could be in bed just about to fall asleep and experience the same fast hard sharp pain in my chest, but instead of shrugging it off I’m jumping out of bed getting my PB cuff/heart monitor, counting my pill box, and making sure I’m wearing clean underwear so’s not to embarrass the fam by ER doctors gossiping, “She died wearing the same pair of underwear she wore yesterday!” (Clean underwear was a big deal for American Gen X kids.)
Goddamnit what happened to us? To me? I still look good though and believe it or not, I still get carded to buy wine. Twice this year. I’m going to leave behind a great looking corpse.
Once while playing with a Ouija Board, I asked it when I was going to die. I was like 14 years old I think. And it replied “birthday”. Well boys and girls, my birthday is coming up in January. Needless to say I’m prepping now, my Will, etc.
I want to be cremated in a pine box. I’ll have to check my life insurance. Will $8,000 cover it? I want to be cremated in a pine box and my ashes dumped off the old Mississippi train bridge in Minnesota. That’s where my (teenage) childhood friends and I hung out just before I left for California.
Everyone I know who died all went back home. I would like to go home too.
NOVEMBER 6, MONDAY
(7:42am)
Woke up to leg and chest pain. I knew a few months ago something was in fact wrong. My heart rate is too low. I love that the cardiologist who I saw for A YEAR couldn't diagnose the thyroid autoimmune disease. WTF good are doctors if they're not going to diagnose you with anything, or actually tell you when they find something? That's what I'm saying boys and girls, no one wants to work anymore. NO ONE. The human race should be wiped out in 200 years or less. Less, I'm guessing.
NOVEMBER 5, SUNDAY
(6:35am)
Back to Los Angeles. Back to doctors.
You do know how easy it is to confuse thyroid autoimmune disease with the fact I had a stroke, I'm legally blind without glasses, and I'm menopausal. All bearing similar conditions - head fog, muscle pain, fatigue, and chest pain. We live in a society where people don't want to be at work in the first place, and then you have to remind doctors, hey (poke-poke) you ran some tests - and? I'm not sure what office/clerical positions do anymore in the medical field.
I'm too young to die. But I consider dying naturally all the time. What am I doing with my life? I don't have children. I'm not married. I work exceptionally hard at my job and at life. And for what? What am I working hard for? I'm not suicidal. I just ponder, for me, and all the medical problems I have, and all the unnatural pharmaceuticals I put in my body just to keep my heart and brain going - why do it?
Boomers and Gen X, while there are some with wildly opposite values and philosophies on life, there are at least 50% it seems the share similar outlooks on life. My generation however, Gen X, and every generation that follows, when it comes to values and ideals, we are far, very far apart from having a grain of similarity. The entire world changed with computers. My generation are dinosaurs. You try explaining hanging out with your friends, in person, on your bicycles, every day from sun up to sundown to these kids. You try explaining building things with your hands is fun, and how being anonymous was cool, to these social media kids. No stories I write now matter. Not even to me anymore really. That's why I let this blog go.
Whatever I write now I write only to myself.
I would like to finish my book. We'll see.
NOVEMBER 4, SATURDAY
(5:11pm)
It's getting bigger, isn't it.
For the sake of vanity it has to GO.
(3:43am)
Wut? 😶
(2:20am)
I'm headed back to Los Angeles to get my blood test results. I don't know what having thyroid autoimmunity means other than my legs hurt like hell, my chest sometimes hurt, and I can't control my body temperature for more than an hour or so at a time. Also, I have three little balls (cysts) growing under my left forearm that need to come out so I don't suddenly wake up one morning to not getting blood flow in my left arm. They've been growing under my arm for a few years now.
I'm done. It's time to get on disability. I can't keep working this line of work. I can't lift 50 pounds anymore, see straight, walk straight, or go up tall ladders anymore. I'm a hazard to myself and others in the work place.
I really need a glass of wine.
NOVEMBER 3, FRIDAY
(8:17am)
So am I supposed to be taking meds for my thyroid autoimmune symptoms? My doctor didn't prescribe anything even though she said she was going to... But then she took some blood and told me to come back in two weeks to discuss the results. I'll call them today.
After 48 hours I got the lay of the land, sort to speak. Men try picking up old women at bus stops here like they do in Vegas and LA. WTF is wrong with you men? No, I do not want a ride. I'm enjoying my day just fine WITHOUT YOU. Men see peaceful women out and about relishing their beautiful sunny afternoon and think How can I fuck this up for her? I know. I'll ask her if she wants to suck my dick. I didn't even look at the driver. I just walked away.
Men have no idea how to talk to women anymore. No male role models anywhere. None. Men get their advice on how to treat women from hardcore rap songs and porn.
I'm told Spring Valley Lake area is where I want to live if I end up staying in Victorville.
The neighbors including a man in his 40's where I'm currently staying loves 80's music and apparently does not have a day job. Probably his mom's house. Yesterday he was cleaning out his garage and driveway to Tesla's first album. You see boy and girls, back in the 80's there was once a rock bad named Tesla...
I can sum up Victorville best this way. This is the end of my street.
Cue the music!
NOVEMBER 1, WEDNESDAY
(2:31pm)
Standing in line to get my flu shot there was a guy, late 20-something, early 30-something, on his phone behind me. There was a young woman about the same age in front of me. She kept turning around to look at this guy and give him dirty looks. The guy behind me was talking to some woman, scamming her, telling her he loved her, (no, he loved her more) and when he hung up with her he dialed another woman and scammed her. He was racking up his body count at the cvs pharmacy because apparently that's where studs go for street cred. 😏 Sounds about right eh?
AND ANOTHER THING
Why don't Starbucks in Victorville have electrical outlets? What's up with that? That's what we do at Starbucks, drink our coffees and teas and charge up. Might as well just call the coffee joint 'Bucks.
(5:44am)
I spent last week in Los Angeles. Not intentionally. I was only coming into town overnight to see my doctor but then the doctors office called me an hour and a half before my appointment to cancel my appointment - and rescheduled me four days later. Which meant I had to stay in town. Between the doctors and CVS pharmacy, I spent FIVE HOURS just to get my blood pressure, give blood, collect my pharmaceuticals, and get a flu shot. Five hours. All while seemingly inconveniencing everyone who was working that day. I'm sorry you had to come into work and - work. That totally sucks. 😐 In their world, regardless of their occupation, no one wants to work. I'm ready to tap out completely.
A year ago I gave my blood to this doctors office, same office, and no one called to tell me I had a thyroid autoimmune deficiency. So I've had this autoimmune deficiency for a year untreated. No one could tell me what it was or what it meant for me health wise - they were simply reading what is in my medical file from a blood test I took a year ago. (sigh) okay. "We'll give you a prescription for it, and you'll have to take another statin with it for your heart." I would have asked why I had to take another statin for my heart, but I saw no point.
So then I was ready to head back to Vegas and go back to work, alas F1 has jacked all the rates up everywhere. All the airbnb's, hotels, and even the hostels want 130% in taxes, cleaning, and resort fees. So after being jerked around I went to Victorville instead to hang out and hopefully Vegas will come back to its senses. One of the major complaints Vegas locals have about Californians is - the rich ones go to Vegas, buy up all the property, and just raise the rents to ungodly sums like they did in Los Angeles.
Look, I'm just biding my time. I'm fully going to retire at 62. I'll live on sunflower seeds, but anything to make the system work for me - for once.
I just want peace and quiet.
Me and my teddy bear.