elfination

Yesterday, I stopped at the storage closet at my ex’s apartment building to get a couple of boxes. I was on my way to Wolf’s with laundry (his grandmother is so kind, she lets me do laundry there, and she’s got the world’s BIGGEST washer, which is awesome)… I glanced through a couple of boxes, just looking for something that might have interesting stuff in it. I grabbed two likely candidates, and was startled by Barrett walking into the breezeway.

I wasn’t just startled by someone coming up behind me; I was startled in another part of my brain… some part that said, “Hey! I know you! Aren’t I supposed to hug you, and kiss you hello?” I didn’t, of course, do anything (other than exclaim that he’d startled me). We traded mild hellos, and I left.

While at Wolf’s, I took some time to look through the boxes to see what I’d grabbed. I gave Wolf his choice of some random playstation games from one box, and I looked at the other.

I found something so sad: A book-shaped wooden box that I’d carefully hand-painted and varnished many years ago… a Valentine’s Day gift to Barrett from before we were married. I opened it, sadly thinking of what I’d find. The little bear-shaped figurines, some glued or taped to bits of paper with little scenes drawn behind them. The little notes saying what I loved about him. The little coupons for snuggling on the couch or backrubs… things he almost never asked me for. The little purple hershey-kiss-shaped drop of glass…

And then… an index card, with his handwriting. Something I don’t remember putting in there, something that could easily be from a long time ago, but just hit me so hard now. We used to write haiku to each other….

You are my treasure
Gorgeous and Precious, Love
I shall miss you much.
– With Love, Barrett

Oh…..

I used to be someone’s treasure. Someone’s precious. Something someone would miss. Something to whom someone wrote warm things, with love.

oh.

And my heart breaks into a thousand little ice-cold shards all over again.

Two words: Fire. Ants.

That’s right, it’s Alabama, and there are fire ants.

KB likes running out the door when I’m walking in or out. Because it’s a one-room apartment, he’s learned he can lurk near the door and scamper out, sometimes without me even realizing he’s left. This leads to the fun Catch-The-Damn-Cat game.

This evening, KB ran out as I was bringing things in from my car. Rather than just poke around the parking lot or the bushes near the building, he scampered across the road.

So, I, barefoot, grab the box of catfood kibbles, and dash across the street to call to him and rattle the box to get him to come back. It’s dark. And I was barefoot. And I stepped on a fireant hill.

*cries*

Cortisone cream helps a lot. But MAN are fire ants freakin’ evil.

–Em

I looked at my bank balance to see if my paycheck has hit yet. I was greeted with a negative balance.

Apparently, they’re charging me a $34.00 NSF fee when I have (had) $5.01 in my account.

O.o I don’t understand…

I am NOT a mechanical engineer. I am a biologist. But I digress.

I was on my way home, at 1:30 AM, and ran out of gas. This is mostly because I thought I could make it home and get gas in the morning. Wrong. Also, I’d made a series of judgment calls: New tire? or gas? *new tire*. Feed the animals? or gas? *feed animals*. Gallon of milk? or gallon of gas? *milk*. That last one was a dumb idea. Borrow $30 for therapy? or for gas? Well, I thought it was for therapy, but there I was wrong again.

Anyway, the police officer was kind enough to drive me to the local BP station (which was open), where I was able to purchase a gas can and two gallons of gas. He forgot to open the windows in the back of the squad car, so… between having pushed my car a short way up an incline and sitting in the back of his cruiser, I was so overheated I wanted to puke. He did apologize, which was polite of him.

It took two police officers and their giant flashlights and myself to figure out how to unlock the nozzle on the damned gas-can so I could get the gas into my car. I made some crack about “what do they think we are here, a town of rocket scientists?” (ha! funny! I live in Huntsville!! haha!! Ok, maybe it was funnier last night.)

I relayed the story to a couple of friends, and one suggested that rocket scientists wouldn’t know how to unlock the gas can either. The other friend said: “I agree, scientists don’t know how to do everyday things, because they’ve figured out some complex mathematical-language hybrid algorithmical rocket/computer robot toaster that can do it for them.”

True….. Also, given that after some efforts to unlock the mysteries (and nozzle) of the 2.5-gallon gascan, I was rewarded with zero fuel flowing through the nozzle, but some leaking out of the cap. I decided that the whole thing must have been designed by BP.

–Em

Planes are much different from cars. Plane CRASHES are much different from car crashes. It’s really that whole… third dimension of space thing, I guess.

If you hear, “I just heard that my friend crashed his car,” it’s pretty reasonable to say, “Oh my goodness, is he okay?” because…. it’s not unreasonable to picture a scenario that involves the driver walking away, relatively unscathed, from a mangled vehicle.

I received a text message from a suddenly-reintroduced long-ago and far-away college friend: “I just heard that my friend and coworker crashed his plane.”

No, they’re never “okay”… it’s wrong and just plain stupid to even ask.

“OMFG! Shit, is he alive?”

That’s more like it. And after some review of news blips from Portland, Maine… I know the answer. He’s probably more “okay” than if the answer had been “yes”.

My heart is with you, Jamin. My deepest prayer is that it was quick. I’m so very sorry. If I can somehow be of any comfort in any way, please let me know.

–Em

Barrett will not be renewing hosting of Elfination.com, and the site will be gone as of July 21. With the chaos of today (getting KB treated for a UTI and my tire blowing out), and considering my limited budget, I’ll let the site lapse at that time.

It’s been fun.

———Edit 8:25pm————

Thanks to CB, who has singlehandedly kept the site going another year…. All dollars will be forwarded to DreamHost. Thank you…. this site actually means an incredible lot to me.

Then again, my CAR is insured.

I went out to my car this morning to go to work, and discovered my driver’s side door wide open. Odd. And then I discovered that my iPod, iTrip (the charger/FM broadcaster for the iPod), and the cigarette-lighter multi-port adapter I just bought… all missing. I’d unloaded some stuff from the car last night, and accidentally left it unlocked. Serves me right, I guess.

(That’s about $300 of loss right there.)

When I was in Oklahoma, I managed to break my car key. Thankfully, I had a spare. For a little bit, I’d been keeping the spare on a lanyard in the center console of my car (often tangled up with the iPod/iTrip wires)… But then I moved the spare key to my keyring.

So, I’m pretty depressed that my iPod is missing. However, they COULD have taken the whole damn car, so I guess I’ll call it even.

It’s my own fault. If I weren’t so useless as a human being, I wouldn’t have to live on my own in this skank-ass neighborhood, I’d still have a comfy bed in a nice apartment with someone who loves me.

….full of new experiences! And it’s sooo great!

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself as my latest New Experience is coming to bear:

Buying a new windshield.

Because, you know, I don’t have anything else I’d rather spend $250 on than a new gigantic piece of glass, and oh gosh oh golly! I’ve NEVER had to BUY a new windshield before! This is just… all new and fun!

Safelite went on and on about how they only use factory-equivalent glass…. really? which factory? Does that mean you like, blow-torch it in your backyard but it looks good enough to have come from a glass factory? Or do you mean you get it from a glass factory and it’s equivalent to the Kia original installed glass that came with the car seven years ago? AND!! They include the rubber GASKET that GOES AROUND THE GLASS. Good lord, do other companies NOT include that?

Insurance? why of COURSE I have insurance. It’s got a $500 deductible.

On the plus side, I *DO* have auto insurance. While Barrett believed that (when they asked for my Alabama Driver’s license number) they’d drop me when they found out I have a TENNESSEE license… that’s actually untrue. They don’t really care what state your license is from, just that you have one that’s current and unexpired. He failed to inform them of my Tennessee license number, instead pestering me about how he’s going to drop me from the insurance and then not sending me their phone number to straighten it out. I drove over there, cracked windshield and all, to discuss.

Not being picky about WHICH STATE is a benefit, because I can’t fucking GET my Alabama Driver’s license. And not for any GOOD reason, either. It goes like this:

Tennessee required two forms of ID for their license, as well as some proof of residence. I had, at the time, a social security card and expired passport… and the passport had been expired for, I don’t know, a couple of months at that point. And an Oklahoma driver’s license. Good enough!

Alabama requires two forms of ID for their license, as well as some proof of residence. I have a social security card and a Tennessee driver’s license. My passport was confiscated when I was arrested. Because just KNOWING about other countries obviously makes me a flight risk. (MY PASSPORT HAS BEEN EXPIRED FOR AT LEAST EIGHTEEN MONTHS.) I can’t use it for anything other than proving my own identity, which the State of Alabama wanted me to do within thirty days of establishing residence in Alabama. AND, incidentally, the Tennessee driver’s license does NOT COUNT as a form of ID. You need TWO ADDITIONAL forms of ID. (I’m tempted to believe that the expired passport probably wouldn’t count, either… but I digress.)

Well, if you don’t have a passport, you’re welcome to use a birth certificate. Don’t have one? Just go to the vital records website and clickyclick and order one. So I did. The birth certificate arrives, indicating that the “child’s full name” is “FORTNER”. Not even “Baby girl Fortner” just…. FORTNER. >.< I wasn’t named for about six weeks after I was born. Fine. WHATEVER!!! It’s still signed and stamp-sealed and it’s MY BIRTH CERTIFICATE.

oh… except, wait, “Emily Fortner” isn’t my actual NAME anymore, is it? No! no, that would be too fucking EASY. My legal name got changed seven years ago. So my driver’s license and social security card (which are, I might add, perfectly valid forms of ID when it comes to the federal government trusting me to not blow up a fucking airplane) both have my married name… and “FORTNER” is my MAIDEN name. So Alabama, whom I’m only requesting to trust that I am actually the same person pictured on the TENNESSEE license, (let alone drive a car) is NOT IMPRESSED with my lack of coordinated names.

Well I wasn’t married when I was born, I tried to explain.

Then we need to see some proof of the name change, they say.

Nice, so now I need YET ANOTHER form of ID, one that somehow ties the name FORTNER to me, and I’m about to start complaining that this is gender discrimination, because MEN don’t have to go around changing their fucking names all the time…. but I digress… the best form of proof would be the marriage certificate….

Which is happily tucked into the little leather zippered folder that my (name-amended passport) is in.

And the only thing standing between me and my fucking eighteen-months-expired passport is… the entire criminal justice system of Madison County, Alabama… who seem to believe that owning an expired passport, being full-time in a local school, and being married to someone who lives here permanently…. makes me a flight risk.

I can’t decide whether to say “I love my antidepressant” or “fuck my whole fucking life”. I’m kind of on the edge there.

I’m also tempted to suggest that if they think I’m not Emily Fortner, that they call and chat with William D. Ford federal loans about why that bitch is making me responsible for her student loans.

On the flip side, if I can’t get ahold of my marriage certificate or passport, I might be able to get some document from, of all places, the SCHOOL… to indicate that Emily Fortner and Emily-whose-married-name-is-gonna-be-gone-soon-anyway are ACTUALLY the same person, see this social security number…?

I will NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER change my name again, so long as I live, this I swear. I will remain FORTNER until my dying day, whether I’m married or not. Because sometime down the road, they’re gonna have bio-id-cards that won’t be acceptable as proof of identity in Alabama.

–Em

Okay, it’s come to my attention that not everyone quite understands my work and school schedule, so let me recap:

Sunday: 11-3 or 12-4 (Depending on the week): work.

Monday: 8:00 - 12:30: School.

Tuesday: 11:00 - 12:30, 3:45 - 5:15: School.

Wednesday 8:00 AM - 8:30 PM:  School, meetings, school.

Thursday: 11:00 - 12:30, 3:45 - 5:15: School.

Friday: 9:00 - 10:00: School, 2:00 - 6:00: Work

Saturday: 10:00 - 2:00: Work.

Any messages that might provoke a negative emotional response (i.e. “I hate you.”) should be directed to me during the following times: Sundays from 5pm-9pm, Mondays from 3pm-7pm, or Thursdays from 5pm-9pm.  I believe that this is a generous allowance of time in my schedule, so please consider your messages and schedule them accordingly.

I am under an appreciable amount of stress, especially with final exams coming up.  Also, work should be noted as a particularly important facet of my schedule because I’m trying to make enough money to support myself, get my own apartment, et cetera.  (Because if I don’t get an apartment where I can keep KarmicBalance with me prior to a specified date in June, it will force Barrett to “do something more heartbreaking and permanent than just giving him away or letting him go.” Yes, that is what he said.  No, I haven’t forgotten it.  And no, I’m not allowed to have KB on campus, sadly.)

I’m sure there are people in the world who go to school full-time and work full-time hours between two jobs.  I am not one of those people, and never have been.  Those people aren’t trying to devote 10+ hours a week to Organic Chemistry, and I’m at least self-aware enough to know my own limits. And if I were one of those people, it would not allow any time at all to field the spiteful messages that are obviously important enough to send to me while I’m stuck at work on a beautiful day that everyone ELSE is spending with family and cuddly soft things.

While I am clear on the concept that life is not fair, I would like to call attention to the practice of removing me from all friends and family down to some godforsaken bible-thumping gun-toting pickup-truck-driving redneck state and then being spiteful and petty. I understand that it’s my fault that I’m such a fun person to hate.  However, if you’ve a vested interest in seeing me GET OUT OF YOUR LIFE, then maybe you could consider that I have to deal with customers face-to-face, and having a swollen face from crying simply doesn’t build the kind of customer rapport I am seeking to build.  It is thus vitally important that any grief-provoking, passive-aggressive messages be held until such a time as I am free from work, because leaving early from work doesn’t make me independent any faster.

If you are one of the many people with something positive to say, I will gladly field those messages pretty much any time.

Thank you all for your attention and cooperation.

–Em

To anyone who doesn’t think I’m continuing to be punished:

Please feel free to call me and crow about your Spring Break plans that include trips out of the country, and then ask me why I don’t “just go do something fun?”

Feel free to inquire why I didn’t “do something fun” over Christmas. Or better, ask why I didn’t go WITH my husband to visit family. Maybe even suggest that I take a few days and get a hotel room with my husband, as though he wants to even speak to me.

Also feel free to insult my ACTUAL plans: catching up on schoolwork, doing extra credit assignments. Remind me how “not fun!” that sounds. (It actually sounds reasonably useful to me, so stuff it.)

Then get offended that I sound a little grumpy.

–Em