Apparently not.

I explained this patiently to the woman at Verizon on July 27th. She informed me that in order for the account to be in my name, Kelly’s account would have to be shut off and a new account opened in my name with a separate phone number. Kelly’s account was scheduled to end on July 31st. I gave my information to Verizon-lady who put it into the computer as a service order and informed me that my account would be “service ready” on August 10th.

Wait. Let’s do the math. Kelly’s account ends on July 31st, my account starts on August 10th. Does anyone see the problem here? Ten whole days without internet is not acceptable. I’m scheduled to start my final year of grad school in three weeks. The e-mails from CUA regarding first semester crap start to pour in right about now. E-mail is an official method of communication for the university. I’m not going to get any snail mail or phone calls about anything. They’re going to send me e-mails. College and grad school without internet access is simply not realistic.

I explain this to Verizon-lady, who patronizingly tells me that she understands my frustration. Her solution is this: Wait 24 hours for the service order to go through, call this number and request that the service be cut on sooner. But there are no guarantees. REQUEST? So, I begrudgingly do as she asks and and informed by Verizon-lady #2 24 hours later, that she has put in the request for the service to start as soon as possible, but is unsure when this will happen (sometime before the 10th). Very helpful. “Unfortunately, you may still go a few days without service.”

Note that during this entire time, I have yet to lose service, they just haven’t gotten around to flipping the switch, after July 31st. I grumble, and I moan and I get really angry but they’ve got me where they want me and there’s really nothing I can do about it, so I resign myself to waiting until whenever the hell they decide to turn my service on. If I have to wait till the 10th, ok, fine…whatever. It’s still ridiculous.

Then Kelly calls me, panicking hardcore. “You set up your Verizon account, right?” “Yes.” “Ok, because they said that there is no record in the computer of me asking to turn my service off, and there is no way that they would allow you to start your own account until they have a record of me asking to turn mine off.” WHAT? At this point, I have been given an order number and my own “dedicated phone line.” So I have proof that they do in fact have me in their system. I was sitting there when they took my SSN and did a credit check! I told her I’d call and see what the problem was.

So I call Verizon again. (At this point I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve called them). They put me on hold for 25 minutes. Finally, Verizon-lady #3 hears my story and informs me that “Yes, we have your service in the computer, and yes, your roommate’s service is scheduled to be cut off. I don’t know what the confusion was. I can see both accounts. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Um…no? I guess not. WTF?” I call Kelly back and tell her that I have no idea who she talked to but everything appears to be in order.

Then, yesterday, I get an e-mail from Verizon, cheerfully informing me that my internet service has been activated and I should set it up on my computer as soon as possible. By the way, I find it terribly funny, that they are sending me an e-mail about activating my internet service, when I, for their intents and purposes, do not have the internet yet.

When I got home from work last night, I hooked my computer up directly to the modem and made all necessary connections. The INTERNET light on the modem was red instead of green and my computer was not recognizing a connection to the internet. So, I called Verizon AGAIN. (#4?).

Tech support informs me that my service is still ‘pending.’ “Then why did I get an e-mail telling me that my account was activated?” That, and a computerized voice on their own phone system informed me “Congratulations, your account has been activated,” when I entered the phone number.

“It appears that there has been a wiring error. We will send someone out to fix it.”

When?

Tuesday, August 11.

Which by the way, is one day after the original deadline to activate my service, which was August 10.

Thanks.

All this because Kelly moved out and I needed to get the service switched to my name.

For the past week or so, I’ve been MUCH more easy to annoy, and MUCH less forgiving. It just hit me all of the sudden. Everything is pissing me off. I feel on edge, like I’m going to implode at a moment’s notice. And start screaming at someone. Or crying, or just throwing myself on the ground and kicking like a two-year old, or perhaps hitting someone. Yeah I know. I’m so mature…

What’s even more disturbing is that I haven’t been back to school in a while, and if anyone makes me lose control, it can be some of my clients. One of the reasons I’m a good social worker is that I don’t get frazzled very easily. You can tell me that you have three children who live in Uganda and you are a prostitute who has AIDS and I’ll nod and say “tell me more about that.”

Lately, my most likely response sounds like “gee, wow, should have used a condom on that one, shouldn’t you?” I hear Trojan is good.” Yeah, I’d be employed for all of 2.5 seconds. On the upside, I’ll be working with 3 and 4 year olds this year so the issue of them using condoms is not likely to come up. It’s more likely that I’ll explode at a child abuser though.

Maybe it’s a function of feeling very much abandoned in my life at the moment while everyone goes about their own business and expects me to deal with everything that is thrown at me without blinking an eye, or reaching out to anyone. I’m not saying that everyone else doesn’t have problems, of course they do. And they have every right to deal with them however they see fit, however, most of the time, I’ve found, people come to me, I help them deal (which can be rewarding in itself) but then they up and turn a blind eye when I’m about to lose my mind.

I’ve upped my medication this week, and it appears to be kicking in and making me feel 100% better. STILL, I’m annoyed at the concept that I have to deal with panic attacks and anxiety attacks in the first place.

I wish I could explain my state of mind during one in a way that makes sense to someone who has never had one before. They are, in effect, what makes my life so miserable WHEN it gets miserable. It’s an endless loop. I confront a stressful situation that under normal circumstances I am able to handle. Something gets triggered, perhaps from a previous experience, but it doesn’t have to be, because it’s all chemical. And suddenly, I feel a rush of adrenaline, like a drug rushing to your brain- and fear that goes straight to my brain and makes me nauseated and tense.

It all happens in about half a second. I start to shake, my heart beats faster, and I try to breathe deeper, but it only makes it worse. If I was hungry when I started having the attack, it goes away completely and the thought of food makes me queasy. Then the thoughts start racing in an endless loop, I can’t think straight, and it makes the whole thing worse. To deal, I usually watch TV. Noise helps. People help. Just holding someone or having them hold me helps. But ironically, I usually get panic attacks when I’m alone, particularly at night. Something like 80% of attacks occur in the middle of the night while a person is sleeping. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve woken up sweating profusely, unable to breathe, and shaking like a leaf. And there’s no one in the fucking house. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever lived through, repeatedly.

“Panic attack” is not really accurate because mine are more “anxiety attacks.” The initial “Oh my god, I’m dying” feeling wears off, but the muscle tension, shakes, and nausea remain, sometimes for days. Sometimes, I’ll be able to dose off a little bit, only to awaken half an hour or an hour later, to renewed shakes and tension. This could go on all night. After a night of anxiety, I’m so mentally and physically exhausted that I usually spend the next day in bed, which usually doesn’t help because there I am thinking about whatever caused it in the first place.

Honestly, the best thing to do is to haul my ass out of bed and fight down nausea, sleep deprivation, and tension all day while I go to the mall, or to Starbucks, or to school, or what have you. Smiling at someone across the table while you’re terrified that you might throw up for no reason is a wonderful experience. It’s miserable, and that night, I’m usually too exhausted to even think about not sleeping, which is a good thing…if only it didn’t come about that way.

Then I start to worry about myself because I can’t eat, and we all know how much weight I can’t lose. The worry causes more anxiety.

If it goes on for more than three days, I talk to my doctor, who usually ups my meds. Two days after that, I look back on whatever it was that caused a full blown anxiety attack and think “eh…what was that? I can handle this shit.” If it doesn’t involve medication, sometimes it just STOPS. Sometimes. It’s the oddest feeling in the world. I might be in the middle of an episode, when suddenly, everything stops.

My muscles relax, and go limp because they’ve been tense forever, my heart slows, and I can actually feel the headrush that accompanies everything slowing down and returning to normal. The endless cycle of thoughts stops. As a test, I force myself to think the thoughts I was in the middle of when the panic attack started. The exact same thoughts that were causing a nervous breakdown ten minutes ago are now inconsequential, or at least, not anxiety provoking enough to make me lose it. It’s like the ‘panic’ switch has been suddenly turned to ‘off’ and we’re all back to ‘everything’s cool.’ I might still be stressed over whatever it was that I was thinking about, but it’s suddenly manageable and not the end of the world. I go back to sleep.

My doctor says the whole thing is biochemical, and with sensations like these going through me, I don’t need any more proof than that. If I need any more, there is always the fact that it doesn’t require a trigger. For example, I went through my entire first semester of grad school completely ok and normal. No panic attacks. New school, new people, new, heavy workload. The potential was there. It would have been completely understandable if I had lost my mind at some point. But I didn’t. And then suddenly, half way through the second semester, even AFTER comps, and knowing that I had PASSED, something hit me and boom, I had to go see my doctor because I was miserable, nauseated, and shaking all the time. She asked me if anything had gone on that would have caused it and I frustratingly almost screamed, that no, there was nothing going on. And I had gotten through my first semester with no problems and a 3.9 GPA.

The medications, when I have to use them or increase them, make me a bit numb, usually unable to cry as easily. But it sure as hell beats having anxiety attacks.

Anyway, I had to get this off of my chest, and hopefully some people out there will gain a greater understanding of why I’m so stressed out. It’s not usually the EVENT itself that freaks me out, it’s the prospect of having to deal with the way my body reacts to said event, that I know is not normal, and is frustrating and exhausting. Often it is the fact that I have anxiety attacks that makes me lose my cool, not the actual stressful event that is happening.

I hope that makes some kind of sense.

I HATE IT.

A single panic attack will give way to a slight sense of nausea, loss of apetitite, and general muscle tension that lasts for days depending on how quickly I can get the meds to kick in. Until then I lose sleep and have trouble eating. I hate that I have to be so medicated for it. It hasn’t helped that because of my roommate’s personal problems, she’s made excuses to be basically absent from the apartment for six weeks.

I didn’t sign up to live alone because I can’t stand to live alone, and I’ve been living alone…this has not been good. And yes, I do get out and do things, spend time with people etc. For some reason, no one comes to me, I always have to go to them, and that gets hard. I know, I know, everyone is busy, has kids, or is married. Yeah. Ok. I get it. I’m still lonely as hell. And coming home every night to an empty apartment gets old really fast. Not to mention, it’s only half clean because my roommate’s moving out and her crap is everywhere (but she is not).

It hasn’t helped that my family is basically falling apart. Could be worse, I guess. But I can’t rely on people that I used to be able to rely on so I’ve been dealing with all of this stuff more or less by myself. My sister comes in to town and doesn’t even try to see me. As much as we don’t get along, and she’s been pretty unreliable, I would be grateful for the interaction. On top of all of this, I’ve been dealing with the fact that I’m developing feelings for a guy who has a girlfriend. I tried not to. I really did. I knew what I was walking into but it just happened. And I certainly didn’t do it all by myself. He helped. I know I need to talk to him– enter panic attacks again.

Last night, I lost it and just cried. For everything. From frustration, anger, helplessnes, about everything. I can’t wait until school starts again, but at the same time, I’m dreading it because I’ll have no time at all. And that will bring on a whole new stress level. I’m also not looking forward to having to use Metro again. Screwy system.

For once, I’d just like someone to take care of me. I feel like I’ve been there for everybody and no one has been there for me. I know you guys are trying…it’s just…I’m tired.

Although I was never a huge Michael Jackson fan, I did enjoy his music. I can recognize an amazingly talented and charismatic person when I see them. The man was larger than life, and he gave his all in every single one of his performances. It’s hard to reconcile the man that was Jackson in the 80′s, cranking out pop hit after pop hit, and being very much alive, with the man that has been flashed across the TV screens lately, in his frailest last days. It had to have taken a toll on a person after almost 50 years.

At the same time, while being bombarded with images of Jackson as he was when he died versus his baby faced, clean cut Jackson 5 image, I can’t help but see him as a human being and imagine what his life must have been like. I feel sorrow, anger, and pity, because between a reported abusive childhood, being a world famous artist, the plastic surgery, the alleged drug cocktails and being accused of child molestation himself, it’s no wonder he died so young. He made some horrible personal choices and turned a lot of people against him, but he is indeed larger in death than he was in life, if that is even possible. He doesn’t look like a man. He doesn’t really look like a woman. He stopped looking ‘normal’ sometime between 1985 and 1990. If he had been ‘himself’ at 50, he probably would have been a reasonably attractive middle age black guy. Apparently, he was also surrounded by scheming money mongers and lawyers who played him for all he was worth, and fed him his very unusual cocktail of drugs.

Like the rest of the world, I have become sort of morbidly fascinated with him as a public figure and as a human being. What kind of life experiences cause such a dramatic transformation?

I ran across an article on line that gave me chills and morbidly, also made a lot of sense.
The UK always seems to have more informative and interesting articles than we do, regardless of topic. Check it out: article.

I am appalled. The news is reported, the facts leak out, and suddenly everyone knows exactly what happened. I hate to break it to the rest of the nation, but if you are a frequent rider of DC’s mass transit system, you are well aware that it was only a matter of time until something like this happened. CNN is reporting facts about the incident that DC’s Metro riders already knew:

1. The cars on the moving train were 1000 series cars dating back to 1974.

2. The NTSB has recommended replacing or upgrading the older cars and Metro had not followed their recommendations as of the date of the accident.

3. Metro authorities said the computerized operation system was failsafe. No one on that board has ever owned a PC, or they would know that computers are NEVER failsafe. What an idiotic thing to claim. Of course something was going to go wrong eventually!

This is the nation’s capital and it’s embarrassing and tragic to say the least. Our mass transit system that transports millions of tourists and thousands of government employees per day should be safe to ride. Metro’s major problem is that it spans three jurisdictions and no one can decide who pays for what. It’s also ridiculously expensive since it’s not subsidized by the fed. And yet, with all of that money pouring in, there is no money for upgrades or replacements of worn out parts and cars? What exactly are they doing with my Metro fare?

Cynically, I hope that Monday’s tragedy wakes some people up. Sadly, we are a reactivist society. Nothing needed to be done because nothing had happened [yet]. That makes perfect sense of course. And now Metro is going to have a class action law suit to deal with. One major fatal incident in 27 years isn’t bad, but it’s not good either. Try telling that to the nine families who have lost their loved ones.

And oh look, today lawmakers have started pushing for 3 billion dollars to upgrade Metro.

Thanks guys. You are right on top of that, aren’t you?

Welcome to Washington.

So…I need a pet that lives longer than three years. I also need a pet that I don’t have to walk, or hurry home to let out, given my busy schedule during the school year. I know that all you people who are allergic to cats are going to hate me for this, but a cat seems like the best option. Dogs are too high maintenance at this point. And I need something warm and cuddly. I promise to be well-stocked with Zyrtec, Claratin, and Benadryl for your convenience.

So the question becomes, where do I get a kitten? It seems like a no-brainer, but it’s not. Go rescue one! Of course! The animal shelters are overflowing with kittens this time of year. One small problem: Have you ever been to the animal shelter? Not only is it more depressing than a pediatric oncology unit, but those people are INSANE!

Case and point: A couple of years ago my sister’s boyfriend went to adopt a pair of kittens from the Harrisonburg SPCA. (Although I’m using Harrisonburg as an example, similar experiences have been reported in Fairfax). He picked out a pair of kittens, came back the next day to pick them up (as was procedure in the shelter), and came back to find that they had been adopted minutes before he got there by a woman with two small children who were literally standing in front of him in line. The shelter employees didn’t believe him when he said that his vet was Dr. Thompson (even though my sister was there to back him up), and said that they just thought that the woman was a better match. Well, gee, isn’t that nice? Understandably, he was pissed,felt slightly discriminated against because of his 20-something-studentness, stormed out, and got his kittens elsewhere. (Also note, his family was big on cats, he wasn’t an inexperienced animal owner).

Case and point 2: We adopted out (now senior) beagle, “Annie,” (but now simply called “Beagle”) when she was about 5 years old. She was an adult dog with severe reported behavior problems and the Beagle Rescue people were having a hard time getting her a home because no one wants an adult dog with baggage. Who better to adopt her than a veterinarian with 30 years animal behavioral experience? Apparently…anyone. We had to fight to get this dog because they thought my mom was going to use her as a blood donor.

Really? I mean…

Really?

Come on now.

This brings me back to my kitten search. Not that I don’t support getting animal from shelters because I do, very much so. But I don’t want to deal with the red tape that comes with getting a kitten from a shelter. Furthermore, they charge big money to provide services for these animals, when, quite frankly there is no reason for me to pay to have them spayed or neutered when I can get it done at Companion for free. (If they even believe me when I tell them that I have free vet care in the first place, right?). I am also not going to pay to have someone else’s vet tell me that the cat is healthy.

Having worked at Companion for most of my teen and young adult years, I can also attest to the fact that breeders and rescuers tend to think they know more about animal health than veterinarians, which just plain pisses me off. They are good samaritans and I applaud the work that they do, but they are also the most likely to get mad because of a high vet bill, or demand rescue discounts, or question why they are getting charged for booster shots. (Because the shot is not water, it’s actual medication and we are charging you because we had to pay for it to get it from the manufacturer?) Do you go to your doctor and expect not to have to pay a co-pay? And it’s not like routine shots are out-of-this-world expensive anyway.

They do weird things like boil potatoes and beef every night for their dogs because high-quality commercial dog food just isn’t good enough. They decline the rabies and distemper vaccines on the same grounds that paranoid parents who are afraid of autism decline the vaccine for measles. They will also decline routine procedures like heartworm and fecal parasite exams. Even after you remind them that dogs can get heartworms from freakin’ mosquito bites and intestinal parasites from drinking rain water. (Both rather unavoidable). Oh, and rabies is a huge problem in Fairfax County and it’s the LAW. But sure, argue all you want. You obviously know better than the person who went to vet school. Sure.

I actually had an argument about the rabies vaccine with a woman who just didn’t see why it was necessary, because her dog only goes outside to eliminate and she doesn’t let him walk around. (Well, there’s your first problem!)

I will probably end up adopting a kitten from Companion because no one is going to be giving me the third degree, making me sign a contract saying I will not get my cat declawed, or checking my references (“is your mom really a vet?”). It’s just sad that the animal adoption world has become so difficult to navigate successfully, even for people with the best intentions.