Indecision may or may not be my problem
My job just keeps getting worse. I piled up over 13 hours of overtime and, even with taxes, got a check that will ensure I'll be able to pay the immigration lawyer on time. No small thing.
I hate being the manager. Responsibilities for people who I would not choose to hire but with the wages being offered it is probably the best I can hope for.It doesn't help that my regard for the owners is low so I can't work up any concern for my co-workers ineptness even if they do make my life difficult and ungainly.
Yesterday I got a panic call because the toilet was out of order. Three hours later, and thinking why am I in here, sweating and doing plumbing repairs? That stint pushed me over 40 hours for the week and I took off 8 hours to go to the doctor!
They call me constantly. I keep telling them that they should be able to figure out most of this stuff themselves but, clearly, they figure for the pittance they receive (especially in comparison to the income they generate) thinking is an additional skill that isn't being paid for.
That was exacerbated by passing out an "employee manual" that lists 4 pages of reasons to fire us and two pages explaining that they don't do business over state lines so we are not protected by Federal labor laws (a strongly debatable point, actually a bold lying interpretation of the business) As a right to work state we have no right to paid holidays, sick days, vacation days, coffee breaks or even lunch breaks. Real inspiring stuff. Great laws too.
The doctor was depressing even though it was basically pretty good news. Nothing much has really changed. I still need to take a diuretic or else my feet swell up and the skin gets so taut it hurts! This is because of the lyrica, a drug they've decided I'm allergic to. As this is one of the known side effects I'm disgruntled that claiming it's an allergy that did me permanent damage is somehow my fault. A weakness and not some drug company pushing out a dangerous product and advertising it on TV.
The depressing bit was that I now have to be on two types of insulin for the diabetes (which was a known side effect to the first chemo I had - I like to tell people I'm allergic to sugar). The Lantus is the long term insulin, one shot is supposed to last 24 hours. The new one, also ungodly expensive, is short term and I have to shoot myself up every time I eat . . . It is hard to get excited about sticking needles into your stomach four times a day. For me the hardest part will be keeping the little vial straight and not over or under injecting myself with the wrong stuff.
The doc said I look good, still no indication I'm as sick as I am. Which is good. The people I work around have a propensity for attacking the weak. I still tacitly terrify most of them.
The bright spot is that my wife finally spoke to the immigration lawyer. She thought he sounded sexy. I still have no feminine side so I couldn't think of how to confirm or deny whether he is sexy!
I was surprised to discover she was afraid of talking to him. They spent a jaunty twenty minutes deciding if she was a secret commie war criminal trying to enter the USA to avoid prosecution for genocide and other war crimes . . . I feel secure that Homeland Security and Obama are wasting our money protecting us from these guys.
The end result is the lawyer sees her having no problems with the interview and he submitted the applications and now this week we'll get the date for our interviews. They have to be separate so we can't get together and practice our answers or write crib notes or something else that the USA needs protecting from . . . The lawyer nearly promised (as lawyers are wont to do) that my wife and I would be together before Christmas and he seems determined to make it happen.