Sunday, July 29, 2018

What's missing? More of my life, in the trash. Sales and subscribers both badly needed, and shares, too.

Photo copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved.

What's missing?

Yup. As of yesterday evening, the RV is gone.  I now have a mostly-unobstructed view out the kitchen window, and one of the many guys who worked on the house has a new project. Oh, yes, we made sure he understood exactly what he was getting into; he wanted it anyway. So we gave it to him, no charge. We're just glad it's gone.

But there's a lot more missing now than just that.

Wings has spent the last four days or so frantically working to get everything out and get it cleaned out as much as possible. We had moved a few clothes and personal items out last November when we first began staying in the house . . . and then I almost died, twice, and that was that. All it took was a few days without us in it for the mice to overrun it; I couldn't go inside without risking my health, and Wings didn't have time. So virtually everything that was left that wasn't already ruined? Trash. I salvaged two pairs of jeans (that I can no longer wear, but hope is stupid), to pairs of shoes, two shirts, a best, and a sweater. Everything else, literally everything that was in there that connected me to my past, had to be thrown away. I'm sick over it, but I haven 't even had time to grieve it all yet. And all I have left by way of a wardrobe are the few clothes I brought over here with me in early November. Just going in there, mask on, to pull out those few items and approve trashing the rest was enough to make me physically ill, which is why Wings wouldn't let me help. [Yes, he wore mask, gloves, protective gear. Nobody needs plague or hantavirus.] But it feels as though over the last several years I've lost my entire life up to now, every material thing that connected me to my past.

And yes, I've got more grief bottled up over it that I can't let out. I will for a long time.

Speaking of grief, though. So much to do, so much physical pain, so little time, and so much grief of another sort from the bill collectors, constantly. Like I said, I feel like I do when I have a mono flare — no energy whatsoever, and no amount of sleep fixes it. This year has done a number on me physically, and nothing I do seems to get me caught up again. If this is my new normal, I don't know how I get anything done. Neither the pain nor the fatigue will let go even the littlest bit, and I don't know where to go from here. The rest is cut-and-paste because I truly don't have the energy for anything more. We need sales, I need subscribers, we need to bring in some scratch badly. Here are the links and a request to share them:
I had said that I'd really like to raise another $500 in subscriptions before July is out, just to have a little more to throw to the medical wolves that are constantly at my throat. You can get in on it through Tuesday. If I could hit that by the end of the month, I could pay off another bill. If we could sell today's featured work (in the post below this), I could pay off two of the smaller ones entirely. The hounding never ends, either, and the stress is not helping with the cardio stuff. It's bad; I'm not going to go into detail just how bad, but it's compromising my health even more than what it's been. Now, we've got a lot more that needs to be done, too, and I'm damned if I know how. The truck was more than enough to throw a wrench in the works (and that's still unfixed, for the most part, given that just the one part is more than $1,200, so . . . ), but there's more medical stuff in the cards for me eventually, even though there's no affording it now. So please, please share the links. Thanks to everyone for the prayers and kind words and other help for Shade. I know she was better off for it, and I know she appreciated that. Miskwaki, too, and now his new girl, who never knew how good life could be until now.




All content, including photos and text, are copyright Aji, 2018; all rights reserved. Nothing herein may used or reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the owner.

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