My future's so bright, I gotta wear night vision goggles.

I cooked up that heading on the bus today and laughed out loud like a crazy person. A few passengers shot me sideways glances. The smelly guy beside me got up and changed seats, which I was glad for. Crazy, it seems, has its advantages. All kidding aside, two mildly good things actually happened to me in the past 12 hours: First, I phoned EI (Employment Insurance, aka UIC, aka "the dole") to inquire if they have made a decision yet about my pending "regular" benefits claim (my medical EI claim ran out December 26th - Merry Hoho to me). I explained that I'm getting anxious since I now have a measly $3o left in my bank account.

GOOD THING #1:
Astounding! They (EI) are going to exercise their glorious power to "make a judgement call," and put a RUSH on their decision. Wow. A "rush." I will hear yes or no within the next 24 hours, instead of "by the 21st of January" as they originally stated. The guy I spoke to on the EI hotline, his name was Kevin by the way, (inside joke), actually listened to me and processed the unbridled fear in my voice. "You sound like you're stressing about your finances," said Kev, my new best friend. "Um, yeah, Kevin, I've had to go to the food bank because I can't afford groceries," I confessed, "I start an employment search program tomorrow and I'm almost out of money for bus fare." The moral of this story is: if you actually sound like a lunatic, EI can rush their decision. File that away for future reference, people! I guess a panic attack can have an upside. What a way to start the day. So I'm on pins and needles, as my mum used to say. No doubt I won't get a wink of sleep tonight. Even if I get approved, I won't have enough for rent, but hey, at least it's ... something. If EI says no, I'm absolutely hooped. I will get evicted and have 10 days to vacate. Where will I go? I have no idea. How I will get there is another mystery since I don't own a car. I will have no choice but to go on welfare and stay on a friend's couch. Any volunteer sofas? Or will I end up at the YMCA? My oh-so-beloved cat will have to go to a neighbour, OMG, I can't stand that thought. That is the worst in all of this, the possibility of being separated from my cat, even if it's only for a few months. And she's a "special needs" cat too, terrified of all people except me. Her name is Mouse because she's a "fraidy cat." She is completely bonded to me and won't fit in to someone else's home and care easily. In fact, it would be traumatic for her, and I would be utterly heart broken. We have our own patterns, daily routines and special language, my cat Mouse and I. All you true pet people know what I'm talking about. Plus, how on EARTH am I going to move myself and all my stuff with RA? I can't lift boxes and sofas and bookcases! And where will all my furniture go? Certainly not to the "Y." I'll have to phone every friend I have and grovel for help moving. Heads up peeps. Maybe I'll ask ol' Kevin to help me move. I'll bet he'd be good at it. Really though, I know I should arrest my own thought process, my head is spinning with dreaded "what ifs." I can't help it. Breathing shallow. Hands clammy ... Ok, so yadda, yadda, I'm scared pooless BUT ...

GOOD THING #2:
I FINALLY got all the necessary paperwork to the employment search program that I was referred to. It took me a 2-hour bus ride in the rain, and when I got there, the original forms finally showed up in the mail. Damn that Murphy guy and his pessimistic law. However, I have my first appointment with an employment counsellor tomorrow. Woo hoooo! Positive action! At least I moved an inch forward today. It won't pay the bills yet, but SOON, I hope, I'll be employed again and back on track. Get THIS: They pay for my bus transfers to and from their office. What a relief since, otherwise, I wouldn't be able to afford to go there and get help finding a job. How ironic is that. In case you are just tuning in to this blog, I have Rheumatoid Arthritis (RA) so I can't type for more than a few hours or do any job that requires me to stand, as my feet are "fubar." I need the job placement experts for people with disabilities. They understand my limitations and highlight my strengths. They can help me work at my optimum and within my capabilities. Ok, enough for one day. Wow, this was a boring post, eh? Chockablock full of fears. I'm tired and wired. Cross your fingers, eyes, toes, whatever you can cross, you world, you.

Everyone hates a whiner, right?

First of all, thanks to the people who are rooting for me. God love ya! AND ... drum roll ... I heard through the grapevine that someone read this blog and donated food to their local food bank. WELL DONE, YOU!!!! That makes it all worth it for me.

Today is a tough one: maybe it's the nicotine withdrawals and/or the prednisone, but my emotions are all in a twist. I had to go back to my doctor's office yesterday and ask her to to fill out the forms again that she already filled out on December 30th, as they have gone AWOL in the mail. The forms qualify me for a provincial employment search assistance program for people with disabilities. Yes, there's the horrible "D" word. I shudder every time I hear it. But, even though my doctor speaks a harsh truth, I like her. She's honest and straightforward. As she filled out the forms, she muttered the words aloud that she was writing: "Prognosis poor ... will continue to deteriorate ... " Yeesh. So this morning, I have to go hand-deliver the forms to the D-place. I feel like a kid whistling in the dark. Tra-la-la .....

One friend told me I paint a bleak picture, but three others say I have a great attitude. Well, which is it? Funny how people see things differently. I think the picture IS bleak, it doesn't require a coat of gloomy paint from me. Personally, I think it's amazing that I haven't chucked myself off a bridge yet. At least I'm trying to find the humour in it. Here's one: most mornings, my cat licks my closed eyelids to wake me up when she wants food. How cute is THAT?? Maybe I should figure out whose eyelids I need to lick.

But back to reality, everyone hates a whiner. Even me. And apparently, even my own brother. A few people have asked me where my family is in all this: Both my parents are deceased; my mum died of breast cancer in 2001 and my dad passed away just last year, making me a 40-something-year-old orphan. My one, extraordinarily successful sibling lives on another continent and clearly doesn't give a crap. I sent him a link to my blog last week so he could track my progress. He immediately assumed I was asking him for money and I haven't heard from him since. I'm sure he finds this blog quite distasteful.

Hey bro, if you read this: I never asked you for a cent and don't send me money if you don't want to! I don't care about that. But c'mon, at least have a heart.