The mellow music plays in the background of the psychiatry waiting room. It’s supposed to be soothing. It is so far from that today. YaYa reads the various kid-specific magazines while I attempt to access FB from my iPhone. I fuss for a bit, changing the settings on the WiFi, and finally realize that I have NO SERVICE.
No phone, No email, No internet….and two hours to kill. I try not to panic.
Meanwhile, people trying to contact me heard the following message: “The number you are trying to call is not accepting calls at this time.” I imagine they were puzzled but figured they’d try back later. Perhaps, like Lil Sis, they sent a text message instead. The message would have been a lot more clear if it has simply said, “The IDIOT you are trying to call did not pay her bill and we have SHUT OFF HER SERVICE.” Then, they would know that a text message would not be received either.
Last night, while I was struggling with the PSAS (Private school aid service) application, I discovered the AT&T bill. It was in the collection of tax related forms (1099, 1098, W-2, etc). The cancelation notice was there too.
I’ll be the first to admit that I put off the PSAS application for too long. All things financial are daunting — for anyone these days. I had no idea how hard it would be.
Questions as simple as, “How many children will be living in the home during the 2009-2010 school year?” stumped me, and reinforced how uncertain my life still is. Progress has been made, but there is so much to be resolved.
In the seat across from me, sits a young teenager girl. She fidgets while she waits for her parents to finish up with the psychologist – the intake visit is long. The girl’s long blonde hair drapes across her beautiful, but melancholy, face. I want to cry just looking at her.
From within my head, I curse the music and wonder how difficult it was for this family to get into the system. They don’t make it easy to enter into psychiatry; the admission process is a maze of forms, interviews, and visits. I got lost on more than one occasion. By the time we finally arrived in this place, BoBo’s tickets were purchased, many tears had been shed, and a new plan was set. What was supposed to be therapy for BoBo, was now damage control for YaYa.
One year later, here we are. The music is still playing…
YaYa shows me various ads for Nintendo DS and Wii games that he would like to get, thanks to the commercialism that continues despite the hard economic times we are in. It should be a crime to run these ads. Reminding him that we cannot afford to waste money on things such as games, I tell him no as gently and firmly as I can manage. I try to push back self inflicted criticism for spending ~ $30/week on a sitter that will allow me time for my running. It seems a little hypocritical. With this thought, I stare down at the PSAS forms.
PSAS has no idea what emotions their forms have stimulated. Besides having to face my 2008 tax related forms, I was also forced to retrieve my old PC from the closet to access my accounts via Quicken. PSAS wants me to list all of my assets. They do not want to see my bills or my list of repairs (held off until more stable financial times). While the accounts were being accessed, and the latest numbers being loaded, I opened up my folder of pictures and spent the remainder of the night lost in a sea of memories (happy & sad).
Pandora ’s Box has been opened; I am an emotional wreck, but it is YaYa who sees his therapist today. And YaYa is happy because he his doctor has an office filled with games that are played during his visit – discussions happening in parallel – laughter rather than tears.
It’s all good. We leave, copy the required documents and the PSAS application and head to school. Afterwards, I return home, get my phone service reinstated, and go to the office. It feels like I am back in control but, I know, it is all a façade.