A year ago I found out that my youngest child had been accused of having child pornography. He told me not to worry, and said it was no big deal, just a former roommate that had accused him unjustly.
Two months ago I found out he had accepted a plea deal.
Yesterday they took him to prison.
There's no way to describe the utter pain I feel. The shining future that I envisioned for my son is no more. He will be required to register as a sex-offender. He will be restricted from using computers and the internet, and will not be able to be in any position of authority over potential victims. I don't know if he has a problem or it was a stupid teenage mistake. I don't know if I want to know. I've looked back over his childhood, asking myself if there was any sign, any clue, and I can't find anything. There's nothing, no hint, not the whisper of a suggestion that this might happen.
It's like a death. I don't know who he is. As his mother, I don't know who I am. What he's done goes against everything I stand for, personally and professionally. I interview juvenile sex offenders every day.
This morning, I interviewed another one. This kid is young, and clearly has some sort of developmental problem. For the first time, I had some insight into the pain and confusion his mother must feel. She is a teacher. She has been raised in a military family. But she held it together. And so did I.
Then at the end of the interview, she asked me what would happen if he was turned down again for treatment. Twice I'd recommended treatment for this child, specifically residential treatment that is specifically designed for childhood sex offenders. The rate of recidivism in juveniles is much lower than that of adults. Get the while they're young, and they're much less likely to ever offend again.
Twice the medicaid administrator in our state had refused to pay for it.
So I told her, if they refuse again, I'll recommend therapeutic foster care. This is when a kid lives with a specially trained family that is paid to care for him and get him to his outpatient treatment. It's actually less expensive then residential treatment, so Medicaid never turns it down.
As I was explaining this to the client's mother, she suddenly slumped and burst into tears, there in the lobby. With my feeling so raw I was beside myself with what to do. I was having a hard time not losing my own control. All I could do was put a hand on her arm and tell her that she needs someone to talk too, too.
Which means, of course, that I need do take my own advice. So I'm back, talking to this blog.
Also, I spent four hours on that kid's report, pouring out all my sadness into the energy I needed to research and carefully word and craft a report that certainly, medicaid would not turn down. And then I turned it in.
Next week, I'll find out if they finally said yes.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
This sucks. This fucking sucks. All I did was remind you that I wanted to rest the first couple days coming here, and not exert myself. I got sick the last time I did that, and I already put in 20 miles of running today. On pavemenbt. Yet, you went full guns and were all "HEY! YEAH! LET'S GO up to 12000 feet and go hiking!"
I reminded you of my need to rest before exerting myself.
Your response?
"Well, then say here. Don't go."
Then you started freaking out, asking me if I was going to have a big thing. Christ. All I did was remind you, in a calm voice, of what I'd told you was important to me.
Stay here? Don't go? What kind of shit is that? I thought we'd cleared this up. I thought I'd explained to you how left out of everything I felt, and how sick of being left behind I was. ANd, but, despite my need to rest at this altitude, you plan to get up at 6 AM, so we have fucking coffee, and drive for 45 minutes to spend a half an hour someplace, and then drive 45 minutes back?
Didn't we just have a long conversation about how the stress the last time we were here was at least partly due to all the driving we had to do, and to how I felt about constantly being left out?
I'm tired of not mattering.
I'm tired of you not caring how I feel.
I'm tired of being on the back burner.
I'm tired of not being able to simply state an opinion without you freaking out on me and not being able to have a civilized conversation.
I'm tired of all this shit.
Then you tell me that I'm sitting over here and tearing up? What the fuck? My eyes were dry, and I was calm.
I. Am. So. Sick. Of. This. SHIT!!!!!!!
As soon as you finish this fucking race, you're going to hear it from me, too. But for now, so that you don't get too *stressed* I'll keep my mouth shut.
FUCK!
I reminded you of my need to rest before exerting myself.
Your response?
"Well, then say here. Don't go."
Then you started freaking out, asking me if I was going to have a big thing. Christ. All I did was remind you, in a calm voice, of what I'd told you was important to me.
Stay here? Don't go? What kind of shit is that? I thought we'd cleared this up. I thought I'd explained to you how left out of everything I felt, and how sick of being left behind I was. ANd, but, despite my need to rest at this altitude, you plan to get up at 6 AM, so we have fucking coffee, and drive for 45 minutes to spend a half an hour someplace, and then drive 45 minutes back?
Didn't we just have a long conversation about how the stress the last time we were here was at least partly due to all the driving we had to do, and to how I felt about constantly being left out?
I'm tired of not mattering.
I'm tired of you not caring how I feel.
I'm tired of being on the back burner.
I'm tired of not being able to simply state an opinion without you freaking out on me and not being able to have a civilized conversation.
I'm tired of all this shit.
Then you tell me that I'm sitting over here and tearing up? What the fuck? My eyes were dry, and I was calm.
I. Am. So. Sick. Of. This. SHIT!!!!!!!
As soon as you finish this fucking race, you're going to hear it from me, too. But for now, so that you don't get too *stressed* I'll keep my mouth shut.
FUCK!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Taking the MFQ short form, at midnight, because I can't sleep.
For the past two weeks, rate each statement as "never" or "sometimes" or "always or nearly always".
1. I felt miserable or unhappy.
No, not really. What I feel is afraid. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by it. Fear that my life is about to crash. Fear that disaster looms, and that I've caused it, or that there is nothing I can do about it. Sometimes.
2. I didn't enjoy anything at all.
No, not true. There were many things I enjoy. It's only in those quiet moments, in between, or when I wake up at 1 am, that I'm afraid. Never.
3. I felt so tired I just sat around and did nothing.
I wanted to. But I forced myself to do things anyway, knowing that it would make me feel better, even if just for a little while. Because if I didn't, I'd be left behind, left alone, and I hate that. Never.
4. I was very restless.
Not me. Well, sometimes. THere are those times I wake up at 1 or 2 am and can't sleep. I have to get up. I have to do something. So I write. Does that count? Sometimes.
5. I felt I was no good any more.
Hah. Well, there it is, ding ding. I can't make it go away. It's persistent, this feeling that I'm less competent, less worthy, less accomplished, than everyone I know. I feel worthless. I feel flawed. Who could stand to be with someone like that? Nobody. Always.
6. I cried a lot.
Sometimes. I try not to. It bothers him. So I wait until I can do it alone. Sometimes, when things are bad, I will mention it, just a little to see how it goes over, but I don't get much reaction, so I suck it up and try to forget about it. Most of the time, I try to distract myself with something, so that it goes away. But I notice that I cry easier, like at sad movies and even commercials, than I used to. It's not easy to make me cry, but it's easier than it used to be. Sometimes.
7. I found it hard to think properly or concentrate.
No. This is my salvation, my work, it takes my mind off all the awful feelings, the worry, the worthlessness of being me, when I work. I actually feel better, too, when I work. Never.
8. I hated myself.
Does fearing myself count? Does it count that I secretly worry that I'm a fairly worthless person? Does the fact that even after losing nearly 40 pounds, and not being able to see the difference in the mirror, count? Does the fact that I feel like I'm surrounded by people more successful, faster, more accomplished, more talented, more attractive, more interesting, more stable, count?
I would hate me if I were anyone. I would look at my misery and fear and worry, and all of the things about my life that are completely wonderful, and hate me. I would loathe the self-indulgence of it all. Just another upper middle-class woman, alone in her thoughts, feeling sorry for herself, who needs a hobby. Nyah.
Always.
9. I was a bad person.
Sometimes. I think of things that I should be doing, and am not doing. I think of what he said about "being allergic to making money" and how I shouldn't have quit my job 2 years ago. We've been in financial downward spiral ever since, and it's my fault. Always.
10. I felt lonely.
Depression and anxiety are the most self-indulgent places one can imagine. I imagine that everyone is sick of hearing about me, and my problems. I imagine that he's sick of it. So I put on a happy face, so that people won't be sick of it. So that he won't be sick of it. So that nobody will accuse me of being a drama queen. I hate drama queens. As a result, I have nobody to talk to about it, not really. Sometimes in the middle of doing something mundane, like watching TV, I'll suddenly be overwhelmed with sadness - my chest aches, and I come close to crying. Then I either get up and fuss around in the kitchen or go to the bathroom or something, so that nobody sees.
I feel desperate. I wonder if this feeling of isolation will ever go away.
This is my life, this fucked up sadness and worry and loneliness that has no place to go, or to come from.
God, I'm pathetic. I wouldn't want to be with me.
Always.
11. I thought nobody really loved me.
Not often. But in the really bad times, the really, really bad times, I wake up and feel like it's all slipping away, everything, my marriage, friendships, and that nobody truly cares about me; they're just going through the motions to be polite. At those times, I feel like he's with me out of obligation. Again, I know it doesn't make sense. But I can't will it away.
I also feel like I'm essentially not worthy of being liked. I feel like I'm viewed as less valuable than others. I know it's fucked up. But there it is. I try to get rid of it, and tell myself it doesn't make sense.
During those times, I get this feeling of coldness, and a sick feeling in my stomach. I wake up with a feeling of dread and fear that it's all falling apart. I try to will it away. Then I take a half of Xanax, and it goes away, finally, but I'm left with the hopeless of it, and that thought that maybe it will never stop. I'll always have it. I'll never get rid of it.
Is that what people think about before they consider suicide? I don't consider suicide, but I worry that none of this will ever go away, that this is it.
Sometimes.
12. I thought I could never be as good as other people.
Always.
13. I did everything wrong.
Never. There are some things I know I do right, and these are the things I hold onto during the worst of times. I know that there are some people who have done things because I've made it seem possible. I know that there are people who have hope because of the things I have done. I know that I write well. I know that I'm a top-notch diagnostician.
Score: 15. Likelihood of major depressive episode: at least 80%.
So much for antidepressants. It's ironic that this screen has 13 questions. I'm not superstitious. But others are. I wonder what they think about the number 13?
I wonder if this will ever get better, or if, god forbid, it can actually get worse.
1. I felt miserable or unhappy.
No, not really. What I feel is afraid. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by it. Fear that my life is about to crash. Fear that disaster looms, and that I've caused it, or that there is nothing I can do about it. Sometimes.
2. I didn't enjoy anything at all.
No, not true. There were many things I enjoy. It's only in those quiet moments, in between, or when I wake up at 1 am, that I'm afraid. Never.
3. I felt so tired I just sat around and did nothing.
I wanted to. But I forced myself to do things anyway, knowing that it would make me feel better, even if just for a little while. Because if I didn't, I'd be left behind, left alone, and I hate that. Never.
4. I was very restless.
Not me. Well, sometimes. THere are those times I wake up at 1 or 2 am and can't sleep. I have to get up. I have to do something. So I write. Does that count? Sometimes.
5. I felt I was no good any more.
Hah. Well, there it is, ding ding. I can't make it go away. It's persistent, this feeling that I'm less competent, less worthy, less accomplished, than everyone I know. I feel worthless. I feel flawed. Who could stand to be with someone like that? Nobody. Always.
6. I cried a lot.
Sometimes. I try not to. It bothers him. So I wait until I can do it alone. Sometimes, when things are bad, I will mention it, just a little to see how it goes over, but I don't get much reaction, so I suck it up and try to forget about it. Most of the time, I try to distract myself with something, so that it goes away. But I notice that I cry easier, like at sad movies and even commercials, than I used to. It's not easy to make me cry, but it's easier than it used to be. Sometimes.
7. I found it hard to think properly or concentrate.
No. This is my salvation, my work, it takes my mind off all the awful feelings, the worry, the worthlessness of being me, when I work. I actually feel better, too, when I work. Never.
8. I hated myself.
Does fearing myself count? Does it count that I secretly worry that I'm a fairly worthless person? Does the fact that even after losing nearly 40 pounds, and not being able to see the difference in the mirror, count? Does the fact that I feel like I'm surrounded by people more successful, faster, more accomplished, more talented, more attractive, more interesting, more stable, count?
I would hate me if I were anyone. I would look at my misery and fear and worry, and all of the things about my life that are completely wonderful, and hate me. I would loathe the self-indulgence of it all. Just another upper middle-class woman, alone in her thoughts, feeling sorry for herself, who needs a hobby. Nyah.
Always.
9. I was a bad person.
Sometimes. I think of things that I should be doing, and am not doing. I think of what he said about "being allergic to making money" and how I shouldn't have quit my job 2 years ago. We've been in financial downward spiral ever since, and it's my fault. Always.
10. I felt lonely.
Depression and anxiety are the most self-indulgent places one can imagine. I imagine that everyone is sick of hearing about me, and my problems. I imagine that he's sick of it. So I put on a happy face, so that people won't be sick of it. So that he won't be sick of it. So that nobody will accuse me of being a drama queen. I hate drama queens. As a result, I have nobody to talk to about it, not really. Sometimes in the middle of doing something mundane, like watching TV, I'll suddenly be overwhelmed with sadness - my chest aches, and I come close to crying. Then I either get up and fuss around in the kitchen or go to the bathroom or something, so that nobody sees.
I feel desperate. I wonder if this feeling of isolation will ever go away.
This is my life, this fucked up sadness and worry and loneliness that has no place to go, or to come from.
God, I'm pathetic. I wouldn't want to be with me.
Always.
11. I thought nobody really loved me.
Not often. But in the really bad times, the really, really bad times, I wake up and feel like it's all slipping away, everything, my marriage, friendships, and that nobody truly cares about me; they're just going through the motions to be polite. At those times, I feel like he's with me out of obligation. Again, I know it doesn't make sense. But I can't will it away.
I also feel like I'm essentially not worthy of being liked. I feel like I'm viewed as less valuable than others. I know it's fucked up. But there it is. I try to get rid of it, and tell myself it doesn't make sense.
During those times, I get this feeling of coldness, and a sick feeling in my stomach. I wake up with a feeling of dread and fear that it's all falling apart. I try to will it away. Then I take a half of Xanax, and it goes away, finally, but I'm left with the hopeless of it, and that thought that maybe it will never stop. I'll always have it. I'll never get rid of it.
Is that what people think about before they consider suicide? I don't consider suicide, but I worry that none of this will ever go away, that this is it.
Sometimes.
12. I thought I could never be as good as other people.
Always.
13. I did everything wrong.
Never. There are some things I know I do right, and these are the things I hold onto during the worst of times. I know that there are some people who have done things because I've made it seem possible. I know that there are people who have hope because of the things I have done. I know that I write well. I know that I'm a top-notch diagnostician.
Score: 15. Likelihood of major depressive episode: at least 80%.
So much for antidepressants. It's ironic that this screen has 13 questions. I'm not superstitious. But others are. I wonder what they think about the number 13?
I wonder if this will ever get better, or if, god forbid, it can actually get worse.
Hello again, stupid anxiety stuff.
At first I thought it was altitude sickness. Then I thought I had a stomache bug, but this shit has held on long enough for me to recognize it for what it is: Oh, hello again, anxiety shit. Goddamn it.
So Monday came home and himself was perseverating over the bills. There is nothing in the world that makes me feel worse that this - not that he does it on purpose. It's just that I'm currently making about 1/3 of what he makes, so I feel utterly responsible for our dire financial situation. The one thing I heard 2 months ago keeps ringing in my ears,
Yeah. Well, none of this helps that idea that I feel like I have that I am completely and utterly useless vocation that I'm very good at, but nobody cares about. Nobody cares that I'm good at diagnosing children, and that I can get kids to talk to me, because nobody cares about children. Anyone and everyone who works with children is horribly underpaid, unless they have MD or PhD after their names. The rest of us, well, we can go fuck ourselves, right? Even those of us with multiple graduate school degrees.
It's been hard to explain this to Himself. He reminds me often of how important I am to him, how much I help him, and that supporting him in his athletics is very important. He tells me that I'm very good at inspiring others, and that I'm brave. I know this.
Still. I'd like to have something for myself, some sort of accomplishment that is mine. Just mine. So far, I have nothing, and I feel like I'm in the shadow, waving my scribbles with a gold star on it in the air, saying, "look what I did!" I'm last, or nearly last, to cross the finish line in everything I do, and there is nothing I do that someone I know can't do better.
So back to Monday. I came home and fuck did I feel like throwing up - two days in a row, after and entire weekend of it. Himself was sitting on the couch going over bills, and worrying, and then of course I took that on, because I feel like everything is my fault. Then it hit me that, well, this is what my panic attacks would start like, so I took 1/2 hit of a Xanax - it took me hours to find the shit - and then 30 minutes I felt all better. ALL better. I did it again when I came home from work on Tuesday. Just once, at about 5 pm both days. But I know I can't keep taking this shit. It's habit-forming.
I slept in this morning and have to run 8 miles later today, while it's hot. Or raining. Not sure how I'm going to pull that off. It takes me, like 2 hours to go 8 miles on the trails.
I need coffee now.
So Monday came home and himself was perseverating over the bills. There is nothing in the world that makes me feel worse that this - not that he does it on purpose. It's just that I'm currently making about 1/3 of what he makes, so I feel utterly responsible for our dire financial situation. The one thing I heard 2 months ago keeps ringing in my ears,
It's like you're allergic to making money.
It's like you're allergic to making money.
It's like you're allergic to making money.
Yeah. Well, none of this helps that idea that I feel like I have that I am completely and utterly useless vocation that I'm very good at, but nobody cares about. Nobody cares that I'm good at diagnosing children, and that I can get kids to talk to me, because nobody cares about children. Anyone and everyone who works with children is horribly underpaid, unless they have MD or PhD after their names. The rest of us, well, we can go fuck ourselves, right? Even those of us with multiple graduate school degrees.
It's been hard to explain this to Himself. He reminds me often of how important I am to him, how much I help him, and that supporting him in his athletics is very important. He tells me that I'm very good at inspiring others, and that I'm brave. I know this.
Still. I'd like to have something for myself, some sort of accomplishment that is mine. Just mine. So far, I have nothing, and I feel like I'm in the shadow, waving my scribbles with a gold star on it in the air, saying, "look what I did!" I'm last, or nearly last, to cross the finish line in everything I do, and there is nothing I do that someone I know can't do better.
So back to Monday. I came home and fuck did I feel like throwing up - two days in a row, after and entire weekend of it. Himself was sitting on the couch going over bills, and worrying, and then of course I took that on, because I feel like everything is my fault. Then it hit me that, well, this is what my panic attacks would start like, so I took 1/2 hit of a Xanax - it took me hours to find the shit - and then 30 minutes I felt all better. ALL better. I did it again when I came home from work on Tuesday. Just once, at about 5 pm both days. But I know I can't keep taking this shit. It's habit-forming.
About the same time, my therapist called me to tell me that Blue Cross had approved more sessions with her. Whew. I hope this helps. I made so much progress before, and was even sleeping through the night now, and I'll start seeing her 2x month starting next week.
I went for a training run last night, with Himself. He taught me some more stuff about posture and such . It was good. I felt good. I feel closer to him when we run together.
I need coffee now.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Why the other dog went to live with a new family.
He has bitten through and completely severed a main drip line hose, and then tore up all the drip lines.
He has torn out nearly every single piece of weed fabric.
he's dug several holes in 30-year-old sod.
He runs around in circles, barking at FUCKING NOTHING. he wakes up my retired neighbors doing this.
He's friendly to all intruders.
He's torn out all the water plants in the pond, disrupting the pH, which caused a fish die-off.
He's chewed a large hole in the side of a wooden shed. You know, because that nice dog door we put in was such a fucking drag.
He's cost us hundreds in attempts to keep him from running amok in the neighborhood.
He has torn out nearly every single piece of weed fabric.
he's dug several holes in 30-year-old sod.
He runs around in circles, barking at FUCKING NOTHING. he wakes up my retired neighbors doing this.
He's friendly to all intruders.
He's torn out all the water plants in the pond, disrupting the pH, which caused a fish die-off.
He's chewed a large hole in the side of a wooden shed. You know, because that nice dog door we put in was such a fucking drag.
He's cost us hundreds in attempts to keep him from running amok in the neighborhood.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
I started watching Bordertown this weekend. I wasn't expecting that first scene, the one where they strangeled the woman to death. It's pretty detailed. It's pretty graphic. It's pretty fucking realistic.
It's not something I needed to see. As I sit here, I can feel the hands around my neck. My neck feels constricted.
I didn't know about this scene. I shouldn't have watched. I don't know how this will affect my sleep tonight. I don't know if I'm going to wind up having another panic episode.
A month ago, I watched the Stoning of Soroya M. I didn't know that was so graphic, but I figured I was safe because it didn't have anything to do with me. The next day, I had a panic attack.
Next week, my trauma work begins. I'm not sure how it will be done. I don't know what to expect.
...
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Crooked, lazy motherfucker workers.
After our house was broken into in February, our company hired a guy to fix our broken door.
-------
Last week a guy was supposed to show up to bury our cable. The first technician had carefully hidden it in a crack in the sidewalk the first Friday in April. He put the cable out of the way, and wound it through a flower bed along a wall until that could happen. They would, he said, call me and make an appointment co come out. s
The following Tuesday morning a man who had a great deal of difficulty understanding me called and said he was at my house to bury my cable. "I can't come home now," I said. I didn't need to, he insisted. "Oh, will you then take care of my dogs so that they don't go through the gate?"
He hesitated. "When can you be here?"
Friday, after 5, I said. Okay, he said, he would see me then.
When I got home that night, a spool of conduit was sitting in my flower bed, and the cable had been pulled up and stretched across the drive way.
Friday, I was here at 4:45. No phone call. Nobody showed up.
Monday morning I called and complained, and was told that the order was showing as "fulfilled". "No, it is not fullfilled. He didn't show up." I had to call, by the way, because they refuse to acknowledge emails. You have to call on the phone, or use their hideous "chat" feature, which involves somebody on the other end whose name is NOT Julie and how repeats the same phrases over and over again,, stuff like "I see that you are upset that your cable is not buried. We apologize for any inconvenience".
They rescheduled for Friday after 4:30.
Thursday morning at 8:15 am the same guy who can't understand me called and said he was at my house to bury the cable. I told him that I had an appointment for Friday at 4:30. He said that he didn't work that late, and he was the only person who could bury the cable in Albuquerque. That's what he said. Nobody else does it, he said. I said, well, "I have an appointment with Comcast for Friday after 4:30. I need to be there to mind the dogs." He thanked me and hung up.
Friday at 5:00 pm I hit redial on my button and called him back, and asked him when he was coming. He informed me that he was in Santa Fe and that there would be another crew coming since there was an appointment. I asked him, how can there be another crew when he was the 'only person who could bury the cable'? No, he said, there are other crews. Another crew would be here.
Friday at 6:15 I started using their hideous chat function and was repeatedly apologized to in the exact same words by someone in some unknown place that I don't think is capable of higher level thought and problem solving. She said the appointment had been canceled. "NO" I typed all in capitals "IT WAS NEVER CANCELED. I WANT SOMEONE OUT HERE TO FIX THIS. STOP APOLOGIZING FOR MY INCONVENIENCE AND TELL ME HOW YOU'RE GOING TO FIX THIS."
She reset the appointment for 8 am, an all day appointment.
Wait, I typed back, Does this mean that I have to wait here all day? She responded, It means that it starts at 8.
Which, of course, I stupidly took to mean that they would start work at 8 am.
I called the local office at 8:30. "Oh, no," I was told. "The drop bury order is for between 8 am and 7 pm"
Fuckers.
I have decided that if they don't show up, I'm not calling again. I'll cable as is until it fails, and then I'm switching to another company. It's tucked among the bushes again, and it doesn't rain here too often, so who knows how long that will be?
Meanwhile, I've clearly missed my calling. I should have been a cable "drop and bury" technician. they apparently don't ever have to work and can arbitrarily cancel appointments without anyone calling them on it.
Oh. And the Saturday guy never showed up. Nobody was able to tell me why.
..
-------
Last week a guy was supposed to show up to bury our cable. The first technician had carefully hidden it in a crack in the sidewalk the first Friday in April. He put the cable out of the way, and wound it through a flower bed along a wall until that could happen. They would, he said, call me and make an appointment co come out. s
The following Tuesday morning a man who had a great deal of difficulty understanding me called and said he was at my house to bury my cable. "I can't come home now," I said. I didn't need to, he insisted. "Oh, will you then take care of my dogs so that they don't go through the gate?"
He hesitated. "When can you be here?"
Friday, after 5, I said. Okay, he said, he would see me then.
When I got home that night, a spool of conduit was sitting in my flower bed, and the cable had been pulled up and stretched across the drive way.
Friday, I was here at 4:45. No phone call. Nobody showed up.
Monday morning I called and complained, and was told that the order was showing as "fulfilled". "No, it is not fullfilled. He didn't show up." I had to call, by the way, because they refuse to acknowledge emails. You have to call on the phone, or use their hideous "chat" feature, which involves somebody on the other end whose name is NOT Julie and how repeats the same phrases over and over again,, stuff like "I see that you are upset that your cable is not buried. We apologize for any inconvenience".
They rescheduled for Friday after 4:30.
Thursday morning at 8:15 am the same guy who can't understand me called and said he was at my house to bury the cable. I told him that I had an appointment for Friday at 4:30. He said that he didn't work that late, and he was the only person who could bury the cable in Albuquerque. That's what he said. Nobody else does it, he said. I said, well, "I have an appointment with Comcast for Friday after 4:30. I need to be there to mind the dogs." He thanked me and hung up.
Friday at 5:00 pm I hit redial on my button and called him back, and asked him when he was coming. He informed me that he was in Santa Fe and that there would be another crew coming since there was an appointment. I asked him, how can there be another crew when he was the 'only person who could bury the cable'? No, he said, there are other crews. Another crew would be here.
Friday at 6:15 I started using their hideous chat function and was repeatedly apologized to in the exact same words by someone in some unknown place that I don't think is capable of higher level thought and problem solving. She said the appointment had been canceled. "NO" I typed all in capitals "IT WAS NEVER CANCELED. I WANT SOMEONE OUT HERE TO FIX THIS. STOP APOLOGIZING FOR MY INCONVENIENCE AND TELL ME HOW YOU'RE GOING TO FIX THIS."
She reset the appointment for 8 am, an all day appointment.
Wait, I typed back, Does this mean that I have to wait here all day? She responded, It means that it starts at 8.
Which, of course, I stupidly took to mean that they would start work at 8 am.
I called the local office at 8:30. "Oh, no," I was told. "The drop bury order is for between 8 am and 7 pm"
Fuckers.
I have decided that if they don't show up, I'm not calling again. I'll cable as is until it fails, and then I'm switching to another company. It's tucked among the bushes again, and it doesn't rain here too often, so who knows how long that will be?
Meanwhile, I've clearly missed my calling. I should have been a cable "drop and bury" technician. they apparently don't ever have to work and can arbitrarily cancel appointments without anyone calling them on it.
Oh. And the Saturday guy never showed up. Nobody was able to tell me why.
..
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