Today, I am proud of myself.

It has been a rough day. In all honesty, the last couple months have been difficult. I had to leave my job due to unsafe working conditions. I have found another job since, but only just recently.  Here’s the problem: I filed for unemployment and am being bounced around through loopholes.

Here’s the deal-io: I spent 30 minutes on the phone with a nice lady from the unemployment office. I am being serious, she was very nice. She only put me on hold to read through my case and whenever I corrected her on something, she said, “You’re right, let me try to make more sense of this.” She finally went and got her supervisor, who enforced a loop hole and she was no longer able to help me.

It was difficult. We are not currently drowning in debt collectors, but we are just barely keeping our necks above the murky waters. We have had to extend our bills out to the maximum amount of time before late fees are charged. We have sought public assistance programs and will need to again, shortly. Still, things could be far worse. We still have a roof over our heads, food in the pantry, and we are both now working so this situation is certainly temporary.
The thing is that I earned that unemployment by working. I had to leave my job to prevent any further physical harm from coming to myself. It was not just a “I’m sick of having to work, I think I’ll draw money off the system” type of deal. It was a difficult choice, but I believe I made the right one. Jobs can be replaced, fingers cannot.
Having said all of that, I was very distraught when I got off the phone with the nice lady. I threw myself on the bed and sobbed, loudly. I could hear my neighbors murmuring. They were probably wondering what on Earth was going on. It only lasted 5 or so minutes, but I continued to cry for a good hour afterwards.  Taking a shower, reading, and trying to get proactive about the situation has helped, but I am still fighting the urge to curl up in bed and sob.  Despite this, I am proud of myself.  Why?
Because I have not allowed this unfortunate situation to overwhelm and engulf me. I am going to get a huge stack of necessary papers together and physically go down to the unemployment office, where things will be straightened out.  I am not going to mope around the house all day, I have things to do. I am an adult and I have responsibilities. The good thing about this is that it is very distracting and helps me realize that life does go on.  Even if it turns out that I do not prevail in this situation, life goes on.
Still, I have learned something. I believe it is time to leave Indiana. The labor laws here are atrocious. Corporations are favored over individuals. It is a highly depressed are due to this and other situations (such as addiction being treated from a criminal standpoint instead of a mental health one, a very gender biased public assistance program, and a piss poor educational system).  It is high time Hubby and I took a good look at our lives and how negatively impacted they have been because of this. When we are able to move out of the area, I would rather go to a state with better labor laws, better social programs, and a much better educational system.
Lesson learned, Indiana. You are not worth the negativity.
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Frankly My Dear..

You know the rest. But I do! I do give a damn!

I came home from Mom’s and grabbed the mail out of the mail box. There was a flier from one of our state’s congressmen.  I didn’t really think anything of it because we tend to get fliers from congressmen whose district we are not in. We tend to get them a lot, actually. I was ready to throw it in the burn pile, but morbid curiousity took hold of me and I read it. I READ IT! Ugh.

govment

It was a thick, high gloss flier that had a perforated area you were supposed to detach and send back. It wanted you to check off all the things you thought the state government needed to focus on. National Debt, Job Creation, and Border Security were just a few options. I went to grab a permanent marker to make one big “X” that would cover all the check marks, but something grabbed a hold of me. I snatched a pen from the pen pot and started writing in the “Other” section. I told my congressman about how piss poor employment is here in Indiana. That job creation wasn’t the problem, employment at will was the problem. A so called “right to work” laaws had paved the way for companies to treat their employees like disposable commodities instead of human beings. Turn over rates, accident reports, and job dissatisfaction is on the rise. Something needs to be done now!

laborlaw

I looked over my sentences that were peppered with exclamation points and shrugged. It would either get thrown away at the congressman’s office, or I’d get contacted for being aggressive. Either way, I had done my part, right? Wrong. I turned the flier over and noticed something at the top right hand corner. There was a little box. Inside that box there were four words, “Place Firstclass Stamp Here”. What?! This flier was franked.

I had heard about this on the news. Franking in America (this is my new  favorite phrase BTW) is the process of stamping an envelope to state that the postage is paid for.  There’s nothing wrong with it, it’s a good method. It’s not so good when government employees start franking mail with taxpayers dollars, however.  The flier I received had been franked by a machine, with one of those “First Class Postage Paid” markings. next to a pre-sorted marking.  This means, the money to send it to me came out of my own pocket, as a taxpayer, and now I was being asked to use my own money to send it back.

postmark

WHAT?!

Oh L no. Homey don’t play these games. If I was going to have to use my own money to pay for the postage on the return trip, I was going to be saying a lot more. This is probably how I am going to spend my evening: drafting a well written letter to my congressman about the perils of treating individuals like throw away razors and treating companies like human beings. In between bouts of politically-fueled ire, I’ll work on my afghan to ease tension. I think I’ll probably have to use more than one stamp to send him the book I plan on writing, but at least it (hopefully) gets his attention more than a few measly check boxes.  I hope not to get so much attention that I get labelled dangerous and thrown in jail, but I did always wonder what the inside of a jail cell looked like.

The nerve.