For my 4 readers, I’ve long discussed the dangers of driving in Milwaukee.
Last Friday, I was hit so hard my car was deemed totaled on the scene.
It took insurance days and days and drama and stress but eventually they said the same.
A driver had hit my car so hard in my passenger side rear tire axle that my car was pushed and then spun around 180 degrees so that my passenger side air bags deployed and I ended up facing the way I had previously faced.
Consequently, I’m now that much more jumpy and the hearing in my right ear is damaged to the point where I can’t hear the same or – sometimes – I can’t hear at all on my right side.
The entire passenger side of my car was an airbag and I learned those are really really really really loud when deployed.
And they were deployed because I had been hit by Old Ma’am Townie Time
who was also “fine” and who lied to police so openly that a Good Citizen Eye Witness had to correct her twice when she mistook lying for The Truth.
I later had to go to where the townie suburb police officers had towed my car and it was like a bail bond’s office except a bond officer wouldn’t just give stuff away to a stranger and this towing place did just give my car to someone.
The Someone happened to be the company my insurance had sent but… they didn’t know that and I hadn’t given them consent.
I found this news out after spending a half-hour standing next to a dude in an ankle bracelet who was making out with a girl who had so many needle marks on her legs they complemented each other on the “poor decision-making level” and he later had no form of photo ID to present to the tow place to get “his” car but…
I’m pretty sure this townie bail bond tow shop gave him someone’s car anyways.
No One Leaves Here Without Someone’s Car except for Hillarie, who had her car given away to someone else.
Now I have until Tuesday to find a new car and pay out of pocket for it using magic beans because the insurance claim will take weeks and weeks to pay out and…
insurance will only pay for this rental sleekAF Malibu Enterprise gave me which is so low and long and foreign it doesn’t really fit in our garage.
Enterprise said it was either that or a pick-up truck.
Enterprise said this while Milwaukee’s infamous Kia Boys were genuinely upstairs driving around, stealing and crashing stuff in their warehouse.
If you don’t know what the Kia Boys are, Google that shit.
An amateur-I-went-to-online-film-school found them to make a short documentary about them and I see them daily when driving all up and around this hellish little city but the local police can’t find the teenagers or stop them.
And now they’re apparently like a cult.
Said the Enterprise staff who apparently have the Kia Boys breaking into their inventory on a weekly basis.
And so the Kia Boys cult were somehow wreaking havoc upstairs in the floors of Enterprise-inventory-I-couldn’t-rent while David and I stood downstairs debating whether a Malibu would fit into our garage.
I couldn’t help but feel – since I’m from a past age – that Milwaukee needs serious, extraordinary help.
Meanwhile… in an Earlier Time…
Two weeks ago, someone in Arkansas hacked our bank account and stole a whole lot of money which our Credit Union – the place we trust to manage our money – didn’t realize until we pointed it out to them.
And then, once the Credit Union realized it, they closed our account. Or they were going to close our account until we both had to leave work early to barge into an office to declare:
“WE HAVE SCHEDULED BILL PAYMENTS AND SHIT AND WE DON’T HAVE FOOD IN OUR HOUSE DONT DO THAT”
I thought a bank could just *fix it* but, no, we had to manually go through a billion little individual transactions of $99.99 and mark them as
Yes, it wasn’t us making a billion kadrillion withdrawals of $99.99 from our checking and savings accounts.
Previously, I would have thought some bot should have caught that.
Either AI is dumber than we thought or they’re activating their superpower plan…
Finally, as a conclusion to this week’s rant, my job is truly taking all of me.
Like the Marines. I’m being all I can be. And – accordingly – feeling out of my depth, terrified and also pretty cocky.
It’s a love-hate relationship with the Jobby Job and I’m not yet certain whether I’m sadistic enough to hang in.
But… while hanging in, I am compelled to create the most masochistic schedule I can and then achieve it in order to feel I may possibly get done with everything I need to in a month.
Week after week.
And – there will always be shit that happens that screws up my schedule – but I’m wired to think,
NO BIG DEAL ILL DO IT ALL AND ILL STAY ON SCHEDULE.
I don’t eat lunch. I no longer need food. I dream of work. The waking life and the non-waking life have become one.
And today I looked down at my finger nails and they were about 7 feet long.
It’s like I have stopped seeing myself.
But the accident kind of knocked me out of whatever state I was in.
After crying for 24 hours… I felt… not better – never better – but… different.
Different in a way where I suddenly saw my fingernails.
And then this week, in one initial visit with a member who was recently added to my caseload, the member took my hand and proudly stated, “Hillarie is my friend.”
And I squeezed his hand and replied, “Yes I am.”
I also looked at him and thought I’d slay nations to protect you.
So I’m really connecting with some of my members which is why I took this job so it’s nice that’s happening.
But… is the risk worth it?
On my way to a visit yesterday, I saw four accidents.
So now my job is more difficult because I’m shaking far more than I was and my Malibu rental car also smells like old smoke that Enterprise tried desperately to cover up with fragrance but couldn’t.
The car smells like my gram.
Speaking of the dead, last night I had the house to myself and the white werewolf
And June the Damned seemed extra on edge last night and there were just SO many more noises downstairs than usual.
So I looked at the amateur surveillance monitor I keep on my bedside table and…
either I’m just looking for a distraction
(it’s totally that, I know)
but… wtf is that tan little cloud near the back door? It’s lumpy and it’s moving.
It has to be some kind of light glare or else our ghosts are really other-worldly-looking.
In any case, wish me luck as I attempt to barter for a car in this market this weekend.
Maybe I’ll be able to befriend the dust cloud of doom the next time it floats and hangs downstairs.
One way or another, everything works out. And maybe ghost amoebas are part of the solution.
Only time will tell. 🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁
Thanks for reading and please stay safe out there, everyone! 🖤🙏