Archive for disability

Cold Rain

Posted in depression with tags , , , , , on May 21, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

Here it is, 3:27 a.m. and I’m awake, have been for an hour now. The clock is ticking. Trains are roaring by. The icy rain is pounding against the metal air conditioner unit in the window. It’s 48 degrees and a dampness in the air has me wanting to do nothing more than curl up under the covers and sleep. But I don’t dare take more melatonin because I have to be up by 8 to call the school and tell them Spook will be late. Then I have to get us both ready and I am NOT getting into a bath when the house is this damn cold. My hair is gross so I thought I could just wash it in the sink but again, it’s so cold, I feel it in my bones and in my veins, coursing through me head to toe as if transfused with ice water. The pressure is on. My kid’s doc appt is 9:45 but we have to be there by 9:30. Then I have that job interview scheduled for 11 a.m. so I need a bunch of stuff to go off without a hitch so I can get her back to school and make my interview on time. I also have to make sure I look presentable but when it’s cold like this and all my warm clothes are packed away (it was 90 last week, I thought we finally had hit spring) I don’t want to leave my warm jammies. I don’t care if I get the job.

Because this is exhaustion and depression and it will pass by Thursday once the temps rise back up but right now, it may as well be dead of winter. My mental states are that fragile when connected to the weather. I fight it but it doesn’t do a bit of good. And this job has all sorts of training and involves going to public places which of course, with my fear of public places and people, probably would be worse for my mental health. Not to mention 14 other candidates being interviewed and they are still running the help wanted ads and I’ve that old charge to bite me on the ass and it’s religiously affiliated and I don’t exactly scream Christian in my darkened identity…

If I could have just slept through the night, woke with the alarm, it might have been different.

But since I woke up in the middle of the night, the weather is awful, and I am in a time crunch plus racking up mileage and using gas in the car going 80 miles in one day…It’s overwhelming me. When overwhelmed my instinct is to retreat, hide, avoid. I am fighting that urge because even if I don’t have a shot at the job, every interview is practice and gives me a chance to see where I excelled and where I need work in my interviewee skills…

Mainly, I am ready to get it all over with so I can come home and maybe get an hour nap in before Spook gets back from school. Not that I can sleep during daylight, at least not since the season changed.

I think it’s Fort Blankie time, I am freezing. Is it so wrong to want some bloody warmth when it aids so drastically in my mental state being more positive? Turning on the furnace would not help, plus the pilot light is out and I am currently back in my ‘terror of the basement’ mindset. I’m also hormonal and hope I don’t start bawling in public for no reason or worse, get hypo manic aggro.

I am so sick of how many suns, moons, and stars that have to align for me to be in a good mental state and be high functioning. And I don’t think I can take another cold fall and winter here, it;s killing me, mentally at least. But I continue to be trapped like an inmate, my freedom hinging not on a parole board but on the financial means to flee.




Posted in anxiety disorders, bipolar depression with tags , , , , , , , on May 20, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

3:10 a.m. and I am awake, been awake an hour now. I didn’t go to sleep until midnight. Woke up needing to pee and was in so much pain, it took 3 tries to get myself up out of bed and on my feet. For all the jokes about PMS, it’s no joke for those of us who have premenstrual dysphoric disorder. (P.M.D.D) Ten to fourteen days every month of bloating, cramps, backache, headache, irritability, unexpecting tears and knee jerk emotional reactions that make no sense…So in addition to being bipolar, I am also a hormonal wreck. This leaves me 15 days a month free of pain, with what could be considered lucid thought, but if my disorders aren’t nailed down with proper meds, rest, and a low home stress level…

I cannot regain equilibrium.

I get put through the ringer by my own mind, then my body, then the people around me with all the emotional intelligence of bellybutton lint and the tact and empathy of an empty chair chime in and tell me what a grouch I am or what a big whiny baby I am.

There is nothing about P.M.D.D that is affectation. This is not some excuse to be bitchy or erratic. It, for me, is a lot like when I was pregnant and the hormones soared and I had no idea why I was crying or why I was pissed off or why everything seem so hopeless and hurt so bad. It’s a very real disorder that isn’t mainstream enough for people to have a basic understanding. And what people do when they can’t make sense of something and it makes them uneasy…they lash out against what they don’t understand. That ends up being me.

I don’t relish discussing the topic or harping on it every month but it is a huge part of my life, like it or not, and it has an immense impact on my physical and mental functionality. I discuss it because it is relevant and because maybe by being open about the topic, others who suffer the monthly dysphoria will realize…they are not alone.It is not all in your head, you are not lazy or whiny or weak. This is the real deal, debillitating and cruel. Every monthly cycle survived feels like scaling a mountain and you plant your flag at the top…only to wake up 15 days later at the bottom of that mountain holding a new flag and you gotta climb back up again. And there is no ‘let’s get this over with’ where you can just buckle down, rip off the bandage, and move on. You’re pretty much at the mercy of the hormones until they cycle back to some semblance of normal.

I also discuss this because I am told if I am to get a job, it is likely to trigger an automatic disability review. I want documented records of my mental states through each month, especially during the P.M.D.D because I may HAVE to work for money but I am still VERY much struggling with a disability. I am not cured, I am not stable. I am just up against it all and I have to risk another bad reference IF I ever can get hired even, because that’s what you do for your kids. I won’t be quoted or have it mistakenly assume that my love for my child and desire to keep a roof over her head meaning I am some malingerer or that I am all cured.

I am far from cured, far from stable. Even if the meds are working better, two weeks a month they cease to have any real impact on the hormones.

It is, truly, a horror show, that I must live month after month. I am going to keep mentioning it and discussing it until my damn psych providers start listening and work with a Primary doc on a way that would help me balance this monthly horror show. I am sick of both factions individually shrugging me off. One says to talk to the psych, psych says talk to the primary, and I am just in the middle of it all, getting NO real help from either of them.

Now I am going to lay back down even though I’m hurting too bad for sleep to come too easily. My back is sore from sitting up, though. I just wanted to jot this down while it’s happening and fresh in my mind and I have a modicum of lucidity to put it into words. It is high time ‘women’s problems’ stop being some ‘icky’ or ‘shameful’ topic we simply don’t discuss in polite society. When a condition-for a man or woman-impairs your monthly functionality this much-on top of already being disabled- it’s time to start having open honest discussions. It;s time for all our docs to get on board and work together to help us, not make us feel pawned off and ignored.

It is time women’s health issues got at least a quarter of the attention and discussion that men’s little blue pills get. Because we are not the lesser gender and we are tired of our problems being little more than a punchline while men get all this sympathy due to their sexual gratification being impaired.

Health issues need to be treated as equally serious regardless of gender. Hormones are nothing to mess with. They literally dictate the operating systems of our bodies so when they are imbalanced hormonally…we are imbalanced, period. Male or female. Let’s start an honest discussion about that. Because hormones do play a big role in mental health, as well. Time for psych docs and GPs and GYNs to get on board with how much of an impact it has for many of us.

The Stench Of Terror And Rejection In The Morning

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on May 17, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

My heart is still shooting around my chest like a shiny metal ball in a pin ball machine. Oh, panic attacks. I got a call from a temp service I refistered for on line and got ten minutes in and by the second time he asked if I gave notice, I realized…I’d failed to give notice to my last ten jobs cos I usually went manic and saw no consequences or went down the rabbit hole and saw no consequences cos I saw no future. It does sound bad and it reflects badly on me, but I can rewrite history. I can only do my best not to repeat it. But in all fairness, I didn’t give notice to R when I ditched his ‘friendship’ and his shop wench helper monkey thing. Once I hit my breaking point, fight or flight.

Then I was told that they won’t assist anyone without at least a current reference within the last 4 months.

My heart was pounding so loud the whole time, and I felt so much guilt and shame for not giving notice so many times. No wonder my name is literally mud, with employers. I always had this immature notion that because I was a good worker, that would somehow negate my bad judgment toward the end when my disability caused me to crash and burn. You can’t live down your past in some cases. In my case, I fucked everything up so bad from so many angles, legal, professional, skillswise…If I ever get hired again it will truly be a miracle. I’ve said until I had a year of medication stability under my belt, even I wouldn’t hire myself because I don’t think a two or three month stretch of ‘decent mental space’ means the seasonal affective won’t come along and kick my ass and make me flake out all over again.

Had to put my legs up, they are trembling so bad coming off the panic attack I about dropped the computer. Damn, I hate panic attacks. Phone calls should not make you feel this terrified but it does, for me.

It is all snowballing. The home health aide rejections, the fast food rejections (my brother even gave me a direct verbal reference to the hiring manager and I can’t get an interview to sling fries!), now temp services won’t touch me. I am toxic. I never set out to be. I don’t know how to fix it except find a way to work for myself where the meltdown cycles don’t cause income to come to a screeching halt. I don’t feel like I have many other options. I got an update about a hotel maid job and there are 56 other applicants for the same position. I have zero experience in that field so I am pretty much out of the running. I still haven’t heard from the day camp and I am wondering if they ran my background and I’m out for that, too.

It is very frustrating and disheartening. I honestly though by now I’d at least have found something ten hours a week, housekeeping or something. Now my water is going to be turned off and that means the hundred dollar deposit my dad coughed up gets kept by municipal utilities…But I had to pay power and rent and buy food and gas and…

I don’t understand why people are so hard on me, yet no one is rioting at the donor’s door. No one is terrorizing him for not working and not supporting our kid. It’s all on me and it isn’t right since i am the only parent making an effort. I don’t expect an award but it’d be nice to be seen as finally doing the right thing by taking care of my kid. I could have come unglued and blamed my disorders and just let someone else raise her while I drowned in my depressive sorrows. I have changed for the better even if I am not cured but no one gives a damn.

I just gotta keep pushing ahead, there’s no other options. But I really find it insulting to be looked down on for having fundraisers when I am putting every cent of my monthly $835 into the household- $400 rent, $220 power and heat, $70 water, $47 car insurance…if someone wants to add all that up then include feeding and littering the cats, two tanks of gas for the month, plus toiletries and extra food when needed and explain to me how to get blood from the proverbial stone…I am listening. What sickens me most, I think, is the fact my kid hasn’t received a single cent for her fundraising project for the summer. That’s bloody cold. But it’s my fault for not utilizing social media. I feel bad for using my blog for personal needs that way but…it was a follower who told me I should raise funds when needed….

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

I’m pretty dejected now and already in a state of half panic so I guess it’s time to make a trip out into the petri dish. Fuck a fancy bag. I didn’t get back to sleep til 5 a.m. so I’m having one of those endless days/nights for a second day and it’s really got me space casing. Hopefully I can focus enough to drive and get groceries.

Then once my kid has left for grandma’s I can assume the fetal position, and sob uncontrollably because everything is such a mess. I have only myself to blame. Though I blame bipolar and anxiety and that isn’t too negate my own responsibility. I just maintain that my behavior stems from the information my brain is sending out so at the times I fucked up and flaked out….I was just doing what the firing impulses in my melon told me to do.

I fucked up my life and now my kid is suffering for it and I can’t get anyone to give me a chance to prove how much I have changed. The one thing I never had when I was bouncing job to job was mood stabilizers. They have made such a difference in my life, I would like the chance to prove it. But I understand why no one wants to take a chance on me.

I probably wouldn’t put my money on me, either, if I had any.

Yep, still..fundraising…latest update

Posted in depression, fundraiser with tags , , , , , , , on April 24, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I updated today.

The update explains why we are still seeking donations. Legal fees, school fees, pet flea treatment, and yes, my 9 and a half year old daughter has never once been on a vacation even 2 hours away to Six Flags when she reads to earn her own admission ticket. It is awful when I say no we can’t go, because I can’t buy my own ticket, put gas in the car, then have enough to sleep in a motel overnight due to my poor night vision.

So please go check it out

She saw a vid of St Louis’s Six Flags Screamin’ Eagle and now she just reallt wants to go. Please help me make her dream come true and help prevent flea bite hell for the cats and their allegy laden human. (me)

Thanks. Happy Tuesday.

The flea stuff we need  for the cats


Me and Spook’s paypal direct account


Trust me, with my daughter, everything is ‘ours;. Except for the bills, those are all mine, but we get ‘our paycheck’, we get ‘our child support’ (I wish!). This is totally team mom and daughter.

Share, Give, Show Some Love…Friday Feelings

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression, Friday Thoughts with tags , , , , , , , , on April 12, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I set it up so Spook and I can receive direct donations from paypal without a fundraiser page. $5, a social media share, anything helps and we care grateful. In a way it’s even more helpful because of time constraints involved in fundraiser fund transfer. Any money we get can be moved to my debit card and then I can get a money order to pay for stuff. And yes, I am willing to send receipts because I’m just trying to be a good mom and keep my kid warm and sheltered.
Below you will find my unexpected expense of $102 to buy a sticker for my car.

$71 and change for water bill by the 20th to avoid the $18 late fee.

A second $40-plus dollar payment on car insurance to stay road legal.

I am also offering proof of how hard I have been looking for work, as well as the disconnect notice for our power and heat. If you wish not to donate directly, I am fine with anyone wanting to make a direct payment to the utility companies. I am being transparent as I can be without being accused of public nudity.


And please, please, please, read further before you go to the pat answer of ‘you must not budget well.’ Someone else’s actions put us in this position and I am trying to take responsibility and rise above it all and do my best.

Budgeting is not a foreign concept to me.
I get $832 a month.
Rent is $400.
Heat and power, during summer, around $200
Car insurance $50
water bill $70
$25 phone time and data (and I use it as rarely as possible to bank time and data up)
Then I have to get gas in the car since we have an 18 mile trip to town every time we go, buy food, pet supplies, household stuff like toilet paper and laundry soap and this month I had to put a $100 renewal sticker on my car.

When a non custodial parent abruptly decides to quit/get fired from jobs and stops paying for months and does it repeatedly…his actions alone put us $4000 behind. And that is something you can’t predict and the law does not force these parents to inform the custodial parent when they lose income and can’t pay so…often we are surprised when we check our bank balance and suddenly the money we counted on isn’t there.

And on a final note, while I am on my indignant soap box probably offending more people than I have already this week…

I have put in over 60 job applications this week.
I got one precorded virtual interview and another in person one on Monday but an old blip on my history could make that a non event.
I am trying and I can’t force anyone to hire me.

Parents really gotta stop programming kids to ‘just do your best’ because when you become an adult you quickly learn your best doesn’t pay the bills, earn you respect, or impress potential employers.

I have a car, we have food, we are clothed…I ask for nothing but what we do not have and live in such a small rural area we have no access to programs to help.

Please think about giving. Simply clicking the share button and passing it on can make a huge difference for me and Spook.

I’d also appreciate it, even if you don’t like me, if some kind soul would send my daughter an Easter basket with a couple of cheapo toys and some candy. It breaks my heart to not even have $4 to buy plastic eggs and candy so we can maintain our traditional morning egg hunt. Please help her.

And if you read all of this, spork of fortitude for you.

Any further questions my email is


Motionless In Fright

Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , , on April 11, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

From the Motionless In White song “Voices”….

Voices, In my head again
Baiting me in a war I can’t win
I can hear them now
Trapped in a game inside my own skin
I don’t know myself anymore
They’re pulling me under
Voices, Voices

I had a ‘rip off the bandage’ mental state yesterday. Almost kind of a mania after being frozen motionless by panic and sheer terror. Then I was multitasking like a mofo, six open tabs, applying for jobs, on the phone with the insurance company about getting my kid a new primary care doctor…I took my ‘video’ interview for one position I applied for but I was so nervous I kept saying um to every automated question so I likely looked like a twitchy flake. Later in the day, I received a call setting up an interview Monday for part time in home care for the elderly but once my fingerprints are run, that’s out the window. The state laws allow my sister with multiple felonies to work in the field, but I have ONE misdemeanor and every damn time, it disqualifies me. (And get this, my fingerprints taken when I worked daycare AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH, there are more stringent rules regarding elderly care. wth?) BUT I AM TRYING, PEOPLE.

That is just one morning’s net working efforts, mind you. I am listed with four of the top job sites with resume on file and I apply on external websites, as well, and paper applications for the rare places that still accept them.

I got groceries yesterday, doing battle with panic rising in traffic, as if things are moving so fast that my brain cannot process it quickly enough to make the right choice whether to accelerate or stop… Then my kid came home and we had a two hour battle over her not wanting to wear a green shirt that previously she hadn’t minded. This time it enraged her to little hulk and I recorded the audio because I am tired of people thinking it has to be my fault. I did not raise my voice, did not strike her, did nothing but speak calmly but firmly and try to defuse things. By bedtime, she’d settled down but by then I’d caved on the shirt thing. I was never going to ‘punish’ her by making her wear it, I just wanted her to come to me and say, “Can we donate this, it doesn’t really fit me/not my style.” I want her to realize that the things we take for granted, even hand me down clothes, may benefit someone else so you can’t just throw everything not your style in the garbage….

Bedtime came and…I just couldn’t get my brain to slow down. When I did sleep finally, it was with at least half a dozen times of waking up. Happy is being able to go back to sleep. Unhappy is seeing you’ve hit the snooze button for the fifth time and now you HAVe to face the day. I am aching and my allergies have turned me into miss leaky snout, it is gray and damp and 20 degrees colder today than yesterday. I’m exhausted. I pushed myself on every front yesterday, facing down the panic, tuning out the voices in my head that make me feel full of shame and self loathing…

And I got this first thing this morning.

It will probably be another day before I get the paper disconnect which means I won’t be able to get into the assistance place til then, and they make you set up appointments which may come after the cut off date and are usually out of funds so…Yeah, we’re screwed.

And still Sunday I have to take my daughter to see her ‘dad’ who is living off a live in girlfriend completely and can’t even be bothered to go to the library to read the email she sent him and send a brief reply. He gets no responsibility, I get it all, and even his bad behavior still entitles him to his parental rights. The system is beyond broken.

This is what I looked like for my ‘virtual’ interview yesterday. Not spiffy but not haggish.

Today I look like something the cat horked up and my hair needs washed again and I am just…wiped out.

I know everyone is strapped for money or wary of internet people but I am providing you with all documentation proving everything I am saying is true. I have ONE FAVOR to ask of someone with a heart. Would anyone be able to send my daughter a ten dollar gift card for Dollar Tree for Easter? I am still digging change out of the car seat and gathering pennies to take to coin star in hopes I can get my water bill paid by the 19th and avoid the $18 late fee…Just a ten dollar gift card is all she asked for, really. I mean, she’s a kid so the mind changes by the minute and the “I want” monster spins up funnel clouds like the tasmanian devil in cartoons but…this one thing she wants is something I can’t give her. If you can’t or won’t help me…consider doing something nice for a 9 year old girl who really just wanted to go eat Kentucky Fried Chicken legs for Easter and spend a ten dollar gift card at Dollar Tree.

I am making every effort. So much so I am running all the fuel out of my car and my brain is boiling in my skull from being so overwhelmed.

But no one can say I am not trying with everything I have in spite of all that is working against me. I didn’t just give up and assume the fetal position. I am making every effort.

For the next hour or two, though, I am going back under Fort Blankie and I am going to focus on breathing exercises in an effort to clear my mind and calm myself. Before the voices pull me under and leave me motionless in fright.


Posted in anxiety disorders, depression with tags , , , , , , on April 10, 2019 by morgueticiaatoms

I got roped into taking my brother to work at 1:30 today. Now I am panicked and filled with dread and I’m not even sure why. Why does my sanity swing low on days I need to be semi-functional? Is my brain sabotaging me? Maybe it’s because the car’s front tires are dry rotted and I am terrified they are gonna blow every time I make a trip to town. Maybe it’s because I was just in town yesterday. Perhaps it’s due to the upcoming meet with my kid and her donor. I hate feeling this jittery, it is unsettling one so many ways.

I am also concerned about the power bill. If the local agency can’t help…we will have no access to heat or electricity so no cooking, no hot water to bathe in or power to run the washer and dryer…If I’d been able to raise $190 by the 3rd of this month, I could have gotten a deferment (again) but since that didn’t happen, now I am on the hook for the full amount cos my old deferments were canceled out for partial payment. I TRIED meeting the minimum. I honestly thought my dad would help me buy the sticker for my car and with insurance and tires so I could get out from under the power bill. He helped last year and we had slightly more income then. He and stepmonster just got back big tax refunds so…

I should not have banked on their help, my bad. Just like not banking on child support. Which is one more reason I am still furious with the former landlord for selling the place out from under us. I could manage there since trash and water were included in the rent. Here, just having water and sewer service runs $65 a month, not one penny less. If you go over your allotted two thousand gallons for the month, it jacks it up like $3 for every gallon over. And in town I could put $20 in gas in the car and run the entire month. Now it’s twice that and that’s if I stay home 80% of the time and only go out of Armpit when necessary.

I suppose I have plenty to be jittery about. A quick trip to town should not be such a big deal. It wasn’t til they cut my Xanax. Now I am so overwhelmed and panicked each trip feels like punishment. Last year, every chance to get out of this town was a welcome respite. I am at the end of my rope, it is fraying, and I keep frantically tying those frayed strands into knots and holding on for dear life…

I’m just scared of failing Spook. And a mom who can’t keep the heat and power turned on surely is failing the child.


Still an hour to go before I need to take my brother into town. Anxiety continues to mount. It manifests as a stomach ache and itchiness of my skin. I get this way with anything looming ahead of me that I can’t just ‘get over with’ ASAP. Jobs, errands, school events, social events. There is little that does not heighten my anxiety and set off panic attacks. I try to combat it with breathing exercises and the mantras learned in therapy.
Scumbag brain is non-responsive and continues to stampede and riot. I’m so rattled I forgot what it was I even needed in town that I forgot yesterday. Guess it’s not crucial or I’d remember it. That isn’t always the case, though. Depressive clouds can obscure even very important things you need to remember. Anxiety on top of that leading to sheer panic means attention to detail and memory are hindered.
And while I know I don’t have any other options than to find work…every time I fill out an application or speak to someone and tell them my disability won’t impact my ability to function in job capacity…I feel like a big lying fraud. And I really resent being placed in the position of having to become a fraud when what would do me more good than all else would be a few weeks with the bills paid to lower my stress, thus enabling me to get rejuvenating rest, and ease me into therapy and finding a new med combo because Lexapro ain’t helping at all. I’m not stable, I am not feeling well. And above all else people value honesty and yet I am forced to fake it for survival and should I have a breakdown…I will be exposed as a lying fraud who is still very much disabled and borderline mid nervous breakdown.
To value honesty so much allegedly, society really doesn’t want you to be honest if it isn’t what they want to hear and it makes you seem unstable. Fake it til you make it, like a narcissistic sociopath is not a good message and yet…it’s coming in loud and clear. Which was why I wanted work from home type employment. In my safe space, I am ten times more functional and able to cope than if I am out there out of my safe space being placed under pressure, scrutiny, and exposure to people which is one of my biggest panic triggers.
Trying my best, though. Even if it isn’t lifting my self esteem and is actually making me feel like a big phony thus the self loathing metastasizes.
Anxious Distortions…

I swear I keep hearing the text alert song on my phone. I check the screen, nothing. Yet my brain keeps making me think I am hearing it. It’s not like when a song gets stuck in your mind in a loop. This is like, literally hearing it out loud. Lots of ambient noice from lawmowers and weed whackers to strong winds, meowing kittens, windows rattling in the frames….And it still doesn’t drown out what I hear in my head and believe to be real.
It is freaking me out. I’ve never ‘heard voices’ as in non existent voices. So his audiological distortion is quite unsettling.
20 minutes til I pick my brother up, then 40 minutes to get into and get right back to safe space.
Stepmonster called me earlier to remind me about giving him a ride and commented on how tired I sound. Well, you live with bated breath 24-7, get little quality rest, and deal with your brain sending you constant wrong information and wrong signals. It is exhausting, I am tired, and what is worse is…I don’t have the option to just drop out for a day or two. Applications to fill out, resume to be submitted over and over.
I am so sick of typing my own name I could barf. My inner bitch wants to write Mickey Mouse in the name section just to break the monotany. No, I don’t need anyone to tell me not to do it because it’s silly and sarcastic. It’s just one of those odd brain quirks that at least give me a smirk.
Survived the harrowing trip to town. Gut is in a pretzel. Very uncomfortable. That and I am cold but sweaty, that is pure nerves. Today my tone deaf brother kept seranading me with Weird Al songs. Irksome but at least we have something in common to talk about. When he starts in on his misogynist rants about women being too fat or not pretty or large chested enough…That is when I really go all feminist, as well as civilized human being, and remind him he ain’t no prize to look at and treating women like maids and sex slaves is disrespectful. My dad has taught him not to care about treating women with respect, though.
And if you miss it earlier…I offer up proof that I am trying to find work, my power is about to be disconnected, and all I am asking for is some kindness and generosity. 20 people donating $5 each is a wonderful start. I just can’t see setting up a fundraiser with so little interest, even if you can only share it.