Bad Day.

The following was said to me last night in utter sincerity:

“Good luck with your rectal bleeding and impending homelessness.” No kidding. I have some bizarre friends.

I’m trying to keep things in perspective here. There are no wars or civil conflict anywhere near me. None of my friends or family are dead, and everyone has enough to eat. I have not been institutionalized in any way, and still retain considerable freedom. My temp job should last through the end the month… That one was less encouraging, and I think I’ll stop now. My point is, this was not the worst day anyone has ever had. But it was, in point of fact, a Bad. Fucking. Day.

While my employers still refuse to take me on permanently, they have decided to extend my temp position for another month (which they previously told me would be impossible). I’m grateful to be getting a paycheck, to be sure, but at this point it’s really starting to look like they’re doing their best to add another full-time worker without having to give me benefits or pay me based on my production (as opposed to the cheaper hourly rate). I’m glad I have a job, but I’m annoyed that they’re playing these games. And I’m pissed that I can’t find anything better (our local unemployment rate is 4.9%).

Still, I try to focus on the positive: I’ll have a job I can count on throughout the move. Yes, we are moving to a new apartment, largely because our management has gone from taking several weeks to get any maintenance done to simply not doing it. Our toilet has been broken for a month now. We’ve given up complaining. Besides, we’ll be in a new place by the end of the month, right? Right??? *looks desperate*

Our shiny, splendid new apartment will not be available on the 30th as we had been promised. Nor will it be available on the 31st. “But don’t you have to be out of your current place by the 31st?” you might ask. And you’d be right. So will we get in on the 1st, just keep the U-Haul overnight and stay on a friend’s couch? Not likely. The management will already be on vacation for Labor Day. And they won’t be back until the 5th. They told me things like “city zoning permit” and “just some red tape” but all I heard was “Oh, shit!” So while they’re having their barbecues and camping trips, I’ll be… What? In a cheap motel for five days? And where the hell is my stuff supposed go? And when I do get to have my new apartment, how am I going to get moved in when I can only take off work for the 31st? … Learn the answers to these questions and more as we watch the weekend addition of My Life, wherein I get my ass thoroughly kicked by Real Life, and discover I’m an utter failure at Adulthood.

Do I get to cry yet? No, I do not. I’m going to be responsible, damnit, I’m determined to keep my head up and get through this. So I spend my evening running all over town trying to get the real story on what’s with the new apartment (no solid info from anyone, just “we’ll call you when it’s ready”) pick up some dry cleaning, buy gas (finally some good news, less than $3/gal), go to the U-Haul store (which was, by then, closed for the day) and finally come home frustrated, exhausted and ravenous at 7pm. Cry yet? Or even dinner? Nope. It’s packing time! So after a quick bathroom break…

What the fuck?

There is no reason a person should find that much blood in the toilet. Ever. I’m pretty sure gutting a small rodent would not produce that much blood. And no, it’s not the right time of the month for that, and nothing is actually hurting, just… Wow. That’s a lot of blood. And isn’t that a sign of internal bleeding? But I feel fine. I mean, aside from wanting to crawl under the bed and never come back out, I feel OK. Should I worry now? Should I wait to see if it happens again? And if it does, what then? As previously mentioned, I have no benefits; no health insurance, no sick time, nothing. Believe me when I say I cannot afford to go the doctor. But it seems somehow foolish to ignore rectal bleeding. I mean, this can’t possibly be healthy. I took it as an excuse to stop packing and just go to bed early.

As of today, I haven’t had a similar problem, and I’m taking that as a good sign. Maybe it was a fluke. (And now I have the terribly disturbing image of fish in my digestive track.) Regardless, I choose to feel worried. Much like the apartment, nothing to do but wait and see.