The $8K mistake…

Long story short: I somehow managed (according to the bank) to pay the full balance on our credit card bill rather than the piddly amount due…and we’re overdrawn by THOUSANDS of dollars.  It’ll get fixed, they tell me, by Tuesday…I am calling back on Monday and talking to a supervisor.  Hint: “Have a WONDERFUL weekend” is not the way to end a call where the customer is telling you they have no money and this has to be a major mistake on someone’s part…  Never fear, I was polite against every instinct in my body, and if the mistake was indeed mine (which I don’t discount because, well, I’m HUMAN) I am willing to own up to it, but I have realized that there is a huge disconnect between the canned script that customer service reps work from and what you’re telling them.

So…other than the profound humiliation of this financial catastrophe, we’re fine.  The only thing this prevented us from doing was spending $23.16.  That was the extent of our plans for the weekend.  The acid reflux, anxiety and strong desire to cry were a bonus…but we rode it out.

J picked up on the stress, but handled it with a great deal of dignity.  He held my hand, poor baby, as we drove home from our errand, and then did the “sooo sooo sooo” sounds that I usually apply when calming him down.

Yesterday we quietly marked the second anniversary of Risperdal in our lives.  It wasn’t a celebration.  It wasn’t even an observance of the date.  It was an awareness of it, and a realization that -indeed- we went through a terribly bad time that has never quite repeated itself.  We are thankful for this and for there never being a need to increase the dose.  We look ahead, to June, so that maybe we can work backwards and, two years from now, we quietly observe the absence of medication in our lives.  A girl can dream, right?

So, that’s been Saturday.  My husband, who works so hard all week, has managed to be supportive under circumstances when (had the tables been turned and the mistake come from his hands) I would have probably equipped myself with a brown paper bag, a bottle of vodka and a bullhorn to yell my discontent to the world.  I got a hug, a “after thirteen years together, my general clumsiness has rubbed off on you, my love…,” a smile and a quiet, rainy afternoon of laying in bed while he invaded some area of World War II Europe and I read The Last Dickens, and we alternately dozed off.

There’s a saying my aunts used: contigo pan y cebolla.  That is the spirit of marriage, they’d tell me.  With you bread and onions.  Today the onions seemed abundant, but we decided -for the sake of our home’s delicate balance and peace- to just classify the disaster as a minor one (as my husband said: the gas tank is full, we have plenty of food and we are HOME, and not traveling) and move forward towards Tuesday morning.  Yes, this thing will not be fully resolved until TUESDAY…we have plenty of change in a tin can we keep in the dining room and some money in my husband’s wallet, but we are poor as dirt until Tuesday morning.

J, taking advantage of the stormy weather, has been in his room listening to music and giggling.  TGG, thank goodness, took the financial SNAFU philosophically and maintained the even keel we’ve been working on all day.  I have not been glared at once all day…

I’ve been hugged, kissed, soooo soooo soooo-ed; my hand has been held and I’ve been encouraged and soothed…

Two years and a day of J’s med and we’ve come a long, long way.  Had this happened on the week when all hell seemed to have broken loose in our household, I don’t know how graciously we would have taken it.  I don’t know if we’d been able to allow cooler heads to prevail.  Things happen when they have to happen.  Maybe this is the Universe’s way of saying “you’re going to screw up just so you can see how well you can handle adversity NOW as opposed to THEN.”

I wish the Universe had made sure it wasn’t thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars…

Oh, well…if you get onions, make French onion soup…a crust of bread will turn up somewhere…

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