Lest my last post had you thinking I’m sitting around on my tuchus (that’s gluteus maximus to you) all day, I’ll have you know I have medical appointments two days this week, a visit to the pharmacy but not to buy dental floss (although I am still flossing nightly, as J. can attest), and one scheduled client.
Because I cannot levitate, I have not able to attend yoga of late. Two bruised knees and one bruised hand make me cringe at even the thought of cat and cow. Boy, I miss it terribly, but I seem to be finding things to do.
Already today I have emptied the dishwasher, walked the dog, and made myself breakfast. In that time, you’ve probably done a lot more. Oh well, I probably couldn’t keep up with you even before I got sick.
I also have to hit the library today because I will have a long wait at Dr. Eye Surgeon’s office later and I have nothing to read. I have assured myself I will not get cranky at the long wait. Because the doctor has scheduled me through my afternoon nap, and I do not trust I will feel safe to drive home, I will be
sleeping on taking the bus both ways.
I’m not really fine with having to monitor my fitness for driving at my tender age, by the way. Still, it doesn’t sit right with me to put others at risk just because I’m not alert enough to operate a 2,500 lb. moving metal object. Plus, remember my insurance rates?
As if that weren’t enough, earlier today I spoke with the Canadian government, issuers of my small disability pension, to tell the office that, although I am childless now at work, I am indeed seeing the occasional adult. I recently reached my annual maximum allowable earnings, which prompted the call. How many hours had I worked? A total of 33, or approximately one hour per week.
I spoke with Nina, a lovely woman who, despite being bound by government regulations, was kind and reasonable on the phone. I stressed how little I’ve actually worked and that my business has been operating at a loss since I was diagnosed with leukemia. Yes, it’s true, I’ve been subsidizing my clients because I am not yet ready to stop being a psychologist.
I was ready with a much longer list of justifications–I’m not getting any healthier, I’ve had 5 ER visits and 2 hospital admissions over the past year, I still have cancer, I went to school for many years to earn this wage, blah blah blah–but I armed myself needlessly. From Nina, I learned that working one hour per week does not constitute being regularly and gainfully employed, and that I may continue to work at this pace without penalty. I am to call once a year when I reach my maximum and, unless I start working significantly more, my pension will remain unchanged.
Thanks to you, Nina, I can afford to take the bus both to and from the doctor now, and, even better, I won’t have to ask J. to increase my allowance. Regrets to my Canadian readers, however, since you will be continuing to support me through the burden of your annual taxes. I don’t blame you for resenting me, but I’m not apologizing since I don’t do that anymore.