Open Thread: Mid-Month Check In, May 2018

(by chris the cynic)

What have you been doing of late?  How are you?  Are you still alive?  So forth.

[As a reminder, open thread prompts are meant to inspire conversation, not stifle it. Have no fear of going off topic for there is no off topic here.]

One thought on “Open Thread: Mid-Month Check In, May 2018

  1. christhecynic May 17, 2018 at 12:12 pm

    I really hope someone has some good news, because I definitely don’t.

    On the plus side, I am alive.

    [money stuff, eating stuff]

    For something like a month and a half my depression was flaring up enough to prevent me from doing the phone interview part of my annual food stamps reviews. The phone interview revealed that additional paperwork would be needed, and while I’ve filled it out (to the best of my ability) it would seem it hasn’t gone through yet.

    That means that this is my second month without food money, which means that I’ve had to spend money money, and while that’s partially offset by the depression flare up meaning I wasn’t eating enough, it’s severely compounded by needing to pay a ton to get what was needed (fully prepared and and ready to eat food delivered to my door) to get out of the low-calorie funk that was preventing me from getting food or making existing food into something that was ready to be eaten.

    Right now I don’t have food money, don’t have much food, and don’t have enough money-money pay my bills through the end of the month.

    So . . . that’s fun.

    [loss of “home” (not housing), feelings of utter helplessness, deep sadness, stuff like that]

    Yesterday I got emotionally ruined by news about what’s going to happen to my grandparents’ farm. I grew up there as much as I grew up here (it’s in the next town over and a very short drive) and while this house is home to me, that land is home to me.

    Not precisely just the land. There’s also the greenhouse, and the trees, and the tractors (which is kind of weird, I guess, but just think of them as non-sentient donkeys that I grew up with) and . . . everything.

    I was supposed to spend summer of last year fixing up the greenhouse so we could be growing flowers (and tomatoes) in it again. It doesn’t need any major repairs (the underlying structure is completely sound) but it needs so very many minor repairs that people who see it tend to have difficulty believing that. If I hadn’t broken my ankle in three places, before the fucking winter even ended, last year, it could have been fully functional this year.

    (It also could not have, because depression and ADD, but off the clock physical work is actually one of the things I’ve always been best at accomplishing.)

    It will never be functional. It won’t even continue to exist.

    Without getting into the novel length rant that I keep on writing the first chapter of, here’s the deal:

    When farms die in that town they tend to be bulldozed and replaced with housing. A bunch of houses per farm. That means that the value of the land any given farm sits on is a metric fuckton more than anyone like my family could ever actually pay. My aunt, who inherited half the farm, has always wanted as much money as she could squeeze out of it.

    We never had a hope of raising the half a metric fuckton needed to buy out my aunt, so the both we could (reasonably) hope for was to find a buyer for most of the land who didn’t want to break out the bulldozers, and then use our half of the take to pay what was necessary to have full ownership of the much smaller portion of the land that remained.

    A week ago, after a decade of bullshit and backstabbing and heartache, that was on track to happen.

    No one told me it had changed. Yesterday I found out that it wasn’t true (and everyone else had probably known it wasn’t true within 24 hours of me being told it was.)

    The “we like nature more than new neighbors” organization that’s buying gambled that my mother had been worn down to the point that they could back out of the provision that allowed us to keep some of the land (technically to buy it back from them after they bought the whole farm) and she’d still make the sale just to get the whole ordeal over with.

    They were right. My family keeps nothing.

    The greenhouse, the house, and any things at the farm we can’t relocate in the next two months or so (I don’t have space for a tractor, and without any farmland left in the family they don’t actually serve a purpose) will all be toast.

    It’s home. So many of my hopes and dreams, ambitions and plans, ideas and stuff, were all tied up in it. And soon it won’t be ours anymore, and at some point after that much of what defined it will be kaput.

    It feels like a part of me has been ripped out and fucking hurts.

    And here’s a huge part of the feelings of helplessness:

    I’m in trouble this month because of not having enough money. A thousand dollars would be more than enough to change that into “Financially, I’m doing fine this month.”

    Know what it would cost to even have a chance of saving any part of the farm? A million fucking dollars. Because I’d have to outbid someone for the whole farm, which itself is being priced as if it’s not a farm but multiple desirable lots for upper middle class families to make their homes in/on.

    I feel so god damned small and useless.

    Plus, even if I won the lottery (which would take a miracle seeing as how I don’t play) and could outbid them, for all I know the sale is already final-final instead of “essentially final”. Because everyone leaves me out of the fucking loop.

    I begged my mother and my sister (individually) to keep me informed of what was going on. Each of them promised me they would. Not that they’d tell me if the other forgot to, that they’d tell me everything regardless of whether or not they thought the other already had.

    Neither of them bothered to tell me anything. I only found out that everything had changed because one of them (my sister) made an offhand comment that didn’t make sense given what I had been told most recently.

    I’m powerless, and being kept in the dark, and hurting, and stuff.

    I feel like I want to spend the rest of my life crying.

    And then I feel guilty for feeling that way because other people have problems that involve people rather than things.

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