Nothing Nice to Say

It is the middle of the first month of 2015.  I have nothing nice to say. I need to pull out my beloved copy of “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day” and read it until today is over.  Like most of my depressed days, I know tomorrow will be a new day, a new clean slate, another do-over.  But I’m sad until then.

I thought I’d bite the bullet and call around about mom’s life insurance.  I’ve not done much regarding the estate and executorness stuff, but I know I have to. I was able to justify not doing anything because I didn’t have the death certificates yet.  But I got them last week.  So, this week I started off going to Probate Court.

Wait….let me back up a little bit and give you some internal history about Mojo.  My #1 HATE thing (besides cancer) is feeling helpless.  I don’t have to be in control, but I HATE feeling helpless.  Even when my mom died and I was holding her hand, I wasn’t helpless – I was there and we were together.  Death was inevitable. So, I’m reasonable in my expectations.  My nightmares (and I have had several since her death) always revolves around the feelings of being helpless.  But when I’m thrown into a situation that I’m in charge of and I don’t know what to do, the helplessness seems overwhelming.  I don’t know why sometimes I feel adventurous and excited about an new learning opportunity and sometimes I feel helpless.  Maybe it revolves around the circumstances that get me into the situation.  Right now, I feel helpless.

So, I went to probate court, as I was directed.  After a brief scare of not being able to find the will (heart stopper), I located it (filed where I would’ve put it to be safe but then couldn’t find it) and was on my way with a couple extra copies of the death certificate.  Of course it’s not that easy. I have to have a Petition.  What? Oh, get it off the website? And how was I supposed to know that? I was lucky enough to know I was supposed to go to Probate Court. I didn’t bother to mention that both my laptops are dead, PJ has appropriated mom’s (which is so eaten up with viruses it is ineffective anyway) and my printer needs ink. I know the answers to that whine because they all went through my head:  Go to the library, check out the lobby, blah, blah, blah….. I don’t wanna!!! So, I just sat there as tears leaked out of my face.  The lady was very nice and printed out what I needed, handing over her box of tissues at the same time.

Please understand, nails on a chalkboard would be better for my soul than doing this stuff.  I don’t know why. It is an effort of shit I. DON’T. WANT. TO. DO!  I don’t want to do this. And until it is settled, you dear reader will either stop following me or get nauseated about how much I whine about having to do this.  I don’t like work. I don’t like effort.  I don’t like anything that is not fun, happy, and laugh inducing.

So, today I decide to bite the bullet and look into the life insurance information I have.  Mom was so organized, finding stuff is sometimes difficult.  But she had a whole file on Life Insurance.  Finding and calling the companies in the file was much easier in theory than practice.  One policy was written in 1973.  After hunting down contact information online, I called them.  Only to be told the policy was terminated in 2000.  Who the fuck has a life insurance policy for 27 years only to terminate it when she was making the best money of her life? And why isn’t there any termination information in the file? Another policy was terminated just a few years ago.  How do I know they are telling me the truth? How do I find out about all those free little ones banks and clubs give you?

Then I though I’d look at the stuff I got from Probate Court.  That makes me think of the death certificates – I ordered 25.  I am so organized thatI know I have them.  Somewhere. Safe.

Not being able to find them, I decided to pick up my new MacAir that I paid way too much money for and didn’t even get excited about and submit this blog entry.  Otherwise I’d have to be violent and I really can’t afford any repairs or more work.


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