Who spend the day on the phone and do as their told. Earlier this week I received notification that my case with Abbott Labs (they sell (manufacture??) Humira) was reviewing my PAP (patient assistance program, not the Papanicolaou test) and they would make their decision by today, Friday. Through the PAP I essentially get free meds, since I don't make enough to pay out of pocket. I'm not sure if there is a co-pay though. I should find that would come to think of it.....
So, I called this morning at 9 am, and I was told I would have a decision by noon.
And so, I called at noon, and I was told I would have a decision by the end of the business day.
And then, I called at 4:30 and I was told to call back by 8afuckingclock and THEN I would have a decision.
I finally got my decision at like 6:45, and yes I was approved. I am getting a 3 month supply delivered to the house on Thursday. I think a three month supply is pennies away from 10k. Needless to day, I'm pretty thrilled.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Monday, October 18, 2010
Really?
I just got a 131.80 bill for health insurance. Wait, no, technically it's not a bill because I'm not even enrolled yet. So I guess I just cut this company a check just to make a decision on weather or not I'm eligible.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
And "boom" goes the dynamite
Poor Jack. This brilliant idea of his ("Lets leave the safety and support of the CG for the Great Unknown!" What the Hell kind of wife supports that crazy ass shit?) has turned into a bit of a nightmare. So! Here is a list of things that make being a civilian pretty damn awesome.
1. Sleeping in. You don't do this. But I do. It's awesome. You should try it sometime.
2. Long hair and beards. See my last post. Jack is trying to grow a foxtail beard like his Dad, Charlie. (Think Dumbledore, but with a morbid sense of humor)
3. Being able to work out/run 6 days a week. Wait, you did that when you were in the CG. Never mind.
4. Alcohol. You can now drink on a Tuesday and totally wreck your Wednesday by being a cranky hungover asshole. Again, you should try it with me sometime. It's a jovial time.
5. All the XBox you can play.
6. Two words. The mids.
I'll add to this list as I keep getting ideas. But for now, enjoy being a civilian and the fact that the only person you have to take orders from, is me.
1. Sleeping in. You don't do this. But I do. It's awesome. You should try it sometime.
2. Long hair and beards. See my last post. Jack is trying to grow a foxtail beard like his Dad, Charlie. (Think Dumbledore, but with a morbid sense of humor)
3. Being able to work out/run 6 days a week. Wait, you did that when you were in the CG. Never mind.
4. Alcohol. You can now drink on a Tuesday and totally wreck your Wednesday by being a cranky hungover asshole. Again, you should try it with me sometime. It's a jovial time.
5. All the XBox you can play.
6. Two words. The mids.
I'll add to this list as I keep getting ideas. But for now, enjoy being a civilian and the fact that the only person you have to take orders from, is me.
Friday, October 15, 2010
This is Turning into a Cruel Joke
Another set back. I'm starting to think that instead of living my normal life, some where, some how, I tripped, fell, and landed in the Twilight Zone.
I got an email today from my recruiter, Ssgt. Steve. Steve wrote to tell me that according to our friends over at MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station - where a candidate for military service goes to ensure he or she is in the best health possible to do their respective jobs) have rejected me again, this time because it's has yet to be 6 full months since I had my eye surgery back in May.
The soonest they'd see me: Nov 6th. That's five days after the next OCS board.
Un-fucking-believable.
I had PRK (think LASIK, just a slightly different procedure) down at Bethesda Medical Center last spring. Literally, two days later, I was out sight-seeing around DC. A few days after that, it was "Ops Normal" back at work with my unit in the Coast Guard. I have had nothing but exceptional results from the procedure, no set backs. I am literally the picture of perfect health. I'd understand if I had (god forbid) rods or some implant in my body someplace, but I'm really A-1, ready to go.
The following is from an email that Ssgt Steve sent me after I inquired if there was anything I could do, such as get a doctor's note from my optometrist:
I got an email today from my recruiter, Ssgt. Steve. Steve wrote to tell me that according to our friends over at MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Station - where a candidate for military service goes to ensure he or she is in the best health possible to do their respective jobs) have rejected me again, this time because it's has yet to be 6 full months since I had my eye surgery back in May.
The soonest they'd see me: Nov 6th. That's five days after the next OCS board.
Un-fucking-believable.
I had PRK (think LASIK, just a slightly different procedure) down at Bethesda Medical Center last spring. Literally, two days later, I was out sight-seeing around DC. A few days after that, it was "Ops Normal" back at work with my unit in the Coast Guard. I have had nothing but exceptional results from the procedure, no set backs. I am literally the picture of perfect health. I'd understand if I had (god forbid) rods or some implant in my body someplace, but I'm really A-1, ready to go.
The following is from an email that Ssgt Steve sent me after I inquired if there was anything I could do, such as get a doctor's note from my optometrist:
"To be blunt man, there is nothing we can do to expedite the process.
These are ignorant MEPS rules. We spent time on the phone arguing with
MEPS that you were on active duty for months after the procedure but
didn't want to hear any of it. Again, I apologize for yet another
hic-up, but I will make you an Army Office before I leave here boss!!"
These are ignorant MEPS rules. We spent time on the phone arguing with
MEPS that you were on active duty for months after the procedure but
didn't want to hear any of it. Again, I apologize for yet another
hic-up, but I will make you an Army Office before I leave here boss!!"
He's really got my back. We emailed a few more times back and forth and he says that the next OCS board date will be in the end of Nov, early Dec-time frame. But still, this is starting to become ridiculous. I mean .... what more can I do? I can only sit by and wait... keep eating noting but protein, keep doing nothing but going to class and working out.
Like Sisyphus, I can only keep pushing this rock.
Like Sisyphus, I can only keep pushing this rock.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
An Avalanche of Information
When it rains, it pours, as the old saying goes.
Where we last left off, I was still waiting on a form to come back from the Coast Guard's Washington DC headquarters to say that I was no longer "technically"a member, so that I could go forward with my Army OCS plans. This paperwork seemed to be the chicken bone caught in the throat of Mama Cass's Process.
I hadn't heard anything coming into the holiday weekend, and knowing that government employees tend to do nothing leading up to a long weekend, I decided that I had to call in a favor.
I sent a message to my old XO, a guy whom my admiration knows no heights. And I don't say that because he checks in on this blog every now and then, but for the simple fact that he's a helluva guy. He "gets it." He's extremely proficient at what he does and he can be counted on. He's never let me down, not once in three or so years I've known him.
He's a fucking rock.
In short, I humble myself and ask if he can, to paraphrase, go up this guy's ass with a flashlight and see if he can find where my paperwork went. Less than an hour later, he's telling me he's on the case.
Again, not expecting much since it's a holiday weekend. I try to put the anxious, claustrophobic feeling that my board date is slowly encroaching upon us someplace else mentally. Jill and I go get a nice hike in on Saturday, have a terrible lunch out on Sunday, buy a tv on Monday.
By Tuesday at noon, I still hadn't heard anything. I was getting antsy. I snagged lunch and kept checking the email on my phone, waiting for something, anything, resigning to the fact that it'd be another day of waiting for me.
Just as I was pulling into my local community college to go to my next class, my phone buzzed.
"Hello?" I said with some extra spit in my mouth that made me sound weird.
"Hello!" Came the excited voice of my former XO. Suddenly I was swept over with a sense of relief. Like when you're waiting for what feels like forever for someone to come and pick you up, and you see their familiar car pulling into the parking lot.
"Were you sleeping in the middle of the work day?" He asks as a joke, referencing my strangled voice. I explain that I was just wrapping up lunch. We chit-chat for a few minutes, catching up a little, since we haven't spoken in about a month. He then gets down to the meat and potatoes:
"I just called down to HQ, and I spoke with the guy handling your paperwork," he starts. "It's at it's highest level, and we're just waiting for it to come back down to this guy, so he can send it out to everyone involved. He knows who you are; he's pretty much on the ball," which was also a relief. I would've been upset if my name was brought up, and this guy doing my paperwork had no clue who I was, or needed a memory jogger.
So at least my paperwork was being processed. I gave it til the end of the week, mentally.
We said our goodbyes, and I couldn't have thanked him enough. I went to class feeling a little better. I sent Jill a text, giving her an update. She was equally pleased.
About forty minutes later, my pocket was aflutter of activity. Unfortunately, I was in class.
I can't stand the kids who have to diddle their phones in class, it's rude and disrespectful to the professor that's in front of everyone giving a lecture. If you're going to spend 75 minutes on your phone, why did you sign up for classes in the first place? So as a rule, I never play with my phone during class. I'll answer emails, texts and return phone calls in that ten minute gap of time while I'm walking from classroom to classroom.
But given the news I had already gotten, this phone call I was receiving could be very important. As my phone buzzed in my pocket, I slowly reached in and pulled it out just enough to see the screen. It was my recruiter.
Just prior to his phone call, I had received the tell-tale buzz of an email. Oh shit, the ball was rolling.
At the same time, my journalism professor, who is a great guy with over 30 years of journalism experience, was going off on some ridiculous tangent not really related to the course material. He's known for these blustery, long-winded speeches and stories about his personal experiences in the news room, or as a reporter covering a beat. At the moment, he was giving instructions on how to format a story for printing on a Windows-based word processor.
I couldn't be any less interested.
I sucked it up, slowly slipped out of the back of the room and went to my phone. I checked the email first. The Petty Officer down in DC had sent everyone on my team the completed form I needed. The vmail from my recruiter said as much. I called him back immediately.
"Jack!" He started. "Did you get my email?"
Admittedly I hadn't yet, but almost as if on queue, my phone chimed briefly in my ear; an email had arrived. He went on to explain the process from here:
With my OCS packet 100% complete, it goes back to MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Service) for another "read" where they look everything over. Sgt. Steve "guaranteed" my packet was good to go and we should hear, maybe even by the end of the week, that I can go in for a physical. Once I get that physical out of the way, I can then sit for my board on Nov 1.
When it rains, it pours.
Where we last left off, I was still waiting on a form to come back from the Coast Guard's Washington DC headquarters to say that I was no longer "technically"a member, so that I could go forward with my Army OCS plans. This paperwork seemed to be the chicken bone caught in the throat of Mama Cass's Process.
I hadn't heard anything coming into the holiday weekend, and knowing that government employees tend to do nothing leading up to a long weekend, I decided that I had to call in a favor.
I sent a message to my old XO, a guy whom my admiration knows no heights. And I don't say that because he checks in on this blog every now and then, but for the simple fact that he's a helluva guy. He "gets it." He's extremely proficient at what he does and he can be counted on. He's never let me down, not once in three or so years I've known him.
He's a fucking rock.
In short, I humble myself and ask if he can, to paraphrase, go up this guy's ass with a flashlight and see if he can find where my paperwork went. Less than an hour later, he's telling me he's on the case.
Again, not expecting much since it's a holiday weekend. I try to put the anxious, claustrophobic feeling that my board date is slowly encroaching upon us someplace else mentally. Jill and I go get a nice hike in on Saturday, have a terrible lunch out on Sunday, buy a tv on Monday.
By Tuesday at noon, I still hadn't heard anything. I was getting antsy. I snagged lunch and kept checking the email on my phone, waiting for something, anything, resigning to the fact that it'd be another day of waiting for me.
Just as I was pulling into my local community college to go to my next class, my phone buzzed.
"Hello?" I said with some extra spit in my mouth that made me sound weird.
"Hello!" Came the excited voice of my former XO. Suddenly I was swept over with a sense of relief. Like when you're waiting for what feels like forever for someone to come and pick you up, and you see their familiar car pulling into the parking lot.
"Were you sleeping in the middle of the work day?" He asks as a joke, referencing my strangled voice. I explain that I was just wrapping up lunch. We chit-chat for a few minutes, catching up a little, since we haven't spoken in about a month. He then gets down to the meat and potatoes:
"I just called down to HQ, and I spoke with the guy handling your paperwork," he starts. "It's at it's highest level, and we're just waiting for it to come back down to this guy, so he can send it out to everyone involved. He knows who you are; he's pretty much on the ball," which was also a relief. I would've been upset if my name was brought up, and this guy doing my paperwork had no clue who I was, or needed a memory jogger.
So at least my paperwork was being processed. I gave it til the end of the week, mentally.
We said our goodbyes, and I couldn't have thanked him enough. I went to class feeling a little better. I sent Jill a text, giving her an update. She was equally pleased.
About forty minutes later, my pocket was aflutter of activity. Unfortunately, I was in class.
I can't stand the kids who have to diddle their phones in class, it's rude and disrespectful to the professor that's in front of everyone giving a lecture. If you're going to spend 75 minutes on your phone, why did you sign up for classes in the first place? So as a rule, I never play with my phone during class. I'll answer emails, texts and return phone calls in that ten minute gap of time while I'm walking from classroom to classroom.
But given the news I had already gotten, this phone call I was receiving could be very important. As my phone buzzed in my pocket, I slowly reached in and pulled it out just enough to see the screen. It was my recruiter.
Just prior to his phone call, I had received the tell-tale buzz of an email. Oh shit, the ball was rolling.
At the same time, my journalism professor, who is a great guy with over 30 years of journalism experience, was going off on some ridiculous tangent not really related to the course material. He's known for these blustery, long-winded speeches and stories about his personal experiences in the news room, or as a reporter covering a beat. At the moment, he was giving instructions on how to format a story for printing on a Windows-based word processor.
I couldn't be any less interested.
I sucked it up, slowly slipped out of the back of the room and went to my phone. I checked the email first. The Petty Officer down in DC had sent everyone on my team the completed form I needed. The vmail from my recruiter said as much. I called him back immediately.
"Jack!" He started. "Did you get my email?"
Admittedly I hadn't yet, but almost as if on queue, my phone chimed briefly in my ear; an email had arrived. He went on to explain the process from here:
With my OCS packet 100% complete, it goes back to MEPS (Military Entrance Processing Service) for another "read" where they look everything over. Sgt. Steve "guaranteed" my packet was good to go and we should hear, maybe even by the end of the week, that I can go in for a physical. Once I get that physical out of the way, I can then sit for my board on Nov 1.
When it rains, it pours.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Friday, October 8, 2010
I hear "Dog Days" at least twice a day on both my commutes to and from work and while at work. Very much over the song, but I like her voice, and style. And her hair makes me less conscious about my crazy mop of curls. I need an iTunes gift card....
No interesting news in our world. Hope ya'll are well. My dog needs a freaking bath.
No interesting news in our world. Hope ya'll are well. My dog needs a freaking bath.
All I Wanted was Some Cream of Wheat
In an effort to not make this blog so damn depressing with my whining that things aren't moving fast enough (or so I've been told) maybe this little anecdote will lighten the mood:
Last week, maybe it was a Wednesday, Jill and I were at the local supermarket doing our bi-weekly shopping.
I tend to do this shopping on my own, as a rule. I know where just about everything we need is, and like some sort of surgical special ops team, I'm in, out, mission complete in usually under an hour. But with Jill in tow, things were going to move slightly slower.
Every aisle I went down, Jill would be dawdling behind me, diddling her phone. At one point I lost her completely.
It was then, in the cereal aisle, that I came across this little immigrant woman, no taller than maybe the desk I'm writing on, staring intently at all the choices of hot cereal the store had to offer.
She would pick up a box, examine it through her large, bug-like eyeglasses, then decide it wasn't the right one, and set it back on the shelf. She did this for maybe five evolutions, picking up different styles and brands of hot cereal and oatmeal, not settling on one in particular.
She was also standing with her cart directly blocking the display of Cream of Wheat.
So there I stood, behind her, but not so behind her that I was in her blind spot, leaning on my shopping cart, trying to be patient. Not another soul around for aisles.
In most situations like these, I'd have no problem being like "excuse me, Ms. I'm going to just reach around here and ..... yeeeah, thanks...." and walk away undeterred.
But based off of smell alone, this woman struck me as maybe being a gypsy. And we all know gypsies can cast curses. No thank you.
By now, Jill's finally caught up to me. She looks at me, then at the tiny maybe-gypsy-woman and back to me.
"What's going on?" She asks loud enough for it to be heard conversationally.
"I'm just looking for the Cream of Wheat" I tell her in a way to indicate that I'm more or less waiting for this woman to move out of the way. In any normal situation, the woman would realize she was blocking the product I was waiting for, turn and smile, and gently push her cart out of the way.
This gypsy simply turned and smiled. So Jill and I both stood and waited.
After about another minute goes by and I'm just of the mind set to be like "fuck it, I don't need Cream of Wheat this badly," and I start to push my cart away. The gypsy speaks.
"I'm looking vor this particular brand of oatmeal..." she says with a heavy former Eastern Bloc accent that I put somewhere between Croatian and Belorussian. Something made me stop dead in my tracks and stand for a second. I don't know if it was her voice or what, but I was frozen in place.
Bluddy gypsy curse....
"It vas veddy good..." she says in a comically evil sorta way, "but I cannot vind it, again," she pulls down a small box of some all-organic product. "I think this vas the fun..." she trails off. Her ancient gnarled fingers wrapped around the box, holding it up for my inspection.
At the same time I could see Old Mr. Shaw... the name I have always associated with the friendly faced black guy on the box of Cream of Wheat, smiling up at me. "C'mon Missa Jack, bring good ol' Missa Shaw homeswitcha!" He said in a probably racist voice in my head. But this other foreign product was being pushed into my hands by the same witch that likely poisoned Snow White.
....And if memory serves me correctly, wasn't that witch Snow White's mom? ....That's fucked up.
Anyway, as if in a trance, I hear myself saying "sure, I'll try this out," and taking the box from her. I turn, walking out of the aisle, pushing my cart ahead of me. I'm 100% aware of the weird look I'm getting from Jill, when I freeze in my tracks again.
"Vait, sir... sir" the gypsy calls me from the opposite end of a deep well. "That is not the right fun...." I turn on my heals and walk back to her and exchange boxes. Now I'm walking away with a different box of hot cereal that I don't want.
A few days later I finally try the stuff out. It's horrible. The brand is called "Raw" and it tastes as if the Cinnamon Fairy just took a hatred-filled vengeful dump in your mouth while you're sleeping off a bad drunk. I only had two spoonfuls of the stuff; the first was to try it, and I retched. The second, was to make sure the first spoonful was truly as bad as I thought. It was.
Last week, maybe it was a Wednesday, Jill and I were at the local supermarket doing our bi-weekly shopping.
I tend to do this shopping on my own, as a rule. I know where just about everything we need is, and like some sort of surgical special ops team, I'm in, out, mission complete in usually under an hour. But with Jill in tow, things were going to move slightly slower.
Every aisle I went down, Jill would be dawdling behind me, diddling her phone. At one point I lost her completely.
It was then, in the cereal aisle, that I came across this little immigrant woman, no taller than maybe the desk I'm writing on, staring intently at all the choices of hot cereal the store had to offer.
She would pick up a box, examine it through her large, bug-like eyeglasses, then decide it wasn't the right one, and set it back on the shelf. She did this for maybe five evolutions, picking up different styles and brands of hot cereal and oatmeal, not settling on one in particular.
She was also standing with her cart directly blocking the display of Cream of Wheat.
So there I stood, behind her, but not so behind her that I was in her blind spot, leaning on my shopping cart, trying to be patient. Not another soul around for aisles.
In most situations like these, I'd have no problem being like "excuse me, Ms. I'm going to just reach around here and ..... yeeeah, thanks...." and walk away undeterred.
But based off of smell alone, this woman struck me as maybe being a gypsy. And we all know gypsies can cast curses. No thank you.
By now, Jill's finally caught up to me. She looks at me, then at the tiny maybe-gypsy-woman and back to me.
"What's going on?" She asks loud enough for it to be heard conversationally.
"I'm just looking for the Cream of Wheat" I tell her in a way to indicate that I'm more or less waiting for this woman to move out of the way. In any normal situation, the woman would realize she was blocking the product I was waiting for, turn and smile, and gently push her cart out of the way.
This gypsy simply turned and smiled. So Jill and I both stood and waited.
After about another minute goes by and I'm just of the mind set to be like "fuck it, I don't need Cream of Wheat this badly," and I start to push my cart away. The gypsy speaks.
"I'm looking vor this particular brand of oatmeal..." she says with a heavy former Eastern Bloc accent that I put somewhere between Croatian and Belorussian. Something made me stop dead in my tracks and stand for a second. I don't know if it was her voice or what, but I was frozen in place.
Bluddy gypsy curse....
"It vas veddy good..." she says in a comically evil sorta way, "but I cannot vind it, again," she pulls down a small box of some all-organic product. "I think this vas the fun..." she trails off. Her ancient gnarled fingers wrapped around the box, holding it up for my inspection.
At the same time I could see Old Mr. Shaw... the name I have always associated with the friendly faced black guy on the box of Cream of Wheat, smiling up at me. "C'mon Missa Jack, bring good ol' Missa Shaw homeswitcha!" He said in a probably racist voice in my head. But this other foreign product was being pushed into my hands by the same witch that likely poisoned Snow White.
....And if memory serves me correctly, wasn't that witch Snow White's mom? ....That's fucked up.
Anyway, as if in a trance, I hear myself saying "sure, I'll try this out," and taking the box from her. I turn, walking out of the aisle, pushing my cart ahead of me. I'm 100% aware of the weird look I'm getting from Jill, when I freeze in my tracks again.
"Vait, sir... sir" the gypsy calls me from the opposite end of a deep well. "That is not the right fun...." I turn on my heals and walk back to her and exchange boxes. Now I'm walking away with a different box of hot cereal that I don't want.
A few days later I finally try the stuff out. It's horrible. The brand is called "Raw" and it tastes as if the Cinnamon Fairy just took a hatred-filled vengeful dump in your mouth while you're sleeping off a bad drunk. I only had two spoonfuls of the stuff; the first was to try it, and I retched. The second, was to make sure the first spoonful was truly as bad as I thought. It was.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
The Email Game
So I get this email yesterday:
"Hi SN Jack, this is PO So-and-S0, and if you could, please send me a copy of your filled out paperwork, I'll be happy to process your separation from the Inactive Ready Reserve as soon as possible!"
At the time I was at REI, about as far away as possible from my computer but I was overjoyed as it seemed I had found a competent person to FINALLY handle this annoying bit of after-thought paperwork for me.
But then it struck me: this wasn't the same petty officer I had originally sent the form to in the first place.
What the hell?
Then I recalled that I had left about a dozen voicemails to ambiguous-at-best mailboxes, pleading my case to automatons that may or may not serve the desired person. This guy, days way after the fact (long enough at least for me to forget about it, sorta) WAS JUST getting back to me now.
I cursed under my breath.
Standing in the middle of a parking lot, with a new pair of running shoes in my hand, I started thumbing through my phone looking for the original email I had sent off to the OTHER guy who said he'd be handling my case. I final find it, after going back a week, and send off a quick email from the phone:
"PO So-and-So, I believe I sent that completed documentation to PO What's-His-Name, please check with him that he still has it, if not, I'll be happy to send you the documentation as soon as I get home,"
About twenty minutes later I get a little chirp from my phone, a new email has arrived. I check and see that this second petty officer has now CCd me in a forward of the same message I just sent him, re: the ORIGINAL petty officer.
If this is confusing you, welcome to my world.
I take it that instead of just typing out a new, two line email, this second petty officer simply forwarded our conversation to the original petty officer to see what he had to say on the subject. Given that it seems to take these guys a week to check their fucking email, as soon as I got home, I send out another email.
"PO So-and-So,
In the spirit of expediency, here's the requested documentation, along with my USAREC recruiter's email [he was CCd as well] if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact us,"
In the end, what we have here is overlapping paperwork and two petty officers who may or may not be working on the same thing and not even know it. I have this dense, lead-like feeling in the pit of my stomach that these two have no idea what's going on and will likely delay things further.
It's a classic case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing, almost. In my mind's eye I can see these two actually sharing office space, hating each others guts, and some sort of personal feud causing my paperwork to get stuffed behind a copier due to lack of communication.
I give it til Thursday before I start making calls.
"Hi SN Jack, this is PO So-and-S0, and if you could, please send me a copy of your filled out paperwork, I'll be happy to process your separation from the Inactive Ready Reserve as soon as possible!"
At the time I was at REI, about as far away as possible from my computer but I was overjoyed as it seemed I had found a competent person to FINALLY handle this annoying bit of after-thought paperwork for me.
But then it struck me: this wasn't the same petty officer I had originally sent the form to in the first place.
What the hell?
Then I recalled that I had left about a dozen voicemails to ambiguous-at-best mailboxes, pleading my case to automatons that may or may not serve the desired person. This guy, days way after the fact (long enough at least for me to forget about it, sorta) WAS JUST getting back to me now.
I cursed under my breath.
Standing in the middle of a parking lot, with a new pair of running shoes in my hand, I started thumbing through my phone looking for the original email I had sent off to the OTHER guy who said he'd be handling my case. I final find it, after going back a week, and send off a quick email from the phone:
"PO So-and-So, I believe I sent that completed documentation to PO What's-His-Name, please check with him that he still has it, if not, I'll be happy to send you the documentation as soon as I get home,"
About twenty minutes later I get a little chirp from my phone, a new email has arrived. I check and see that this second petty officer has now CCd me in a forward of the same message I just sent him, re: the ORIGINAL petty officer.
If this is confusing you, welcome to my world.
I take it that instead of just typing out a new, two line email, this second petty officer simply forwarded our conversation to the original petty officer to see what he had to say on the subject. Given that it seems to take these guys a week to check their fucking email, as soon as I got home, I send out another email.
"PO So-and-So,
In the spirit of expediency, here's the requested documentation, along with my USAREC recruiter's email [he was CCd as well] if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to contact us,"
In the end, what we have here is overlapping paperwork and two petty officers who may or may not be working on the same thing and not even know it. I have this dense, lead-like feeling in the pit of my stomach that these two have no idea what's going on and will likely delay things further.
It's a classic case of the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing, almost. In my mind's eye I can see these two actually sharing office space, hating each others guts, and some sort of personal feud causing my paperwork to get stuffed behind a copier due to lack of communication.
I give it til Thursday before I start making calls.
Monday, October 4, 2010
"No News" Does Not Always Equate to "Good News"
Last we left off, I was still in a holding pattern with some paperwork down at HQ in Washington DC.
I'm not very pleased to say we're still in that piss-ition.
I can't be antsy, because it's only Monday, and who knows what's gone on between... what was it, last Monday or Wednesday and now. "Two to Three" days to get some paperwork done usually translates into a week, if not more. I have to be patient.
But at the same time I can't help feeling that I'm being overlooked by some pencil pusher who couldn't care less about what happens in my universe. I'm constantly battling the temptation to send off emails or make phone calls in order to get an answer from someone, anyone.
I'm thankful that I have an amazing support network. Old CG COs and XPOs, family and friends who have an understanding of what's going on and want nothing but the best for Jill and I. I know for a solemn fact that I wouldn't be where I am now without these people, .... so if you're reading this, thank you. This has been a TEAM EFFORT all the way through.
So yes, back to the waiting game, biding my time while it seems to be slipping away.
I'm not very pleased to say we're still in that piss-ition.
I can't be antsy, because it's only Monday, and who knows what's gone on between... what was it, last Monday or Wednesday and now. "Two to Three" days to get some paperwork done usually translates into a week, if not more. I have to be patient.
But at the same time I can't help feeling that I'm being overlooked by some pencil pusher who couldn't care less about what happens in my universe. I'm constantly battling the temptation to send off emails or make phone calls in order to get an answer from someone, anyone.
I'm thankful that I have an amazing support network. Old CG COs and XPOs, family and friends who have an understanding of what's going on and want nothing but the best for Jill and I. I know for a solemn fact that I wouldn't be where I am now without these people, .... so if you're reading this, thank you. This has been a TEAM EFFORT all the way through.
So yes, back to the waiting game, biding my time while it seems to be slipping away.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Desiderata
Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
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