What the hell is going on...?
I don't get this, is life structured so that whatever you decide it always turns out completely the other way round?
I'd got used to the whole "When I don't want to be social everyone wants to talk to me and when I want to be social I'm a pariah" thing, it seems to be the way it works, I get confirmation on this from many sources and as I am rapidly becoming a grumpy old git (and loving it I have to say) it works out. I generally couldn't give a rat's ass if anyone wants to talk to me and thus they do. Strange old world.
However, this is just freaky. My doctor and me agreed a schedule for returning to work a couple of weeks back. 8 weeks we said, try out the new pills, see how it goes.
If (health = feeling_fine) then
goto WORK
Elseif (health = fucked_up) then
goto MORE_CHEMICALS
Else
goto WHAT_THE_FUCK_HAPPENS_NOW_THEN
End if
Yes I did used to be a programmer, can you tell? ;)
So, after months and months and months of constant battling to remain on incapacity benefit (not that I want the money, a poxy £52 a week I can live without thanks, it's staying on the system and getting my NI paid I want,) having to get signed off on a constant 4 week rotation and having to convince several GPs that there really is something SERIOUSLY wrong with me, I was looking forward to it. That's when the letter popped thru the door.
Dear Rob,
Please report for a medical examination for the social or we will take your benefits away.
Love,
The Social Services (Das SS)
P.S. We really will take your benefits off you.
--
I thought I better had go then. So I went, spent 30 minutes on the bus travelling to the next town over and then spent an hour arguing with a doctor who kept bigging up my problems and asking me if this was causing any psychological damage and I just kept replying no, I'm deaf, weak and stressed not stone-bonkers, stone-bonkers was last year, this year is accepting that God has a wicked sense of humour. All in all, the bad stuff's getting better all the time.
Luckily I can read bad handwriting upside down so I knew he was taking no notice and kept putting stuff about serious depression which, heh, not since THAT day folks kinda hard to get depressed when you have a day like THAT to remember. ("You feeling a bit down?" "Nope, I'm alive, all good thanks.") So yeah, lots of stuff about anxiety and depression which I kept denying and he kept putting down anyway.
Still I got to go to Subway and buy a foot long sub with salami and jalapeno peppers in it so not a total waste of a day. Ooooh, foot long with salami and jalapenos, why don't they deliver the bastards? I digress, I rein back in.
Guess what? A letter popped through the door today.
Dear Rob,
You've been signed off for 18 months, you will be recieving benefits for the next 18 months, we do not expect you to work. You will not need to speak to your GP again, in fact don't because we have told him what to do. He will comply, we are Borg, he has been assimilated and his individuality added to our own. His opinion is now our opinion. You are signed off. Do not reply. Do not go into your dole office. On pain of assimilation. (OK I made that last sentence up, they didn't say they'd assimilate me.)
Love,
The Social Services (Das SS)
P.S. If we catch you working we'll screw you like a cheap Albanian whore.
--
WHAT THE GIBBERING FUCK? So, when I really was way too weak to be dealing with this crap, could really have done without the added stress of wondering if I was gonna be forced to take a job I'd almost certainly lose and generally not needing the hassle, you made me fight like a Lion. Now I'm feeling better and would quite like to get off the Socialist tit, you give me the lifeline I needed 18 months ago?
What the hell is up with that? So, now I'm stuck with the quandary of should I start seeking work, safe in the knowledge I'll get screwed like a bitch if I get a job or; Should I sit on my arse claiming benefits I really don't want because at least that way I won't end up paying them back?
Madness. No wonder taxes are so high. "You want to work? Well you can't! Ha! How do you like them apples? Kinda bitter huh?"
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the good fortune-ness of this, I just think the timing is waaaaay off. Actually now I come to think about it, it's not fortune is it? I mean bad shit had to go down for this to happen and I'd much rather be on £23,000+ a year again than £52 a week. Hmmm. I'm not even sure what to think about this.
18 months... I could write a book I suppose. I could go travelling, that £52 is a lot of money in Eastern Europe...
Jesus, now I don't need the time, I have acres of it. I feel I could use some suggestions...