Hi Darling Ones,

I recently read Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto by Tricia Hersey, a book I liked a lot more in theory than in practice. Hersey’s ideas around how capitalism and white supremacy exploits us and grind culture literally grinds us down are excellent. The writing, not so much. The book was really repetitive and disjointed, but the ideas are so good I ended up enjoying it.

Perhaps the reason I enjoyed it so much is that it reinforced some of the things I’ve been doing in my life for years. Making it a goal to be as unbusy possible. Not just in work, but in life.nI’m an introvert that needs a lot of alone time to think and decompress. My social battery drains fast and takes a long time to recharge.

Even before COVID hit I set some boundaries on my time, I started to refuse traveling to meetings more than 15 minutes away. It just wasn’t worth it to drive 25 minutes to Minneapolis, meet for an hour, and then spend an 70+ minutes in rush hour traffic to get home. That one hour meeting would eat up most of my day when you factored in getting ready time and decompressing. No thanks.

Then when COVID hit, I stopped taking meetings before 11 a.m. I am not a morning person, and people can like it or limp it. Since the stroke this has become vital to my well-being. Mornings are really, really hard. Waking up is difficult and I’m exhausted most of the time.

I recently found out I have “moderate to severe sleep apnea.” I’m getting fitted for a CPAP on Monday. I’m super hopeful this will make getting out of bed before 11 or noon easier. I long to feel well-rested and not like I’m forcibly dragging myself through each day.

Sorry, got a little off track there.

What I enjoyed the most about Hersey’s book is that it’s really gotten me to think about divorcing my self-worth from capitalism.

This is going to a be toughie for many reasons.

First, as a single, never-married, childless woman what am I if not my work?
Second, as a fat person how can I show the world I’m not lazy if I’m not successful in my career?
Third, if I’m not using my time earning money how will I afford to live?

Uffda!

Right now I spend my time when I would’ve been working worrying about money. It’s like my part-time job that pays nothing. I’m still working to get on the dole (Social Security Disability), but I’m not there yet, and it’s no guarantee.

Yesterday my mom had to help me fill out 14 page of paperwork explaining my day-to-day life. It was so depressing. One of the questions was “what is your average day like from the time you get out of bed until you go to sleep at night.”

Without a lot of work my life sounds to empty. Having to say it out loud while my mom wrote it down was frustrating. Having to name all things I cannot do — stand for more than 90 seconds, walk unassisted, walk and carry something, my own laundry — was humiliating. But I did it.

What I didn’t do, because Social Security didn’t ask, is imagine what my life might be like if I wasn’t constantly worrying about money. I imagine it will be filled with guilt about how I should be working. But eventually that might wear off, right? Eventually I might be able to fill my time with thinking and creating and resting. Maybe?

I don’t know. It’s all so up in the air and I’m doing my best not worry about it with minor success (thanks, Lexapro!)

So I’m starting the divorce process. I’m curious to see how my self-worth handles not being a cog in the capitalist machine.

Could be fun.

Jodi

The post Can I Divorce My Self-Worth from Capitalism? appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hi Darling Ones,

I did my taxes last night. It was not pretty.

To be fair, my taxes are never pretty. I’m a self-employed freelancer. This means I’m responsible for all of the taxes and social security and other things I probably should know.

Every year my taxes are pretty hefty and while it hurts I always remind myself about the existence of public libraries and then I don’t feel so bad paying my taxes. I love the public library, and a few days a week I rock my What’s more punk than the public library shirt. Public libraries are the best thing about this dumpster fire of a country. I’ve written about my library love before, so today I’ll write about this dumpster fire of a country.

The “health”care system in this country is fucking garbage. Straight up trash covered in barf.

It’s expensive, inefficient, and frequently inhumane.

As you well know I had a stroke last year that left me with limited ability to work. The stroke cost me roughly $21,000, and that’s just the hospital stay part. That doesn’t count follow-ups, prescriptions, and all that jazz. When I was in the hospital I was diagnosed with diabetes. I had to pay $340 out of my pocket to take a “diabetic education” class where a condescending lady saw the I was fat and told me I’d had to stop drinking Coke (I don’t drink soda) and start eating vegetables (which I already did).

Ugh. I still hate that lady.

So I did my taxes last night and my income for 2023 was $5000 less than what my stroke cost. I originally thought it was $3K, but my eyes are bad and I misread a 6 as an 8. Oh, and I still have to pay in $2500.

America!

I’m literally getting by on GoFundMe donations and the fact that I’m really good at being poor. I can’t go anywhere because I can’t drive which makes not spending money even easier. Plus, the only debt I have is medical debt.

We’re supposed to be the greatest country in the world with the best healthcare and that’s a bunch of hooey.

Today, I FINALLY got to make an appointment with a neurologist that my primary care doctor wants me to see. I took the first available appointment. It’s on August 7th.

That’s right I had to wait more than three weeks to make an appointment that’s four months away.

AMERICA!

I hate it here.

Jodi

P.S. I stole the title from the Allen Ginsberg poem “America”. If you don’t know the poem be forewarned that it uses the N-word and other racially insensitive language.

The post America Why are Your Libraries Full of Tears? appeared first on I Will Dare.

Hello Darling Ones.

Today marks six months since I had a stroke.

Back on March 6, 2023 when I was weak and terrified, I thought six months was 100 years away. Everyone said and everything I read said stroke recovery took six months. I thought there was no way I could handle being disabled like this, a burden to everyone, unable to take care of myself in any meaningful way for that long.

Six months felt like forever.

Jodi from six months ago knew nothing.

Frankly, Jodi from two weeks ago didn’t know much either. That’s when I panicked at my physical therapist.

“I’m scared,” I told her while using an eight-pound bar to bat a pink balloon toward her like a ninja. “It’s almost six months and I’m not recovered yet. I’m not even close!”

She bopped the balloon back to me and shook her head, her mouth a grim line. “I wish they’d stop saying that,” she said. “Every body is different. Every brain is different. It can take years to fully recover.”

“So I shouldn’t worry yet?” I leaned far to the right, stretching and jerking the end of the bar up to hit the balloon.

“No,” she said. “You’re doing great.”

I took solace in her words.

This six-month mark is hitting me hard. It doesn’t help that we’re ten days out from the anniversary of my dad’s death. It’s been a rough twelve months.

It’s weird how everything and nothing has changed since March 6th. I’m not weak or a burden or unable to handle my disability. I am still terrified.

I’m also frustrated and grateful and overwhelmed and joyful and a few other things I can’t quite put words to.

While I’m confident I will eventually recover from all my physical ailments, I worry constantly about work and money.

Working is difficult. I can only type for short amounts of time before my Floppy Scoop poops out. But my vision is the real problem. I tried to replicate what my vision is like in the image above. Everything is both blurry and distorted. So fun!

Because of this, I can only work for about 45 minutes at a time before everything becomes illegible. Then I have to give my eyes a break for a few hours.

I only managed 10 hours of work in August.

By comparison I spent 19 hours at medical appointments. That doesn’t include travel or waiting in the lobby time.

If I could bill for all my time managing my condition and working to recover, I’d be alright. Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way.

I’m not only afraid that I’ll not have enough money to live on and pay off my medical debt (only $6,404.93 to go), but I’m afraid I’ll lose my business. I’ve worked so hard over the past fourteen years to build a stable, reliable freelance business that allows me to support myself. My business was so strong I managed to payoff my student loans and the credit card debt I fell into when my refrigerator, oven, and water heater all died in the same six-month period. I even made enough to start a retirement account!

Now I feel it all slipping away. My current clients are solid, but I haven’t had a chance to find new ones to replace the four I’ve lost since the stroke.

Ugh. It’s so frustrating. Just like with my stroke recovery I want to power through this dicey time. It’s unfair that I can’t just work harder to make this all better. Working harder has always made things better in the past.

Time and patience, continues to be the key to getting my life back. Time and patience is also the worst.

So, here I am, once again asking the Internet for more money. If you have a few dollars to spare and would like to send them my way, I’d appreciate it. I’ve been told I send very excellent thank you cards, and I’d happily send one to you if you give me your address.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart,
Jodi

The post Stroke Me Day 183: Everything & Nothing Has Changed appeared first on I Will Dare.

Oh Darling Ones,

Today I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind.

I started the day tweeting about the Slim Dunlap family moving sale and ended it losing another client.

Fuck. On both counts.

If you’re not a ‘Mats person, Slim Dunlap took over for Bob Stinson. Slum suffered a stroke in 2012. Maybe you remember the whole “Songs for Slim” thing circa 2013.

Slim has been on my mind a lot since surviving my own stroke in March. I count every one of my lucky stars that my stroke was not as severe as his. Hopefully, my ongoing medical care won’t be too expensive.

However, the current financial anxiety is real and it’s scary as hell.

I became a freelancer in 2009 after a second layoff in two years. In the fourteen years since I bet on myself I rarely regretted my decision to work for me.

Being a freelancer taught me how to live with financial ambiguity and a childhood growing up in poverty taught me frugality and hard word.

I worked so hard to build my business so I could cover my living expenses, pay off my debt (mostly student loans), and start to save. It has not been easy. I made a lot of difficult choices to live a life I loved. I didn’t go on vacations. I drive (or did until my stroke took away my ability to drive) a 1999 Chevrolet S-10 that’s been paid off since 2007.

Since March everything I made so many sacrifices for, worked tirelessly for is slowly vanishing.

Now, I have $21,000+ in medical debt and it feels like a dwindling ability to not just pay that off, but to cover my living expenses.

Losing four clients is rough. I’ve built my life and career on servicing a small cadre of clients. I’m proud that I’ve worked with some my entire freelance career.

I try to comfort myself by telling me they weren’t high-dollar clients, though I was in the running for $10K project that slipped through my stroke-addled fingers in March.

Can you see why I’m a little freaked out?

While I know when it comes down to it my family won’t let me fall too far, I’m still scared. I’ve taken care of myself by myself for so long having to lean on them for housing or money will do a real number on my mental wellbeing.

Right now I’m living in a world of regrets and what ifs.

What if I worked a “real job” and had a lot more social capital? What if higher salaries meant I had a bigger financial safety net? What if every decision I ever made was wrong?

Fuck.

Jodi

The post On Slim Dunlap & the Financial Realities of a Stroke appeared first on I Will Dare.

Ugh, Darling Ones,

This week has been utter shit and it’s bringing me down.

1. I’ve had the song “The Freshmen” by The Verve Pipe stuck in my head since Christmas time. It’s 100% my fault. A few years back I made an incredibly singable playlist of one-hit wonders from the 90s. My sibs & nibs all love this playlist and whenever it’s on someone is bound to burst into song. It’s fun. At least it was fun for that week in December when they were here. Having “The Freshman” on repeat in my brain whenever I’m not actively listening to music grows less and less fun as the weeks go. I just caught myself softly singing the stupid song and immediately strapped my cans to my head and turned on some Material Issue (“Freak City Soundtrack” if you’re curious).

2. My nephew and his live-in girlfriend of three years broke up and he’s moving to Portland. He moved a bunch of his stuff into my loft Tuesday night and last night he spent the night here. It was fucking rough, man.

He’s so tired and broken and it sucks. It sucks so much. I thought dealing with my own heartbreaks was tough, but fuck. . . I’d go through every break up I’ve even been through to save him from this. I don’t know how parents deal with their children and this kind of suffering. It’s the worst. Like, I know the only way is through and this is part of being a human, but it sucks.

It doesn’t help that I’m a giant cry baby. I cry when I’m happy and sad and angry and hilarious. If someone cries in my presence, they never cry alone. So I cried with him. After BFK fetched him to to bring him to the airport I cried a bunch more for myself and how much I’ll miss him. I liked having him near. I’m crying again just remembering crying earlier. Also, shedding a few tears over how much I love BFK and how it makes my heart warm that she’s family.

3. Everything I touch turns to shit. Or at least that’s the way it feels. I’ve had some fuckups at work. One that I’m about 89% is my fault and one that is not so much my fault but I should havre been smart enough to prevent it. It sucks. Making mistakes sucks and taking responsibility for it only made me feel moderately better. I’m so so so so burnt out and I’m really hoping that lull comes to visit.

4. On top of all this, I still have ever-present, free-floating anxiety I cannot shake.

Everything is a drag right now. Every thing.

Despite my vow to curtail frivolous spending, I decided to shove some capitalism into my soul full of holes. I was banking on this making me feel better. Shoppers high? Shiny new thing?

Instead of buying a thing, I decided I would buy myself a fancy treat. Cookies. Chocolates. Something like that. I found some cookies that looked really good and I was in, until I learned it was $27 for four cookies. FOUR COOKIES FOR 27 DOLLARS! That’s craziness. So instead I bought myself some Little Debbie Valentine’s Snack Cakes for $2.49. This still seems like a ridiculous price for Little Debbies, but what can you do?

At least the free grocery store flowers I got last week are still going strong (pictured above) so I got that going for me.

Blah,
Jodi

The post $27 Cookies & Other Tales from a Cruddy Week appeared first on I Will Dare.