Let 'Em Loose

It's not quite 9 am and I've already been told via email from a client that I obviously don't care.

I get this a lot, not surprisingly, I get it mostly when I need some information that someone no longer has or when the answer from the person to whom I am appealing is firmly and inarguably "no."

I can't make miracles happen.
The only miracle I can make happen is to undermine Michael Moore's latest exercise in exuberant anger and prove that if someone were to keep track of his or her insurance claims than he or she would be able to turn to someone like me and I would be able to translate everything and make sure that he or she was getting all that they are due.

Most of the time when horror stories of insurance happen, they are the result of someone not reading what they are given to read, not opening their mail until they get a collection notice, and not taking any proactive steps to make sure that everything is online.

It's totally frustrating, believe me.

But I am a person who finds getting out of bed to be exhausting each day.
I can become over-whelmed with the prospect of driving myself home from work in the evening or adding up the pending items in my checking account or walking across the building and having to say hello to people.

I mean... I'm not fucking around about being really, really, really ultra sensitive.
It's not about thin-skin or unreasonable expectation rather, I take things very seriously and I'm very hard on myself and I can't relax unless I am holed up with my dog and my cat and I know that everything is familiar.
I just get freaked out sometimes.

So you can imagine how difficult it is for me to be told that I don't care about something or to be met with the defensive anger of any school-yard bully.

I try to be nice.
And nice.
And... nice.

And they view that as some weird sign of weakness.
This girl has been disparaging of my character for over a year now, I know her from extra-curriculars.
I'm only mean lately.
I used to try to rise above or I'd only snark back if she did it directly to my face.
Anymore, I don't give a pile of rat shit about whether or not I look like an asshole when I throw my hands up in obvious disgust over what she chooses to do.
I've had it.
Tipping Point = Reached.
I will happily tell her that my being nice had nothing to do with me wanting her to like me, that it was only the force of habit for a Child of Divorce, and that truly, I hate her and wish her only the worst luck ever in life.
Because that's really more like the truth and what are you if you're not honest about things, huh?

And here's what it is that takes the passive out of my aggressive, that makes me actually not a pushed-over, whiney baby girl:
I will actually say these things to her.
It's not an exercise of fancy for me to think of them now.
I take great pride that when I find a moment, I take it.
Many moments elude me but I always find one and I always strike unexpectedly hard.

I dunno.
Maybe I'm learning to work with the lowered expectations of the people in my world.
Lots of people thought I wasn't in good enough shape to lay derby and they usually discount me on the track.
this works to my advantage all the time.

I imagine that clients who don't believe me when I say I've checked all of the angles are later ashamed of that last time when they angrily hung up on me.

Or more often, they are quiet when I explain that the problem is really this, something unavoidable and not related to insurance.
They never take back the things they said to me before they let me figure out the problem, the angry rants and the harsh conclusions.

So in most areas of life, I do take the abuse. I fold it in and then I wait.
I wait for the right time, for all of the bases to be covered and to make sure that if I've left any of my body parts or emotions hanging out on the line, I wait to make sure that I can part with them at least temporarily.

arizonasarah at 8:57 a.m.

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