Professional Help

It had become painfully clear: I was not going to get through this without a professional. The clarity of my position had dawned on me while I was down, laying on my couch or recliner or bed or whatever, occasionally gasping because I'd hurt myself in Aquasize (those weights are evil underwater- lulling you with their Styrofoam ends- I use the red ones and I pull a neck tendon every other time- I'm not weak- don't judge me!) I was really hurting in my joints; it was taking me whole minutes to remember what I'd been thinking about just a second before (what was I thinking about? I just had it...oh, it's gone...what's gone? What was I thinking about?) and I was vigorously picturing a scenario where I hurt myself permanently- I had it down to the description of the physical therapist whose job it was to say "There ya go! Look at you go, girl!" when I lifted my arm to shoulder height for the 20th time, slowly, slowly regaining the range of motion I'd lost from posting three letters all at once. Meanwhile there was a house to ship or sell or disassemble on to people's yards and post on internet sites.

And so I hired myself a Gal Friday for fifteen bucks an hour but no health insurance because this isn't Starbucks, you know. I heartily recommend it. You can ask them to do all sorts of random things, like vacuum or inventory or respond to fan mail (Dear ______, Thank you so much for your heartfelt words. I felt them in my heart, and so I know that adjective works there. You really got me thinking about _____. I feel like there's a play in there somewhere, with me as the lonely/determined/lobotomized (please circle one) Woman, and I'm fighting _____ with my _____. If you feel like it, you can write that play! Don't worry, my lawyers will find you. They are there in service of my very best fans. Until our day in court, I remain- Hearttbreakinly, Jenn.) I've asked my Gal Friday to do complicated information  searches that involve phone calls to Bearaus, and what makes me happy to recommend her for employment for anything is that she made those calls and isn't in therapy (as far as I know. She could be, but I wouldn't know- see second paragraph, first sentence vis-a-vis health insurance.) This flexibility in tasking is making me greedy, I think.
 
Is it too much to make her wash the windows I've been studiously avoiding since I bought my house? Is it demanding to ask her for her help in examining my infected pinkie toenail? Will I go so far as to ask her to "give me a hand" going through embarrassing bank files from the 1990's and then just sit there telling her inane stories about my years starring in horrifically adapted Shakespeare in Pennsylvania while she pages through them? Now, before I'd found this wunderkind I would have thought No. No, it's improper to ask your employee to sort through your various mystery tubes of ointment that you've collected over the years. No, a person would have to be a cad to ask a paid hand to rub their daughter's feet for an hour. No no, one really shouldn't drink bottom shelf vodka- neat- while you pay a person to fake your voice so they can tell your Visa card collections agent to go fuck themselves sideways (although they did call me, so...) Pre-GF I would have made the ethical judgement every time, or at least every other time; now I'm not sure those things are terrible. Not terrible terrible, you know- maybe a little horrid, sure, but they get paid, right? They are getting recompense for the humiliation and bankruptcy of the soul that comes with such mean menial work, are they not? This is America, after all. There's always someone else to take their place.

To counter the possibility of a creeping Republicanism in my relationship with my new friend, I will have to be vigilant: I'll have to make sure that I offer snacks; I'll have to take a genuine stab at being productive myself while she's here, even if that only involves dishes. I'll have to make sure there's excellent beer on hand for end-of-shift happy half-hours. What has really been highlighted for me by this relationship is the knowledge that I'm a lucky, lucky person: I have a chronic pain condition, and I have to finish up every job of the eight billion jobs there are to do before I move myself and my child across an ocean, and I have to parent said child- But. I have the resources to pay someone a little bit (not enough, of course; also I would have liked to offer dental,) and that means it can be done. Or done enough. Not many folks in my condition have that option. I'm grateful, and I've learned that if you are your own Gal/Guy Friday, follow the steps above (offer yourself snacks, be as productive as you can, beer), because you deserve it. Everyone does.