If you are an avid reader of my blog (and I assume you are, although we all know what happens when one assumes) you may have noticed that my entries have been done carelessly for the last couple of days, and written sparsely as well. Truth of the matter is, I've have a catastrophic event occur and along with the worldly things that cause stress, I've collapsed. Not literally as in a nervous breakdown, but more emotionally and figuratively. I had been upset. Life sucked. Actually, life sucked the joy out of my life. It was disastrous.
Now I shall unravel my tale as to why I had been upset and how I overcame it all, while drinking what I sincerely hope is a Soy mocha from Starbucks. If I were to never to return to my blog after this entry, please assume that the bastards at Starbucks did not use soy as requested, and I have died from a massive cardiac arrest from a severe lactose intolerance.
The nursing applications were do this past week, and being The Procrastinator™ that I am, I had to scrounge up the apps at the last minute. I found out that one of the schools require that they see an original copy of my social security card. As a note to those who take this blue papered card for granted, I will say this: Not everyone gets one of these babies; feel lucky you got one. I used to carry this card, until it dawned on me that I may lose my wallet and lose the card as well, and while a driver's license and credit cards are easy to replace, comparatively, it isn't so for the SS card. And while I have never misplaced my wallet or purse or cell phone or keys or anything that I carry daily, I gave myself increased security by leaving the card at home. But where?
I am more inclined to lose stuff in my own room than I am outside. So whenever I have an item that I don't use often, but is of the utmost importance, I tape it on my wall, infront of my desk. When I finally paid off my American Express Card, I taped the very last final billing statement on my wall, so that it wouldn't get thrown away with the rest of my stuff. Important photos and reminders are tacked onto my wall as well. I made sure that I don't put too much stuff on it -- it would get cluttered and some of these artifacts would be buried and hidden and unseen, ultimately making the whole "tape onto wall lest I lose it" thing a moo point.
So why is it that I didn't tape my SS card onto this great wall? I cannot say. I recall giving it to my mom, who is the Goddess of Safekeeping and Hoarding™, but the goddess doesn't recall. If she had been given this item for safekeeping, she would have placed it along with her SS card and my brother's SS card, as well as our passports. Which does make sense, since she does have separate envelopes and folders holding each document, precisely and securely.
On Tuesday afternoon, I tore my room apart, looking for this card. And with each box, each folder, and each drawer that I dissected to pieces, my sentiments of frustration grew. It means a lot for me to have that 9 digit number, because it is one of the few things that tie me to this country. Without those few lose ties, I feel more alienated -- more specifically, undocumentedly, illegally alienated. It's an identity of an American, and some may argue with quotes from 1984 about how numbering people are evil and controlling, but in reality, it means I am part of the mass that forms America. I'm not American per se. I am American in my own conviction, in my beliefs, in my attitudes, and most importantly, in my heart; however I just lack one piece of document (called the citizenship) that makes my Americanization (aka naturalization -- which is an inappropriate word... what does that mean? Does that mean, before I become a U.S. citizen, I am not natural?) complete. By losing my SS card, I lost one more tie that makes me an American on paper. It doesn't change who I am inside, but losing access to that piece of paper made me feel less American.
This comes at a time when I just started on the first two lessons of Pimsleur Comprehensive French where on the first lesson, you learn how to ask "Are you American?" and answer, "Oui, madam." Talk about irony.
Now, you may ask, why I can't simply go and get it replaced. Many Americans do, and have no problems with it. However, in my case, it isn't so simple. Since a few years ago, people without a green card or citizenship were not given the SS card or a SS number. It is another method of cracking down on illegal immigrants. Even those with valid visas and permission are not given this number -- exceptions are rare. Now, I got this number back in the 80's, where restrictions weren't so .... restricting. Since my current status is hazy, it would not be wise to apply for a replacement. I am sure I can, when my status does become clarified, but right now it's hazy, and I do have lawyers working on this situation, but it will be some time before things get cleared.
Not having the actual card does little harm for me -- I am still able to apply for credit cards, or open a cellular phone account. I know the number. Losing this card hasn't done me physical injury. But you can count on the depression of my moral.
I had a despondent week. On Tuesday, I spent the rest of the evening throwing stuff out -- I told myself, if I can't find my SS card, what does all this matter? Why does my chemistry lab notes from three years ago matter? Throw it out. I guess I could call it prioritizing -- not hoarding all this stuff (I can never just toss stuff away). Not concentrating on hoarding stuff, and concentrating on organization and keeping what's really important safe. What is the point of having photographs of high school buddies whom I never see and never talk to? I tossed nearly every bits of memory-invoking item in my room. I still have more to jettison. It saddens me greatly to let go of these things I've hoarded for so long -- old organizer fillings where I marked with a heart on the days I saw my then-boyfriend. Pretty stationary and pencil cases I brought over from Korea in 1990. Calculus notes and college brochures. Certificates of musical excellence. Cross-stitch blue prints. A notebook filled with interesting quotes. These are all gone. It was a difficult process, and I know it would make me feel empty, but it had to be done.
I was very down. Down, down, down. But early this morning, I had a dream. It was so real, too. I had a dream that I was accepted into a nursing program. It was beautiful. I was elated. There was joy. There were tears from the sensual delight. I felt like exploding. It was fabulous. It seemed, in some mystical way, to be a sort of premonition. A positive one. Like an oracle spoke to me! I decided to regain my optimism. I decided to blog again, for real, because it is a source of happiness. Geeky, I know, but true. And I will continue learning French.
Sometimes horrible, disastrous, catastrophic things happen. You just gotta get your priorities straight, and move on. Or life will move on without you, and that's no fun. You know, sometimes you have to have low days, where you're depressed or unhappy or just lacking energy. Because then when happiness returns, you can really enjoy it fully.
I guess I'll never know what the future holds for me, but as the cliche-est of cliche sayings goes: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.
