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Written While on an Incredibly Anxiety-Ridden Call
with Customer Service

Does it even matter with whom?  It should matter that it’s with 

someone to whom I’ve forked over thousands of dollars through 

many decades, and yet since May I’ve been blocked from receiving

normal services. I even have an old acquaintance, a local one, who
worked for them as an attorney for several years, and given that I’ve
been so clearly upset and wronged by the way they have treated me
since this bizarre suspension for violating a rule but i do not know
exactly how or when or whether it was even me or whether I’m simply 

being given the runaround, I should reach out to him. Yesterday was a 

particularly productive day in which my mood stayed where it needed 

to be to accomplish much under really poor circumstances, those
being mostly financial, something that continues to really bring me 

down given that I have 30 years of experience in a well-paying career

in which I have found it impossible in fifteen years to get a full-time 

permanent position, mainly because I have been niched into contractual

work for that duration, causing my quality of life to greatly decrease.  This

was catalyzed with by being kicked to the curb by someone I trusted for 

around a dozen years.  Maybe all of this is neither here nor there, but 

this is just to say that I have completed two very anxiety-riddled 

calls with companies with whom I have what I would call an integral 

and monthly paid account.  Oh, whatever.  I have more calls to make soon.

I’ve got a therapy call at 1pm.  And at 1:30pm I have my quarterly
CalFRESH update call.  And I have to speak with my immigration attorney
at some point today, which, well, if you happen to know where I live
and what moment this is in history and the fact that I’m trying to get
a 5-year fiance to the states so that we can finally have a life together. 

And it will be at least a year before he gets here once I’m able to turn in 

the fiance visa application, if I can afford the $700 plus the $400 attorney 

fee to do so.  And I’m broke.  I know I sound such a mess. But when one 

is a mess one does sound a mess. Anxiety has gotten the best of me this 

morning, but I think I can correct that.  And I must.  There is too much to do.

Way too much to do.  For example, how can I salvage these silly and frustrating
words into any kind of thing that suggests it is a poem. Well, voila, it’s a poem. 

One problem solved. Perhaps just to create others, and for that I really apologize.

I had a bit of an arc of a storyline going that sort of came to an abrupt halt. 

Am I an artist or just a guy trying to make a life for myself in a world that 

seems to be losing me with each breath I take? Oh, this cannot be salvaged. 

Let it just be called notes. Which is, at times, a fine way to splay out a piece 

that one might also call poem (I try at least to convince myself). Onward.

Onward. Apologies. Hello.

Unhinged is Terribly Unflattering and Not Very Much of an Art Form