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[personal profile] little_tristan
Yesterday was all about banking. I had to go to three banks--mine, where I set up Mom's estate account, and the two she used where I closed her accounts--but it got all complicated and I ended up making 7 stops altogether. And at one of the banks they were doing construction and had ripped up the entire sidewalk between the curb cut and the door so I couldn't get in. But (this is the best news I have) Bruder was well enough to drive, yet not quite ready to go back to work, so I had a ride. (My new wheelchair came with run down batteries so I can't go more than 10 blocks from home alone. At least not if I want to get back. They're bringing me new batteries next Friday.) Anyway, we ended up conducting business in the parking lot with the teller running back and forth with the paperwork. She was really nice about it, and gave me one of their new account promotional things as a please-don't-sue-us gift. I can't use it myself, but Cousin H will love it.:)

Then there was the DMV, where I retitled Mom's van in the name of the estate. Which made me sad, but at least we can drive it a little now. It's just been sitting since March--the insurance wouldn't cover it on the road because there was no owner to give us permission to drive it--and fuel injected vehicles go bad fast when they aren't driven.

I also tried to get a replacement disabled parking permit because they're made out of an unfortunate plastic now that disintegrates in the sun in way less time than it takes them to expire. Mine's been shattered and unreadable for years now and the cops are out of patience with me. This is supposed to be easy. When it's not expired, they're supposed to just give you a new one. There's not even a fee. But it turns out they've changed the law recently. Possibly last week. I don't know. Anyway, they have two different permits now, one for regular(?) disabled people and one for wheelchair users. I've always been in favor of something like that to keep the ambulators from parking in the van spaces when there are other spaces available, but of course it had to bite me in the ass.

Since I got my permit before they started the new system, it is, by default, a "regular" one. It's old, so I can keep parking everywhere with it, except that I'll still get into trouble because it's unreadable. To get a wheelchair permit, I have to have my doctor fill out a form saying I need the wheelchair. Otherwise, they have to give me the "regular" permit, which will make it illegal to park in van spaces. The woman explained this very carefully to me, as I was sitting there in my $30,000 insurance provided doctor prescribed wheelchair. It isn't enough to be so blindingly obvious that other DMV patrons were shielding their eyes from the harmful radiation. No, I need yet another piece of paper to verify that I do in fact need a space in which to park that is adequate for the use of the equipment that took 8 months and fifteen other pieces of paper to get. Because who knows? I could have beaten up a cripple in the parking lot and stolen her chair just to go in there and scam me a better permit. And the van? Hell, everyone scours the state for months and pays ridiculous sums of money for 20 year old vans just because wheelchair lifts are cool. I mean, you all have them, right? They're fucking standard these days, right?

But the best part? My absolute favorite aspect of the entire fucking fiasco? Nearly everywhere we went--including the DMV--we had to park in the back of the lot where there were no cars because there was some little sedan or sports car or four wheel fucking drive pickup in the goddamn van spaces.

I guess their doctors all signed the form.

I suspect that by now everyone who's bothered to read this far has figured out that the 4th of July was Mom's favorite holiday. We don't really have holidays anymore--the boys have killed all of my family traditions except Thanksgiving and sort of Christmas--but as long as she was alive, the memories were good. Now I wish we'd never been happy at all.

Oh, and my sister might be dying. Faster than we thought, I mean.


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March 2013

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