BIRTH CONTROL

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Last week I decided that I was too lazy to go see my doctor for another year's supply of birth control. You see, California passed this really awesome law where pharmacists are now legally able to prescribe AND fill several different kinds of birth control. This is wonderful for women because, in case you don't know, a lot of times you'll get charged a lot of money in the form of a copay every time you dare to walk into a doctor's office -- even with insurance. I have, essentially, the best insurance available to any living human in the world, and even with that insurance I have to cough up $20 anytime I even think about speaking to an M.D.

Anyway. This law was super awesome and I was v excited for women.

Until I found out that most pharmacists actually don't do this yet. Some of them don't even know it's a law. Apparently Target just gobbled up CVS so they've been, in their words, "a little busy." Pharmacists have to go through some one-hour training in order to be qualified to prescribe the birth control and JOKE'S ON ALL OF US WIMMENS because they don't waaaaaaannna!

Cue the tape to now, when I wanted to explore my new rights as a woman in California, and asked my pharmacist to throw me a fucking bone. He's all "nah."

So I'm doing that fun experiment that I do every few years or so, hoping that the outcome will change and it never does. I'm depressed as hell. I'm literally crying over nothing, and real things, just all of the damn time. I actually screamed at Brad last night. Like, straight up yelled at him for wanting to see what I was having such a strong reaction to (it was a photo of me in 9th grade going to Winter Formal with the bassist from a popular ska band -- I could not make this up if I tried) and I didn't want him to see my 1999 hairdo or how I was wearing heels that made me taller than Mr. Ska Band.

I spent the majority of yesterday literally sobbing. My dad and I are going through some bullshit and I wound up at my parents' house, shoveling boxes into my Prius in 106 degree heat. My mom sensed something was wrong and I lost it. Familial tension aside, things are okay but I can't deal.

My family's house goes on the market on Friday. I'm assuming it will be a quick sale and then my parents are leaving California. My mom doesn't want to go. Nobody wants them to go.

I was hit with a bizarre realization after questioning my mom on wanting a larger house than they're currently in (which is a 3,000 square foot beast). She teared up and said "this is the last time I'll get to move with all of my stuff."

I didn't know what that meant, or why she has to keep all of her stuff, or why it was true.

She went on to explain that if/when she is the surviving spouse, she won't want to stay all alone in another state. She'll want to come back to California to be near me and my sister. And that she knows she won't be able to afford it out here. And will have to downsize. And live in a small apartment somewhere. Without the majority of her stuff.

It's just the saddest thought. Knowing that you're losing your home and taking all of your stuff with you because you know it's the last time you'll get to.

My family dog also has a parasite now. He's going to be 8 this December, which is still too young to die, but he's having digestive issues and I think he can sense the weirdness floating around. The house is empty or in boxes and they're leaving.

I won't even get into the drama in Brad's family right now -- not only because it isn't my news to share, but because I can't fucking go there right now.

But then per usual everything starts coming up Karin again when my coworker returns from medical leave with a bowl full of candy. Skittles and 3 Musketeers and Starbursts and Twix. When this lady wearing a hat leaves my office area, I am going to close the door, eat them and cry.

Just kidding. But that would be like, pretty real.