A Rambling Roller Coaster Ride

The ailing failing cooling fooling air conditioner saga continues.  Being sick at the same time made it maddening to boot but I am coming around feeling so much better.

An angel swooped down out of the blue, loaning me money to replace my air conditioner and upgrade to one with a heat strip too for winter use. WOW!

But...

That sure made the AC suddenly straighten out and fly right. Maybe I am getting a steady better power supply at my new camp site.  I am walking on eggshells. I studied AC prices, called around about labor and installation. I was a tad shocked at the prices. Ugh. Even made a tentative appointment which I have postponed because now the AC is pretending to be fine.

Lately I do the cave thing, which I hate, but it seems to help on a very hot day. Close up all the shades and curtains, turn the AC on high in the morning. By the hot afternoon, it's able to more or less keep up without tripping breakers at the new location.

Meanwhile, since I can't stand having the windows blocked off, I am outside with the dog sitting in the shade by the big box fan. But when the heat is too much, I can go inside the dark depressing cave, it's cooler for sure.  But I find the darkness so overwhelming I open up some shades, so I don't go crazy.

I really want this old air conditioner to pull through for another year or two. I know it's only 19 years old and for an RV air conditioner that is ancient.

But I hate to go into debt, I try to put things on a wish list and carefully monitor my efficient budget which is supplemented by all sorts of craziness like dumpster diving, workamping, angel writing (a bit different from ghost writing!)

Finding a used air conditioner that is in better shape than mine, is not likely to happen but other things I do find in the dump or eventually find a used part I need.  Much of my RV has been repaired with used stuff, old stuff, outdated technology and tons of patience.  Some repairs I've even done with my own hands. I so wish I could do more. This past year was an avalanche of strange repairs. Stuff that had to be done, but it wasn't something pretty.

I still pay monthly on a  mountain of old medical mess that according to the latest collection agency will take me 272 years to pay off at the rate I am going and they fear I won't live that long.

You think?

They have proposed a new monthly payment plan that is over 4 times my monthly income.

What kind of new math is that?

I was heavily drugged in the hospital when I signed away my credit cards to get medical care. I just assumed I would get well, go back to working and pay them all off in a few short years of working hard and living frugally.  I had supported myself for umpteen years, I had perfect credit and had lived happily debt free for over two-thirds of my adult working life. It was a goal I was proud of.

It hadn't occurred to me that disaster and mayhem could strike me down and wreck my little old apple cart.

As the monthly payments escalated exponentially, I realized how huge the debt was, so I stopped all medical treatments after transferring to America and finding brick walls thrown in my face instead of the care I had hoped to continue.

It seemed the medical community in their fervor to pump me full of exotic drugs, chemicals, doom and gloom, were setting me up to be a scare tactic to others. I felt like getting away from their clutches, put me back in control of my ruined finances.

They had picked my pockets and now doctors and clinics were refusing to see me when the credit cards stopped working.

I figured I would pay for this lack of medical care with my life. Literally.

I am not even sure we were on the same page about my future health.

Now I do an alternative route that is much easier to cope with all around.

Something strange happened.

I didn't go down the tubes as the specialists predicted. I have no idea why I am still alive, but I wake up with a smile, happy as can be. What adventure awaits this day?  I am excited to go find out!

My entire life I worked and paid my debts promptly. Then POOF it all went to hell and my excellent credit went down the toilet.  I used to let this stress me out endlessly, then I set up a payment plan I could afford, but the powers to be hate it. I write the check once a month, send it off and then I just don't worry about it anymore. What's done is done. I have high hopes that one day I will magically pay it all off. Meanwhile the collectors bounce me around harassing me.

Frankly I am glad to be away from the grasp of the medical community.  Unless the pain gets bad. Pain could send me screaming for help, but I've found many alternative ways to deal with the pain.

Unconventional treatments do cost money, but I am able to pick and choose and review it all myself. I don't have a person in a cubicle forcing their choices on me based on their profit line or kickbacks from drugs or the dictates of an overly complicated medical plan.

Somewhere I have a very happy picture of me, when I turned 50, my hair was down below my hips, I was standing on a beach in the Caribbean near my home. Debt free. Working freelance gigs I had squirreled away savings for a rainy day. I was driving a little old jeep, living in a small apartment with my beloved cats.  My bills were paid promptly without a second thought. Life was good!  I remember thinking my birthday was oh so wonderful, that at age 50 I was barefoot on the beach, blissfully content.

Months later when terrible things happened, much of which I purposely keep tucked far away in a dark little corner, I woke up in intensive care one day, in that hell hole for a hospital on a tiny little island.  Once I overcame the shock, I figured it was just a hiccup and soon I would be back to my happy life on a little island.

Was I ever wrong.

But it just kept getting stranger. 23 years of living overseas and  traversing oceans,  I made a decision to come to America to say hello and good bye to loved ones.  Because of the brutality I had recently suffered, it seemed like moving to America would be a welcomed change.

Oh my gosh, I am like a child from another planet, I am so lost here, but finding my way, with the help of many angels who I owe my life to.

Thank you.

While trying to get well, my business collapsed, I ran up credit cards, ran down the savings. I came to America sick, bewildered and confused. I thought I had a home to go to, and I did for a brief while.

Suddenly I needed a place to live, so I bought this little old motorhome thinking it would be a cozy fully furnished spot for me to finish my days. I was so weak at the time, I could barely walk 30 feet. I kept it pristine, too sick to go anywhere and fearing it was going to be resold soon anyhow, so why settle in?

I was just here for a visit on this planet.

I tried to find freelance work and part time gigs but my medical mess kept interfering with such highfalutin plans. My brain acted funny while it learned to re-function. My health was and still is a wild roller coaster ride. But somehow my noggin started coming back hither and yonder. My stamina seemed to soar some days and fail miserably the next.

I began to feel the old fearless spirit rumble around inside of me.

A little hitchhiker entered my life, my playful dog who drags me out on walks, reminds me to live a little, live a lot. Some days I can't do a 100 feet and other days we go for a mile or more.

My memory is slowly coming back, I still do stupid things, but not as often or maybe I just don't let it bother me anymore.

I owe so many angels so much thanks.  How can I ever be thankful enough?

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.