Posts Tagged ‘financial aid package’

Scheduling

July 7, 2016

Jesus.

I looked over the next few weeks on the work calendar and just about threw up.

First day of school?

What?

No.

NOOOOOOO.

I’m still on summer break.

And yet.

There it was the first weekend of school on the books.

The mom was working on the boys school schedule, which reminded me, need to ask off for September 1st, must to go see Mike Doughty with my peoples.

I don’t have to have the whole day off, but I do need to be done with work by 6p.m.

“Mike Doughty, from Soul Coughing?!” The dad asked.

“Yup, he’s doing a Living Room tour and for one day will be in San Francisco and I managed to get tickets from myself and some friends,” I replied.

“He’s great!” The dad said, “wow, you might even get to meet him and talk.”

Yeah.

I would like that.

Amongst other things, heh.

But.

In the request for the day to be an “early” day for me, when the boys are in school I don’t start until 1p.m. and the boys will be starting school that week, so it made me realize that I also needed to tell the parents that I will be in school that Friday too.

It’s happening fast.

The summer has been fun, but I’m not ready to think yet, quite, about school.

I had a moment of mild panic, really, mild when I look at it, that I wouldn’t have enough money in my savings to buy books before the financial aid disbursement happens.

Fact is.

I haven’t received my awards letter for the fall semester.

I have no clue what I am getting in the way of aid.

I got what I needed last year, but I also made less money that year.

I made more money, almost double, at least on the books, for the this past year and I am hoping, hoping, hoping, that I will get the financial aid I need to pay for the next year of school.

I still have a scholarship disbursement, but I will have to cover the other $20,0o0 for the year after the scholarship is applied.

The cost of the program is about $30,000 per year.

And, um, yeah, I live in San Francisco, like you know, the most expensive fucking place to live in the U.S.

Then.

I snuffed the thought.

Fuck that.

I will be taken care of.

If I don’t get the financial aid the money will come from somewhere else.

I didn’t get straight A’s for my first year of graduate school to be dropped on my second year ass.

I worked hard.

Hella hard.

Now.

I want to be able to play the rest of the summer and not be concerned about finances and school and books and stuff.

It will all come when it’s supposed to.

“Do you have any more travel plans for the summer,” my friend asked me last night after I told him about my adventures in New Orleans.

I don’t know.

There is still a very tender part of me that wants so to go to Burning Man, that I can’t quite picture not going, but I have no idea what that would look like anyhow.

Where would I get a ticket, who would I camp with, how would I get there?

I would go.

I want to go.

I could go early.

It’s so obscured right now in my head, I can’t see it and it might be the first time I haven’t, hmm, you know, that’s not true, I didn’t know how I was going to go when I was in Paris, and yet I went, I can’t always see how it plays out, but somehow or other I have always ended up on playa.

One of my ladies that I work with doing the deal got a ticket and got off from work.

The glee and excitement in her voice, she’s a virgin burner, when she left me the message on the phone was almost unbearable to hear.

I do believe, though, that I am not going to be heart broken with whatever happens that week.

I’ll be ok, the plans, God’s plans, are always better than mine.

I can’t manipulate Burning Man into happening.

If it were to happen, it’s got to be simple and clean and easy, the best things are the simplest.

If it were complicated it wouldn’t work, it never does.

If it’s meant to be, I can’t fuck it up.

If it’s not, I can’t manipulate it into happening.

Just like I realized today when I wanted to bring up that first weekend of school, not just from the standpoint of hey, employers, I’m going to be in class Friday the 2nd of September, but oh yeah, um, remember when you said we would revisit my employment for the fall when the boys are in their next year of school.

What about that?

But I didn’t.

I realized that I don’t need to.

I am being taken care of.

“You write down everything you do for them and present them with it when your contract is up and point out the things that you do that are part of your contract and also what you do that is not on the contract, and let them see it, you don’t even need to ask for a raise, or mention money, you just present your list to them,” a friend told me the other day when we were talking about self-employment and what that looks like moving forward with contracts and negotiations.

September will also mark 2 years for me with the family.

Not that I will be gunning for a raise, but that I want to know if they will be needing me for the next school year.

I can’t see that they won’t, I do so much for them as a whole, not just the boys, but the whole family, the household in its entirety.

But I know that if they don’t want me moving forward.

Well.

Someone else will.

I’m taken care of.

I always have been.

I always will.

As long as I keep in fit spiritual condition.

I’ll be just fine.

More than fine.

Better than fine.

Happy.

Fucking joyous.

And.

Free.

Free.

Free.

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Don’t Tell Me How To Do My Job!

September 22, 2015

Or anything else either.

I am feeling a touch overwhelmed.

Can you tell?

First, I had too many people, two, but who’s counting, tell me what to do today while I was working.

Hey, you know what?

I didn’t fucking ask.

Further.

I don’t want your opinion.

And lastly.

Yes.

I did some spot check inventory and some checking in with myself and I understood pretty damn quick as I cramped up in KidPower Park (crack power now!) that I had just ovulated.

Great.

I’ll be getting that friendly reminder in the next day or two.

Which is fine.

It’s on time, it’s doing what it does, the body.

I just knew there was something up with me when I got overly sensitive to the three-year old throwing a temper tantrum on the sidewalk as I pushed the stroller through La Mission, the great gentrification thereof, and it’s nearby environs.

People do not always like kids in the Mission.

The hipsters don’t want to get out-of-the-way of the stroller and no one wants a screaming three-year old disturbing them while they taste artisanal chocolates at Dandelion or while they are getting their haircut at Fellow Barber, or god forbid while they are on a sneaky Tinder date early happy hour at Bar Tartine.

No.

And nothing says good times like a three-year old screaming at the top of his lungs while flailing his feet in the stroller.

“IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!”

Sorry kiddo.

No bagels to be had at 4:30 p.m. on a Monday afternoon in the Mission.

Oh.

I know i could have gotten him a “special treat” at the coffee shop, but I was just stopping in to grab a thank you card for someone who had sent me a Bicycle Coalition Membership!

That was a nice thing to get in the mail.

Especially since I have no extra money and I apparently, I will get to the bottom of this later, I owe money on my account with school?

Anyway.

I had not found out that information and I am not certain to the credibility of it and I am trying to not panic at the thought of owing $3,478.

I mean, huh?

Oh.

Fuck.

I don’t want to write about this right now.

I am still writing about a bagel.

“Honey, I’m not getting you a bagel right now, we’re going to have dinner in a half hour,” I said as I paid for the card.

“IWANTASPECIALSNACK!”

“I made you a special dinner,” I cajoled, accepting the change and rapidly wheeling the stroller out the door and over to the park.

I had agreed to go to KidPower Park as the boys also wanted to stop by the Eco Center on 17th between Valencia and Hoff.

“She made chicken pot pie!” The five-year old gleefully jumped up and down.

“IDONTWANTCHICKENPOTPIE!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!IWANTABAGEL!”

UGH.

I had made chicken pot pie.

And roasted cauliflower.

And I was not about to bend on the bagel.

Once in a while a bagel is great, but not right before dinner and I knew I couldn’t justify it and I headed off to the park with a wailing, flailing, screaming child.

“He needs to get out and walk,” a man told me, who was also trying to hand me some sample of something in front of a store.

“No thank you,” I said as I went past.

“He needs to get out and walk,” the man said again, louder, stepping up to me.

I wheeled around with fire in my eyes, “I’ll thank you to NOT tell me how to do my job.”

And I walked away.

Grr.

I hate responding to people like that.

I don’t like being mean and I don’t like it when people assume I don’t know what I am doing, or try to offer help and I realized by the time I got to the park as was booting a homeless man out of the playground who was digging through the trash with a stray dog running around him, that I was about to go on a tear.

I asked the man to leave the play area and was told, “get a job!”

“I have a job, this is my job, you are in the way of me doing my job, get out of the children’s playground with the dog or I call the cops.”

I didn’t raise my voice, but I was dead serious.

He left.

He muttered some things best left unsaid.

I have called the cops three times in the year that I have nannied the boys.

Addict shooting up in the playground.

Pack of adolescents smoking pot and crack in the playground.

Homeless deranged man masturbating on the corner, I mean full on pants around his ankles, dick out and in hand.

Oh my fucking god I did not need to see that.

I got myself under control and then bent over double.

Ouch.

Oh?

Oh really.

Sigh.

Well, that makes more sense.

And I didn’t even need a third person to get pissed off at.

Generally I find that if I call three people an asshole in one day, I’m the asshole.

I got there a little faster today.

Hello.

And.

Happy Monday.

Happy anniversary to me too.

Well.

Almost.

Tomorrow makes one year with the family.

I mentioned it tonight before I left.

Which means tomorrow I ask for the pay raise.

I’m going to need it if I owe money on my tuition bill.

I can’t imagine why I have an outstanding balance and I can see that, obviously, something has been applied to it, since it would be a lot more than $3,478.

But.

I thought I was actually getting back some money.

That once my scholarship and subsequent loans were applied there was going to be an offset of about $2700 to my bank account.

I guess I need to call the financial aid office tomorrow and find out what is happening.

Perhaps my loans have been applied, but not yet the scholarship?

I know that the disbursement was to happen this Friday, although I received the letter from my federal student loan lender that my financial aid loan was applied to my school.

That must be it.

That is the only thing that makes sense.

The loans were applied, but my scholarship won’t be disbursed until Friday when the school disburses funds.

Whew.

That’s a relief.

Anyway.

There is nothing wrong.

Even if I do owe money.

It will come from somewhere.

I have a month’s rent in the savings and that will cover some costs and I suspect I will be taken care of anyway.

I always am.

I do the work.

I show up.

Even when someone tells me how to do me how to do my job, I know that I am doing a damn fine one indeed.

I have nothing to worry about.

Not at all.

Life is good.

Really.

I insist.

I don’t even need a special snack to know that.


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