Sitting and Crying.

Do you ever feel like you are in one of those hamster wheels and you can't figure out the right time to jump off so you just keep going around and around and around.........(Charle Sheen, do you hear me? Time to jump off.)

Let me backtrack to one week ago.

I was in sort of a good mood because I was going to see Max and the other therapist (the Russian) will be sitting in on our session and Max really responds well to her so I had a tiny bit of hope in my heart. When I get there, however, they tell me that I need to talk to the financial people before our session. No worries, I think.

Well, I was wrong.

It was sort of like walking into your bosses' office thinking you are going to get a raise and promotion and instead you get fired and then when you are doing the "I just got fired" walk of shame from the executive office to your grey cubicle, someone tells you that your skirt is tucked into the back of your panties. Granny panties no less.

They tell me that he's basically getting kicked out because I don't have insurance and since medi-cal was denied because "he doesn't live with me" (he's in what amounts to a hospital for god's sake. I still pay for all his shit). Anyhow, no insurance, no way to pay the $350 per day plus the $140 a week for therapy so they say these words "discharge plan" today.

FUCK! Like, now? He's coming home? With me? Now? I'm not ready for this. The house isn't ready. Cold tablets and Malibu Rum are in plain sight! Why didn't they warn me about this? I've got to find the keys to all the doors (it's been so nice to just relax and not have to lock all the doors all the time. I can even leave my purse in the living room when I go to bed!). NO. I am not ready for this. He's not fixed yet.

They "graciously" give me 30 minutes to "go make some calls to arrange whatever". Nice. 30 minutes. Oh, they also reiterate that since Max is not working the program he's not a good fit anyhow. Fuck yeah. I don't want to pay $350 a day for a program that's not working for him. He has changed zero percent in two months. This place is not working for him. To be honest, nowhere works for him. Not even the streets, I suspect. Certainly not my house. His dad is out of the country of course. He's no help, never has been, never will be.

I walk to my car to "make the calls", start the engine and drive away, tears streaming down my face, my litte dog looking so confused.

We saw Max for about 30 seconds on his way to class. His escort/teacher let him stop and pet the dog. Apparently they had been watching me from the second floor when I had just gotten the news that Max was being booted from the program. I guess I looked sad (maybe it was those damn tears silently dripping down my face that gave it away) because the escort/teacher person asked if I was ok. No. I'm not ok. Max is not ok. So I am not ok. Simple. As. That.

As I drove home south on the 405, I didn't have a plan other than to get out of there.

The rain started. And naturally there was a typical LA 90-car pile up which meant just sitting on the 405. Sitting and crying. This won't do. Got off the freeway at the next exit and just drove as far as I could go. Headed west. Hit the end 25 minutes later and just sat outside the gates of a swanky development in some town. No idea where. Saw the guard giving me the evil so, so turned the car around and ended up taking Topanga Canyon all the way to PCH. A nice, twisty, rainy drive but it didn't solve anything.

So....a week later and he's still there and I am here cleaning his room yet again. I guess I do have to pick him up tomorrow. Sort of stunned at this turn of events. I clean his room and wonder what I haven't found in there hidden away in one of his super secret hiding places. The police are on their way over; maybe they can help me search his room?

"The Police you say?"

Oddly enough someone got a hold of my debit card number and they made a bunch of purchases so I've been trying to deal with that all day. What a nightmare. The bank told me to make a police report, which I did. Guess what? They are sending someone over to take a report tonight. Thought that while they are here I should warn them that Max is coming home tomorrow. Our local Police Department know us very well..... guess it's fair that I warn them that the next two nights could see a lot of visits to our home. Maybe they need to ramp up the manpower, approve some OT.

Why two nights only you ask? Well, I had this brilliant idea to take him to the dessert for a week of isolation, exercise and soul bearing conversations and confessions. And cooking. I intend to break his habbit of only eating food fit for a 6 year old. I am going to force him to learn how to cook. I suspect he'll be living on his own really soon so the least I can do is pretend to give him cooking lessons.

I know I am being overly optimistic about our "vacation" to the desert, but I don't know what else to do. I can't have him at home while I try to figure out next steps. I can't force him on anyone else as, well, there is no one else.

I might as well be miserable in a mid-century Alexander Butterfly with a pool and jacuzzi. Too bad I won't be able to have a martini. Dean Martin would most definitely disapprove.

More from the dessert. If I survive.

PS: The Police Officer left after taking my identity theft report. She was so nice! We ended up just talking about Max for 30 minutes. She reminded me of this other program that someone else suggested. One of those "is it a cult or is it just a really good intense self-help program" thing. Hey, at this point I'll sign us both up for Scientology if that would help. (Tom Cruise do ya hear me????)