Dear Gregory

Bill collectors are so cute when they get all excited just because I finally pick up and talk to them after weeks/months of ignored calls. Since this one already had everything he needed to find me all over the internet, perhaps I can leave an apology here for not calling back when I said I would after very clearly going on "This call may be recorded" record as being the sort of person who's not only been through epic brain fail and has memory problems that require an appointed financial guardian, but is super aspie about talking on phones, meaning I'll go six weeks and longer before I'll even commit to hearing my own daughter's voice, so I'm terribly sorry, Gregory, but like I did say, you caught me perfectly on a load of xanax after a big dental appointment, and I flamboyantly answered my phone without a qualm. (My hands still shake and I break out into a sweat just calling my beta reader, and I like talking to my beta reader.) (Just saying.)

Anyway, while we're at it, Gregory, since I know you espouse all that is wonderful and good about the Big O changing the default forgiveness rulz&regs and whatnot now (you know he didn't really just walk into a room and say 'Change that', right?), I'd like to reiterate, for public record, that we've still never received reimbursement on an illegally garnished tax return since well into his reign that has forced us to file 'injured spouse' ever since so the government can't continue to steal from someone who was never even involved with this, and we both know deep down that if there really were such a thing as loan forgiveness that I'd never have been forced into default in the first place, OR had my tax return ripped off, OR be getting calls for years and years that my lawyer tells me to ignore, because, admit it, (and I did say this to you, didn't I?) you're making more money in a week sitting around calling people than I am in a month on full disability, and half my SSI goes right back to medical insurance supplement plans on top of the part B that is already deducted. A one-time school loan default forgiveness offer through a 20 year repayment plan (that will probably tag me a criminal if I don't jump on and comply) on principle that has doubled since I stopped college (because every successive loan shark it's been sold off to lumps previous interest into principle before starting over again) is a joke that wouldn't be happening at all if I had been allowed to make payments that small from the very beginning like I tried to do and was told was unacceptable, and would've had that stupid loan paid off by now.

What I'm saying, Gregory, is that all this dancing around a government approved money laundering scam, against a person on full disability, no less, is making someone some big money or it wouldn't even be happening, and you guys really don't need my pennies drifting in to solve this problem. Debt forgiveness shouldn't be about slamming doors in the faces of compliant people who do everything they're told exactly how they're told to solve a problem, and then hounding them and ruining their lives and credit and garnishing severely limited incomes, and then offering loan forgiveness as long as they report annually and make monthly payments on money they never borrowed in the first place. Just because we don't have debtors prisons nowadays doesn't mean we have to negotiate with mild mannered terrorists trying to help us by shunting and locking us into forgiveness programs after we get slammed against our wills into default. Seriously, I tried so hard to offer payments after the doctors' confirmations were rejected over such stupid things as a comma (kind of odd that sending a copy of legal disability to a federal loan officer isn't permitted), so telling me now that I can do this for the rest of my life (since I'll be paying on so much interest now that I'll never touch the principle again) just isn't doing it for me. Like, I haven't had new glasses in years, dude. Years. Because medicare doesn't even pay for $50 frames on sale at a cheapie eyeglass factory outlet, does it? No, it doesn't.

Anyway, Gregory, I know I gave you permission to call, text, and email, but that doesn't obligate me to pick up calls, care about texts, or read emails. I hope you don't take it personally since I ignore the crap out of most of the world in general, not even noticing when people I cherish are calling, texting, and emailing because I'm so bad about forgetting I've left my phone on mute. Before I stop blathering on like this (I'm on xanax again), I just want you to know you were the kindest and most pleasant collection agent I've ever spoken to, and want to thank you again for being so patient with me. I'm sure you'll come to hate me soon enough, they all do, but for now, we'll always have the day I had a dentist appointment and flamboyantly answered my phone.

By the way, I also want to go on record that my strictly monitored low dosed xanax is part of the last vestiges of a failing 30-year pain management program, and anyone joking with me about it being recreational kind of pisses me off. Please take that last statement with a grain of salt. It's not often I just throw it all out there, but several weeks of writing intensely about what's under all those ripped off bandaids is kind of messing with me. I would just go underground and finish this, but I swore I'd never disappear like that again, so my love note to Gregory is me stepping out the door waving to let you guys know I'm ok.