So, I woke up at one. That’s one strike against me, for sure.

But I had this crazy idea that I should do something responsible and adult, just to see if I could handle it.

I couldn’t have picked a worse thing, because holy fuck is this a mess.

So, I’ve mentioned that I get my health care through the VA. I also get other stuff from them. The level of other stuff sometimes entitles recipients to still other things, and I wanted to find out what those were.

One of them is a reduced bus fare in certain cases, so that’s interesting. It needs a letter and some other shit, but…y’know what, what else — property tax? What’s this?

Okay. So I start researching the property tax thing. I need a letter stating certain things. How do I get that?

Well, I could try the nifty eBenefits system…but it doesn’t have exactly the right letter. What do I do now?

I make some phone calls.

First, I call the VA’s 800 number, because that’s what I usually have to do. Except I get trapped inside a computer there, telling me that I have to call back after hours to set up a time for a callback. Fuck that. Who else can I call?

I call the county tax people to ask them if this thing is still even a thing. I get transferred to someone who can answer such difficult questions.

Yes, it’s still a thing. Great. Exactly what do I need? I need to call someone else? Oh, fine.

So I call the number they gave me. They tell me that I can fax it to them, and that all I need is the award letter.

I thought I had one of those, but…I don’t have a clear one, and I really, really want one that’s clear. And less than ten pages long.

So: 800 number again. Which is different this time. And, after twenty minutes on hold, I manage to talk to someone, who sets up the letters and has them sent out. I should get them in a week.

Great.

Wait, what…what county am I in exactly? I should find out.

So I hit up some county websites, do some property searches and…what the FUCK, how are you spelling my name?

So I call the county assessor and tell them they have my name spelled wrong.

This is where shit gets bad.

See: they made a mistake. But that’s not the only mistake that was made. The people who did the title when I purchased the house? Also made a mistake. And I now have to fix it with them, because, as far as they’re concerned, I’m not the person on the title. And anything I do involving it won’t count, because the names are different.

Great. Just fucking great. By the way, WHY THE FUCK have you been accepting payments from me — with my name spelled correctly? Seriously?

So, I call up my title people. Who are going by a different name now. Because they changed three years ago.

And they can’t do anything about it today, because they changed three years ago, so a manager that isn’t there is the person I have to talk to.

Fucking christ. Seriously?

So, here I am, now sitting in a house that I, apparently, do not own, because some moron couldn’t spell something that was right in front of them.

So, yeah. This is what happens when I try to be responsible and adult. I find messes I should’ve fixed years ago.