i've been contemplating the meaning of extreme hardship for so many years now that i think i may be over it. i have notebooks full of everything that it could possibly mean--to me, to my husband, to our families, to our friends, to the victims of war, to victors of war, to the very young and the very old, to the very rich and the very poor, to Buddhists, to athiests, to la Virgen, to George Bush, to Mahatma Gandhi, and...you hear me.
what matters is what the random person adjudicating the case sees as extreme hardship. it is not a rhetorical question. it is not ethics class (god knows). it is a judge and our packet of evidence.
and i thought it was said and done. i thought that at this point we had entrusted our fate to the fates, or the saints, the cosmic power, what have you, and waited for judgement. i thought that the packet of evidence we submitted was it. our lottery ticket was purchased, so to speak, and we only needed to sit back and wait for the drawing. but no! they want more evidence. more.
i'm at a loss. when will my hardship be extreme enough?
would it be better for me to wallow in my hardship? to lose my job, stop paying the bills, not get dressed in the morning? because that's no joke. i know. and i'd rather keep myself healthy than end up sick but with some juicier evidence.
i am so sick of these games dictating our lives.