Shitty news in the mail today.
First third post-it, “Thanks lots” was “FUCK YOU.”
Even as revised, glad it’s not searchable. Yay post-its.
That said, am mad enough to post it goddamn everywhere. After a whole afternoon feeling pissed as hell about my second-class status at work, thinking well at least I have good health insurance – bam, the thing I need it for, taken.
I’ve had these headaches for years, I soldier up and teach through them, meds come at a personal cost almost not worth it, thought I was on track to ease out of them. Fucking fuck.
Someone should start a religion about how bad luck comes in flocks, and it’s okay, or something. Oh one did, and I signed on. Not doing very good at staying on right now. Though shouting FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING BASTARDS to my empty house does seem to have cleared the migraine I was in all day.
Anyway. It is health care rationing. Cloak of reason, cloak of clinical evidence, whatevs. It’s market forces pretending not to be, pretense of disinterest. GAH. It’s about the money, assholes, so say so.
I am so selfish. I am, and that sickness, no insurance can cover, it’s on me. But my headaches, you jerks, could you? I have a little good to give, and it goes to my students, whom I do love and you did hire me to teach.
I give more and better when I’m not in pain, right, you get that?
If I put it as a calculation, a trade of commodities, do you get it?
“Jerks,” “assholes” – stop. It’s like road rage. You can be mad at a car as long as the person in it’s an abstraction. (That abstraction is the same sort of abstraction money is. I’m doing what I’m accusing of.) Whoever’s made this decision is caught in the same web I am. It’s just, it hurts, and it’s going to hurt a bit more, in head body or pocket, and I want someone to lash out at for it.
Why you shouldn’t post in the heat of the moment. People have lost their homes in Santa Rosa and others are drinking water from hazardous waste sites in Puerto Rico. (And that’s abstract to me.) My troubles are what. Low-level chronic pain is tough, yes, and I’m in it. (And it’s concrete to me. Arg.) Loss of almost every material thing you own is tough too. Abandonment by your arrogant government is tough three.
I have a bumpersticker: IMPEACH. The rest is self-explanatory. But it has to mean, impeach the Trump in you – don’t be a blowhard, self-concerned, always putting the wrong on others.
I can’t impeach Trump! (Oh if only.) I can though impeach the Trump in me.
Sorry, Washington State Health Care Authority, the people who make you up. I think as an abstract entity you’ve done a dumb thing. It does me a modest amount of harm – I’ll have to cut into precious savings to get the treatment I want and need. But the people who make you up, I’m sorry. I forgot you were there behind the glass as you drove by.