Oh, I remember it like it was… oh wait, it’s RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
It’s my own damned fault. I chose this shit. Or, is it the rage before the darkness and despair that’s probably around the corner? Or is it the edges of the darkness and despair hurricane already fucking here, bringing some lovely rage along for the ride? FUCK.
I chose this wife, I chose this family, I chose this job, I chose every ounce of the tons of shit that is this life, and I chose to allow all of this bullshit, and I chose to leave things alone rather than risk fucking it all up, and to try to work hard as I could at making a go with what I chose. It’s not fucking working.
It’s going to be a great weekend.
Mrs M is going to visit her ailing mother and her panicking father. She’s experiencing the thing that eventually killed her mom, so that whole family is unnerved, exacerbated by the fucking idiot doctors who are doing their best to extract as much money as possible from the patient and family before finally killing her by not providing the treatment needed, but testing for everything. Sadly, I know about the proper treatment. It is uncomfortable and she has to quit taking blood thinners for a bit. But if they don’t either fix the symptom to allow her body to heal itself, or do the treatment, I’m afraid my mother-in-law is going to die. And right now, they’re not doing shit except watching her die with morbid curiosity. “Oh, hey, how interesting! Look at that!” Fucking ghouls.
I’m not a doctor, so I have no idea what considerations they are working through while pretending to care and pretending to be busy while pretending to be deciding how to treat while deciding not to treat the symptom, which is, she’s dying while they’re hemming and hawing over other options. Ass holes. With treatment, one of my friends with the same damned symptoms a while ago is now alive and well, but these doctors are thinking, “she’s old; let’s take the family for a ride down the financial shitter and then just let her die.” My friend is 30 years younger, so they kept her alive so she could pay them out the ass, which I can only imagine they left bleeding money from the barbed-wire wound instruments they shoved up there to insure continued payment.
Insurance is bullshit. You pay for insurance so you can get treatment by copay per visit, or copay and percentage of cost, or copay and whatever in-suck-rants bureau-craps decide they don’t feel like paying for out of what you’ve already paid them, and then you can’t afford it or coverage is denied, and then you die, and leave your family destitute after bankruptcy proceedings. Cheaper to just stay home and die without treatment, which is my current procedure. It’s a matter of time, which it is for everyone else. I’m not encouraging the process, but I’m not discouraging it either. If I don’t go I don’t have to pay more than my premium as required under fucking Obaminationcare’s law, which, by law, won’t help me with my situation but helps someone else help themselves to an extra $2600 a year more than I was paying before it became lawful pickpocketing. Fucking thieves!
My solution to insurance is to make it fair, a flat percentage tax-style rate based on income, regardless of pre-existing conditions, and then if you need to go to the doctor, or the dentist, or the optometrist, you should be able to schedule it and go, without all the extra bullshit out of pocket expense, sweating about what’s covered and what’s not, and if you need medicine you should be able to get that as a part of your coverage, and if you need to see a specialist that should be covered too. But that would eliminate a lot of high-level insurance company bullshit, and probably put a lot of high-paid ass holes out of jobs. They’d never stand for my plan. Imagine, making doctors, pharmacists, specialists, drug manufacturers, and all the other medical people just work, and figure out how to fight it out for their share of the pot! And if it isn’t all spent at the end of the year, the tax rate goes down because people are too healthy. They’d have to figure out how to agree, and maybe treat people for costs and maybe a little extra for the staff. That’ll never happen; not while there are yachts and fat retirement plans and their kids’ college expenses and nice houses and divorce payouts to consider. They wouldn’t like my definition of the word “malpractice,” either. That’s not entirely the doctor’s fault, not all the time. Sometimes malpractice is forced upon a doctor by an idiot insurance adjuster. Murder wouldn’t work- they’d just find another fucking cog to turn in the machine, with an overactive “coverage denied” stamp.
Mrs M is going to join the family’s emotional playground, so she’ll come back still worried, all emotional, and in all ways exhausted. And she’s dragging my son, who’s actually helpful when pushed a little, with her. My daughter has to work, so she doesn’t feel obliged until Mrs M or I push her buttons or take away her devices or indicate how thoroughly unhappy we are. Sometimes we have to do that to motivate both of them. I don’t have the energy, it’s easier to do all of the shit myself. But today, one of them put away dishes I washed and the other folded towels I washed, so that’s progress.
Speaking of button pushing, I had a call today from an automated collections service regarding our internet access, among other things, asking for a modest sum. And a late amount, for fucks sake, when I trusted Mrs M to fucking pay it on time or tell me about it. I called the lovely Mrs M., to inquire about it. She said I should just call and make a payment. Famous last words, for me. Because really, anything that starts with “just,” should instantly alert me that things are going to hell fairly soon.
I called them back to make a payment and got a fucking “payment was declined,” from the beautiful-sounding computer voice. “Just” my fucking ASS. Yep, I blew my stack, the stack hit the ceiling, and my rage pushed it all the way up there, past the ceiling, to the pain. She’s busy saving money because she wants to go on vacation somewhere this year, and she’s the one with all the monetary control, deciding what’s in savings vs what’s available to pay bills. If I had married the bank computer, I’d probably have enough to “just” pay the fucking bill. But Mrs M is softer (sometimes) and warmer (occasionally), than a rich computer, so I chose Mrs. M.
This episode followed yesterday’s button pushing session, during which I sat silently while Mrs M informed me of upcoming expenses that she believed would completely overload our current budgetary considerations and I’d just have to get another job soon, as if jobs were just hanging from trees to just pick one just that fucking easily. So I just already had a trigger and just let it just fester, and then today I just had another trigger and it just hit the bulls eye and just set me down this really dark, angry pathway.
And it’s my own fault.
Because why can’t I “just” get another job? Other people can. Other people can skate through life, jump from job to job, getting raises and earning enough to pay for shit they need. And I have always chosen options wherein the end result is insufficient, and I am insufficient, and I am worth more if someone rich kills me on the highway so she can sue everybody than if I just keep my current status quo.
We’re encouraged to explore possibilities in life, up to a point. And after that point, we start getting told “it is what it is,” without allowing or encouraging us to ask WHY “it is what it [fucking] is,” or why we can’t fucking FIX “what it is,” which is, “broken.” Except it isn’t “broken,” according to some people, because they can get it to fucking work, after several tries, therefore it “works.” which is a lot different concept of working than I want to fucking hear. Insurance and medical practice isn’t “broken,” in much the same way, and yet people who pay for insurance can’t afford medicine or treatment because it’s not covered under their plan because the insurance companies want everyone to just die so they can pocket the premiums, if they weren’t required to pay the doctors and pharmacists their pittance. SO yeah, obviously THAT’S not broken, is it? Nor is my sarcasm generator. (and may it never be!)
So, what’s undeniably broken, is ME, and my budget, and “it is what it [fucking] is,” so if someone wants to step in and fix what’s fucking broken, that’d be great. Stop telling me to “just” do anything when you should know damned well I “just” can’t, Stop telling me to “just” get another job unless you fucking “just” know a recruiter who’s dying for someone with my skills, and stop telling me to “just” get two jobs because I don’t want to encourage the above process of death by cardiac stress, I already can’t afford to attend to and have no desire to push toward.
It’s my own damned fault. I chose this shit, every last bit of it. Obviously, I’ve chosen depression and stress as a lifestyle. Statistically, the reasons reported for divorce are pretty standard sounding, and there wasn’t anything that surprised me here except the apparent overlap of multiple reasons why she might kick my ass to the curb. Number one was, not working hard enough, and obviously, if she thinks I’m not working hard enough because why haven’t I just gotten a better (harder) job that just pays more money or why haven’t I just gotten a second job already, then we’ve got a major fault line, and it’s my damned fault. I mean, I haven’t had my first heart attack yet, for fucks sake, so what’s wrong with me? And why am I not just fucking working harder?
If the marriage falls apart, does anyone know the number of that hot-sounding computer voice at the bank? Does she like to have her dust blown out, or sucked out, or does she prefer being unscrewed and brushed out with a nice, soft brush, and then gently (or roughly) screwed? Does she like power tools or a more natural, hands-on treatment? If I can talk her into marrying me, I’d probably be able to pay my internet access bill, and maybe even a little medical and dental treatment too. Anyone with the hookup? What kind of cable would work? Do you think she’ll reciprocate? I mean, I don’t want to have to take matters into my own crossed wires and waste my energy jacking on.