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Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Thanks to Annie

So, thanks to Annie, I must confess and submit. For I have promised in public and I have tried and failed and I have not written in so long that the last thing up here is Spain, which I haven't been to in over a year.

Now that we didn't visit, of course, as Karma or Dogma or Momma would have it, J's dad ended up hospitalized with a pulmonary embolism. The pure hell of that week and half after he found out--because his family didn't tell him; he found out by accident when he called his dad's cell--is only one of the many scars I bear this spring.

Xrays tomorrow or the next for the Left Knee and the Right Foot will show "If this is a disease process or degenerative" because my sed rate is below normal and if you didn't need any vowels to read that, you know too much about pain. Of course she said degenerative as though it were a throw-away word; as though then it wouldn't hurt as much. She had to. Because if it is degenerative she can't do as much.

In the meantime I should be proud of myself for getting the Rx Companies to help pay the $2000+ per month I would otherwise spend on my meds (like I have that kind of money). I was let down by the woman on the other end of the phone who while activating my card asked, "Do you have your medications delivered to your home?" And clearly didn't even break a smile when I replied, "No, I actually drive down to the street corner." She asked which pharmacy I used. I refrained from correcting her; the proper term, of course, being discopharmacologist. I answered her questions. I was polite. It was a near relief to only deal with a machine when activating the second Rx help card. My insurance has improved this year. Just enough that I can't get the really expensive shit I put in my body for free and can't afford the co-pay. And believe me, I put some expensive poison in this body.

Meanwhile I've been promising myself I'd keep a daily journal this year of magical parenting so I could write about it and I would be honest and a real writer. And I haven't. I can't. I don't have the time. I don't have the energy. I am not entirely sure I will ever have the honesty.

Instead I read for exams--which would be a noble excuse if it were true nearly as often as it should be or if I had done nearly as much of it as I need to have done by now. I take the kid to school. I pick her up. I watch trashy and fun TV with her. I go shopping, I cook, I take the dogs to the vet, I work at BAM, I teach Hebrew School, I worry. I nap. I nap a lot. I cannot but nap. And I do read. But not enough.

And so here I am posting to all the world, sadly knowing it will not read and still fearing it might. I might even manage some more. Soon.

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