I’m taking several vacation days to be able to spend some time with Susan and the kids, as well as to focus on a couple of for-fun writing projects.
Also, I plan to reboot my diet and fitness plan. But that’s another post.
Well, actually, it was going to be today’s post, but now today’s post is about why there’s no possible way I could write something entertaining.
Here’s why: today I confronted the labyrinth of insurance and medical expenses.
It took all morning to figure out which things are really bills, which are just statements, which are bills that are redundant to bills sent concurrently to insurance, and which bills my insurance company has paid, but which I have been sent angry letters demanding payment for anyway.
I believe that I have now given my credit card number to every medical establishment within a 300-mile radius.
I then sat down to begin writing something fun for the blog. At which point, I realized that there is no possible way in the world I would be writing something entertaining today, what with my blood boiling, my stomach churning, and my soul sucked dry. And whatnot. I simply don’t have it in me to be fun right now. Which is a weird sensation for me, and not very pleasant.
I tell you what: there’s a lot that sucks about cancer that has nothing to do with the cancer.
Hey, look! I think I just saw a tumbleweed blow across the windswept, barren deathscape that was once my checking account.