![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Still Here
Jul. 29th, 2010 08:03 amStill alive, still writing (this story is like pulling teeth), still working--and got to run off to that day job. Post later, I hope.
Jul. 29th, 2010
Still Here
Jul. 29th, 2010 08:03 amStill alive, still writing (this story is like pulling teeth), still working--and got to run off to that day job. Post later, I hope.
The Wrong Kind of Distractions
Jul. 29th, 2010 07:01 pmMy writing was interrupted on Sunday by three very loud bangs. Where I was sitting, all I can see out the window is sky, and not much of that. But My Angel saw a man standing like he was pointing a gun (big hand, small gun; she couldn’t actually see the gun or his face from her angle) on the sidewalk across the street. I called 911 while she changed from the ripped broomstick she was wearing (worn high, it covers plenty to keep neighbors happy, and it’s cooler than jeans and a t-shirt in this heat) into clothing suitable for talking with the police. Of course I ended up handing her the phone halfway through the process so she could describe the man she saw.
After the cops arrived, and there were no more gunshots, we went outside. I cleaned trash from our yard (rose bushes tend to snag trash that’s blowing in the wind, and the neighbor kids are slobs) until the police were ready to talk to Angel. She stood where the man had been, which didn’t help them recover any slugs. So they figured there weren’t any. After a police woman said they had no evidence whatsoever, I walked along the sidewalk, peering at the trees, hoping to find a bullet hole. I had no luck in the trees, but did find a fresh, new hole in one side of a metal fence post. The other side of the post was bowed out. The cops said the little splat of metal that fell out the bottom of the fencing was the bullet. Score one for me for finding it, but not much use for forensics, I’m sure.
I didn’t feel very good that evening; I don’t know if something I shouldn’t eat snuck into my diet somewhere or if it was stress. Either way, it wasn’t good for my attempt to return to writing. I probably should have set the story aside and blogged.
I’ve got just a couple days more than a month at this temp job now, and I’ve run out of the segment of Cobra where there’s government help to pay the premiums. I now have three months where I can get Cobra by paying the full amount, followed by—I don’t know. An individual policy? I was told that it would cost $2600+ per month to get an individual policy that matches my old policy. I can talk to the insurance agent and see if there’s any chance of getting an underwritten policy cheaper, but I have asthma and allergies and sleep apnea and some arthritis and degenerative tendonitis. I don’t have much belief in that possibility, but I should do it. I also should speak with the temp companies. The one I’m working for now may have a policy; the one I was working with before does, though I don’t know if I’ll still qualify to sign up come October. And I don’t know the quality or cost of the coverage. *sigh*.
It is worrisome, when I let myself think about it. And I mostly try not to think about it; to think of stories to write, paintings to paint, blog posts to do, beautiful and fun things to experience, create, and share.
But I’m getting to a point where I have to think about it. Soon I need to call an insurance agent, and spend way too much time filling out forms. And call the temp agencies to ask about their insurance plans. And I need to go see my allergist to get refills of my allergy meds next month. But at least I ordered a new CPAP mask, while I’m still on insurance where I finally met the deductible.
Where’s our healthcare reform? I all but had an offer for a permanent job, except the attorney chose not to offer knowing I had no insurance once the Cobra ran out, and being unable to get group health insurance for his employees since he didn’t have enough of them. (I think I’d better not get started on how “small-employer-friendly” the proposals the Republicans have been backing really are.)
But now I should return to writing.
After the cops arrived, and there were no more gunshots, we went outside. I cleaned trash from our yard (rose bushes tend to snag trash that’s blowing in the wind, and the neighbor kids are slobs) until the police were ready to talk to Angel. She stood where the man had been, which didn’t help them recover any slugs. So they figured there weren’t any. After a police woman said they had no evidence whatsoever, I walked along the sidewalk, peering at the trees, hoping to find a bullet hole. I had no luck in the trees, but did find a fresh, new hole in one side of a metal fence post. The other side of the post was bowed out. The cops said the little splat of metal that fell out the bottom of the fencing was the bullet. Score one for me for finding it, but not much use for forensics, I’m sure.
I didn’t feel very good that evening; I don’t know if something I shouldn’t eat snuck into my diet somewhere or if it was stress. Either way, it wasn’t good for my attempt to return to writing. I probably should have set the story aside and blogged.
I’ve got just a couple days more than a month at this temp job now, and I’ve run out of the segment of Cobra where there’s government help to pay the premiums. I now have three months where I can get Cobra by paying the full amount, followed by—I don’t know. An individual policy? I was told that it would cost $2600+ per month to get an individual policy that matches my old policy. I can talk to the insurance agent and see if there’s any chance of getting an underwritten policy cheaper, but I have asthma and allergies and sleep apnea and some arthritis and degenerative tendonitis. I don’t have much belief in that possibility, but I should do it. I also should speak with the temp companies. The one I’m working for now may have a policy; the one I was working with before does, though I don’t know if I’ll still qualify to sign up come October. And I don’t know the quality or cost of the coverage. *sigh*.
It is worrisome, when I let myself think about it. And I mostly try not to think about it; to think of stories to write, paintings to paint, blog posts to do, beautiful and fun things to experience, create, and share.
But I’m getting to a point where I have to think about it. Soon I need to call an insurance agent, and spend way too much time filling out forms. And call the temp agencies to ask about their insurance plans. And I need to go see my allergist to get refills of my allergy meds next month. But at least I ordered a new CPAP mask, while I’m still on insurance where I finally met the deductible.
Where’s our healthcare reform? I all but had an offer for a permanent job, except the attorney chose not to offer knowing I had no insurance once the Cobra ran out, and being unable to get group health insurance for his employees since he didn’t have enough of them. (I think I’d better not get started on how “small-employer-friendly” the proposals the Republicans have been backing really are.)
But now I should return to writing.
The Wrong Kind of Distractions
Jul. 29th, 2010 07:01 pmMy writing was interrupted on Sunday by three very loud bangs. Where I was sitting, all I can see out the window is sky, and not much of that. But My Angel saw a man standing like he was pointing a gun (big hand, small gun; she couldn’t actually see the gun or his face from her angle) on the sidewalk across the street. I called 911 while she changed from the ripped broomstick she was wearing (worn high, it covers plenty to keep neighbors happy, and it’s cooler than jeans and a t-shirt in this heat) into clothing suitable for talking with the police. Of course I ended up handing her the phone halfway through the process so she could describe the man she saw.
After the cops arrived, and there were no more gunshots, we went outside. I cleaned trash from our yard (rose bushes tend to snag trash that’s blowing in the wind, and the neighbor kids are slobs) until the police were ready to talk to Angel. She stood where the man had been, which didn’t help them recover any slugs. So they figured there weren’t any. After a police woman said they had no evidence whatsoever, I walked along the sidewalk, peering at the trees, hoping to find a bullet hole. I had no luck in the trees, but did find a fresh, new hole in one side of a metal fence post. The other side of the post was bowed out. The cops said the little splat of metal that fell out the bottom of the fencing was the bullet. Score one for me for finding it, but not much use for forensics, I’m sure.
I didn’t feel very good that evening; I don’t know if something I shouldn’t eat snuck into my diet somewhere or if it was stress. Either way, it wasn’t good for my attempt to return to writing. I probably should have set the story aside and blogged.
I’ve got just a couple days more than a month at this temp job now, and I’ve run out of the segment of Cobra where there’s government help to pay the premiums. I now have three months where I can get Cobra by paying the full amount, followed by—I don’t know. An individual policy? I was told that it would cost $2600+ per month to get an individual policy that matches my old policy. I can talk to the insurance agent and see if there’s any chance of getting an underwritten policy cheaper, but I have asthma and allergies and sleep apnea and some arthritis and degenerative tendonitis. I don’t have much belief in that possibility, but I should do it. I also should speak with the temp companies. The one I’m working for now may have a policy; the one I was working with before does, though I don’t know if I’ll still qualify to sign up come October. And I don’t know the quality or cost of the coverage. *sigh*.
It is worrisome, when I let myself think about it. And I mostly try not to think about it; to think of stories to write, paintings to paint, blog posts to do, beautiful and fun things to experience, create, and share.
But I’m getting to a point where I have to think about it. Soon I need to call an insurance agent, and spend way too much time filling out forms. And call the temp agencies to ask about their insurance plans. And I need to go see my allergist to get refills of my allergy meds next month. But at least I ordered a new CPAP mask, while I’m still on insurance where I finally met the deductible.
Where’s our healthcare reform? I all but had an offer for a permanent job, except the attorney chose not to offer knowing I had no insurance once the Cobra ran out, and being unable to get group health insurance for his employees since he didn’t have enough of them. (I think I’d better not get started on how “small-employer-friendly” the proposals the Republicans have been backing really are.)
But now I should return to writing.
After the cops arrived, and there were no more gunshots, we went outside. I cleaned trash from our yard (rose bushes tend to snag trash that’s blowing in the wind, and the neighbor kids are slobs) until the police were ready to talk to Angel. She stood where the man had been, which didn’t help them recover any slugs. So they figured there weren’t any. After a police woman said they had no evidence whatsoever, I walked along the sidewalk, peering at the trees, hoping to find a bullet hole. I had no luck in the trees, but did find a fresh, new hole in one side of a metal fence post. The other side of the post was bowed out. The cops said the little splat of metal that fell out the bottom of the fencing was the bullet. Score one for me for finding it, but not much use for forensics, I’m sure.
I didn’t feel very good that evening; I don’t know if something I shouldn’t eat snuck into my diet somewhere or if it was stress. Either way, it wasn’t good for my attempt to return to writing. I probably should have set the story aside and blogged.
I’ve got just a couple days more than a month at this temp job now, and I’ve run out of the segment of Cobra where there’s government help to pay the premiums. I now have three months where I can get Cobra by paying the full amount, followed by—I don’t know. An individual policy? I was told that it would cost $2600+ per month to get an individual policy that matches my old policy. I can talk to the insurance agent and see if there’s any chance of getting an underwritten policy cheaper, but I have asthma and allergies and sleep apnea and some arthritis and degenerative tendonitis. I don’t have much belief in that possibility, but I should do it. I also should speak with the temp companies. The one I’m working for now may have a policy; the one I was working with before does, though I don’t know if I’ll still qualify to sign up come October. And I don’t know the quality or cost of the coverage. *sigh*.
It is worrisome, when I let myself think about it. And I mostly try not to think about it; to think of stories to write, paintings to paint, blog posts to do, beautiful and fun things to experience, create, and share.
But I’m getting to a point where I have to think about it. Soon I need to call an insurance agent, and spend way too much time filling out forms. And call the temp agencies to ask about their insurance plans. And I need to go see my allergist to get refills of my allergy meds next month. But at least I ordered a new CPAP mask, while I’m still on insurance where I finally met the deductible.
Where’s our healthcare reform? I all but had an offer for a permanent job, except the attorney chose not to offer knowing I had no insurance once the Cobra ran out, and being unable to get group health insurance for his employees since he didn’t have enough of them. (I think I’d better not get started on how “small-employer-friendly” the proposals the Republicans have been backing really are.)
But now I should return to writing.