A few, brief, thoughts.

I have been quiet the better part of a week.  Possibly, the best week of my life, in many ways.

Since my previous post, I have been in wheel-chair prescription-limbo.

It’s bizarre.  How strange our worlds?

Become, when insurance enters our lives.

It’s not my control.  It’s shared control.

In order to gain control, I have to learn how insurance companies think.  It’s what I imagine before.

The alien, suddenly, in my dreams.

And this has been possibly the best week of my life, because, for the rest of it, I have only been writing, and meditating on my manuscript. I am now in full book-writing mode.

Beam me up, Spock.

To a heavenly place.

Each day, when I begin to type.

Thoughts.  Not my own.


=== 6:48 PM ===


One of those days.  I wanted to call Windy Loo, my case manager, today.  Too tired.  I woke up and had a short morning before falling asleep for several hours on the couch.  I woke again this afternoon with pain coming on.

Funny, too, because yesterday I was beginning to notice how good my energy had been the past few days.  Enough energy to be planning my fight with The Demons of Insurance Underworld.

Pinch me, said my cliche.

I finally left the house sometime after 5 PM.  I first went to Harvest of Tempe for some new herb.  I bought two eighths.  One of Black Label Kush, and the other the ‘Platinum’ TrainWreck.

Then I went to Cheba Hut for a meal.  The lunch I never prepared, much less ate.  The dinner I won’t need to revisit later.  One of those days.

And now I’m in the mood to write.   Not sure if I’m journalling, or working up legal correspondence, or something for the blog or the book.

And, I’m thinking.  If I tell the insurance company about the five years of journals backing my case and my claims, are they going to want to see these things?

I’ll have to practice telling them to fuck off.  Calmly.  Confidently.

“Fuck off.  Are you going to honor the contract I have with you?  Or, do you want to be sued?  Those are your options.  You don’t get a look at my journals unless I have to sue you.”

There was a song playing while I ate my Humbolt and chips at Cheba Hut.  I asked the kids behind the counter.  Who is this?  Sounds like Bob Marley.  But, it can’t be.  This tune is contemporary.

Turns out it was Hey Baby, by Stephen Marley.  I think I may make that a CD purchase.  Do I purchase the CD now, confident I can win this case before my savings run out?  Or, do I hedge?

It’s true that everything contributes to the total sum of my expenses, but I don’t think I spend much on anything any more.  Food.  Periodic restocking of the herb stash.  Like today.  First time in a couple months.  The last purchase was November new, or the very tip of October’s tail.

I will look into the CD a bit more.  Listen first, to the song, again.  I’ll order it if I am confident it will keep.  Musical exploration helps me center myself.

Then, I’ll circle back to my case.  When I remind myself that my journals describe all the visits to doctors and hospitals to get an accurate diagnosis, and all of my sick days as I found myself able to do less and less, and the quality of my life the last few months of work, I have to think the evidence is golden.

Fear can be a bitch, though.  Why am I susceptible to fear today?  It seems related to my physical state.  Today I’m weak and in pain.  And fear of a legal wrestling match must be associated somehow with that.  Maybe one triggers the other?  Or, maybe they are similar in biological origin?

Or, perhaps they are mental.  Maybe being physically weak allows fear to take over.  If I were a small kid, I would certainly feel vulnerable facing a bully.  And, even though my weakness now is the strength of my case with the insurance company, it significantly subtracts from my motivation to pursue this.

But, I don’t have a choice.  I know I need to get on it.  First thing in the morning.  No excuses.

Today, though, I didn’t need an excuse until I woke this afternoon.  Exhausted.

And, one last thing.  It used to be when I journaled I felt comfortable during my introspection.  My thoughts are my own, I used to think.

Now, I just re-read today’s writing.  And my mental legal counsel saw the line, Not sure if I’m journalling, or working up legal correspondence, or something for the blog or the book.

Here is my legal disclaimer.  Those are my ambitions.  Those are not all the things I do each day.  Those are my choices.  How will I spend my writing today?  I only have enough energy for an hour or two.  It has to be worth my while.

And now, a message for the lawyers from the strength of my case.  If all I am able to write each day is an hour or two, how exactly am I supposed to go back to full-time work? 



Last night I went to dinner three friends.  They were arguing that my belief, insurance companies are populated with human beings, is wrong.  And, I failed to ask them.  But I should.

Have they enjoyed their segment of conspiratorial thought?

How else could I justify my opinion?  I haven’t had any actual experiences to back up my belief.

Their voices swirled in my head as I lay myself to sleep.  I had become fearful.

Probably wasn’t thinking as much as feeling.   Subterranean embers still glowed deep beneath the cool of the evening crust.

Bad experiences remembered.  Insurance stories related.  Wrapped in a pleasant visit.

So, who’s crazy?  Me?  Or the three of them?  I guess we will see which of these two notions crystalizes in the coming weeks.

This is my first fearful experience with an insurance company.  Fearful, because my survival depends on it.  Or, at least, the quality it all.

And yet.  People do survive for a time in the gutter.  Who says I couldn’t?

Besides my common sense?

And which opinion is true?  The one based in fear?  Or the one built firmly on the calmness of knowing?

I am right.  This is an epistemology course for disabled people fighting insurance industry brutality.

Brutality? First person?

Present!  Because fighting this burns.  My daily allotment of fuel for focused mental energy has shrunk quite small.

Don’t know if my tiny budget for laser thinking is a brake on my mind, or my body, or both.  It could be any combination of the three.

Keep positive.  Gonna need it.

If my friends are right.  And because life is more enjoyable not dragging baggage everywhere.

Four and-a-half years ago I pulled a trailer of cargo on my bike to a writing retreat.

In Tucson.  End of May, the temps hover somewhere above that third digit.

One hundred miles.  One day.  That was easier then.

Because.  Retaining bad emotions exhaust me now.  Is this physical?  Or an enlightened state just before sleep?

Last night before sleep I was one.  Against three.  Both times in our thoughts.

The insurance industry and God.  Three believers and one form of dissent.  A good conversation.  And, an effective segue for next time.


Well.  That’s it.  My budget spent.  I won’t work on my letter to the un-named insurance company.   Appealing their decision to stop paying my disability allowance.  Instead, I need.