It Might Just Be Naptime

For me, writing is like trying to grab a trickle of water. It's pretty to look at and seems sturdy enough, but when you put your hands on it, it all falls apart. So I'm sitting here, forcing myself to stay seated, trying not to sleep sitting up, ignoring thirst, hunger, and other distracting urges, and there's that damn trickle of water.

I'm keeping track today. It's been forty-two minutes. I've written 700 words and most of them are unusable. Most of them are just me prodding myself to keep going.

I haven't left the house except to go grocery shopping in the last few days (maybe a week?) It's nice not having to be anywhere. I signed up for COBRA, so I'll have health care again. Hooray for overpriced medical care.

Tangent: I think that if a doctor can't cure you or makes you sicker there should be some recourse. It's a service they're providing, and why should I get price gouged for a $110 office visit if they can't figure out what's wrong with me. As far as I can tell, medicine is a best-guess science. We can observe the workings of the body, but until we know WHY or HOW, we might as well go back to leeches. Doctors prescribe pills, sometimes based on kickbacks or what's fashionable, and then they monitor the results like we're guinea pigs. And then the pills we really need over the counter, like the morning after pill, are regulated by faith based pharmacists in their war against immorality.

"Did I say that out loud?" says the girl whose thyroid doctors would like to irradiate.

Mental note for the future: Halloween is not the opportune time to go grocery shopping. It is a busy busy day at the market.