Wednesday, June 5, 2019

this is a rant. i'll delete it later. i just need to vent.

I'm fed up with the corporate greed in the "healthcare" industry.

It's not about healthcare.
It's about profit. Period.

The people at the top aren't clinicians, they're businessmen, with one goal...and it doesn't involve helping your sweet little granny walk again after her hip replacement.
It's all about milking medicare as much as possible. they don't care that "medicare" is US. the more we milk it now the less it'll be there when we need it. i cannot believe how short sighted people are in their mad rush to line their pockets. what about their kids and grandkids?

i'm so sick of it.

the clinicians in the field, seeing patients, DO care. they put themselves and their licenses on the line daily.

people sit behind keyboards and tell us HOW many visits we can see them. People who NEVER see the patient.

i'm so pissed.

and they're all the same.

they have warm and cozy mottos but it's all bullshit. the money they spend on marketing alone is a red flag. hint: professional photos and nice leather couches in the office usually mean cut throat greed behind closed doors.

we buy into it because we're desperate. we sign on the dotted line and know that they don't care.

like "You're in good hands with Allstate". yeah right. "Healthcare" is just as much of a farce.

ok, and this isn't just about my occupation.

this unlimited greed has changed my politics.

i'm not yet to the point of "medicare for all", mostly because i think it would cave in on itself.

but it has changed me. i see how much the owners of these "agencies" spend on their "work conferences" to las vegas. i see what they do. it's disgusting.

they become grotesque. if karma is real, these people will suffer the most awful of incurable diseases in total isolation and depravation. they'll have nothing to comfort them except the memories of the expensive trips they took on the company dime, the excess food and drinks, the fancy shows, the SHOPPING. then they'll remember the HUNDREDS of UNINSURED indigent clients they took on out of federal mandate, only to discharge two weeks later with no real care given and no real therapy having taken place. they'll feel the weight of their greed and gluttony.

God forgive me. i have no grace here.

maybe i need to do something different.

Monday, May 13, 2019

Looking Back, 1984

I remember so vividly the transition from living in the city to living in the country. In the city we had Girl Scouts, swim lessons, clean houses, new cars, tidy green lawns, smiling kids, and gymnastics.  In the country we had HUD homes, used cars, mean kids on bikes, cigarette smokers, yelling parents, grass burrs, and gymnastics. At least that was a constant in my life. Gymnastics served as a stronghold for me to develop some grit. I remember getting my monthly USA Gymnastics magazine, and pouring over articles and interviews with Mary Lou Retton. If that short girl with strong legs could do it, so could I. Mom probably spent all of her money on my lessons, leotards, competition fees, and doctor's visits. She never flinched. In fact, if I complained about lessons she was quick to remind me of the hard work I had put in. As much as I loved competing with my team, I still never felt like I fit in. I think it was because most of them still lived in the city...

My new school was a shock. Run down buildings, old school buses...I'd never ridden a bus before, now I rode it twice a day with my little brother. We got up early and waited in the dark for the bus to arrive. On the days we were running late he would honk once a minute for three minutes. He really was a nice guy, considering his job. The kids on the bus were wild animals, scowling at each other at 7:30 am, hurling insults for no reason at all. The girls wore absurd amounts of makeup and seemed angry all the time. One girl had scars on her face, and after being invited to a sleepover at her house and seeing how they lived,  I wasn't a bit surprised. Her parents weren't there the entire time, and we watched Children Of The Corn alone in her living room. When I went to her kitchen to get a piece of cake, roaches scrambled all over the counter top and dishes. We slept on her bedroom floor without blankets, and I woke up with at least 30 spider bites on my legs. The next day we talked in her driveway, and she was cold and secretive about everything. She wasn't friendly to me, but I still felt sad for her and obligated to be her friend. Turns out she didn't want any new friends. 

After school my brother and I would lock the doors and watch HeMan: Master of the Universe, and eat Jello Pudding Pops. Mom bought Little Debbie snacks for us, and we never seemed to run out. I remember her coming home and cooking supper, then falling asleep on the couch while we did math homework. She was exhausted in every way. One day I sat in the passenger seat of her Mazda and held her hand while she cried. That was horrifying. My grandparents were pure love and comfort. Mamaw kept us in the summer, and cooked three meals a day. There was always a homemade pie or cake after supper. We picked peaches in her orchard, and watched Papaw work in the fields. He would take us out to the well house and let us "help" him irrigate the cotton. The cold well water rushed over our feet and the smell of cold water and fresh soil was pure joy. We'd ride in the Jeep from the field back to the house if a thunderstorm blew in. Again, that magical smell of rain coming had a way of cleaning out my soul. 

This was the year I accepted Christ. My best friend in the neighborhood had invited me to a local church, and I kept going on my own after that. I'd ride my skateboard to church on Sundays and slide it under a bush to hide it. My Sunday school teacher was a kind lady, never critical. The preacher had acne scars all over his face, but he was always smiling. The ladies in the church would smile and pat me on the shoulder, and it felt like pity, but maybe it wasn't. I took the prayer of salvation seriously, even at the age of 10. It was a very real psychic  and emotional change in me, and it came at a good time. I genuinely saw people differently after my baptism. Colors seemed different...softer. At that age I understood how simple God's love was, and I accepted it fully. It wasn't complicated at all. It was beautiful. I felt less alone, and no longer lost in the events of my life. 

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Pinhole Day 2019

This is me with my friend Wendolin. She's always up for an adventure.

This self-portrait was taken with a 3-hole pinhole camera.

Thursday, April 25, 2019

i just came across a bunch of homeschool materials and a wave of sadness washed over me.

that episode is still too raw. i had to revisit the memories of being in that group to realize what an immense relief it is to NOT be in that group anymore.

but what a pity.

because it was honestly the best education a child can get at that stage in life.

the problem with parenting is that you never know if there is something much better than what you're currently doing. well, i guess if you're in a horrible situation, education wise, you can assume there are better options. but in our situation, it seems to be a toss up. our public school district is mediocre at best. i see it deteriorating in certain areas, primarily physics, chemistry, anatomy, literature, visual arts....yet we continue to pass multi-million dollar bond packages to upgrade the football stadium.

((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((good thing all those mediocre football players will go on to be stellar citizens with all the morals they're taught by those coaches. good thing they'll all go on to earn a living with football....)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))


i was amazed at how much she learned in one year. just the grammar and writing alone was beyond anything she'll get in public schools. she caught up on math (was behind from public school fifth grade), and surpassed her peers. she learned more about geography, history, and art. it really was a good year, education wise.

but then there was the social aspect.

in my adult life i have never felt as alone as i did in this particular group. the layers of persona were so thick....thicker than i've ever experienced. and why do women do that? maybe men do too, but i'm not around them as much. why do women put so much effort into creating an image? and most of the time it's JUST LIKE everyone else around her.

i found myself wanting to lash out. color my hair again.

i started to feel like i was a caged animal.

i know that's all my stuff. but how much easier is life when we can relate to the person next to us? how much lighter is a burden shared? not here. no burdens shared. no weakness revealed. no cracks in the exterior.

i'm so cracked. so imperfect that i don't have the energy to cover it up to that extent.