Wednesday, December 11, 2002

surprisingly, these roses are still blooming...not like this, though, this picture is from another time

"Time is very dangerous without a rigid routine. If you do the same thing every day at the same time for the same length of time, you'll save yourself from many a sink. Routine is a condition of survival."

Flannery O'Connor

I was late for my lunch today. I know. It's ridiculous. That appointment for lunch was the only thing I really had to do. I got home from my workout (thirty minutes on the bicycle and a bunch of weight machines for my wimpy upper body) and showered and dressed. I was looking through the application for the health insurance we are considering to replace COBRA. I took some letters to mail and thought I'd drop them off on the way, but I realized I was going to be late even if I didn't. I didn't take the best route there, probably, and blew right past the place (Tam's Deli and Bakery) and had to turn around and come back. My friend forgave me. One of the Nancys.

We talked about work (hers) and our industry (we've worked together and both worked other places) and retirement (mine) and budgets, health insurance, exercise. We talked about playing racquetball some time at my club. I've never played at this club. Neither of us is sure we could find our racquet. I used to be better than her and spot her whatever points she made in games in each subsequent game. At the same time I was playing with someone far better than I who did the same thing for me. That was a long time ago. A really long time. Over a decade ago. Maybe fifteen, sixteen years. I found some notes from that time a few days ago. I weighed about 145-150, about twenty-five or thirty pounds less than now. Wow.

Anyway, lunch finished (a noodle dish with vegies, tofu and peanut sauce), we parted. I went to the post office and dropped off the letters and then stopped by Dad's. The mail hadn't arrived as I knew it probably wouldn't have. I went inside to look for phone messages. I went to our broker nearby to take a check to cover a trade. Then I decided to do a little shop-looking and then try for the mail again. If I could get today's then I could probably not go back until Friday. I headed for a center that was designed for three big stores but has always had only two: Ross Dress for Less and Office Depot. At Ross, I find a puzzle for my great nephew for his next birthday, a book for him, some nice notecards for my mother-in-law for Christmas and some seasonal dish towels...something I like to give away at Thanksgiving but these were pretty cheap and that gives me a start on next year assuming I can find them next year in the disarray that is the 'gift and wrapping closet.'. I look at lots of things at Office Depot. I didn't buy a single thing, though. Nothing. But I wasted enough time.

Because my dad's mail was there when I got back. Nothing important. Ads. Christmas cards. But I don't like to leave the mail out for fear that someone will decide no one is home.

I take the scenic route home (2222) well before the working stiffs are clogging up the roads.

FFP and I look over the medical insurance stuff. The form is pretty straightforward except for the part where you reveal ever possible medical problem (including skin disorders) ever diagnosed in your life. I will have trouble remembering the doctor who diagnosed my psoraisis. I know he's surely long dead. I haven't used doctor nor drug for it in years. I think I'll leave it out. Even my one surgery and its disorder has now receded to the point that I can't remember the doctor's name. Well, maybe I can. But his address and phone number? Yep, I had surgery in 1970. Wow. Thirty-two years ago. If you don't count having my tubes tied. And I don't. And, of course, they don't care about that either. This sets me to thinking about how few medical problems I've actually had. Endometriosis (defeated by that 1970 surgery). A long-standing case of what John Updike calls being 'at war with my skin.' What the TV commercials call the heartbreak of psoraisis.

So, yes, I'm ridiculously healthy. But one worries. Maybe I will have an aneurysm rupture like my sister or suddenly turn up with a brutal, yet treatable cancer. I'm not worried about dying. I worry about medical expenses. Not the first few thousand, heck we might survive the first hundred thousand. No, it's the last few million. When people work for the man they often get this insurance for nothing or for a ridiculously low price and it includes covering lots of little check-ups and stuff. But, if we can get this policy issued (with the pre-existing psoraisis and all), we will be covered at the high end (up to 5 million lifetime). I don't think I'd care to live after consuming five million in health care. Just shoot me.

Anyway, we want insurance that lets us pay for check-ups, minor things and, if anything more major falls apart, lets us pay something and then makes sure that the rest is paid for. I really think that if more people paid their first few thousand a year (depending on their income maybe the first few hundred) out of pocket that we'd have a better, more efficient system. We wouldn't have claims for a lot of little stuff and all that paperwork. It would be nice, of course, if doctors would charge people paying cash the negotiated prices they seem to give the carriers.

I have three health care rants. One is why can't we have an electronic medical record that has all our records on it that we can authorize any doc or insurance guy to look at some way. This would save time, money and lives. Two is why can't we have a system where you pay for services, it is recorded on this record and, if you get over your deductible, it automatically notifies the insurance company with all the info they need. Privacy, piracy. Our current system is crap and serves no one but paper pushers. Of course, EDS or IBM would get the contract and botch it up after pocketing billions. There is truly no hope. Three is why when we do so like to pass laws that we don't just make deductibles scale up with income by law. Then people would buy their own medical care up to their means and budget for it. Those multi-million dollar CEOs would have to pay the first few tens of thousands. In other words, they'd be paying for all their health care most of the time. They could illegally get the CFO to use the purchasing department to make sure they were getting quality care for Junior's motorcycle accident results at a good price.

And, yes, we have been insured these last couple of months. We used COBRA to extend my corporate coverage. However, this is pretty expensive since you pay the alleged cost of the fancy coverage with the low deductible plus a little something for their trouble. And, more importantly, you can't get it after eighteen months. So it's best to get something else in place for the long haul.

So I didn't accomplish a lot and suddenly it is five thirty and that seems significant. It still seems that way even though the only thing that happens at five thirty is that FFP comes down and starts rumbling around and talking dinner (which we eat earlier now but that's supposed to be a good thing) and, if there is an evening entertainment, we start getting ready.

Yeah, it's five thirty. And...I haven't finished reading the papers. In fact, I haven't started reading the papers.

Forrest has pulled our cars out into the driveway and two guys are detailing our cars. This is our major Christmas present to ourselves. Cleaning up what you already own seems like a good present in the spirit of downsizing. We throw together something to pass for dinner. He has a grilled cheese sandwich and something else (I washed two plates) and I have some sautéed mushrooms on toast topped with cheese and an apple. (Not the apple on top, I just ate an apple.) It's just a matter of finding something in the frig and eating it. I clean up the dishes and, by golly, get started on getting through the papers. I suppose I should cure this by getting up at 5 or 6 in the morning and reading the papers when they come. I suppose. Or not.

We watch some TV and I read papers and doze and get up to have some chips and cheese and water. I don't finish the daily papers. I'm a complete failure. If all I had to do was read The Austin American-Statesman, The New York Times, and The Wall Street Journal each day I would get behind. That isn't really fair, of course. I got my workout done. And I produced a page of drivel for you my few readers. I read a few pages of my novel (while exercising) and I filled out paperwork for health insurance. I fed myself and (in the case of the meal I had at home) cleaned up. I added to my lore of where to shop for cheap stuff or where to find obscure things.

Yeah, it doesn't seem like much. It really wasn't. The thing about work? It wastes your day for you and you don't have to do it yourself!

JUST TYPING
What exactly was I going to do?
Not working?
Travel?
Write?
Read?
Exercise?
Create?