But, If We Had Socialized Medicine, We’d Have Tremendous Waits

As you all know, I have been bitching about various medical conditions that have been plaguing me since… I don’t know.  They’ve been with me so long, it feels like forever.  I have been suffering from swollen feet for long enough that they’ve stopped swelling up to the size of small loaves of bread.  They just occasionally get puffy at night.

The issue that dare not speak its name continues to be an issue.  But fine.  I’ve even learned to live with that.

The thing that still annoys me, though, is that I can’t breathe.  Still.  I can’t breathe during the day.  I’m pretty sure I’m regularly not breathing at night.  And, even when I’m awake, if I’m tired, I make noises like I’m snoring.  Also, I sometimes fall asleep right after lunch.

Though, in all honesty, even that’s improved somewhat in that I’m not automatically falling asleep right after lunch, but just growing so tired that I daydream about sleeping.

Anyway, back in June, I knew this whole breathing thing was an issue I needed to have taken care of, because it was totally out of hand.

Well, I had to switch doctors, because my previous doctor was kind of a stupid ass and his approach to the things that were wrong with me is my approach to the things that are wrong with me, which is, let’s see if we can wait them out.

And then my insurance was fucked up, so I couldn’t get that straightened out until I got back from Boston.

So, I get back from Boston, I get my insurance straightened out, and I call to make an appointment with the new doctor I’ve been assigned to.  This is in mid-July.  My choices for when I can come in are immediately, which I could not do, in early September, when I’m in Canada, or October 1st.

I know there are lots of good reasons why socialized medicine is not the panacea I imagine it to be.  But if I hear one more person talking about how we’ll all be waiting months to do things like go to the doctor, I will punch that person.

Granted, it won’t hurt them, because I’ll probably fall asleep mid-swing, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Stacey Campfield! Now is the Time to Put Your Money Where Your Mouth is!

So, if you’ve been flitting around the internet, you’ve certainly noticed that Campfield is still on his whole “Liberals love puppies more than they love babies” kick.  And, unfortunately, he’s got folks riled up.  Now, Mark Rose is all “Dogs receive more protection than unborn human beings.”

Really, at this point, this is bordering on ridiculous.

Stacey Campfield is a young, strong, spry man with a good job that allows him plenty of time to also be a state legislator.  He lives in a beautiful part of the state with a vibrant culture (as explained by David Oatney right here).  He’s got a mom he appears to love dearly (at least if we can take his blog as evidence) who has raised a child and gleaned wisdom from that.  Campfield’s got a stable life, good education, good income, and a source of good advice.

He’s not married, but so what?

If “the children” are so important that we must curtail the rights of women in order to protect them, if they are in such dire straights that even a momentary focus away from their well-being onto the well-being of companion animals is a threat that must be mocked at every turn, then why isn’t Stacey Campfield doing more for Tennessee’s children?

There are about a hundred and seventy kids in Tennessee right now waiting to be adopted.

Why hasn’t Campfield adopted even one?

Oh, Spanish Potato Dish, I Sing Your Praises

Someday, when I come to understand men, I’m going to quit writing this blog and turn my attention to writing a book about men, which will probably be called something like Ah, Men, It’s All So Clear Now that I’m 127.

Do I not spoil y’all enough?  Do I not run my fingers through your hair often enough and tell you how cute you are?  Do I not show you my boob freckle right here on the internet?

Well, it doesn’t matter.  Today, I am renouncing you.  I am through with men.  Hell, I am through with women.  I am through with sentient beings all together.

I’m leaving you, if you care, for NM’s Spanish potato dish I do not know the name of.  But it was amazing.  It had potatos.  It was in a dish.  The potatos were thinly sliced and there was some green pepper in there and the whole thing was held together by eggs.  My first thought was, “I would debase myself shamelessly for the person who would make this for me every day.” 

But then I thought, that’s ridiculous.  That’s like meeting a person with sparkling brown eyes and big dimples and trying to fuck their mom.

No, don’t go after the person who provided the object of your desire.  Go after the object of your desire.

So, Spanish potato dish, whose name I don’t know, I love you and really hope that you will move in with me and spoil me as completely as you spoiled my taste-buds last night.