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Early on Monday morning, I woke up very suddenly and proceeded to have a very thorough stomach upset for much of the day. My boss is the best boss, for taking over and sorting out my Tuesday work for me. I had to reorganise the cleaner, and my routine bone marrow appointment due today (because taking a potential stomach bug into a ward of cancer patients is distinctly antisocial) and completely redo the who-is-home-when plan for the week.
But I was at least able to work today, and (fingers-crossed) I'll be back in the office tomorrow.
The most exciting thing this week has at least gone to plan so far. My dad made a flying visit today to collect Nicholas for a long weekend at WOMAD. His first time away from home without a parent in tow; not his first time away from both parents though, and it should be a lot of fun for them both. I look forward to hearing all about it on Monday.
But in the last hour or so I walked the dog, did the smallest bit of tidying, talked to Andrew about some of the stuff that's bugging me. So this evening has been slightly better than today.
(I also found that gmail is a dick: a scary e-mail I thought I sent a whole week ago (saying "I cannot continue volunteering with this thing any more because
Today I found this beauty. The door itself is purple, but the panels have been painted pink and there are little flowers on the panels which have picked out in a deep violet. It's wonderful.
( Pictures )
It's been one of those hurry-up-and-wait weeks at work. Only two court appearances all week, the second and last of them early tomorrow, and both of them local; but I'm waiting on any number of clients, courts and opponents to get off their respective arses to schedule things, and I'm largely in limbo until they do.
This gives me unexpected time to watch the Parade of Idiocy going by. Frankly, I'd rather just be busy with work. Yesterday gave us the grand spectacle of Senator John McCain being rushed back to DC, his brain cancer freshly diagnosed and the Best Care Anywhere for him assured, so he could get a round of applause on the Senate floor before casting the deciding vote to begin the process of taking such care away from thousands of his own constituents and millions of his fellow citizens.
He will tell you it was just a procedural vote. He followed it with a much-praised floor speech where he decried the divisiveness of the chamber he's been a part of for decades and called for a "return to regular order." This, right after enabling debate, probable bribes, an exhausting "vote-a-rama" (that's the actual term they use) and an eventual final vote on the aforesaid stripping of health care from millions- on a bill that doesn't even exist in printable form yet. THAT's regular order?
But for me, the money quote in the speech was this:
Both sides have let this happen. Let's leave the history of who shot first to the historians.
If McCain really meant that, he wouldn't have enabled the continuation of this hyperpartisan process. He might have suggested, moments after the "no" vote he didn't have the balls to cast, that we depoliticize this whole business. As I posited last week:
Would you buy a house that was designed by a hairdresser and built by a baker? How about getting behind the wheel of an automobile engineered and sold by the Ford Anvil Company? Stupid, right? And yet for my entire lifetime, we've been entrusting the repair and reform of our health care system to a bunch of politicians of both parties who couldn't surgically reattach their asses to their elbows if they even could tell the difference between them.
The Clintons tried and failed. Dubya tried and failed with Medicare Part D. Obama tried and failed. And now the Cheeto's going down in another spectacular failure.
Why don't they all say, WE QUIT. Turn the whole thing over to a blue-ribbon, nonpartisan panel of doctors, hospitals, patient advocates and pharmaceutical companies. Lock them in a room for a month- no politicians or lobbyists allowed- and see what they come up with. It's got to be better than this shit.
But that won't happen. Because as any fan of Star Wars could tell you, the history of who shot first is established here: Greed-o did.
But at least we don't have Death Panels, like them socialist medicine countries do. Or so they would tell you- and did, repeatedly and with fake poignance, over the saga of "Little Charlie Gard." This infant became 2017's poster child for the triumph of Make American Medicine Great Again over those horrid National Health rationers in England. On any number of occasions during the current US health care battle, the Cheeto and his minions have trotted out Little Charlie Gard as proof that socialized medicine will kill ya.
Bullshit. No, assholes, your disease is what kills you; it's US profit-driven medicine that turns a baby into a political football so a doctor over here can diagnose him over the Internet and propose treating him with an experimental med that the doctor has a personal financial stake in.
Now that he's been outed, Doctor Profit has concluded that, well, no, his untested experimental med won't work after all, and the tragic little kid will be sent home for a death that will be as peaceful as it was inevitable. But "Little Charlie Gard" will no doubt still be a rallying cry for those who love him as a symbol but who ignore the inconvenient truth of his status under the horrors of Trumpcare: that from the moment of his birth, Little Charlie Gard was a pre-existing condition.
She broke her sobriety by drinking Rum I had, no more alcohol in the house.
All because she did not want to cut.
I am not okay, I am at a loss.