BadCripple: The ACA and You

Dear Folks,

First: take a deep breath. We have some things to talk about. You may have to Google some stuff, you may have to visit some sites more than once. But you are going to be okay.

Since I am chronically ill and both sick and flaring, you will have to find most links on your own. Let me break down this part of my life for you: my phone thinks the damn hospital is my place of employment, okay? There is no setting to say I am just disabled. Heh.

Thanks to the ACA, you are going to be far more okay than you have ever been, if you were not independently wealthy. If you are independently wealthy: shut your damn dirty mouth about the ACA. Your fucking crocodile tears are part of the problem. Go polish your Bentley, the grown-ups have the floor. 

I am looking at you, Marco Rubio - quit fucking up your people in favor of some more money, you jackass. You were never going to be President anyway. Go write some useless memoir. I will read it when it gets to used book store bargain bundles.

Well, most of you are going to be okay. If you are poor but working in a state that did not accept the federal money to expand Medicaid you may still be fucked for a while. As I understand it, though, the Administration is going to try to find other ways to get you covered (you know, when they quit putting out the flaming Tea Party doggie bags on the White House lawn). That is the fault of your state, though, you got it? Good, because you have enough flaming shitballs to juggle just to get through the day. All I ask is that you vote, and remember this when you vote.

Okay, the rest of you: did you take a breath? Good, good. Take another one. For the first time ever, you are going to have reliable access to affordable healthcare. Yeah, really! You will have it no matter what happens to your job, even if you move, even if you or a family member comes down with a multi-million-dollar illness. No shit! Even if you get poor, unless you were in a red state that turned away the money to help you then. Think about that when you vote.

I know, I know, the web site is hard to use right now. But it is not just about the web site, and the web site is going to get fixed. You have until, like, January to get situated. That information is everywhere. You are going to be okay.

About the goddamn web page: this is not a simple thing. This is not some script kiddie's About.me page. This is a complicated thing, connecting to state and federal government, the IRS, dozens of health care insurers... You know how hard it is just to get some suits to decide where to go for lunch, let alone coordinate that kind of cooperation. Although other countries have universal coverage: this has never been done before. 

So make up your own mind, but educate yourself first, please. We have enough business people, "elected" leaders, and party dunces hollering straight out of their asses. You take care of yourself, and if you still cannot get things going for you and your family, take a deep, deep breath. You have a while.

Mixed Week

I am glad to see the end of this week. I am happy that you and I have seen more of each other than usual. I was very happy to be on The Black Guy Who Tips. I have some cool new makeup. My hair is a silver white that I really, really like. I have semi-rimless glasses for the first time, and they have my first progressive lenses for the bifocals I will probably wear the rest of my days. I can see well, for the first time in a minute.

It was not all good. Shannon Larratt died. I am having some difficulty writing about him right now. A couple of folks were unhappy about choices I made. A few were loud and mean about it. The money situation is looking bleak. We have to mess with health coverage again - although I am hoping this will be one of the last times the family will get screwed over in this particular way thanks to the Affordable Care Act.

Whenever a friend leaves, it is painful. Unless you were not committed, when one prunes itself, it hurts. You bleed. I was reserved to just let it happen by the time it reached self-parody. Seriously, the engagement had reached a point at which I was accused of martyring myself for telling my own story. This was aside the fact that when you tell a story of a wrong done to you, you tell a story of a wrong done to you. I threw up my hands. What do you even do with that? The very act of expression on my part was delegitimized. Of course your decisions are correct in your own narrative: otherwise why would you have made them the way you did? The conflict had turned around and started eating itself. 

I told you a tale of being triggered. I am still working on that, and I know I will be for quite some time. By being present, though, by experiencing it real and raw, rather than needing to suppress it or deny it - I feel okay. 

I hope you feel okay, too.