Using the word “plan” is never a wise idea, because the universe will always find a way to shake things up.
I’ve been planning a visit to Seattle in October with the ultimate goal of moving there in the not-too-distant future. I thought I had time to work on making it a smooth transition and that this would be a relaxed trip, but then today happened.
The company I work for sent out a notice that our insurance plan is drastically changing as of Sept. 1. For my coverage to continue as is with a low deductible and a reasonable co-pay for physician visits, lab work, and prescription drugs, I will have to pay a 205 percent increase in premiums — nearly $500 a month out of pocket, plus the co-pays.
The only other option is to pay a modest 7 percent increase — a total of $163 per month — but with a substantially higher deductible and no co-pays. I will be responsible for 100 percent of the bills from the doctor’s office, lab, and pharmacy until my deductible is met.
This would be a hardship under normal circumstances, but since my company froze wages seven years ago — no raises, cost-of-living adjustments or bonuses since 2007 — I now cannot afford to keep my job under these circumstances.
I’m still going to Seattle in October — it’s the one bright spot on my horizon that I’m not willing to extinguish — but now I’m under much more stress. It’s possible I’ll have to find a new job in Arkansas before making the move to Seattle.
Hopefully this will turn out to be the universe working in mysterious ways and not just being an asshole. I could really use something good right now.
"Will you merry me?" is a great way to ask your doctor for antidepressants.
Every Other Freckle, a song by alt-J on Spotify.
Yes, yes, yes.
I’m finally doing Tumblr right.
In fact a mature person does not fall in love, he rises in love. The word ’fall’ is not right. Only immature people fall; they stumble and fall down in love. Somehow they were managing and standing. They cannot manage and they cannot stand – they find a woman and they are gone, they find a man and they are gone. They were always ready to fall on the ground and to creep. They don’t have the backbone, the spine; they don’t have that integrity to stand alone.
A mature person has the integrity to be alone. And when a mature person gives love, he gives without any strings attached to it: he simply gives. And when a mature person gives love, he feels grateful that you have accepted his love, not vice versa. He does not expect you to be thankful for it – no, not at all, he does not even need your thanks. He thanks you for accepting his love. And when two mature persons are in love, one of the greatest paradoxes of life happens, one of the most beautiful phenomena: they are together and yet tremendously alone; they are together so much so that they are almost one. But their oneness does not destroy their individuality, in fact, it enhances it: they become more individual.
Two mature persons in love help each other to become more free. There is no politics involved, no diplomacy, no effort to dominate. How can you dominate the person you love? Just think over it. Domination is a sort of hatred, anger, enmity. How can you think of dominating a person you love? You would love to see the person totally free, independent; you will give him more individuality. That’s why I call it the greatest paradox: they are together so much so that they are almost one, but still in that oneness they are individuals. Their individualities are not effaced – they have become more enhanced. The other has enriched them as far as their freedom is concerned.
Immature people falling in love destroy each other’s freedom, create a bondage, make a prison. Mature persons in love help each other to be free; they help each other to destroy all sorts of bondages. And when love flows with freedom there is beauty. When love flows with dependence there is ugliness.
My love-him-like-a-brother friend is dying.
After 37 years on the job, his heart opted for early retirement. He’s now in the hospital, weak and in excruciating pain from multiple surgeries, perpetually hoping for one more day.
This is the part where you roll your eyes at yet another tragic tale whilst I insist on imparting poignant words of wisdom born from grief.
Stop fucking around and start living the hell out of your life.
Drink the bottle of wine you’ve been saving for an unspecified special occasion. You survived the day, and that should be reason enough.
Stop holding on to people who don’t return your love. If you’re worried about being alone, get a dog or a cat. Or a goat. And if you’re worried about not being loved, I’ll love you like a friend and we’ll be alone together.
Laugh A LOT.
Kiss A LOT.
Say something nice to someone when they least expect it.
Smile at a stranger.
Fight for what you want and for the people you love. Figuratively. I will not pay your bail when you get arrested for bitch-slapping someone who insulted your mother.
Never stop fighting.
Tell society to stick its expectations up its ass and make choices that mean something to you. Society won’t support your dreams, ask you how your day went, or hold you at night, so why should it be allowed to dictate how you achieve happiness?
I’m going to cry a bit, then take my own advice.
Bulking up for winter.
There’s a certain point in a book where the plot gains momentum and sends you careening madly downhill toward the conclusion. Breathless with anticipation, you speed through the last 100 pages or so, all the while wondering whether Dear Writer will expertly handle the vehicle and bring this wild ride to a satisfying end, or if you will walk away from the wreckage of yet another story that fell apart in its mad dash to the finish.