Willowmist's Wanderings

I read an interesting story this afternoon.  It’s about a woman who was on disability for major depressive disorder and received monthly sick-leave payments from her company’s insurance provider.

Before I continue, may I just pause to ask how the hell I can get monthly payments to stay home and be depressed?  I’ve been on antidepressants for about a third of my life and no one has ever even suggested that I not go to work, much less offered to pay me.  I may have to look into that.

So anyway, this woman - who apparently is also too depressed to use her powers of reasoning - posted photos of herself on Facebook.  These photos were of her on various vacations having, well, quite the opposite of depression really.  Her psychiatrist recommended she take these little vacations when she was feeling particularly low, which has occurred approximately three times (for four days each time) over the last year or so.

Again, allow me to pause a moment to reflect on the many times that I could have used a vacation to restore my spirits.  I haven’t even been home to visit my Canadian family in about three years, much less taken in a Chippendales show or tanned on a sunny beach somewhere.  These disability payments must be rather lucrative because I could never afford three four-day vacations just because I might be feeling low.  When I have time to stop and consider how low I may be feeling at all, I usually grumble something about how my life sucks or I hate my life and then, I haul my ass out of bed and go to work.  I usually cheer up a little after some caffiene and sarcastic banter with my more likeable coworkers anyway.

Ok, so this woman — her name is Nathalie, by the way — she suddenly notices that no more insurance payments have been forthcoming and she calls the insurance company to inquire as to their whereabouts.  She is told that the photos that she so wisely posted on her social networking site, have been viewed by somebody at Manulife who believes that they prove she is no longer too depressed to work for a living and Manulife is cutting her off.

Here’s a big surprise…

She’s suing.

Her lawyer now takes over the story, of course, and he explains for us that the issue is really about how the insurance company has stopped her benefits without the proper medical approval and obviously she has a right to go on vacation.

Ok, so I have two issues:

Of course we all have a right to go on vacation.  We just can’t all get the time off of work or we don’t all have enough money to go on vacation.  I’m having trouble evoking any sympathy for the chick who gets paid to stay home all day who wants to take, not one, but three fucking vacations.

Now, I’m not a major depressive.  I am cyclothymic — suffice to say that it is a form of bipolarity — but let’s assume that I know a little bit about depression.  One of the major symptoms of major depression is a loss of interest in pleasure.  It says so on just about every commercial for every antidepressant that is on the market today.  When I am in the depths of an unmedicated despair, I can barely drag my ass out of bed on a daily basis.  I mean literally, I just want to sleep all the time.  I don’t want to go see hockey games.  I don’t want to deal with my son.  I certainly don’t want to travel.  I don’t want to be awake.  Being human is just way too much of an effort.  So, if Nathalie is able to go to a beach and sip tropical drinks that are stirred with an umbella and stick dollar bills in the skimpy underpants of well-built men, I would hazard to say that her doctor may want to reevaluate her condition.

Happy November 23 everyone.  

Seriously, who schedules a World Series baseball game on a major holiday? 

Do you know how many houses in our neighbourhood were closed and dark instead of lit up with pumpkins and handing out candy to our merry little trick or treaters?  How many people bought tickets and drove into the city to watch the Phillies lose to the Yankees in the rain instead of staying home to participate in neighbourhood comradery?

I don’t blame the neighbours entirely.  How can I expect them all to prioritize their lives with anything beyond their usual selfish shortsightedness?  But I am truly disappointed in a Major League Baseball team that would place their stupid trophy ahead of a childhood memory.  And don’t tell me that a second World Series championship in Philadelphia is a great childhood memory.  One:  it was game 3, no one was going to win anything on that specific evening.  Two:  it was a night game.  There weren’t more than a dozen kids at that game.  Three:  they fucking lost!  There was no reason on god’s green earth that the game couldn’t have waited until Sunday.

So it rained.  Vaughan was a ninja and he assured me that ninjas don’t mind the rain.  His father was a Jedi and, apparently, a Jedi can will the rain off his body or something.  I was a cat.  a cat with an umbrella.  The only forward-thinking creature in our threesome because cats don’t like to get wet.  We trick-or-treated through the drizzle.  We trick-or-treated through the showers.  We covered about two blocks before the downpour conquered our desire for free candy and forced us indoors.  We made out better than you might expect.  Most folks figured that the rain would lighten their candy traffic so they tended to hand out extras to those of us who did show up.

Happy November 2 everyone.

The world is officially ridiculous.

Last week the Nobel prize people gave an award to President Obama.

Why?

What has he done?

The answer is nothing.  He gives a good speech and he has a lot of lofty ideas.  I mean it.  I love universal health care.  I think it would be fabulous if he managed to get through the thick American skull that the life in ‘life, liberty and pursuit of happiness’ includes health.  But he hasn’t actually done that yet.  I think it would be better than awesome if he brings home all the American troops currently wasting their time in Iraq.  I know he has a plan in place.  But he hasn’t actually done that yet.  Seriously, if he does even half of what he talks about, then he would probably deserve a Nobel Peace prize - but, that’s my point - IF.  He hasn’t done it yet!  How are you going to give a guy a prize for talking about good shit?  I don’t want to suspect that a black man got a prize for getting elected president in the U.S.  If that is really the case, then shouldn’t the U.S. as a whole get the Nobel Peace prize for actually (and here’s that word again) doing the electing?

So this evening, I read an article about a stupid Halloween costume that has created a huge political stir in Miami.  It’s a space alien wearing a orange prison-type jumpsuit with the words ‘illegal alien’ emblazoned across the front.  It comes with its own green card, which I immediately observed would technically legalize our little alien, but I guess that irony is lost on the target market for the most part.  Anyway, some college professor who clearly needs to get out of his library once in awhile explains to us common masses how this costume perpetuates some idea about foreigners being strange, scary criminals and that the green card actually exacerbates the issue by illustrating how they remain scary and strange even when in possession of legal documents.  Besides that, the orange jumpsuit is similar to those worn by immigrants being held in detention centres while waiting for their fates to be judged and this, he insists evokes many painful memories. 

As an upstanding example of fair and balanced reporting, our story chooses William Gheen to represent the pro-costume side.  He is the head of North Carolina’s chapter of Americans for Legal Immigration and he thinks any attempt to have the custumes pulled amounts to an attack on free speech.  He urges us all to purchase the costume in protest.  He also, the reporter tells us, you know, just incidently, has publicly announced that Latin Americans are perpetuating a Tuberculosis epidemic in the U.S. although, our faithful reporter observes, government data suggests that incidences of the disease are at an all time low.

So hard-working, long-suffering legal immigrants are offended by it and half-baked, insensitive conservatives support the costume.

Not to inject any much-needed logic into this debate, but might I just point out that it’s A FUCKING COSTUME…!!??  Golly folks.  What happened to our senses of humour?

I’ll tell you what:  if Obama can broker peace over the illegal alien costume, I’ll accept that he has earned a Nobel Peace prize.

Happy October 20 everyon. 

I love turning the volume of my television up and down with the commercials all night long.  I love really loud, obnoxious commercials!

I love going from shorts to sweaters overnight.  Yay Philly weather!  It’s too hot or it’s too cold.  It’s a drought or it’s a flood.  Who needs moderation?  Not me!

I love being called at 8pm on a weeknight by someone asking me for money. 

I love paying $4 for an assignment book and $5 for the home and school association and $6 for a listing in and a copy of some school contact book after spending about fifty bucks on a list of school supplies that includes a box of kleenex and a container of hand sanitizer as a mandatory donation to the teacher. Oooo…and if I could also get a list of musical instruments for which the school is going to offer lessons, but is not going to offer actual rentals of for the school year..that would be awesome!  Pretty please?

I love all the ignorance about universal healthcare going around right now.  My favourite story so far is that Obama is going to encourage ‘end-of-life counselling’ for everyone over the age of 60 requiring any major sort of medical care.  First of all, I love how people instantly believe and start passing along the most outrageously ridiculous information if it can distort the public conversation even a little bit.  What is end-of-life counselling?  I think it sounds great!

..and yes, I know the date.  I love holding annual memorial ceremonies long past any sort of meaningful remembrance!  We should start holding an annual memorial ceremony for the tragic burning of the White House back in 1812.  Everytime I think of those horrible soldiers eating the meal that Dolly Madison had to abandon in order for her to save the big painting of Washington from looters…my blood just boils.

Happy September 11 everyone.

Oh!  I almost forgot..and that’s because it was daytime and I couldn’t hear it, but I really love construction on 611.  Yeehaw!  The beep, beep, beep of big machines in reverse and bright lights so loud men with foul mouths can work at night.  You know you are all just green with envy right now!

I drove behind a royal blue PT Cruiser this evening.  Its license plate is GJM 6352 and it turned off from Blair Mill Rd a couple of streets before Country Line Rd.  It had two bumper stickers on the back.  One said, “Yes, I am a witch.  Deal with it!” The other said, “I believe in magick.”

So I’m driving along, thinking, oh look, a fellow Pagan, except that I’m sorry she is specifically identifying herself as Wiccan.  I’m thinking that the one bumper sticker makes her look foolish and the other makes her too confrontational.  The only thing I dislike more than a pushy, preachy Christian is a pushy, preachy Pagan.  So as I am contemplating the faults and virtues of the new age movement, damned if the Wiccan driver in front of me doesn’t toss a cigarette butt out of her window!

Now I am not a big fan of dogma, but, if the Pagan religions have any common theme that ties them together, it is a respect for the earth.  How is a true Pagan going to inhale noxious chemicals and then blow them out into the atmosphere, much less throwing litter on the ground?  The pure ignorant hypocrisy of that single act kinda makes me hate people even more.

Happy September 3 everyone.