Driving Home In A Large Bomb

On the one hand, an outdoor grill basically means you’re 100% Americaon. On the other, there’s the drive home when you realize you’re in a metal cage containing gasoline and propane, all sitting on top of a sizeable bed of lithium. Past a school. That focuses your mind, I’ll say.

Last week’s medical shenanigans got resolved in the “non-expensive, but you’ve screwed up the one treatment for psoriasis that has worked for you” manner. Which is marginally better than “tens of thousands of dollars and you’ve lost the treatment”, but still a bitter pill to swallow as we head into the colder months (which is when it’s worst for me up here in Ohio). Hurrah for the perfect framework that is the US health insurance system! (and 3rd-party HR SaaS operations while I’m here)

It is, however, difficult to remain sad and upset when you have a agent of chaos running through your house, laughing in absolute delight at the toy icemaker she’s been playing with all afternoon, and desperately trying to make friends with Helvetica Black (who is, I think beginning to accept that this is her fate). Or when she finally does fall asleep to the gentle sounds of The Shamen’s Ebeneezer Goode…