Hello, again. It’s been a while.
The beginning of the school year is upon us.
That’s always felt, to me, like the true beginning of the year, even as it comes at the end of it. I’m married to a teacher, maybe that’s why.
Eli is starting at a new school – his sister’s. It’s pre-K, his first legit grade. Laila starts a fresh grade, second.
How is that possible? Five seconds ago newborn Laila turned her noggin toward my face with her inquisitive slate eyes and somber mouth for the very first time, saying hello.
I quit writing here in December and I didn’t know whether I would start again.
For one thing, my work life got stressful. I write full-time. A project two years in the making came to fruition. I had no space in my head for making more words.
This one was different. It took a toll. I’m an asshole for saying that. I write stuff, then I leave. People I write about live stuff. They can’t drop in and then exit their reality,. like I can.
Might I add, on a vain note, that between 2015 and 2016, while working on this project, and living life generally, I gained 20 damn pounds.
I swear to you it was stress. Or cookies. Or stress.
Eli had two bad lung infections during that time. The last stretched from September to January. Knock on wood, he’s been doing great since a round of Cipro finally knocked back what last ailed him.
I spent the last six months slowly shaving off 18 pounds by multiple half-assed whole 30s and snail’s-paced half marathons. Ok, today, more like 12 lbs…oi.
Today, I stared wistfully at Mt. Laundry, wishing I could blink three times and make it go away. I thumbed through a paleo magazine, hatching a scheme to reboot an anti-inflammatory cooking effort to keep us all in tip-top shape. Cystic fibrosis is an inflammatory illness. I’m sure an uptick in paleo cooking can’t hurt. I napped. So did Laila, tuckered from a Girl Scout all-nighter.
The news cycle is madness. Save for the three that knocked down the idiodic “skinny bill,” every damn GOP out there is intent on killing my son and destroying my family.
Oh, I’m sorry. You don’t think that way?
Question, then – is anyone in your immediate family terminally ill?
Yeah – no. That’s what I f*cking thought.
Then I really don’t f*cking care what you f*cking have to say to me right now about healthcare.
Keep it to your GD self. NO REALLY.
Ah gee, I’m rude. I’m ornery. Don’t get me wrong. We should fix Obamacare in the spots it doesn’t work. I’m in a crummy mood. It’s almost like I haven’t slept all week because this shit the GOP wants to pull could literally kill my son hahaha! Except not ha because it’s true! Ah, gee. Let’s hold hands. Let’s think about how we can work together in a way that doesn’t pull the rug out from Eli, 30,000 people in the U.S. who have cystic fibrosis, and every other sick person in this sickly nation. Let’s move forward in a way that helps everyone. Healthcare is a human right, not a g.d. commodity. Except, it is a g.d. commodity. And Eli, make no mistake, has a target on his back.
Oh how easily the fatally ill and their families can be extorted! haha not haha!
The country this summer wasted $28 million on forest-patterned uniforms for the Afghanistan Army. Afghanistan is, like, almost no percent forest. UM OK WTF?
If we were to reprioritize, I’m sure we could work something out to keep this country healthy and well.
BTW – the drug costs I’ve been protesting, those set by Vertex, the CF community’s flagship drugmaker, to which it’s funneled millions and millions and millions of dollars?
The company just raised the price of Orkambi, already $200k+ per year, by $20,000 per year with no explanation.
You think my drug price protest is stupid and worthless?
Re-read the sentence that begins with “Then I really don’t f*cking care…”
Oh shit. That mood again.
Except, for real. I don’t care.
If you don’t support me, keep your mouth shut.
I’m done “mommy blogging.” Maybe ima rage blog now.
Mommy is mad. Oh, I’m hopping frackin mad.
What you are reading represents about 1/1000th of my actual anger.
I’ve been keeping a lid on it for six months.
Guess it’s time to start writing again.
Laila’s discovered a new game at her new summer day camp. It’s called Monopolis.
By the way she’s described it – “You know, mommy, that guy with a black mustache and a hat on the cover? You can buy houses, with money! ” –I believe she means Monopoly.
I’m off to look for it. Maybe we will play tonight.
It is a game about crushing your opponents with capitalism. Just like in real life!