It Must Be Election Day

Eight thirty five.

I see that my tithe to Our Redeemer cleared the bank this morning. I feel good about that, even though my mind struggles with the sermons. Last night I dreamed about my old psychiatrist, and I wondered if he tells his other clients about me. Where he had failed, the church mysteriously succeeded. I didn’t think he was a very ethical person, but rather was dishonest where it served him. At the worst, he could be unjust, and take potshots at you when you were down. Thus I left his care and took my chances elsewhere.

Ten o’clock. I bought two sandwiches and some ice cream at the store. Then I stopped at the salon: Karen told me that Kim needs two surgeries, and her insurance is giving her the runaround. There’s something rotten about that. She used to have the same healthcare coverage as me, and was never declined. In my experience, it really pays to be friends with your insurance company. Also to keep your eyes open when things seem fishy… Polly was going to call me this morning, but evidently she took her dog to the vet. There isn’t much happening today. I’ve run out of my Vraylar and am awaiting the okay for a renewal. I feel a little panicky about it, but the pharmacy has a few pills to tide me over if necessary… Everything feels uncertain today. Expressing myself is very slow and difficult. I reckon that the problem is the election. For some reason, I just thought of my big book of E.E. Cummings, the Modern American poet of love and death, mingled with a dash of nonsense. I should pick it up and flip through it today for inspiration. 

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