tight as a tick

Per my normal state of disorientation I turned up a day early for my FNP appointment but they worked me in anyway. Gotta love a small town with family values. My muscles are knotted to the point that it will require chemical intervention to fix that chit. All she did was touch my shoulder and it jumped to the ceiling. At least she knew I wasn't a drug seeker. Blood pressure is still A-okay on the low side but I've started splitting the dose so I don't feel like a weeble wobbling at work. My weight has stabilized to where I eat most anything that I want and don't gain as long as it's semi-healthy stuff. I smoke which is of course, very very bad for you. But not much, anymore. I went from a two pack a day habit that mostly burned up in ashtrays to a chosen few that I relish with only an occasional binge...mostly when I'm drinking multiple beers.

Week one of jury duty has been quiet so far which is good because the sawmill has been scurrying to fill up beds with the perpetually sick population that is our market base. It's the same with every healthcare providerin the country. Obamacare is not the problem, and you can take that to the bank. The President's healthcare plan is a re-work of Romney's that did quite well in his home state. Here's where the trouble comes in though with states taking responsibility for their obligations. They count on the feds to fund everything through "entitlements" instead of seeking an alternative that is actually good for the healthcare consumer. If you don't know what a DRG is by now, you've felt the consequences of them many times over. My new favorite Huffpost reporter wrote today about the wild variations in the cost for one DRG within a several mile radius in the NY/NJ area.

In my humble opinion, the healing arts should be just another job that you do for a decent wage and try to help people. Eff a bunch of getting rich on the backs of poor people who pay out the ass for insurance. See how perfectly Pollyanna I'm feeling today! BG and Miss Faye went to the upper floor at Casa Grands to clean up the filth dust things off and worked like trojans up there where there's no AC. They even ventured into daddy's room to scoop up a pile of khakis or two. Big freakin' mess, ya'll. The day I cleaned out his office there were spiders in the papers, I kid you not. Mama hasn't been up there in years.

If I had to live without heat or central air, I'd take the air hands down. An occasional foray out into the heavy pollen is quite an adventure but until I get a singulair in me, it's risky business. Over and our from the lane ^j^