– President Barack Obama, February 24, 2009

I hope and pray that health care reform change begins ASAP. Unfortunately I fear that will not happen.

After watching the President’s address to the joint session of Congress on Health Care I found myself extremely disenchanted: not with anything Mr. President said (he was quite inspiring), I was disheartened to hear the booing and yelling from the Republican side of Congress and the very inappropriate outburst from Rep. Joe Wilson. If Congressional members cannot express feelings and ideas in a civil manner it is no wonder American citizens are not capable of positive political discourse. I have started to close myself off politically because nothing positive comes from sharing my thoughts and feelings. There is no exchange of ideas and principles, only yelling and bickering. We can’t even talk to each other anymore! We are surrounded by shocking and distasteful beliefs, actions, and tactics. My greatest fear is that the political shenanigans between the two political parties will prevent any real change or progress.

The previous paragraph was brought to you by the grief and emotional eruption resulting from receiving the following letter from the hospital where I received my D&C in February. After five months of consistent payments they mailed me this:

“***FINAL NOTICE***

This is our final effort. We value your patronage and want you as a patient. But, as much as we regret, your account may be placed with an outside agency for collection unless full payment is made within the next ten (10) days.”

BULLSHIT! They do not value my patronage or want me as a patient. If they did, they wouldn’t be such pricks. The phone calls to them are nothing short of horrific. I swear the call center representatives at the hospital were direct hired DMV employee rejects with anger and rage issues. I know it’s probably an error (I hope) and I will call them shortly to attempt resolution, but I am not looking forward to it anymore than I would look forward to a colonoscopy.

Receiving that letter really struck a chord in me. I am sick and fucking tired of all the bullshit associated with our health care and the political responses to the possibilities of change. So I did what any normal American would do, I wrote a letter to the President. I was going to email it but I think intent can be lost in the current electronic shuffle. So I’m rocking it old school and sending my letter via snail mail.

Over the weekend I had a dream that Mike and I were at a Schlitterbahn Waterpark. (Random? Yes.) We were at the top of a large waterslide when I started going into labor: it was very unnerving, especially when the teenage lifeguard delivered the baby. In my dream the baby was born safe and healthy. The next part of the dream was me at home with the baby and I couldn’t seem to hold the baby correctly. I would be walking around with my infant in my arms and it would slip out. This happened a few times and when I would not be able to hold the baby safely it would gently fall onto a bed or sofa. Even though it was all a dream, I woke up feeling a serious sense of failure because I couldn’t even hold my own baby without dropping it…which was bizarre to feel when I was awake since I don’t have a baby.

Today I saw a car with TWO “Baby on Board” signs. I have always found Baby on Board signs pretentious and annoying because if they didn’t have their stupid sign up warning me to be careful around their car, I would totally demolish it with my shitty driving skills. WTF? I noticed the driver (mother) was smoking a cigarette with a little baby girl in the backseat (I only knew because pink threw up all over that backseat) and an elementary school aged boy in the front seat. I wish I didn’t get so upset, but I hate seeing people abuse their kids. It seemed especially horrible since she posted fucking Baby on Board signs all over her back window and bumper. I wanted to jump out of my car at a stoplight and save those kids because she obviously doesn’t deserve them.

Everything is rolling along fine until some inane person (my mother’s co-worker yesterday at lunch) asked me if I’m pregnant or have kids. I’m reminded it hasn’t even been three full months since the miscarriage. It was really fucking awkward. I know we can try again when we’re ready but that doesn’t comfort the empty ache inside of me.

So now I’m back to making a concerted effort to act “normal.” Doing my best to keep my sadness tucked inside. The worst part is I don’t even feel like crying: I just feel numb. I keep hoping that I’ll just feel better. One of my sister’s friends went through a similar experience and it took her about as long to pay off the miscarriage medical bills as it did to feel better. I certainly hope it doesn’t take that long.

I know that exercise would be helpful but I’m having a lot of trouble sticking to a routine…partly because I just feel like laying in bed and partly because I’m having trouble paying a gym membership when I should be using money for my miscarriage medical bills, wedding expenses, or saving for a place of our own…which I’d explain further but I refuse to do roommate bitching on top of all my whining. So I’m crossing my fingers that my sister gets over her sinus infection soon because hiking with her (and my niece!) always makes me feel better.

Also, I should probably stop listening to The Weakerthans so much. (Boo.)

Luckily, his supremely filthy roommate moved out. He moved in with his girlfriend. I almost feel sorry for her, but she had seen his room on many occasions and knew what she’s getting into: SUPREME NASTINESS. We were shocked and amazed when he was out by the end of the month, as promised.

These pictures were taken after he had moved HALF of his shit out. I have never seen this anything of this nasty magnitude; these pictures don’t even do the squalor justice. I mean, who not only never cleans, but just continues to add junk? And for TWO YEARS?! When he was asked to tidy up enough to room so the balcony (in his room) could be accessed, it took him an entire month to make a pathway through the filth. But now the room is empty, had a shit-ton of sage burned, vacuumed, and ready to scream the wet vacuum’s name. Thank fucking god.

Before general anesthesia for my back surgery I was given Versed. I don’t remember anything after the Versed, but my dad was there to witness me say this to the anesthesiologist: “There’s no cleaning your soul.” Who knows what the fuck that means. I don’t want to be emailing my filthy, impossible to clean soul to my friends in the middle of the night…goodbye Ambien, hello Melatonin.