How neglected you must feel. I have, over the past few days, written nine double-spaced pages of pure genius, yet none of it was for you. Like seed cast on dry ground, as it were. Three of those pages were absolute dreck, in the form of a hurried film review, but I suspect they'll do the job. I will report back here if not, and we can organize a sit-in. The other six were for BritLit tonight: a first draft, for peer review, of "A Woman of Independent Means: Jane Eyre and Religious Devotion in 19th-Century England." I don't think it completely sucks. But again, those peers (who really aren't) can be mean.
In other news, I bombed (like, Hiroshima-level) the German exam this morning. Guess how much I care about German fairy tales? That's right. Not. At. All.
Time for three hours of appearing interested in others' work. Check back later: it's time to choose our classes for fall semester! As always, I'll pretend to let you help.
2 comments:
In other news, that's more about me and only peripherally about you:
Before I launch my rant, I must assume you all know that the insurance companies employ squadrons of workers whose only job is to Keep The Money. They have special committees, and departments with Vice Presidents, and their full-time work is to interfere with access to health care, and to prevent IN AS MANY WAYS AS IS HUMANLY POSSIBLE the prompt and accurate payment of providers.
On Friday last I was pursuing my hobby (fighting with insurance companies while I sit in my pajamas in the room that looks like Office Max blew up) and I spent 46 minutes on the phone with a dozen different representatives of a major Minnesota-based HMO. Let's call it Modicum. I needed them to fix a mistake that they started making back in November 2007. My patient "the insured" called them six weeks ago to fix this same problem, but clearly that was a non-event for Modicum.
So I'm being transferred back and forth, from state to state, getting disconnected, calling yet another stupid number with no human being on the other end - you know the drill. Sometimes, just to fake you out, there's an actual talking person there, and they pretend to "look things up" in a "database" that is secret and not available to ordinary mortals. Kind of a revealed wisdom thing.
Now, I'm very low-functioning in many ways, but I do not have dyslexia, and, as I may have said before, I listen very well. When I'm doing this hobby, I write very carefully, using my best pencilwomanship, and I read the information back to the person who revealed it to me in the first place.
About 35 minutes into this process on Friday, I was talking to a guy in Texas, and he gave me a super-secret insider number to call at a place we'll call Duh-finity.
I wrote it down.
I called it.
It was a phone sex line.
I swear, by all that is holy, OK that's not much, but still, I swear, this is the truth.
The End.
PS Final answer from Modicum: yes, there was a minor error that they will fix within 30 days, but mostly, they're gonna keep the money.
But Deb, this is a real breakthrough--now we know what the insurance companies are doing with all of our Money They Keep!
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