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When hospitalized the first time in a mental health facility a nurse told me I was nothing but a terrorist.
More recently, Doctor G used coercion to make me choose sides in the war on drugs. I could choose cannabis or Doctor G and his federal funding. I could chose to receive pain meds and muscle relaxants, or my privacy, now fair game in the war on drugs. I guess that makes me an enemy combatant.
That brings me to today’s anniversary of my escape from the fate of the organ donor, or, motorcyclist devastated by a distracted driver.
In the middle of all this terrorism coming from the mental patients and the war on sick people, I struggle to find my value in this world.
I am old enough to remember a time when insurance coverage was a serious purchase with the idea of actually covering an accident. I hate to claim ignorance, but I must, as I had never until last year experienced a serious automobile accident, or as I like to call it, a distracted driving event. That unchecked underinsured box on my insurance homepage has haunted my dreams.
My monetary value in this situation came out of my experience with the Attorney I hired to represent my interests.
Mohammed and I were underinsured, and the irony is that on face value my case could have represented at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. After a few facts were checked my case became worth a measly fifteen thousand dollars and the liability was shifted onto the federal government and hence my fellow taxpaying citizens.
Two winners came out of this situation, Mohammed and my Attorney. Mohammed because he hit a motorcycle with a van and still has transportation. The attorney, because for very little work on his part he was able to walk away with a cool six grand. When I confronted him, he declared that I should be grateful to receive anything because Medicare was involved.
I should be grateful, I hear that a lot. I am grateful for many things in my life.
Why should I be grateful to the institutions I trust, when those institutions are inexplicably bound to the forces which perceive me as nothing but a cheap commodity?
When hospitalized the first time in a mental health facility a nurse told me I was nothing but a terrorist.
More recently, Doctor G used coercion to make me choose sides in the war on drugs. I could choose cannabis or Doctor G and his federal funding. I could chose to receive pain meds and muscle relaxants, or my privacy, now fair game in the war on drugs. I guess that makes me an enemy combatant.
That brings me to today’s anniversary of my escape from the fate of the organ donor, or, motorcyclist devastated by a distracted driver.
In the middle of all this terrorism coming from the mental patients and the war on sick people, I struggle to find my value in this world.
I am old enough to remember a time when insurance coverage was a serious purchase with the idea of actually covering an accident. I hate to claim ignorance, but I must, as I had never until last year experienced a serious automobile accident, or as I like to call it, a distracted driving event. That unchecked underinsured box on my insurance homepage has haunted my dreams.
My monetary value in this situation came out of my experience with the Attorney I hired to represent my interests.
Mohammed and I were underinsured, and the irony is that on face value my case could have represented at least a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. After a few facts were checked my case became worth a measly fifteen thousand dollars and the liability was shifted onto the federal government and hence my fellow taxpaying citizens.
Two winners came out of this situation, Mohammed and my Attorney. Mohammed because he hit a motorcycle with a van and still has transportation. The attorney, because for very little work on his part he was able to walk away with a cool six grand. When I confronted him, he declared that I should be grateful to receive anything because Medicare was involved.
I should be grateful, I hear that a lot. I am grateful for many things in my life.
Why should I be grateful to the institutions I trust, when those institutions are inexplicably bound to the forces which perceive me as nothing but a cheap commodity?