But I walk through it, because there is no way around.

Was it last week or the week before when I was complaining to T about how shitty things were? I can’t remember anymore.

I’m working on a paper for my journalism class on healthcare reform, and I can’t help but think of my own problems with my health insurance right now. Basically, I was dropped from my mother’s insurance when I turned 23 in September. I applied for an individual health plan and was denied on October 2nd over clerical issues. I sent in my appeal after calling several people and chasing around for specific documents to prove that I didn’t lie on my application around the 12th. Around the 15th or so, I received a sheet of paper asking if I wanted to continue my coverage under the 30/1500 plan, which was the same plan that I applied for in my individual plan.

This is where I think that the paper that I received on the 15th was some sort of “welcome”, that they accepted my appeal and I was under the individual plan.

Turns out, it was for a completely different plan — the conversion plan that cost $190 per month that was a continuation of my old insurance plan. During this time, I was also accepted for the individual plan.

So now I’m under two insurance plans. Except, I did not know this until they sent in two bills — one that cost $570 for the conversion plan for the months of October (the month where I thought if I got sick, I would have to die alone in a ditch because I had no insurance), November, and December, and $224 for the Individual Plan, for the months of November and December. I call up the insurance company and ask why I received two bills, and it was then explained that I was under two plans. I cancel the more expensive one even though the girl over the phone said that I would need to pay for the month of October — the month that I was insured for.

Before I go any further, this is not a rant on the insurance companies. They’re shitheads, and that’s a given so I don’t like wasting my breath on them. I understand why I have to pay.

However, my mother doesn’t. I also understand why she doesn’t want to pay — because it’s total shit that I was even under two plans at once. It’s not right and it’s not fair. However, at the end of it all, regardless of whether I knew that I was accepted under the Conversion plan, I was still covered and that is my reasoning for why I understand that I have to pay for the month of October. I shouldn’t have to pay at all — I know (if it were up to this socialist, nobody would). So when I explained this to my mom, she threw a fit at me and said to let her handle everything, because I obviously don’t know what I’m talking about and don’t know how to deal with the insurance companies.

It . . . sort of turned into a huge argument between me and my mother. It didn’t get better when she tried to call the company and explain herself and I refused to authorize it and give her permission to let her speak to somebody. I’m tired of letting her fuck things over for me. I’m tired of her downplaying my health problems and I refuse to let her be in the position to jeopardize my Individual Plan. What the hell can she possibly do but make things worse? The insurance company will just tell her what I already know. In the end, I will need to pay.

But because I refused to give her permission, she then decided to ask one of the attorneys at work for help. He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on. He called them up, said it was fixed, and wrote up a letter explaining why I wasn’t going to pay. I signed for it because I was tired of arguing. If I don’t have to pay, cool. If I do, well I was going to need to anyway. I just don’t like wasting my time since the latter will most likely happen.

And so begins another week. And here I am, forced to walk through it because there’s no way around.

• M and I have this problem with wearing the similar-styled clothing, although when the bulk of the clothing that the both of you own are screenprinted tee-shirts and jeans, matching is unavoidable. He didn’t have to wear the blue and yellow though. The other person in the mailroom didn’t get the memo, so nobody had to say “awwwww, triplets!” instead of the “awwwwwwwww twins!” thing we got every time somebody saw us together. It didn’t even matter if I wore my jacket over the shirt, because my jacket was black like his shoes so that when standing together, we looked even more like a bad his-and-hers collection at the preteen section at Sears. It’s a little bit ridiculous when this is the third time something like this has occurred so the both of us were more “aw, fuck” than “cuuuuuute” like the first time.
• I hate working in the mailroom. I’ve never hated my job more than when I was stuck working in the mailroom on end. I think my boss, who is otherwise very nice and fair to me when I’m working in the copy room, just hates everybody on the other side of the wall. Like maybe if I jumped to the other side for a second while she lectured, maybe it wouldn’t sound as harsh and eyeroll-inducing.
• My ass hurts. My arms hurt. And I tripped over the boxes camping lying around the floor twice, both times in front of Asshole Cowoker who just smirked at me because he knows how much I hate working in the mailroom. Except its not much better working in the copy room when he just makes everything difficult. So I laughed it off like a pro. Plus, I’d laugh at myself if I saw somebody like me trying to keep her balance after tripping over the same box twice too. I looked pretty silly. Furthermore, my twin was right behind me tossing the mail, so it’s kind of like watching somebody’s reflection in the mirror and the reflection is a total clutz.
• I’m working there now because: a) there was an issue with the mailroom being one person short at all time (the budget problem makes it so that no new employees can be hired), b) one of them has been out for about a month because she’s ancient, sick, and lives on a diet of bacon, cigarettes, and generic brand Code Red soda (not like it matters, since she just creates problems and slows everybody else down), c) somebody messed up and two people out of the remaining four went on vacation. Meaning that out of a full staff of six plus a student, only two remained for the whole week.
• I probably have no right to complain, since I was only there twice out of the whole week, where the other two were on their own for the entirety of the time.
• My supervisor doesn’t help much either. She panics when things look a little complicated and goes into her full out, supervisor-tron mode. Only she doesn’t exactly trust the three of us to do the work properly, when her method of doing work jut confuses the hell out of everybody. Plus, it’s incredibly frustrating when we’re trying to get our work done and she’s asking all sorts of irrelevant questions to “help” us. Uuuuuugh. She doesn’t do this when I’m on the other side of the wall, home in the copy room, no. In the copy room, she doesn’t get in our way and helps us when we’re having issues with the supplies, time constraints, or stuck up secretaries. And sadly, I think its because nobody but the employees of the copy room knows how to work the machines. However in the mailroom . . . the rest of the staff have screwed up so many times and have gotten in so many petty arguments (not the two that were with me) that my boss does need to treat them like children. It’s not her fault. I just don’t like being treated like a child when I’ve demonstrated numerous times that I can handle things both in the copy room and in the mailroom. I’m young and I dress like my 38-year-old coworker, but that shouldn’t be my downfall.
• The worst thing? Things won’t pick up when the other employees get back. It will be back to the arguments over who-fucked-up-because-they-weren’t-paying-attention, finger pointing, and yelling. Point gun at the jugular. Pull the trigger. But hopefully by then, work picks up in the copy room so I can go back. Despite the fact that I enjoy the My Bloody Valentine coming from M’s speakers more than I enjoy the crappy elevator jazz on the other side of the wall, I would much rather listen to that for the remainder of my time at the DOJ than be forced to work in the mailroom for longer than I have to.
• By the way, I’m so fucking out of it that I dated the picture above “August 14, 2008″ without even realizing it, but since it looks like a 9, I’m not going to bother changing it.

Seriously dude? I’ve not done anything wrong to you. I’m going to be one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet and I’ve always had the most respect for you. Even when you thought we were becoming too close and was acting like a complete tool because of it “for my own good” or to “toughen me up” as you’ve said, I was cool with it. I came back. I was always cool with your annoying habits. I never tried to change you in any way. I liked you for who you were, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual and you constantly tried to turn me into this dreamgirl you had. You have no idea how to even be a friend, and I was okay with that. You’ve lived under a rock most your life and I’ve got time. I’ve never even said anything bad about you on this journal. We ran parallel and at times it seemed as if you and I shared the same mind. So you can see my frustration with this? I mean seriously, you left me high and dry and treated me as a second-class friend and then tried to talk your way out of it. I mean who the fuck ranks friends like that? You can’t even apologize genuinely, and even then, why would it be. You still think you’re right. And even then, I would have forgiven you within time. That is, until you tried to barge your way back into my life by just making coming home and being online completely dreadful.

Cant you understand why I don’t want any association with you? And even if you don’t, why can’t you respect my wish to not have you in my life, as I’ve always respected your wishes?

It’s gotten to the point where I dread coming home on the bus because you make things so uncomfortable in there. I don’t like blogging on this journal because I know you’re reading it, and will continue to do so even though you said you’d stop (yes I’ve read your messages, and yes I’m just choosing to ignore them). Last Friday I even got off the bus when I realized you were the person tapping my shoulder and took the long way home. I didn’t mean to snap at you on the bus because I hate being outwardly mean to people, but I’m really tired of running.

Seriously, drop it, alright? It’s not friggen’ worth it and I know you’ve got more respect for yourself than this.

Or at least, buy me some candy like Annoying Guy tried to do. :P

I went to the doctor’s today to check up on that superfun thyroid problem I have (amongst other things) and ended up finding out that I have an abnormal cyst in my pelvic area. They found the cyst when I had a CT Scan done when I was in the hospital a few months ago and didn’t think to inform me :/ I’m waiting on a call from the hospitals in Sunset to set up an appointment for an ultrasound.

Ugh.

Did I piss off somebody up there? Life is unusually cruel to me sometimes.

And then my sister pulls out some bs about how if you’re at 5ft, you should be at 100lbs and add 5lbs for every inch. I’m 5’3″ and according to her model, I’m still right where I need to be.

This environment I live in sucks.

For once, I would like to stay with a dentist for longer than a year. I actually like this dentist and he’s really good. And I’m so tired of having to sacrifice the health of my teeth over my mom’s stinginess.

My teeth are loose and falling out and all my mom cares about is money. Typical. Maybe I’ll start wiggling my teeth around her like I did when I was a kid.

I can’t wait for their CD :D

Its been an incredibly long day today. I wound up asking a coworker for coffee (I’ve not really done that since I started going out with John, but our schedules suck and he’s there the days I’m not :B) despite the fact that half the building thinks John and I have broken up while the other half just thinks I’m cheating on him with whatever male coworker I happen to be alone with at the time. But its okay, since he’s a really cool guy.

By then, I wanted to jump out of my skin. I wanted to pace around and scream. I wanted to yell and cry, and I didn’t know why. It could have been that ridiculously stupid office luncheon I had to attend, or the noise that my other coworkers were making outside of the door. It could have been the fact that while my section was swamped with work and understaffed, that the rest of the building dumps off their work to gossip away while crowding up the halls for some free food (that quite frankly, sucked). It was the stupidity of it all and it only reminded me of how much I hate my job. Slaving away over a shitty copy machine while the rest of the place stuffs their fat faces. It could have been that one of them made some snarky remark at me that I didn’t take too well. It could have just been that I was having a shitty day.

But I did none of that, so I had my coffee and tried to be personable. :B

“You’re not one of those emo kids, are you?”
Shit! My cool exterior is blown!
-”Do I look like one?”

At least the Porcelain track that’s playing on my computer sounds great [:

So I come to work twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays because of my school schedule. I work the minimum 16 hours a week.

Well about two weeks ago, we had a holiday on a Tuesday. Why my stupid ass department puts a fucking holiday on a Tuesday is beyond me. Well, other than the bit where the state is run by a fucktard. But anyway, moving along. I had to be out that Friday because I had to get my Thyroid poked and prodded; checked for cancers and such.

You think I wanted to miss work just to go to some superfun doctor’s office in Hollywood where they put me on a bed and tell me not to move for a half hour and make me listen to crappy music while four doctors hovered over me poking my neck around?

I came to work afterwards as well, for four hours.

So today my boss calls me in her office to tell me that I can’t be doing that because her boss (the fire-breathing shithead, FBS) told her that they would show me the door if I kept going under the minimum.

Right, because I do that all the time? Out of that one incident that I couldn’t get out of that I didn’t even want to be in, I get in trouble for apparently skipping all the damn time? I get threats to be fired over that one time I had to see the doctor and gave my boss notice of my absence weeks before the appointment?

Sure I could have scheduled the appointment so that I wouldn’t have to skip work. But then I would have had to skip school. And quite frankly, I plan on staying in school so that I don’t wind up being a logic-less, dim-witted tub of lard like FBS. So that I can take over her job, become her boss, and then show her the door by simply being the vile bitch that she is.

Last night I felt that coming on, so I decided to avoid the long and terrible night by not sleeping. Aha! I’ve found a way around the scary sounds and imaginary night creatures!

I spent my night talking to Stephen and Tyler (what were their reasons?) and clicking the StumbleUpon button too many times to count. I don’t remember what I was reading, or what we were talking about. I suppose if I really wanted to remember, I could just go back into the gtalk saved chat archives. Truth be told though, I’m not interested in finding out what I said. I probably made an ass out of myself too many times to remember.

I think I drifted off to sleep around 5 a.m, dreaming of the annoying gay kid who set Asians back a couple thousand years from Youtube that Stephen sent me (whut? Annoying gay kid. Whut?) and marketing schemes as to how Tyler could sell his book so he wouldn’t have to go broke (though in Canada, even I can afford to live comfortably), which surprisingly is about zombies. I can’t remember them now, but I’ll bet they were brilliant.