The Best Thing About This Post is the Book Angel Food***

Question of the Day:

When does being patient mean you're being an asshat and actually need to be impatient?

This morning I did the usual scanning of the headlines, not stopping at the inferno in Gaza, the contemplation of bombing northern Iraq, the alleged beheading of children in Iraq by ISIS with their heads on sticks, the drought in California, the increased security at USC due to the recent murder of a Chinese student -- shall I go on? I honestly didn't read further, but I did laugh aloud at an Onion headline and article that reported on a new Glaxo medication for people who just feel weird. Maybe we should just read the Onion and call it a day every day. I was thinking about people who don't "believe" in global warming or who continue to water their lawns into emerald greeniness in defiance of water restrictions here in southern California. I wondered if these kind of people just have an earlier snapping point than those of us who kvetch about global warming, feel dread about impending catastrophe, buy sulfate-free shampoo and eschew toxic laundry detergent and dishwasher soap. This isn't a judgement of them, just a wondering. This morning, as I showered in my Barbie bathroom, I looked up and noticed the paint peeling at the top of the tile which made me think that it had been a while since I'd wiped the ceiling there with bleach or Clorox and it probably harbored all kinds of mildew and bacteria, invisible to my eye. I don't think I ever think about cleaning or laundry or household tasks without thinking about environmental poisons, and then I feel not just exhausted but like an elite idiot who has way too much thinking time on her hands. Just freaking clean it with the toxic stuff, I thought, what does it matter? We're all doomed. Maybe the reason why some people don't believe in global warming is because they've just reached that breaking point a tad sooner than I. Or maybe not. Maybe they truly believe that God did indeed give us dominion over the earth and we're in charge. Or maybe they're just stupid. That was a judgement.

I've already done a bit of back and forth with both the neurology office and the company that is ordering Sophie's wheelchair, and it all calls for patience. Evidently, MediCal stops at Sophie's epilepsy diagnosis and wonders why she can't just be plopped into a regular wheelchair (the kind that elderly people order at airports to take them to their gate) so we can all call it a day. What is the medical necessity of this ordered wheelchair with its positioning and shoulder straps and what, exactly, are her disabilities beyond the seizures and severe developmental disabilities, including no self-awareness, no protective safety reflexes, being non-verbal and cognitively delayed (yes, we have the medical report from the neurologist, but it's not enough!)?We need more documentation! We need more paper! Patience. Patience. Patience. I shall be patient, even as I strain to show impatience. 

The Onion might have a headline like this: Woman Orders Over-the-Top Wheelchair For the Hell of It With Plans On Pulling One Over On Medi-Cal for Each of Her Children. She Also Submitted A Request for a Winged Chariot.

I feel weird today and should probably take one of those pills that Glaxo is selling.

***If you peer up at the left-hand corner of the photo above, you'll see a copy of my friend Brittany's novel Angel Food, open to its last pages. I will write a review of this crazy, beautiful, rocking book soon, but until then go and buy it here. It's definitely the best part of that scene photographed above -- the papers, the papers, the papers.