MattOnFire

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I didn’t get that job I was so excited about in the post from a few weeks ago. After two follow-up phone calls and a few emails and standing outside the office window holding a boombox over my head cranking Survivor’s Burning Heart from the Rocky IV soundtrack, I finally received a rejection letter in the mail. I knew I should’ve went with a cut from the Bloodsport soundtrack. Damn.

But here I am, still plugging away at what I do best – drinking working freelance from home. I’ve got my fingers in a couple of pies and I’ve actually had a legitimate job offer. A real, honest-to-goodness job offer. But there are some extenuating circumstances that are preventing me from making my decision on whether or not I should take it. It’s a tough one… but I need a real job. So… I need to do what’s best for me and the wife, you know? Zzzzz….

SNOOZEFEST! Let’s pick this up a lil’ bit, eh?

I haven’t swam yet this summer. Gone swimming? Swum? I’m going with “gone swimming.” I haven’t gone swimming yet this summer. I’m a little upset about that. Hey, don’t any of you people have a pool or have access to a community pool? Why don’t you invite me over. I’ll bring hamburgers or something. You grill while I swim. Deal? We have a community pool in my neighborhood, but it’s too damn expensive for my blood, what with the mortgage and the COBRA insurance.

Oh yeah! I forgot to tell you all about the COBRA bullshizzz! Remember how the wife was let go by the county school system because of the budget crisis? We’ve been on her medical insurance. And it came in handy, what with the cancer and all. [Oh, I didn't tell you about the cancer? Well too bad, I'm not going to now. It may be the subject of a future post, though. But don't get your hopes up.] So where was I? Oh, yes – COBRA. Let me just throw this number out there:

$866

Per month. For both of us. $866. There simply is no way we can afford that along with everything else. So guess who has two thumbs and is forfeiting his insurance for the next few months? That’s right. We’ll pay for her insurance, because she needs it. But heaven forbid I break my ankle or slip in the shower or run into a tree (either with or without a car) or cut my thumb clean off on a jagged soup can lid.

Who can afford $866 per month? That’s like, 3 iPhones! Or the top model iPad! And I’d rather have a new iPad than some stupid insurance that I MIGHT need. Besides, I’ll just wear a helmet and make sure I watch where I’m going so I don’t fall or something. It shouldn’t be too hard to stay healthy. But all the sitting around and not running into trees will probably make me fat(ter).

But as I said before, I have a job offer. In 90 days from the start of that job, my insurance will kick in. Hopefully, the wife will be teaching full time by then, too. Then we’d just go back on her insurance. It’s only the next few months that will be difficult. We’ll get through it and survive just like we’ve survived everything else.

But seriously, people. Who is going to invite me over for a swim? I apologize in advance for a) moobs and b) blinding farmer’s tan.

Hey, here’s an idea!

Write a blog about not having health insurance and how terrified you are about injuring yourself because you don’t want to be financially ruined. Then, the following day, invite some friends over to your neighborhood pool for some good ol’ fashioned lounging, laughing and libations. Remember to ignore the stern “No running!” warnings that every lifeguard you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting in your entire life commanded, and run – run like there’s no tomorrow and giggling like a school girl – around the perimeter of the pool before leaping, Mikhail Barishnikov-style, into the water.

And as you leave the ground, slip awkwardly and jam your big toe into the pool ledge, causing you to flail wildly in mid-air before splashing down on your friend Brandon (played by Telly Savalas), who originally intended to play the part of the jumped-over-guy, but now is playing the part of trying-to-protect-himself-from-your-flying-crotch-guy.

Other than the unfortunate and accidental manbits grabbing (which falls into the category of ‘Things We Don’t Speak Of’), you seem no worse for wear. A little embarrassed, sure. But no real damage done… until you climb out of the pool.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What? No I’m not.”

“Uh… look at your toe.”

[Looking at the bloody puddle you're standing in] “Hmph… It appears I am.”

“You okay? Does it hurt?”

“What? Yeah, no. I’m fine. Just a little scrape.”

“You might wanna get some peroxide or a band-aid or something.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Now… who wants cheese on their burger?”

Hours (and I mean HOURS) later, you realize you’re limping. Your toe is swollen and looks like a black and blue Megan Fox thumb. This can’t be good. But you don’t have health insurance – and really, what can they do for a broken toe? Tape some popsicle sticks around the biggest piggy and tell you to elevate your foot? No thanks, Doc. Sell your medical snakeoil to another sucker. You’ve got band-aids, a bag of ice and a freezer full of popsicles at home. It’s like your own personal free clinic – without all the gonorrhea and coughing.

After a couple of days, the swelling will subside and the pain will recede. It’s probably just a sprain, anyway, you big baby. The discoloration? Oh, that’s totally normal. You’ll know it’s gangrenous when it starts to stink like a burning raccoon. So cowboy up, Nancy. I challenge you to a game of horseshoes.

A game of horseshoes! Brandon?

This is Day 68, folks. Really – the toe is fine. I hope. It’s just God’s way of showing me he has a sense of humor… and reads my blog.

Talked to my buddy, and best man in my wedding last year, Thomas Jay (AKA Tom, TJ, T-45, TJ-Quick) last night. He is getting ready to tie the knot in October. His fiancé has been unemployed a little longer than I have, and recently suffered a nasty injury in which a horse knocked her down and stepped on her knee. That’s right. A horse. Stepped on her knee. With its hoof. A horse. Crushed it.

Medical bills? Oh yeah. It’s going to take months and months of rehabilitation, too. For someone who doesn’t have health insurance, you can’t even begin to imagine the amount of debt and financial strain you’ll be forced to endure. Now, luckily for her, she has the Cobra insurance coverage, whatever that is… something where you still can pay for your insurance for a while after you lose your job. So, good for her. She’ll be taken care of and will (hopefully) be able to get all the medical attention she needs.

But this whole situation got me a-thinkin’. What if a horse steps on my knee? I don’t have insurance right now. I’m not covered. My wife isn’t covered. Not right now. For the first time in my entire life, I don’t have some form of health insurance. I could be stepped on by Mr. Ed and have my whole financial future destroyed, not to mention having to settle for second-rate medical attention, if I’m even lucky to get ANY medical attention. Surgery? Yeah, you need it, but you can’t afford it, so… here are some crutches. Bye.

Scary stuff, people. I chopped a tomato this afternoon (for one of my exta-spectacular sandwich creations, The Kimmie Gibbler™, which consists of Tuna, American cheese, dill relish, onions and secret seasonings) and consciously tried to NOT CUT OFF MY FINGER. The fact is, I’m terrified of doing anything that has the potential to cause injury. Driving to the mall job? I’m like a little old lady out there on the roads. Really. I have to drive down a busy interstate in my Saturn Ion while all the suburban moms who can’t see over the steering wheel of their gigantic SUVs come barreling towards me and I think to myself, Dear Sweet Baby Jesus, please get me to the mall safely so I can sell these rich people khakis.

It’s like that with anything I do, and it’s getting worse. I’m even afraid to take the dog for a run because the last time I did, he jerked me awkwardly and twisted my back all funky. I’m fine – it only hurt for a little while, but back injuries are nasty – and costly. I don’t want to become a shut-in, but I really don’t want to risk becoming sick or injured. Maybe investing in bubble wrap and one of those Swine Flu masks would be cheaper in the long run. Or someone can hire me and these paranoid delusions of contracting Small Pox from the neighborhood pool will go away.

This is Day 65, folks. Staying away from horses. Wearing a face mask. Still making sandwiches named after second-banana sitcom characters. Also – I’m not going to be titling my posts Unemployed, Day [whatever] anymore. I’ll keep the running tally down at the bottom, if you’re really that interested.