Insurance.

My dear lovely friends and all visitors,

Today,

This letter to you here today is blank.

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Want to know why?

The Mer'can health insurance system got me flummoxed. I don't cuss, but I feel the thoughts in me head creating ruckus like Jonathan Pie. 

I want to know who in the name o' Sam and Miss Mary-Ann down by the riverside (doing bad things) come up with this idea of insurance and terminology to caffuffle the citizens.

It is like paying to join a' exclusive club. If you in the right club, and doctors accept you, welcome, sweetie, please be seated, we will attend to you with all the love of money that we can muster. Unfortunately, me friends, if you in de boondocks, you can spend days, weeks, grow corn on you' tail-end searching for a doctor to accept you' type o' insurance. In the meantime, you can't get care til you find a physician to remove the corn that you grow on the said tail-end. If you lucky to stumble upon one o' these sacred healers, they gon embrace you like a lover 'cause they see dollars when they lay they eyes on you.

But honey-chile, if you ain't got no insurance, you's a piece o' cheese wash-up on the shores o' Katahar. In the language o' me lovely native land, even though katahar is a vegetable, it can also mean you ain't got nothing.

I's in the catogery o' them who got a nice li'l insurance, but in de boondocks I can't find a doctah who would accept me into they club and lavish me with love. 

When I do find one, I hope he or she is well worth the wait and is good-lookin' like Hugh You-Know-Who from Down Unda or Miss Nicole. And it is okay, they ain't got to hug me up, they can just give me medical care, I's a' easy-going gyal, I gon settle for small mercies.

To be honest, I ain't care if the doctah is Shrek self, as long as he can do he medical work.

So yeah, today, me email is blank.

Nothing to say.

Y'all take good care o' you, eat you' veggies and fruits and drink water, dance and sleep and read a nice book. Plenty love, neena maiya.