Been doing a lot of running in place, and necessary phone work. Have I mentioned that I hate talking on the telephone?
So, anyway, Steve got his Medicare card, which meant that I had to call the ACA and our health insurance company to remove him from our joint policy — I thought. What really happened is that the ACA cancelled our policy and opened a new one, just for me. The resulting health insurance payments are significantly less than our joint policy, a circumstance I regard with suspicion and not a little alarm, considering what happened last year, with the ACA adding another $12,000 on top of our Regular Taxes, because we failed to accurate predict how much money we would take in in 2014, and the timing of said income. I’m thinking I’ll just be putting aside the difference between the joint payment and what we pay now, so as not to Repeat History in 2015.
I also needed to get on the phone in order to close out an account that is being nickled and dimed to death by “administrative fees.” Nothing to it, said the rep; you just needed to fill out a form, which he emailed to me. All twenty pages of it. Including!
Including, I say, a page that Steve had to fill out in front of a notary, giving his permission for me to close the account with my name on it.
To be fair. . .the instructions did say “Spousal Permission,” so I’m guessing , had our positions been reversed, I’d’ve had to provide my notarized permission for him to receive his own money. Still — argh.
In and around those kinds of things, I’ve slowly been pulling “The Gift of Music,” and “The night don’t seem so lonely” into an ebook. This morning, I realized that we have no more ISBNs left, and I’m going to have to buy something at Baker and Taylor’s usurious rates, which prospect pleaseth me not, but will have to be done.
Yesterday afternoon, we had the electrician stop by to inspect The Receptacle That Supports The Internet. Late Thursday, my UPS, which sustains not only my computer, but our wireless hub, started screaming like a dozen little girls, and clicking frantically on and off. I climbed under my desk — because of course, the One True Outlet is in the most inconvenient place possible, in keeping with its importance — and heard the wall outlet sizzling.
Followed a short period during which All The Things were unplugged and the electrician called.
He, as above, arrived yesterday afternoon, diagnosed an old receptacle, no other damage apparent, and replaced the old with a new. We are now back up and running, and I get to put all the stuff that was under my desk — boxes packed, because we were going to be! moving! soon! — back where it was. . .
I think that’s it, on the news front. There will be no phone calling tomorrow, because — Sunday. Which is rather a relief.
Today’s blog title brought to you by Cage the Elephant, “No Rest for the Wicked.” Here’s your link.