I'll learn to actually update my bloody journals more than three times a year.

Let's see... Since my last journal, we got all the matters of my mother's death squared away. Things have been that awful silence that tends to be the standard when waiting for the other shoe to drop. Well, it did.

After playing an infinitude of telephone tag with the New York State Department of Health, Shuffled between departments A, B, C, D#, E F and G in a maniacally manic shuffle one step away from a Joe Satriani guitar solo, I have been denied the opportunity to re-enroll or recertify for insurance. Which means, as has happened something like eight times prior, I am, once again, without even the minimum of health insurance provided by welfare-level programs.

At this point, I also have this pending, still-to-be-fixed failed-out online registration that I need to go through, but where the web site refuses to acknowledge my Social Security number, then shunts me to an "unspecified error" page, where it fails silently. I've sent emails to the webmaster, called their hotlines, and jumped through more hoops than any vixen logically should in a million years, let alone the span of three months. All for naught.

Thanks to this, I need to wait a full month from the date of postmark on my rejection notice, re-apply in full, then wait another two months for them to agree that I am covered again. All this time sitting there with my hernia. Which is now inoperable because it is non-life-threatening and I have no money.

Aside from this complication in my life, though, thank all the gods great, small, known and forgotten that I have nothing else to really complain about.