I find myself pondering the softness of the average Georgian when it comes to weather. It confounds me.
I hate to be an “in my day” kind of older person, but… in my day, scheduled rec league T-ball practice did not get canceled for “being too cold” on a 50-degree, sunny day.
I know this area has flooded—historical levels, the kind that strand people in their homes and cause real devastation. Is that sitting in their memory banks somewhere, quietly threatening, commandeering their reactions to any forecast with a hint of intensity?
Growing up, we had our own looming thing: the mountain. Mount Rainier. Its potential to blast glaciers and obliterate entire towns with lahars led to classroom drills where we’d hide under our desks. How silly that was. But also… how much did the teachers just need something to do? Some structure to maintain? A way to pass the time?
I’ve been in and out of doing well today.
My 2.5-mile run was fantastic. But then a call with an MRI clinic—where they had no idea what I was talking about regarding the voucher I bought—sent me spinning.
I have a strong fear of being taken advantage of. Because it’s not just about the money. It’s that I feel dumb. And I’m left without the thing I thought I had—the thing I needed. There’s something about being knocked back to square one because of someone else’s possible deceit that really gets under my skin.
The criminal. The salesman. The snake.
It’s whatever when it happens to someone else. But when it’s me, it feels personal.
And still—I don’t even know if that’s what this is. But the sprinkling of doubt, like flakes of powdered milk on the tongue of someone with an allergy, can be just enough.
It was just enough for me.
No part of me wanted to be anywhere but burrowed underground. In a deep, cozy cave of quiet and recovery. The setback felt like defeat. Like—how dare I think I could find something good, something useful, something that makes sense… and have it not blow up in my hands?
I could use a nap.
Navigating medical stuff is so taxing. Just to get the cost of something, I need a code. That code comes from another medical facility I had just spoken to—after navigating automated systems for 30 minutes to finally get the information I needed.
I didn’t have the time or patience to go back for the code, so all I know for sure is that it’s $271 for a neck ultrasound. But I still haven’t talked to radiology about the cost of reading it.
Because of what feels like a lack of accountability and inflated pricing, I’ve taken on the responsibility of holding these larger corporations—hospitals and the like—accountable, at least for myself. To be a smart consumer. To get prices ahead of time. To shop around. To make sure providers know my limits and respect them.
So when a potential client wants to “interview” me—especially after having a not-so-good experience with a counselor—I respect it. I applaud it.
It’s you taking care of you, after all.
And no one can do that quite like you can.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 