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Friday, September 17, 2004

Oddly enough, our mailbox is one of the things I most appreciate about our new house.

My whole life, I've had a problem when it comes to mailing letters. Writing them - no problem. Putting them in an envelope - sometimes iffy. Getting the stamp on - hmmm. And getting the letter into the post box - well, it generally didn't happen.

But now that we have a Real House instead of an apartment, we have a Real Mailbox to go with it. It's a capacious green box, with a little red flag on the side. And when we have letters that we want to send out, we simply place them in our very own mailbox, lift the little flag, and when the mail delivery person comes by, he collects them. I find this absolutely delightful, and I now actively look for excuses to write letters to people. And chores like mailing prescription receipts to the insurance company from hell (aka Lifewise of Oregon, in case you were wondering who to avoid) no longer seem so onerous.

Honestly, keeping track of all our medical stuff is like a full-time job. Or at least like the sort of job you'd hire someone to come in three mornings a week for. We've reached our deductible, so they should finally be paying us something toward the cost of Emily's medicine (which is currently setting us back $1500 a month). But nothing yet. I called them this morning, and they claimed to have no record of the receipts I've submitted thus far. So tonight I need to make more copies and send them off. And I need to chase up our doctor, who forgot to put some magical number on some form or other, leading to coverage for Bobby's office visit being denied by Lifewise. It sounds trivial, but it all takes so much time and effort. This kind of admin stuff does not come easily to me, so any semblance of efficiency is achieved at great personal cost.

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