I was recently denied short term health insurance on the grounds that I was treated for depression in college. Who isn’t depressed in college? My sophomore year, I took a Philosophy course where one of the prerequisites was current treatment for any debilitating mental disorder. That and Freshman English Seminar, which in most cases was the proximate cause for said ailment.

Anyway, my plan for cheap feelings of security foiled, I turned to COBRA, a post-employment healthcare plan conveniently priced so that its acronym is not actually an ironic reference to a venomous snake, but a painfully apt analogy for what’s being done to your wallet when you sign up. One benefit of COBRA is that it’s retroactive to the day after your previous coverage ended. That’s nice. Now I can go back in time two weeks and get tommy-gunned by Libyan terrorists in a mall parking lot, just like Doc Brown.
Before I was hip to this fact, I reflected on the prospect of living for two weeks without insurance, waiting for more comprehensive coverage to begin. Granted, I’m not hunkered down in a Sudanese refugee camp, but I live a risky existence. At any moment, one of the 400 channels to which my roommate subscribes could be canceled. Where would I be then? Chilling.
Fortunately I have safe havens, where not only am I protected from bodily or cable-induced harm, but encouraged to stretch my legs, peruse a journal article, and sip some tea. One of these refuges is Friend’s apartment which, as we both admit, is much cozier than mine and sports fewer toilet rings. My charge for this safe harbor is reading aloud, making coffee, petting the cats, and occasionally picking up things like way too much ginger root. However, it became clear to me that I was abusing this asylum when Friend came back from school one afternoon while I was exercising. I searched vainly for my pants, but no, I was that boyfriend who lies around all day in his underwear; at least that’s how it appeared. In reality I had taken out the trash earlier.
Friend has been enormously patient with me as I look for work and apply for school, listening with respectful attention to my penetrating insights into neuroscience such as, “The brain only weighs 3.5 lbs, that’s pretty small, huh?, or, “If my neurons were penises, they would wear Magnums.” Sigh. Thanks, babe.
Fortunately, my knowledge base is expanding.
Till then,
Lee