Thanks to the vagaries of a life ruled by the forces (and farces) of an insurance company, I've had to pay out multiple many shekels of hard-earned superannuation recently.
Now we are reduced to eating toasted gravel and re-using our socks for teabags. Yes, I will eventually (and that's a loooong eventuation) be re-paid, after a fight about the details and no doubt lots of nice expensive correspondence via the solicitor.
It's absolutely NOT fair, but it is the way it has to be. They are indeed liable; the crucial question is 'for how much?' and that is what all the arguing and denying and madness is about. We forge on, counting our small triumphs as we go, and trying not to get caught in the emotion of it all.
I have wondered, sometimes, how any decent person could work for such a company, but of course it's not about us or the human element or fairness in general, it's just business. They want to protect their investment from illegal claims and make their shareholders happy. When we feel like we're being singled out, we're wrong. Not only does every person making a claim have to go through a similar process (not necessarily as complicated a process as ours, but the same basic forces apply); every person is both benefitting and being compromised by this process. Our claims for third party or flood damage or burglary are all equally subject to the scrutiny and regulations that rule this industry and guide how it operates.
That doesn't make it easier. It just makes it impersonal. It's not ME, or M, who is being treated this way. It's claim # 550293B-iiZ and it goes through all the office processes just like every other claim.
Some of you who read this blog may find this concept comforting, or become even more annoyed or frustrated for us! Don't, though. Remember we have excellent help; we're in the right, and we WILL get M home and get back to whatever our new lives are going to be.
I, myself, may need to sit down heavily for a bit once the settlement is settled. Possibly requiring some spontaneous unnecessary pamper-shopping to relieve my feelings via unguent-therapy. M may feel he needs to acquire another 200 books. Whatever works, once we get there.
I visited Little Miss Wendy's house tonight to borrow the vacuum cleaner. She squeaked and rubbed and meowwwwed and demanded foods until I gave in, although it was clear her evening meal had already been served and thoroughly consumed. Then she led me to my side of the bed and indicated I might lie down for her delectation.
As I was unable to oblige (needing to return to my honey) I am sorry to report that as I departed, she was stomping around the kitchen snarling to herself about being quicker on the uptake to bite me when she has the chance.
Poor puss. Lucky me!
The Pace of Time
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