Dec 11, 2013

'Twas The Night Before Christmas 2013

'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house.
All the family was snoozin, while I hunched over my mouse.

Working on my computer, holiday lights strung above.
On the screen flickered brightly, the site Healthcare.gov.

In my mind the thought of saving money did dart.
While visions of healthcare brought joy to my heart.



I tapped and I scrolled, with fervor and patience I typed.
The website's was working, the quirks seemed over-hyped.

I continued to feed the questionnaire with my facts.
And the questions continued, each one more seemingly abstract.

Every place I have lived, back through all my abodes.
Every place I had visited, or even casually strode.  

My hair color, my blood type, every scar and tattoo.
I started to wonder what this information would do.

Next, my height, then my weight, then every personal trait that I had.
My race, my ethnicity, every habit good and bad.

Had I smoked, did I drink, was I at all overweight?
Was I married, had I kids, who is everyone I did date?

The seconds turned to minutes, and the hours flew past,
With each and every question more personal than the last.

I reached the last few disclaimers, agreed to understand.
Then provided my approval and pressed "Submit" to send.

Then I sat back and waited, and more minutes did burn.
As the hour glass on the screen continued to churn.

My excitement did grow in eager anticipation,
Of my options I'd now have for healthcare participation.

But my excitement turned to fret, than soon to all out distress.
As it became painfully clear, I might have to use the "Refresh".

Before I had the chance, the site suddenly flashed.
"Site Not Found" was the cue, all my efforts were trashed.

My face became flush, my heart pounded at rest.
My stomach turned to knots, then my anger got the best. 

In my fury I scrolled and the "Back" button did press.
But the information was gone, lost somewhere in space.

As a last resort I checked, the link to "My Account".
But the information was gone, all my cookies cleaned out.

I moaned in dismay, softly wept in my lap.
Two hours of my life that I will never get back.

Compounding my grief was that my policy was to end
Within a few days, and at that time, what then?

An idea suddenly came, and I sprang with a yelp.
Write Santa a letter, of course, he could help!

It's not much to ask from that jolly old elf.
"An affordable health plan" for my family and myself

I've been a good boy, for most of the year, 
Though delivery on such short notice is something I fear.

I'll leave extra cookies, and an extra glass of milk.
Hell, I'll even let him tap my bottle of Scotch if it helps.

But if he can't help, I'm afraid reality is clear.
Me and my family will be living in a bubble next year.