We’ve become so accustomed to real-life scary shit that the concept of some spooky supernatural thing barely registers on the “crap to fear,” scale.
Enjoy this special bonus edition Halloween inspired post. I will be in motion the next few days so I’m publishing early!
A friend sent me an Instagram meme the other day.
It was a picture of some enormous ghoul/ghost/Grim Reaper-looking creature; the kind of thing that would normally have you running in the opposite direction, screaming, “OH HELL NO!”
Except there was a person casually walking past it, completely unfazed.
Basically, the message was:
Fuck off. I’ve got bigger things to worry about. (That was actually the caption!)
And honestly?
That pretty much sums up 2026. (Personally. Politically. Universally!)
These are some scary-ass times, and a ghost is the least of our concerns. (Although, to be fair, we are surrounded by some scary pretty monsters. I’m not ruling out the idea that one of them might actually be son of Satan. I mean if you believe in that sort of thing!)
Take health insurance.
I currently go to work five days a week JUST TO PAY FOR HEALTH INSURANCE.
Or as Chris Rock once so eloquently put it in his Netflix special, you know, the “In case shit happens,” bill.
And shit can definitely happen.
One illness. One diagnosis. One accident. One bad medical event, and you could still find yourself financially screwed despite having insurance. DENIAL ain’t just the name of a river. (And yes, I know how to spell!) Denial is corporate policy to insure profits for shareholders.
We have somehow created a system where you can do everything you’re supposed to do, pay your premiums, pay your deductible, pay your copays, pay your coinsurance, pay for prescriptions and then still get a bill that makes you wonder if the hospital accidentally charged you for purchasing the building. (Like you should seriously look for your name on the new wing!)
We are one illness away.
One accident away.
One diagnosis away.
One “We’re sorry, your insurance doesn’t cover that” away from financial disaster.
And this is what scares me.
I’m supposed to be enjoying my life right now.
I’m supposed to have reached the point where I have some freedom to decide what I want to do with my time.
I should have the time and energy to pursue my dreams, write, create, travel, sit around drinking coffee while staring out the window contemplating my next brilliant idea.
Instead, I punch a clock.
Five days a week……..
And every morning I stand in front of a closet full of clothes trying to determine what is sufficiently acceptable to wear while I go to work ripping people’s tax money from their hands.
Last week was tax sale time.
I literally took payments from people who were trying to come up with $150 or less to prevent a lien from being placed on their property, and potentially having their homes swallowed up by the corporate vultures buying those liens.
Think about that.
Someone can be a homeowner, have worked their entire life, paid their mortgage, paid their bills, raised their kids and then find themselves scrambling to come up with a relatively small amount of money to keep a delinquent sewer bill from becoming a much bigger problem.
There is something profoundly wrong with a system where $150 can be the difference between keeping your home and losing your financial footing.
And they’re not necessarily irresponsible people. They’re people who are struggling. People who are choosing which bill gets paid this month.
People who are stretching $20 farther than $20 was ever intended to stretch.
And statistically, a huge percentage of us are struggling.
Even people who thought they had prepared.
People who saved.
People who invested.
People who lived below their means.
People who did everything the financial gurus told them to do.
They’re discovering that maybe they didn’t save enough.
Because how the hell do you budget for your grocery bill and utility bills doubling?
I have always lived by a budget. I am a budget person. I like knowing where my money is going. But what happens when the entire budget gets blown up by things completely outside of your control?
You can only cut so much.
You can only turn the thermostat down so far before you’re sitting in the house wearing a coat and wondering if you’ve accidentally joined the Arctic research team.
At some point, the math stops mathing.
I remember working with a woman who had accumulated an art collection over many years.
Beautiful pieces. Things she loved. Things she had invested in. Things that represented a lifetime of collecting.
She had to sell approximately $150,000 worth of art to pay for dental work.
You read that correctly.
$150,000 in art.
For dental work.
What in the actual f#*k?
I suppose that’s one explanation for why so many people are walking around with what I lovingly refer to as disaster in their mouths.
And the really scary part?
Your mouth isn’t some isolated little neighborhood of your body that doesn’t matter.
Research has connected poor oral health with a number of other health problems.
Your mouth can apparently take you out.
Which brings me back to the question I’ve been asking for decades:
Why the hell are dental and health insurance separate?
Why is my mouth apparently on a completely different insurance planet from the rest of my body?
“Oh, you have a heart problem? That’s medical.”
“My tooth is infected?”
“Sorry. That’s dental.” (WHICH CAN CAUSE HEART PROBLEMS!)
“But the infection is spreading.”
“Still dental.”
“But now I’m sick.”
“Congratulations. You’ve entered the medical system.”
Make it make sense.
We spend our entire lives being told to prepare.
Save for retirement.
Have an emergency fund.
Invest.
Buy insurance.
Plan ahead.
Live within your means.
Be responsible.
And we try.
But nobody could have prepared us for this.
Nobody budgeted for groceries that cost twice as much.
Utilities that keep climbing.
Healthcare that can consume an entire paycheck. (or THREE!)
Housing that feels like a luxury product.
Dental work that requires a GoFundMe.
And retirement that increasingly looks less like freedom and more like “Congratulations! You no longer have to work full-time. You may now work part-time to afford the things you need.”
So yes.
I’m scared.
But I’m not scared of ghosts.
I’m scared of sneezes.
I’m scared of Blue Cross.
I’m scared of the dentist.
I’m scared of the grocery store checkout.
I’m scared of opening an envelope from anyone whose logo I recognize.
I’m scared that I’ll have to work until the day of my funeral.
And honestly, knowing my luck, somebody will probably hand me a timesheet.
“Kay, before you go… can you just clock out?”
I’m scared I won’t have the time or energy to devote to the things I actually enjoy.
Writing.
Creating.
Traveling.
Laughing.
Being spontaneous.
Having conversations that don’t involve money, bills, insurance or whether something is covered.
I’m scared of running out of time while spending all of my time trying to afford the time I have left.
And I’m not just scared for myself.
I’m scared for everyone.
For the people who are working and still can’t get ahead.
For the people who are retired and realizing retirement doesn’t stretch as far as they thought it would.
For the people who are sick.
For the people who are caring for someone else.
For the people who are one emergency away from losing everything. (Which is most of us!)
For the people who did everything “right” and are still wondering what the hell happened.
And I haven’t even gotten into politics.
Or the state of this country.
Or the rest of the world.
Because frankly, we could be here until Halloween 2037.
There are enough monsters running around in broad daylight.
So when I saw that meme of the giant ghoul and the person casually walking past it like, “F#*k off,” I laughed. (For a moment. Until reality sank in.)
Because I get it.
At this point, the supernatural doesn’t scare me.
I’m not worried about ghosts.
I’m worried about deductibles.
I’m not afraid of the Grim Reaper.
I’m afraid of the pharmacy receipt.
I’m not concerned about vampires.
I’m concerned about inflation.
And Dracula can keep his fangs. Hopefully, he has a dental plan for them which covers nothing, by the way!
I’ve already met the insurance company.
I’m pretty sure there isn’t a ghoul, ghost or Grim Reaper anywhere on earth scarier than 2026.
And if there is?
Please don’t tell me.
I have enough crap to worry about.