I tend to agree with K.T.F. and to be bluntly honest, I've been studying up on this and preparing for it since Bush and there are undoubtedly some of you here who have known since Ronald Ray-Gun.
I'm personally sitting pretty because all of those years I was desperately trying to explain Dmitri Orloff to some strange chick on MySpace, she was actually paying attention. My kid is an Autist so she's sharp as a tack.
We can't fix this. Jobbers simply can't job enough to save the family fortune. We're not supposed to. The US will consider the economy "fixed" when every job has a jobber and every jobber has a job. That's all they care about.
We're screwed. We still have a year's worth of back rent that we've got to pay. We've still got all the credit card bills. My kid's still got to feed my grandkids. We can't fix that.
I can't remember for the life of me whether it was a quarter mil or a half mil I spent trying to get my kid back and I don't care that I can't remember either because it's not important. Of course I couldn't write the Great American Novel or snap capitalism at its weakest link either, but that doesn't mean I didn't try my damndest thirty-odd years ago with predictable results.
But spoiled rich brats simply didn't get to dote over some "bad egg" and pretend that a retart was a human being just because their grandfather had a lot of money. Not then, not when my Mom had her first kid, not when my Grandmother had her first kid, not anywhere in my family line. People just don't do that.
Dmitri Orlov wrote a lot of good books about how people got through the collapse of the Soviet Union. I may not have been able to raise my own kid, but I was able to geek out on Orlov's books back in the '80s when "books" meant something and weren't just another piece of shit to sell, so I think what I'm trying to say is that once the Russians realized that societal collapse was inevitable, jobs had different meanings, just like stockbrokers know when to buy and sell stock depending on the running of the Bears and the Bulls in China Shops on Wall street.
So nobody in the future former Soviet Union wanted to be a doctor or a lawyer any more, they all wanted to be night watchmen and boiler stokers instead.
Because people like me and my kid, who are both mothers even though I didn't raise her and she didn't give birth to my grandkids, will always be ourselves, regardless of whether they call us "retarted" or "autistic" or whether it's a bad thing on Monday and a good thing on Tuesday, because that's just what we are. Nothing is EVER going to make me stop wanting to mother my daughter. I know darned well that she's a grown-ass woman who is perfectly capable of sending me to heaven.
Yea, I know it's just going to be The Cocktail from Hospice with a fuckload of RSO in it, but she's an "essential worker" and she's good at this shit. It's her job. It's what she does.
But we aren't jobbers, we're people. If we lose our jobs, we can just get new ones. We're growers. It's just drug money.
Even though I didn't raise her, my daughter is still my daughter.
Even though you would think I was insane if I retold the story I wrote for my kid when she was learning to read because we didn't HAVE Zoom or Facetime or Tik Tok back then, just postage stamps, you're still stoners, your grandfather's good solid blue chip stocks are still nothing but drug money, and no matter how bad things get and how little power we have over our own lives, nothing can change who you are inside.
My daughter wasn't a "bad egg". She found me again on MySpace because she is my daughter.
The jobbers are jabbering jobber jabber because that is what jobbers do. All jobbers jabber jobber jabber because every jobber must have a job and every job must have a jobber and jobbers must only jabber jobber jabber (if jobbers must jabber at all).
It was kind of like a mashup of Das Kapital and Fox in Sox and I'm no writer, just a mother. That was all either of us could remember about my pathetic attempt to tell my Xtreme-hyper-hyperlexic then-three year old Autie kid that she is worth more than money.
That's all I'm trying to tell my fellow stoners who can't get out of this dump any more than I can. We aren't a bunch of fucking jobbers. Proposition 64 happened ages ago and Humboldt County is still here.
The jobbers messed it up a bit as jobbers always do, but Humboldt County is still here. This is going to suck. Not all of us are going to make it, but we know that. We're all stoners here or we wouldn't even be here. We're not a bunch of fucking jobbers jabbering jobber jabber; I hate going through hell just as much as everybody else but at least we don't have to go through it alone.
We're all stoners here and even though I can't stand lawyers and maybe another stoner needed to get a job as a lawyer and can't stand people who talk too much, it's all good; I'm cool and I'm almost done.
This isn't advice. It just is. Maybe it's a spazz attack and maybe it's actually useful. I don't know--you tell me. We're all stoners here. Nobody's going to hate me just because I didn't smoke enough weed and threw a spazz attack and made a fool out of myself, are you?