For part of a day, fear hovered over my head like a black shroud of doom. I was immobilized. There was no explanation, I only have life to face. Nothing extraordinary. At some indiscernible point, I became weary of the shroud. What the fuck, I said. I cannot go on this way today. And then something changed and I was no longer afraid. I saw the future, it was obscure, and I let go of my need to try to control it.
Of this I must be certain: I may continue to feel this way if I choose, or I may revert to the shroud. God damn the fear, and those who cause it.
I am going to be all right. I am, going to be all right. World without end, amen, amen.

Mossy Sludge Turns A Week Old

And the author turns 59.

Alas, it is not a day of joy and celebration. There are people living in tents in big cities, and in Portland, about 2800 are sleeping on the streets. These tent cities were called Hoovervilles in the 1930's, so I think we should call them Bushburghs today. I don't wish to live in a Bushburgh, but some people don't have any choice. I am lucky. I have a family that can back me up so I don't have to become homeless.

There are tea parties going on all over America today, as if our biggest problem was too much taxation. These right wing folks have history all screwed up. The Boston Tea Party was about being taxed without having any representation in government. These right wingers were the government for most of the past 30 years, so let them dump tea in the ocean if they want. I've had representation for only 3 months, and I'm all for stimulus plans. As I've said many times before, I'm still waiting to become stimulated.

It would have been a better statement to have had tobacco parties. Everyone should have dumped cigarettes into the sea. You buy the cigarettes, which now cost a lot because of taxes, the cigarette companies get the profit, and no one gets cancer for smoking them. Everyone wins. Come on, people, let's work together.

Twas the night before....

...I got a year older and the recession appears to be deepening. I was not hired anywhere today, although I didn't really look. There are storefronts in downtown Portland that are empty, like Looking Glass Books, and it doesn't look right. Nobody is in the shopping mall at Pioneer Courthouse Square.
I continue to wait for my bailout, but it's been about 7 days and there's no sign of it. Bank of America has gotten 45 billion, and they're raising the interest rates on some of their credit cards for long term customers. Meanwhile, I have not gotten any stimulus package.

I've been waking up in the morning and the first thing that happens is my stomach tightens with dread. Then it travels up my spine to the muscles at the base of my skull -- the way I always feel when I'm ashamed of something I've done. Shame. Why should an unemployed person such as myself feel shame? I did not aspire to my current position in life, and yet it found me. More precisely, I find myself in it.
So I will celebrate a birthday tomorrow and avoid the dreads and the shame for at least a day. Obama sees a glimmer of hope, so I'm going with that.

I'm Waiting, Lawrence Summers

Today was Day Three since I was axed by Compassion and Choices, the non-profit that sponsors death with dignity, but offers very little compassion for employees. Why is it that non-profit groups have to be so dysfunctional? One person at the top makes all the decisions and if she happens to be a little insane and very mean-spirited, the whole operation suffers.

Meanwhile, I still haven't seen any bailout money. I may be a little impatient, but I do have bills to pay, my mortgage hasn't gone away just because some crazy woman stopped paying me a salary. Don't get me wrong, I don't blame Obama personally for not getting my stimulus package to me. Actually, I believe the problem lies with Lawrence Summers. He's the guy advising Obama on how to get us out of this recession. He got himself out of his own recession by giving speeches in return for about $5 million from the very banks he said should get bailout money.

I don't have any money to give Mr. Summers to make a speech or even for a few well-uttered sentences. I would like to give a few speeches myself, and I'd do it for less than $5 million. My message would be to give more money to people like myself who need it. If they would give us this money, I promise to spend it and thereby stimulate the economy.

I'm still out here waiting for my stimulus package, Mr. Summers. Waiting to be stimulated. Put that in your next speech to the big bankers.

An Economic Guillotine

Mossy sludge is the stuff you find deep in the forest of the Pacific Northwest. Moss grows everywhere, unless you put some chemicals on it in your back yard so your ryegrass grows green and lush. Sludge is that thick, oozing residue of mud and gravel and little wiggly creatures. It is symbolic of the stuff at the bottom of your consciousness that you don't want to see or feel or hear or touch. Mossy sludge is a perfect name for my blog.

My first day of unemployment after my swift beheading by my previous employer, the deceptively named Compassion and Choices, did not lead to an economic bailout. Compassion and Choices, you know, is a group devoted to "death with dignity", and yesterday they suddenly and ruthlessly guillotined me -- a death without dignity.

Rather, I spent part of the day in stark terror at becoming destitute and homeless, and the other part cajoling myself into trying to see possible alternatives. There is something about stark terror that captures all one's senses; it is not possible to examine the spectrum of outcomes while in the panic mode. The only likely outcome is catastrophy. I've lost my job, soon I'll lose my house, my dogs will become emaciated, I'll become scruffy and bearded and I'll lie in the gutter and die with no name. The latter phrase from a Bob Dylan song.

But: I have begun Mossy Sludge, an outlet for me and a recording of the life of a recovering attorney, placed on the web for the masses to read, even as far away as Australia, Iceland, Winnemucca. I'll become famous after these entries are collected into what people used to call a "book" and it will sell milllions. So there is reason, today, for hope.

Dashing Toward Catastrophe

I was fired today by Compassion and Choices, a non-profit for which I worked for the past 6 months. As it turned out, they had no compassion and left me with no choices. I was let go for not being "more proactive". That has me stumped because our esteemed president made all the decisions, and being proactive usually meant getting a presidential email slamming me for taking initiative.
Be that as it may, I admit I have a new sense of freedom. And better yet, I will become a statistic in the unemployment figures for Oregon in April, 2009. This is new for me. When the newsman comes on and says, "Unemployment figures are in for April and they grew more dismal than ever. Over 52,000 Oregonians lost their jobs in April". I can say, with pride -- "Hey, I made the news! That's me he's talking about!" I will have a gigantic step up on all my former colleagues, who may in fact be more proactive than I, but haven't achieved the public attention I have.

It will be an honor to represent those of us unemployed in a recession. I will go the the place where one applies for unemployment and fill out the endless forms with pride. I will accept the government dole, which I will see as a personal bailout from Obama and Geithner directly to me. I am part of the recovery. I envision seeking a job as being too proactive for me. I prefer a reactive mode, with passive-aggressive overtones. I will be receiving a stimulus package from my leaders, and God willing, I will be stimulated. Joy infuses my soul.