I am giving my notice on Friday, and as of a 4/21 edit, I have not yet, .dragging it out simply through my biological inertia. I telephoned all there is to telephone for the moment, but if anyone can spare me a space, a blanket, temporary lodging-- I doubt I'll beat the clock. I doubt I'll survive, but I simply cannot continue with the duress the system insists on imposing on me as a condition of my upkeep. Dennis O'Brien is undoubtedly busy. Perhaps I'll call his office tomorrow.
I need to go. If you can help, let me know. This BDT site is where the policy coordinator I met at Sims meeting works. His name was Graham and he had a nice car, dialed his mother by accident on his OS, and I sat there in stained clothing with a noticeably bad occlusion to my underbite, my obviously traumatized demeanor an unspoken crime, in and of itself. No one sees my before and after, only the end result, and I cannot live in this building anymore, Inglis House as an alternative is tantamount to prolonged euthanasia, and this represents my life after 50.
The welfare state is what it is, until it stagnates and collapses under pressure.
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