Thursday, September 3, 2015

Evening of Your Holiday Weekend

I followed the Huffington Post writer Chris Peaks briefly, and if I had a dialogue with him about being on the street, putting up with Presby's management and pressure tactics is trivial, but through most of my working career, I've seen the price of indigence, whether for paraplegics, those with clinical depression, those whose delusions were so bad they were basically potted plants. If I give in and make the best of it, biting my lips until they bleed, it's not going to help. As a company, Presby has intimidated me so badly, in another 24 months I'll turn into one of my mental health clients in outer space.

I have spent huge swaths of time literally imprisoned in my unit due to broken medical equipment, at which point management attacks. Not assists. Attacks. I am helpless in an ill fitting manual wheelchair, stressed after yet another minority solicits me for sex, and Debra Horne shows up with reinforcements, due to the fact that I pose an existential threat. I cannot stay here and keep going through this people. I'll break, and given what I've been through attempting to reenter the labor force, I'm no longer a desirable gambit. 

Not that I've sent out 50 resumes, but I'm at a significant disadvantage, stigmatized through the veneer of supposed neutrality.

Debra Horne is a criminal and belongs in prison, the civil method of asserting what should be done with minority Nazi's. I am not trying to be amusing here. Alzheimer's is one thing; what Presby has done to me as a disabled woman is another, and I cannot simply rebound after 30 years of blistering *pluralist* shields for corruption. Trudy and Debra have harassed and attempted to intimate me once too often, and I am filing charges. 

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