Piggyback

I just applied for a temporary position with the speed of lightning, amazed at how irrelevant a CV can be these days. My LinkedIn profile, though upgraded, doesn't have everything, and my picture is terrible, the one with the imposed upon Sims is marginally better. And I'll switch to that later, test that was of progressive tolerance, that town hall meeting at Trinity. My flesh is gravel despite recent updrafts, needing to do less, better.

My point, riding Jeffrey's column, is that subsidies do not lead to optimal outcomes, and I am borderline, skirting the edge of total downfall. My mind is still here, and though my father's sister would kill me for this, and nearly has, we have to make judgments. She and my youngest surviving paternal uncle are autonomic (virtually) biohazards, and sustained medical treatment should be suspended. Keep them comfortable, but let them go. Ditto my father, ditto his wife. It takes away from others who aren't that sick, and need things to stay in society. I am living like a ragpicker precisely because the most expensive clients, like my grandmother, to whom Mary was quite close, is a nurse's meal ticket. I love Pauline, mind you, but she is one of our last links from the nineteenth to the 21st century, and she's suffering, having lost herself. Like Peter Thiel, but with a much different advocacy promoting it, it is not going to happen to me. Sure, people still die from poor medical outcomes at my age, or Gwen Ifill's, but the do everything approach is far too successful in developed economies.
Yes, euthanasia has problems, and Francis would zap me in a blinding mist for a callow lack of mercy, but we need to start thinking about limiting medical resources. Pure Genius is bullshit, in that regard. If Uncle Joseph could still contribute, had a utility, that would be different, but he is senile, with autistic anti-social behavior, and a carrier of deadly infection, nearly bedridden. We need to start thinking like Nazi doctors now. We do already, but in the wrong way. Within certain stages, people need to let go. Marie has been treated for cancer since her sixties and still smokes. I fought, but gave in to vaping to spare myself what little pain I can, and if I have a metastasis, that is on me. I'll take the morphine. Chemo can kiss my ass.