Progenitor Smoke Signals

"Your client works for one of the toniest law firms in this city."-- a Dick Wolf episode with the Munsters

I rarely have any complimentary sentiments to offer my hypothetical colleagues still running the media rat race, but what I tweeted to Politico at 3 AM was a rare stint at admiration, even as I'm sinking in stress, without much of a lifeline. The rib taken from The Washington Post is tonier than the mother ship, even if they earned Carson's ire during the primary, and their reporting on Secretary Price's jet setting was good work. Should it have cost the man his power? I cannot really adjudicate that, given my tap dance with Health & Human Services civilians since 14. Tom Price was a conservative medical politician, and this interested me, even if his estimate inside the Beltway was mixed;. unlike Gaulstan, one of my few surviving followers from the foreign coastal-scape of poet friend Robert Thomas. I showed Mark's account to one of the laid back guards at the front desk, whose Muslim African name can't get past my tinnitus. The residents call this guard "Anthony," for convenience, good looking but slow on the uptake, and I am showing him the account of a psychiatric professional who applies himself to broad sociological political dynamics. 

Why was it important for me to prove myself to a vacant minority whose looks should have gotten him better employment? If, and it is a conditional if, I flee in spastic fashion to my father's driveway tomorrow, refusing to return until I have legal representation, this solves nothing. My father, one, never gave me affirmation, and as his executor, I am the one he should be leaning on, both of us physically worse for wear, but my need for psychic distance from Riverside is nearly insurmountable. Most of my family believes I should be "placed," so they share at least one cultural attribute with the Debra Horne's of this world. 

The family isn't going to say this, because they already have, and they don't want to see me cascade down the escarpment. What do I think? I think if I lived with someone, I'd hang on. There are programs for this, but only as it applies to property owners, and if I am going to upset the apple cart, I have to call it an early evening. I made a mistake, this level of toxic stress, but I should have ended my relationship as a Presbyterian lessee in 1994. It doesn't mean I would not have been a bannable entity, but I would not be in my present situation. As to the fall of Price, I am not quite sure most of us care about the conscious frugality of a Principal. We all know aerodynamic technology is not a cheap proposition. Classically free market? I'd argue not. 

Now I have to find a staple gun, and figure out my fucking plan B. Governmental crisis lines never answer the phone. I knew this, of course. Any one of you brazen enough to reach out and give a fearful spastic a hand?