Dad is permanently in the nursing home. Ma saw him crying in the hallway which means even with advanced dimentia he knows he is not coming home.
Fact. This decision to warehouse my Dad is not mine, my mother’s nor the extended families but instead a staff of for profit caregivers who have actually done a great job enhancing not only the lifestyle of Dad, but the entire family for several years now. Could I take care of Dad at my home with help from “the staff” on a more economical basis than nursing home care. Yeah, maybe but I am also at war with the building code gestapo in that fading suburban dream of McMansionville on top of covering for kids who after the intentionally engineered great financial crash of 2008 will never be on their own (ie, the dream of home ownership).
Did I mention my forced retirement? The shitty temp job I have now with yet another formerly top, I mean super top used to be this huge big time defense contracting company that I could write an entire book about the vast empty shell they are now?
How I can see my oldest grandson, formerly of good and gracious nature getting contaminated by modern society and acting out at the ripe age of four because his family home is going into (intentional) forclosure?
“Why Grampy” “Why did you take down the pool” Grampy’s magical summer oasis of fun at the time was an insurance liabilty in the impending sale of Grampy’s magical ancient and not up to code Mc NonMansion. No I does not make sense.
Someplace I saw on the net how “we need” 700 capitalistic new companies on par with Apple to save us from our economic woes. Now you just can’t do that if the suppression of creative thought involves a good feelup at the airport or even the local shopping mall or lamestream promotion of Viet-Libya-stanie Bilderberg prescribed world peace prize police no fry zones.
What does one do in these interesting end times of Nostradamus/Hopi Indian/Mayan/Vedic/New Age/Jedi Knight/12th Imam/UFO disclosure prophecies.
One goes to the fridge and gets the last crappy Budwieser.