Pawning to the populace

Do you think the $700 billion bailout (implying a leaky, sinking ship) will trickle down to help me any?

All I need is $700 to pay my school bill; slow, distracted, somewhat sinking I did not conceive of using buckets this semester until recently; I learned finally that it is too late to de-roll. Their interest rate is low, at least. But now I have to pay them, and I have to continue (o.k., how about resume) going to class.

They really do not give one much time to decide anything — four days, in fact, after classes begin; after that, one has a few more days to go from the 100% to 60% refund mark. I didn't even have my textbooks until two weeks ago. The bookstore blamed a teacher; the other teacher blamed the publishers. Both cases seemed correct and had the same outcome: lack of study materials, wrecked syllabi, and a demotivated student.

Momentum is important!

I wish I could be happy that We the People own some huge financial companies, just as we own those great oil fields, sequoia trees, Grand Canyon, mines, timber. Some, of course, actually belong to other countries, Native American nations.

Speaking of them, here's some endorsement interest from the Santa Fe New Mexican paper:

The All Indian Pueblo Council, the Mescalero Apache Tribe and the leader of the Navajo Nation have thrown their support behind Democratic presidential nominee Barack Obama. Obama's campaign says the endorsements represent a majority of New Mexico's Indian leadership. The council represents 19 pueblos, and the Navajo Nation spans parts of New Mexico, Arizona and Utah. Navajo President Joe Shirley Jr. says Indian Country has lived with federal policies for the last eight years that have eroded tribal culture and language. He says it's time for the federal government to honor its obligations to its native people. Obama, in a statement issued Friday, said tribes face a special set of challenges, and he looks forward to working will all tribal leaders.

I spent 90 minutes pulling out about 125 cubic feet of random grass, evil fake trees, the four-foot walnut tree (third time in a year; it is very tenacious), and the plant I refer to as Satan's marigold. The back yard looks improved to me. I don't know what it looks like to anyone else.

I uncovered the basil, still doing fairly well for being neglected amid wildflowers and a sprawling hollyhock. Ergo, pesto, and the spinach pesto lasagna, eventually. Finally finished.

That meant driving to the store. Shopping at the store. Curse the weak dollar for making Irish whiskey $25. Ergo, no chance of St. Monday tomorrow. (ie: did not buy; still spent $50 or so, of course)

Car insurance's $800 is due in a couple of weeks. Doh!

I also need a dose of Hang on, Voltaire's knack for chopping up tasks into accomplishable pieces. I am stymied by the concurrence of equally-important and weighty and time-consuming items to produce. Let's use ergo again: yes, so the result is that barely anything has happened. Summing up three: a paragraph out of 14; a pasted-in chunk of text; a half-hearted disappointed editing of 2,400 words that need to be far fewer.

Many, many hours have already been invested. I need a bailout!

The fact that I can't anticipate how long certain things take — it's mostly contingent on the availability of information, a fishing game that is as difficult to predict as tossing baited lines into a lake — adds to panic, freezing action.

Then certain things happen like sunset or the weekend and I can't see stapling my mind to something less rewarding than enjoyment.