This is an essay about what’s wrong with Amerika since DHS was invented. I am thoroughly pissed, and am about to reveal extremely personal information about myself because… because… it doesn’t fucking matter what I care to reveal about myself, since I have been officially informed by both state and federal authorities that I do not exist.
Now, that designation wasn’t a problem back when we were involved in some serious skullduggery on the ‘official’ federal level investigations end of things nasty and nuclear, but that was more than 30 years ago. We’ve lived a quiet life for the most part since then, and just live on our homestead and work wherever we can for enough money to stay. Grow some food, raise some kids and grandkids, do a little entertaining here and there as clowns, puppeteers, jugglers and fire-eaters. Being officially non-existent on the skullduggery end so the nuclear mafia will stop shooting is fine. Being officially non-existent in the real world and still having to pay taxes is downright ridiculous.
Deal is, my Mother-In-Law is dying in another state, last parent we’ve got on the planet. Hubby and I flew out there a couple of months ago to get her into assisted living, but she lasted less than a month before having to be hospitalized with end-game dementia and unidentified infection. She’s in the hospital and going down fast. So it was decided I should fly out there again to help spell other family per the death-watch, as hubby won’t have time off again until late May.