Bushonomics 0

After working nine straight days, I just had to bag it today and get out of the house for a while.

Now, note, that’s not eight hours a day. In my world, you don’t get paid for lunch or for hanging around surfing the net or for thinking about starting to work; you can bill only for when you are actually working (including, of course, reasonable breaks).

So on the way back from mailing a package, I stopped at Blueberry Hill Resale. When I got divorced, Blueberry Hill was where I re-furnished the house for all but one or two items. I was a frequent visitor for a couple of years, because, frankly, it’s a really neat shop.

How’s business? I asked.

Lousy, she says. Traffic is way off. She started babbling, the same way I babble when I’ve been working at home without talking to an adult for a couple of days. I babbled right back.

She said she’s lucky to get three visitors a day and is afraid she might lose her business. She had to give up the garage across the street that she had rented for years to store large pieces of furniture. She couldn’t afford it anymore.

And, ya’ know what?

Nobody’s going to bail her out.

Just like nobody’s going to bail me out. We’re not rich.

We each have only one house and one car. Not seven or eight of each.

Not important enough for Bernanke to care.

She also said that, if McHack wins the election, she’s just going to pack it in and move back to Finland. “I can’t take four more years of this,” she said.

None of us can take four more years of this.