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The nonsense uttered by politicians seems to have formed an analog in my day to day routines and is lodged, stuck, in my internal dialogue.

Thus, when I went outside today to cut the grass in the blistering heat, I felt myself to be ‘eating my peas,’ ‘doing it right now.’ First, though, I had to take care of some prep. In order not to have to stop and start the push mower so often, I went around removing obstacles. Many of the obstacles are mundane. Gutter extensions, grill accessories, garden hoses, things of that nature. My eyes came to rest, eventually, on that major eyesore, the two moldy pieces of particle board, now sagging pitifully, that I had thrown over the 5 foot diameter opening of the old cistern that I’d discovered, working in the yard a few seasons back. That’s right, we’d been out back doing some weeding and poking around, and I noticed that the ground felt spongy underfoot. Not content to let well enough alone, I threw caution to the wind and began first stamping on the ground, and then jumping up and down.  Soon, I had one foot below the placid surface of my lawn. A few more hops and I was, well, neither ‘underwater,’ nor ‘upside down,’ but standing ‘in the hole.’ We excavated a bit and realized that our property featured not only the French drain system, now collapsed, which we knew about – because the basement flooded during Ike, and at that point we were ‘under water,’ – but also a huge brick and cement cistern, now partially filled with dirt and the remains of its former cement cover. We took some pictures, and then I covered it with that particle board. The particle board was leftover from the ‘tap floor to nowhere,’ which had been inundated in the basement flood, so reusing it to cover the hole was ‘sustainable.’ 

Except that now, several seasons on, after some snowmageddon and the storms from hell, (no climate change here, boss), the particle board is looking a little long in the tooth. (Short in the gum.) I measured the opening. A good five feet. We went down to Lowes and looked at lumber. You know, treated plywood sheets come in inconvenient 4 X 8 sheets. I took another tack. I called somebody about coming out to remove the thing, or at least to break it up enough so that a new water line can be installed from the buffalo box in the alley. The man on the line said, “sure, if you can get a small backhoe in there…” Then he said, “of course we need to JULIE it out.” (That’s contractorese for having some dudes with metal detectors come out and put flags and spray paint where there are other underground obstacles, such as gas lines and electrical and things of that nature. Except that they can’t detect sewers or plastic, which is problematic, since the sewer line appears to be mere feet from the edge of this huge brick and cement cistern.) I say, “I can call JULIE.” He says, “no, you can’t. You’re not a contractor.” In my head, I’m like, ‘you lie, Mr. President-Contractor, sir!’ But I just say, “OK.” Well, this was back before the 4th of July. July is getting up in days now and so far, no JULIE flags festoon my yard. 

I still have all of that sagging lumber, however. It’s kind of in the way of mowing. I have more peas on my plate than I originally thought. I get on my work gloves and yank the lumber off. I take a few more photos of the hole. I look at the rim of bricks. I can see back into the dark and the damned thing looks huge. There’s a frog lurking in the dirt pile, among the remains of cistern lid. I decide to improve his environment by pouring a bunch of (char)coal ash on his head. “Drill, baby, drill!” He now has a bit of a ‘housing crisis.’ I feel a little guilty, but then I remember that I’m a ‘job creator.’ Without me, this frog would have no ‘trickle down.’ At least I didn’t increase his taxes. I feel the pain of the middle class, really I do. I just need a place to get rid of my industrial waste, and the frog’s (huge, palatial) lair was just the ticket. I feel confident that he can ‘dig himself out of this setback in his economy, despite the headwinds of the housing crisis.’ How bad can it be for him? Since the climate is all out of balance, his fly supply is over the top. Plus, the flies are weak and disorganized.  Another way of getting on with it and getting over my bout of frog torture is: it’s an ‘act of God’ as far as the frog is concerned. Just like the one that put the particle board over his head in the first place. 

I get to cutting the grass. As I do so, I ponder the notion that governments must run their finances like ordinary people. Yes. I have a mortgage. We bought this house for a steal, buying it for less than its market value. Then, Del, giving me hell about it the whole way, cashed out some of her retirement funds and we put 20 percent down. Well, that turned out to be a pretty comfy place to put funds, because the investments she had tanked when the ‘great recession’ got underway. The funds she put into the house are still standing on real property on Garrard Street. In any case, we’re not under water, even though we’re not really building up equity either. But back to me and the government, compared. I do pay my bills. I don’t have a debt ceiling, other than the one imposed by what banks feel comfortable letting me borrow. The credit union let me borrow money for a pickup truck at the blistering height (so far, the double dip still seems possible on this roller coaster) of the credit crunch. (Pardon the cock-eyed metaphor. Palin, Bachmann, take notes.) I got four percent. Thanks, George. Thanks Ben. Interest rates at an all time low! I refinanced, and chipped some off the monthly mortgage payment. It was offset by ‘skyrocketing’ home insurance rates. I learned the market value of my house. It was not enough to borrow on. I have my eye on the lot next door. If I owned it, I could run my new water line in from that side, and fuck the cistern. If I were a Democrat (wait, I AM a Democrat!), I could borrow the money somehow (or maybe tax Del and spend HER money) and buy that lot. (Except the owner is a Republikook, and he’s waiting until the markets rebound to sell.) If I were a Republikook, I’d just tighten my belt and forget it, or I might be predisposed to austerity unless I detected that Obama was opposed to me buying that lot, in which case, I’d be, at the very least, praying to God for the money to buy it. Maybe I could declare it a hotbed of terrorist activity and just invade it!

I’m having trouble getting around to the heart of the nonsense in my head. I think it’s the heat. I passed on OSHA regulations, and now, I’m breathing the dry dust of kicked up dead foliage, and I’m having a coughing fit. It’s my right to kill myself any way I see fit. Oh, wait! I’m under age 55! My voucher won’t cover it! As I was saying, I pay my bills. I don’t have enough money on hand not to. If I default, I’ll be in foreclosure. I don’t have the funds in the bank to pay off the mortgage and the truck. I’m running a DEFICIT! It’s more than my ENTIRE GDP! There’s a strong tea party voice in the back of my head that says, ‘chuck it. Default. It’ll feel good. Hit the road, live in the truck. It’s the American way. You can fight your way back. You can be great. All you have to do is get rid of Obama, and get rid of his failed policies.’ I’ll admit its tempting. So what if my credit rating is trashed? So what if I will be homeless? Oh. Wait. Homeless. That’s scum of the earth. That’s somebody who has no business being alive. That’s somebody that a conservative tea partier thinks is just lazy. No, I say. That’s somebody that works the way YOU MORONS think a government should work! Is that smoke coming out of my ears? No. I hit a rock and the mower has lost a metal guard and is stalled, sitting there at the edge of the cistern, smoldering. 

The things these politicians are saying are crazy. They don’t make any sense even when added up and laid out straight up. I can’t get a ‘big deal.’ I can’t get a contractor to even call JULIE. I don’t want that guy taking my hard earned dollars. Could it be that demand is off because businesses are incompetent? I can’t leave the cistern uncovered, because it will fill with water. (Happy frog!) I can’t put the old particle board back on the hole, because it’s not going to make it intact through the Winter. (Assuming we have a Winter.) I hit it out for Lowes in my pickup truck and return with six (6) 1/2″X12″X6′ boards of shelf pine. Termite fodder. I’ll lash it together with some firing strips left over from the  wall building project (That’s sustainable.) I’m ‘kicking this can down the road.’