Conflict enters when the victims of compulsion reject what is happening and attempt to turn the tables on the exploiters usually without success. Without success because the oppressor is usually the heavy hand of the state in all it’s myriad manifestations and incarnations, the uncivil servant, the pompous bureaucrat inflated with his or her own self importance and smug immunity from prosecution or accountability. As I wrote a couple of posts ago: The time will inevitably come Hmmm …
Everywhere and every when … We choose to antagonize and confront instead of thinking first “how will this impact those around us?”. But we don’t do we? We just cruise along dropping bombs and strafing everything that responds. It is pouring rain here again and thundering and lightening everywhere so that the thunder is almost continuous. Something real close got hit a couple of minutes ago but I guess it wasn’t our internet provider or our power so we are still up and running. We finally have our rain just a month too late to save the crops and if we get hail now it will wipe out everything that’s left. I wouldn’t be a farmer for anything.
Listening to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoVIVNidlZU. Thinking about life out here. sipping a strong coffee. We have good days and bad but we soldier on and get it done. The circus with getting my B-I-L onto a program for the handicapped continues. How do handicapped people without an advocate get help. The system is sure stacked against them even thought it allegedly exists only to help them. My thought is that it exists to provide work for the unemployable parasites who form the bulk of our population. If it was a business it would have gone tits-up early on. We are now on my M-I-L’s shit list because we declined to take her with us to the Badlands Passion Play, and the Royal Tyrrell Museum last weekend because we wanted to have an enjoyable weekend and with her along it would have been just another little bit of hell.
I am considering going over there at 3:00 AM tonight and dropping all her suitcases on the floor and telling her to get packed, she’s going to the airport. Not very charitable, eh? I guess I have a long way to go. It feels like one of those “on the bus, or under it” times. I miss the old days when we were authorized to shoot the enemy. Just a thought …
We were close enough to see the welds on her hull plating. Close call that, If the OOW wasn’t a fast thinker she would have sunk us and sent all 150 of us to the bottom, and maybe herself as well in the resultant firestorm of exploding Jet-B and munitions. I wonder if it would have even made the front page? All classified don’tcha know.
Now wouldn’t that have been fun. If the collision didn’t kill us, trying to swim home from the eastern North Atlantic probably would have. Kinda cold out there and not many cabs.
I often use the above images to remind me of what a Bad Day REALLY is all about. Not the wimpy little crisis we usually see that turn everyone into whining wingers, and wouldn’t even happen if folks were less confrontational and more charitable. Maybe I am getting old … old sailors never die and all that, but I do get tired of the hammerheads occasionally.
Even though I weary of the struggle at times, and sometimes get discouraged, things are really pretty good here for all of us, all things considered, even the fact that I made it to 63 considering my high risk lifestyle is a blessing or perhaps even a miracle. I think I probably owe my guardian angel a few beer when I get to heaven, if they have beer in heaven and if angels drink. (and if I get to heaven).