The Not So Grand Intervention

I’ve been in my beloved & missed #Americant during the worst pandemic in a hundred years for a week now. I received my first covid shot within hours of arriving. Should be getting second shot within the next three weeks. I consider being able to fly here and get vaccinated an awesome privilege–and for that I am humbly thankful. But get this, dear worst-reader. I’m kinda shocked that this whole pandemic thing ain’t just a touch worse. I mean. Come on. Check out some of the numbers. Officially almost six hundred thousand brethren have died from this disease. Many many more refuse to even recognise that it’s a problem–even after so many deaths. Yet what do I observe after being here for only a week? People are utterly clueless as to what is going on. They don’t understand six feet distancing. If they were giving cartoon directions they couldn’t wear their masks properly. And #Americants young and old are obsessed with returning to a normalcy that contains EVERYTHING that lead to this problem in the first place. Obviously I’m generalising and there are those who do have a clue. But then there’s that other post Reagan new-fangled #Americant way of life: the gluttony and sloth greed $hitshow. Indeed, baby. Greed is good, eh? (Sarcasm off.)

Ok. What is the result of not handling covid from the get-go? Indeed. For my widowed mother, it’s obviously not been good, although she’s vaccinated and safe for now. Hence, this trip ain’t about covid distress per say but instead is a family intervention. Of course, without divulging personal family matters, allow me to worst-write that the ageing matriarch of my family is not well. Put another way, not only has she not done well with widowhood, she’s given in to the demons of sloth and gluttony that are personified by everything that worst-writer despises and ran away from so many years ago, namely the ugliness of white trash galore. Although she has not fallen off the edge, certain activities around my mother’s life and lifestyle have raised alarms. As far as my siblings and I are concerned, something needs to be done. Hence, I have travelled here from afar–during the worst pandemic in a hundred fcuking years and I’m pissed. I mean. I don’t know about how you were raised, dear worst-reader, but are we now in times where parents, after fcuking up both their kids and the world, simply throw in the towel and treat their remaining years as though they were the crud and slime below the sandals of Caligula?

With that in mind, in the past few days things have escalated where the first casualty must be registered. After returning from a short hospital visit, I found our front door knob lock busted (see pic above). Obviously the locks have been changed but the situation does beg the question: WTF Mom!

Rant on.

-T