“McConnell expects Trump to lose, and therefore, for him to spend political capital to support Trump by forcing through a bill which would put his own leadership position at risk after the election, to me, doesn’t make any sense,” Ian Shepherdson
“…in the absence of a coronavirus relief bill, poverty is growing. Depending on the scale they use, researchers say 6 to 8 million Americans have slipped below the poverty line. Republican strategists appear to be willing to deepen the recession if it means crippling an incoming Biden administration. According to a report in Bloomberg, Republicans are setting the stage to kill future federal spending. If Biden is elected but the Republicans hold the Senate, they will refuse any aid to address the coronavirus crisis, thus hoping to cripple a Democratic presidency from Day One.” ~Heather Cox Richardson
So, as those who’ve followed me for a while know, I — like so many middle-aged folks — have had a long rough patch of loss and grief that has taken some years to transcend. There’s really no way to explain that experience to anyone who hasn’t been through it, but it seems to be the nature of life that somewhere in the forties the world starts to close in in a way for which no one can be prepared. And owing to all sorts of outside forces utterly beyond my control, that dragged on far longer than I ever could have anticipated. As a result of discovering that my college degree and all my stellar professional experience came to naught when I needed them most, I have been humbled.
In the past few years, though, things have been coming back into focus. I’d been doing more and more contract work, getting some semblance of a new normal. Investing in new relationships and finally beginning to envision a future that for so long seemed unattainable.
Then, in one week in mid-March the world stopped: New York City just stopped in its tracks. The contracts I had lined up vanished. It was an odd illusion because, while the city got very quiet it was not still, the hospitals were in a catastrophic spasm, and no one could really help. On some subterranean level we were all hanging on by our fingernails.
Like everyone else, while I had a little cash to tide me over, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to get through to the Department…