I feel horrible. I feel sick. I’m fucking livid. In these precise moments, it is precisely why I should never own a gun. I honestly don’t know if I would use it on myself because I’m so fucking sick and tired of “the bullshit,” or some mindless pawn in the latest machine that’s fucking me.
It’s all connected.
I just got a notice in mail saying my license is suspended. According to the notice, it was mailed 8/06/2026 and would go into effect 8/24/2026. Wanna guess what day it arrived in my mailbox? Today, 8/28/2026.
Have you heard about what the fascists have been doing to the mail over the last few years?
I didn’t have insurance because I didn’t get paid on time. I’m paid by the state of Indiana for providing counseling services to people who, rarely, have their licenses, or have fees and months of deferment programs they must complete to be eligible for cars and insurance they can’t afford either.
I got cited for not having insurance because an aggressive presumptive piece of shit cop decided to turn a warning over a newly burned out headlight into a drug search operation and “fuck you” for being nervous.
I was scolded by an attorney for paying the fee for not having my insurance, because it’s an admission of guilt, that then kicks off a notice to the BMV, which then kicks off an automatic suspension, none of which is explained anywhere. Leaving aside the “how do you pay for tickets, fees, insurance if you’re not allowed to drive to work” question, in what fucking world does it make sense to suspend someone’s license when they can, and in my case did, pay for the fucking insurance 2 hours later?
I didn’t just pay it, I paid it with money I didn’t really have to spend, and with the hope and prayer that in the next few days I was going to actually receive my several months of back wages. Did I get those several months? Of course not, just enough to immediately fly back out the window in service to other back bills and getting the footage from my illegal search.
Can I find an attorney to call me back between now and when I start to qualify for the misdirected AARP mail I get? Of course not. Do I also have a pending court battle over a camera’s claim to my level of speeding through a work zone? Of course I do. Is 95% of this piece of shit state fucking traffic cones and work zones? It has been basically my entire life. Now they’re finding ways to ensure you get extracted from for their ongoing corruption and negligence.
I have several engagements in Chicago, Fort Wayne, Milwaukee, and I work over an hour away in Indianapolis. I’m just…going to be driving on a suspended license. I don’t have a choice. (He said, knowing he has choices that are otherwise deeply inconvenient or unreasonable to ask of anyone around him.) I’m in a borrowed car too, from a friend named Hussain.
But this is the thing, right? Get idiots in charge who don’t think things through, who don’t have compassion, and who don’t believe there’s anything wrong with being a perpetually punishing and judgmental force, and watch people suffer, dance, and exhaust themselves from your petty perch of provincial power. Does it matter who you are, how you conduct yourself, how much you work, or how much you’re already sacrificing to make your life nominally work? Fuck no, fuck you.
When do I get to try and handle all of this too? Early morning Monday during work? While I’ve got a dozen women asking things of me and making excuses about why they can’t emotionally handle their own struggles with the BMV or the courts?
I’m an angry person, but I’m not a shitty one. I treat people who are exasperatingly terrible to me well. I remain deferential and respectful to people who have earned every ounce of my hateful thoughts and sentiments about them. I work as hard as I fucking can to balance what little fucking time I have on this planet between what I’d like to accomplish, create, or consider my responsibilities. I try, really, fucking, hard to keep my shit together and not spiral indefinitely on the deep and ridiculously unnecessary injustice embedded into every fucking miserable moment.
And, so what?
“The universe” doesn’t care. Your gods have a habit of keeping me abandoned. There’s no amount of money I can make an hour. There’s no amount of time I can “go without.” I can, literally, sit still for weeks at a time, and the moment I leave my house, it’s going to be some notice in the mail like this, some new policy or consequence I have to carry that has nothing to do with sense or need and just to do with “fuck you, because.” I’ll be insisted upon to see or practically worship the smallest lights of decent people or competent acts as evidence that “it’s not all bad,’ and that I should just keep the faith for one more day.
It’s bullshit. It actually is all bad, and you have to be a delusional fucking moron to pretend otherwise. Say I call the clerk, and I can save $250 by getting a form filed and confirmed for 3 months. Great, I don’t get the stress relief back from this moment. Great, all I have to do is stay in panic mode and try to drive perfectly so that the infinite in-between time it takes systems to update or flags to clear doesn’t compound what will already be an excruciating and terrifying conversation were I to get pulled over again.
In the meantime as well, I’ll get regular reminders that I have to keep fighting to get any remote kind justice for the bullshit police have put me through to kick off this saga. I have to shoulder the fees I can’t afford yet, shouldn’t be obligated to pay or afford in the first place, and the emotional burden of how long it takes to make even a little better a catastrophic failure wholly imposed. Some oppressed minority group out there I’m sure is weeping deeply with me, but let’s just note my cynicism that knows how itchy people are to compare their victimhood instead of, you know, finding solidarity and banding together to fucking do anything about it.
Fuck those cops. Fuck Indiana. Fuck the BMV. Fuck cars. Fuck this whole sordid game of pretend like there’s any goddamn adults or sense behind any of it. I’m not “coping” with this. This isn’t something I ever resolve or incorporate. This is a cancer that needs eradicated. This is a state of being that has sucked my will to live for as long as I’ve been conscious. Even when I get a “win” or think I’m “trending” in the right direction, this kind of shit just fucking manifests like I’m in some hellish game show meant to keep me fucked.
On my best day, I wish I didn’t have to fear and anticipate “things” attacking my money, peace of mind, or basic sense of decency. I can’t. I can’t trust one day to the next that I’m going to be “okay” in a kind of way that doesn’t make me genuinely express how unreasonable it would be for me to own a gun.
Meanwhile, every day the worst people on the planet not only destroy the planet, get unimaginably rich doing so, destroy people’s lives for no reason beyond lies and hatred, and we’re counting on a “blue wave” to usher in a crop of new feckless idiots to pretend to know how to fight the 50-year onslaught of ignorant animals dressing up as humans. I get to feel small and insignificant in the face of the looming catastrophes around the world or at scale while the smuggest shittiest cuntiest cunts to have ever lived parade what wealth and power and consequences look like.
What is it all for? You think I’m “learning my lesson” about not having insurance this way? You think you’re “protecting and serving” by being a presumptive power-hungry cunt and lying to me? You think as long as I have near-zero money to do anything that doesn’t feel like I’m either getting away with murder, or guilt-inducing, or indulgent that’s just a generally good psychological place to trap people who we’re supposed to condemn when they snap over things like health issues and kill one of those proud to profess and protect how things operate?
You can’t make this shit up. And you can’t connect enough dots for the fucking miserable fucking idiots that piled on to help drive us here.
I’m just going to start screaming and hitting things because writing isn’t doing shit.
No comments:
Post a Comment