Where the lucky ones go.

I visited an old woman with no money, staying in a government-option nursing facility. She is still too young and healthy to remain with the demented and dying around her, so she’ll be going home. But when she becomes demented, or approaches dying, she’ll be back. Her biggest complaint about the place is how boring the rest of the residents are, since most of them just lie down or sit there without saying anything at all.

I went home and opened my mail; a notice from the insurance company my rates are going up twenty-five percent. I chuckled at the timing; the industry’s encouragement to vote to degrade public health care. Instead, I’ll vote for public competition with the industry.

My generation has been the luckiest in the history of the planet. We’ve never suffered war, pestilence, or plague. We’ve been given every comfort and compliment that human beings can receive. We’ve squandered all as fast as it’s been handed to us. Now, we’re growing old, and some of us think our private stashes will keep us happy while we’re sitting there, saying nothing at all.

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