2 thoughts on “Out-of-state talent

  1. I knew this was coming. I knew this reprieve was going to be shut down. These drugs keep me alive and functioning. Without them, I will die soon. My daughter will be left to the wolves, or people who don’t understand how to explain things, and then those people’s jobs will be cut anyway, and what? Daughter will fuck up and set something on fire? Get thrown out to die in the cold?
    This is Maslow’s pyramid, illustrated.
    When you’re afraid of dying, when your life is held by invisible strings, when fear is all you know – but at some point the ballerina gets up and dances over to the prison camp guard and grabs the machine gun and cuts them down. The middle class life bred us to not believe in who we are at our core. Now we’ve got no fixed point in the heavens to steer by.

    This would be a rant. Sorry.

  2. Call your biggest state newspaper. Talk to their assignment editor, tell them what these drugs mean to you and your daughter. Then call the TV stations. This is how it works. Don’t curl up and die, we need you.

    See if you have a federally-subsidized public health center in your area. The drugs are free.

    And if worse comes to worse, and they cut it, you call your state official for help with applying to their drug subsidy programs. All states have them, the pharmaceutical companies provide them at little or no cost.

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