A friend asked me Sunday about Dear Leader's unwillingness to sign the COVID relief bill.

I let lose a string of cuss words that, were I back in my home state, would have raised me to Poet Laureate of the Wisconsin Nort'woods. (In truth, there's no such title. It's just "Real Good Talkin' Fella.") Thankfully, later in the evening, the bill was signed.

You see, it's become personal.

As I near the end of unemployment benefits in Indiana, I need to figure out what's next. But that's hard to do when millionaire congressmen and the billionaire president are merely jockeying for position.

I've written before that one of the most stressful things about being down and out is a lack of certainty. Just what the hell is next?

Consider that for all my server friends in Bloomington, a one-time payment of $600 won't cover a month's rent.

Those fighting against such payments cite the budget.

Oh yeah, these are the same people who supported and voted for the 2017 tax cuts estimated to increase U.S. debt by $1 trillion a year through 2027. Before the pandemic, we already saw yearly deficits of $1 trillion -- and that was in a healthy economy.

People are hurting out here and desperate. 

I likely will be OK as I have friends willing to take me in, most of them under the conditions that I do nominal house work and stop eating sauerkraut.

Millionaires and a billionaire fighting over what they would consider crumbs and food pantries struggle to survive because the need has become so overwhelming.

Yeah, it's become personal and I'll continue to work on my Nort'woods poetry.

Peace and prosperity unto all of my my brothers and sisters.

(All apologies to the true Poet Laureate of the Wisconsin Nort'woods -- Bruce Taylor.)