Day 4 of the sequester.
We have been reduced to eating toast with breakfast. Toast! Not a single organic whole grain bagel is to be found. My partner insists that it is simply because we ran out, and that she will pick up some later today on the way home from the "Second Amendment: Evil, or Just Stupid?" seminar and rally, but I know that she is simply trying to spare me the pain of the truth.
It is the sequester.
Not even the office of the President is immune from these draconian cuts. On CNN this morning, a smirkingly solemn Barrack Obama revealed that he would be forced to only hit two buckets of golf balls on the driving range today. Though he tried to put on a good front, you could see how deeply that affected him. He was barely smiling, even when he announced the latest drone kills. The poor man even said that on their next vacation, he and Michele might be forced to eat at a slightly less elegant five-star restaurant one evening. Or maybe for brunch.
It is the sequester.
The barista at my coffee shop seemed unusually sullen and moody this morning. Even her nose piercings and tattoos seemed less vibrant, less devil-may-care, less... anti-establishment than they once were, even last week. Her lower lip quivering, she handed me my double swirl mocha cappuccino with a single, slow tear tracing a track down her cheek. "I... I may have to rethink my plans to get a masters degree in Exploring Women's Health Issues Through Puppetry," she whispered.
It is the sequester.
Just spent five minutes on hold, waiting for Apple tech support to help me with my new iPhone setup. This never used to happen. Never. By the time I got someone on the line, my cappuccino was cold, bitter ashes on my tongue.
It is the sequester.
Curse you, Republicans! Curse you for dragging us into this fiscal nightmare!
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