Recovery
My shrink is the smartest person I know.
My twenty-some years as his patient does not indicate that he couldn't "cure" me; rather he has managed to keep straw in a scarecrow to prevent his going up in flames.
I digress. He and I talk about the horror of high school for me and the end of Western civilization. There is nothing we miss. At least this week.
Speaking of...while I have stumbled around with the tussle of Mexican immigration, he led me to a single solution that seems to be the beginning and the end. (I told you.)
Who are the most culpable in the morass and who could end the flow of these troubled immigrants tomorrow? I'll ask one more questioin before hitting the answer dead center. Why are Mexicans willing to chance their lives to get across that damn border? Jobs. The little money they earn here and send back home is the only solution to their plight available to them. If they could not get jobs, the fracas would be all over.
The people who should be arrested and punished in such a way as to lose their way of life are the people who grab illegals in order to pay slave wages. If there were no jobs, everything is solved in a minute.
These employers, however, belong to a club that allows them to act and move without consequence. Unless you consider a Bentley a consequence.
For a moment I stupidly thought the INS should work its way through the rallies, putting on buses everyone without a passport or any of the other proofs that say we belong to or in (who knows?) America.
Wrong.
The INS needs to go up and down Rodeo Drive and Camden and Beverly, the flats are a good place you know, and pull onto buses the women who have already been pulled, who have in their kitchens undocumented aliens. And, too, the factory owners. And the restauranteurs. Well, you know who you are!!! And throw away the key. And the fines. Oh, the fines would be outlandish. Ruin them. The INS can become the biggest and most frightening agency in government. Suddenly, it would not be Mexicans jumping out of windows. It would be powdered and fragranced matrons. Can you see Betsy Bloomingdale diving from the second floor? Oh, my Goodness, this is effective and worth a reality show.
In a few weeks I will check into Santa Monica Hospital to have a ligament in my leg, a ligament that is torn in four places, repaired. Soft tissue takes an inordinate amount of time to heal and I will be confined, as they say, for three to six months. Crutches. Probably won't be able to use them. I'm somewhat scared, I'll tell you. But perhaps, little by little, I'll make it back, never to go running again, however. Well, that was one of the factors that got me into this mess.
So there's a lot to consider. A lot of possible problems. My friend Jeannine will think I should heal faster, because her hip did. It's hard to separate apples and oranges for people sometimes.
Of course, a Mexican could to that for me, huh? But I promise you this: he will be documented.
My ligament and the immigration nightmare still have a chance for a happy ending. But that will take the best doctors (legislators), patience, adherence to rules, and, as I say, three to six months.
Plus a shrink who knows everything.
posted by lvuback1 @ 8:37 PM
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