Yesterday I gave what money I could afford to John Edwards' campaign. I did this because I became convinced Al Gore is not going to enter the race and I think John Edwards is the candidate who best understands what it's like to be me. And I dearly want someone in the White House who understands what it's like to be me. However, I fear you're going to be the next President of the United States, so I'm writing this to you. I'm writing it here on Dailykos, because I know what will happen if I send it to you directly. I'll get a form email thanking me for my support. Or a pre-taped phone message on my voicemail reminding me to vote. Or an email from Bill inviting me to wish you a happy birthday.
Like I care about your birthday.
So I'm writing it on Dailykos, where I know it will soon disappear into obscurity, but maybe, just maybe, before it does, someone who has your ear will read it. Maybe, just maybe, it will make you stop and think.
Let me ask you this: When was the last time you checked your bank account to make sure you were going to have enough money to make your car payment if you went out to dinner on Saturday night? When was the last time you had a panic attack when you found yet another letter from your health insurance company in the mail? Does $3000 sound like a lot of money to you? It's a lot of money to me. It's five mortgage payments. Twice as many car payments. That's how much of my own money I've had to spend on my health this month. That's on top of my share of the health insurance premiums. Why? Because I have two serious, expensive, chronic health conditions. I could probably get disability if I applied. But I don't. I work my ass off.
When was the last time you got a letter from a collection agency because you weren't able to pay those doctor's bills quickly enough? When was the last time you bought groceries with credit cards, because you'd spent all your money on health related expenses? Come home so exhausted from working all day that you couldn't even call your friends back, or answer the phone, or read a book, or pursue your true non-work related passion.
Wanna know what I do? I treat veterans with Post-traumatic Stress Disorder. Yup. I try to help young men and women whose lives have been shattered by Bush's illegal and immoral war. I try to help them get their lives back. Do you know what it's like to be them? I wouldn't even pretend to try to tell you. They can speak for themselves. I will tell you that I love my work. I love those young men and women. And I hope they do speak for themselves. I hope they tell you what it's like to be them. And I hope you listen.
Before you vote to bring us to war with Iran. If it isn't already too late.
You see, I fear that you are no longer a person. You are royalty. You're a queen. After you're done being president, who are we going to get next? Maybe Chelsea? Maybe one of the Bush twins? We've had a Bush or Clinton in the presidency pretty much my entire life. How is that a democracy? How long can a person live in the political class before they forget what it's like to be me?
I don't think you care about my panic attacks, or overwhelming expenses, or my health insurance woes, or the veterans who are giving up so much for so little. When Bill emails me telling me to wish you a happy birthday, I know what he means. Give you money. I think politics is a sport. Like running a marathon. Or playing basketball. I think you care about winning.
Maybe you should try out for the Olympics instead of running for president.
Because here's the thing. The presidency isn't about winning. Or it shouldn't be. It's about having a passion to do what's right by the people of the United States. All of them. Not just the insurance companies that hope I die soon so they can stop having to pay out on my expensive health conditions. ME. Me and her and him and her and him and her. US. Try to remember that. And please stop leaving messages on my answering machine.
Thank you.
Rant over.