The reporter in me

I read Dick Tracy with the watch phone and watched countless movies about reporting, news. I did radio announcing competitively in high school but ranted twice too fast and did not breathe for a precise amount of time (got the time limit right). So blogs can overload too, but some things must be said. It is the reporter in me. This is a woman's issue, a landowner's issue, a person with MS's issue, a citizen with constitutional rights, etc.
I said it in a poem but it is not fiction. I'll never stop trying to stop towns from selling poor white nurse with MS's property without even a whisper to her. My choices involvce painful roads but I must take my time evaluating the facts of which only become obscured with time.
I have plenty of time.
What a difference a day makes.




One day I owe taxes, the next day a check bounces and I owe 8 percent more.



One day the town decides to sell my property without telling me



The day before they sell my property a check is paid and no sale.







One day later, I am glad the bank did not foreclose on my mortgage



Even though I knew about none of it.



It was in the pay version of the paper that I don’t read



It was posted in the places I don’t go in town,







Did people who despise me snicker when they saw my name in the town report I never received.



Is it my fault for feeling safe finally in our home we have made, sinking our roots



Which are entwined with the roots of Fred’s ancestors?



You know, the ones I talk to.







I slept in fits after receiving a letter of condescension reminiscent of feudal England.

I edited this after my rage subsided...: the following is my version of a letter that did not address any of my questions regarding my not being notified of tax sale of my property. It only said here is a list of delinquent properties (many many) and the policy that says we can sell at any time we want (even though they only picked 4). Also that this would answer all my questions (it did not answer any of them)

My interpretation:

You deserve shame, being singled out, you don’t deserve to own this or live here or question this or that.



Pay all you have to the tax ogre.



He won’t talk to you, you are a female.







I kept waking up, do I go to a lawyer? State’s attorney? Elected officials? Public? No where?



Then I saw the angel, I was half asleep, twilight of consciousness.



Not a she nor he angel,



Just an angel.



I slept.