I received a paper check in the mail. After posting it to the wall for action for ten days, I launched myself to the credit union to make a deposit at the ATM. After processing it all, pressing the right buttons, and answering their questions, the machine told me with an exclamation point, “Invalid Transaction!”
“How the fuck is that an invalid transaction,” I muttered at the screen. It didn’t answer.
Well, one failure is a fluke. Two is a coincidence. Three is a trend as a failure. I did it four times. Fed the check into the machine four different ways. Always came back, “Invalid Transaction!”
It’s not me, I consoled myself. Has to be the machine. Still, it did sting to walk away a failure.
Annie shares a post about Trump and the GOP’s approach to budgeting and the government shutdown. “As Representative Eric Swalwell (D-CA) is calling this shutdown (Trump’s third as president) the Epstein Shutdown.”
Despite his weak win in the 2024 election, the GOP’s route under Trump’s leadership is, “Screw the nation, screw the Constitution, screw the economy, and screw the Democrats. It’s our way or no way.”
But, as Annie notes,
“Trump’s actions, called impoundment and rescission, are unconstitutional, and the fight to redress these wrongs is currently being waged in multiple courts. Why, the Democrats have asked, should we agree to any budget that does not put guardrails around Trump’s abusing the funds Congress votes for, in defiance of the separation of powers our Constitution mandates?“
I stand with the Democrats. This is the Epstein Shutdown. Release the files. Let’s see what it holds on these smirkers.
Dreary sunshine and bleached skies say hello when Papi and I step out to inspect the morning. It’s 49 F in Ashlandia today, Satyrda, October 4, 2025. A high of 60 is anticipated. The furnace was turned on to dispel some of the morning chill, as it was just 67 F in the house. Despite these clouds, rain is not a worry for us. Personal note, today is the 51st anniversary of when I swore my oath to defend the Constitution in the U.S. military.
All my appointments went very well Thursday. Texted Mom to tell her we’re coming to Pittsburgh for her 90th birthday. She says she’s looking forward to seeing us but is busy painting the kitchen cupboards right now. Dad remains in rehab in Texas. Spoke to him, and he was in terrific spirits and sounded strong, healthy, and alert.
Trump’s Venezuelan body count is 21 after U.S. missiles destroyed another boat. That’s number four. What’s the body count over/under for a Nobel Peace Prize?
The Weariness Meter is in the upper ranges today. I feel I’m flagging over the news. Think I’ll take a time out from keeping up to date. That general malaise striking me had me thinking about past and present. 1974, when I graduated from high school and joined the military, still appears as a decent year when I look back through time’s long lens. This year, 2025, feels like a terrible year on multiple levels. Reflections have me treading on a path of thought about how much we’ve regressed in my lifetime. Most of that came in the last 20 years. Hell, most of it came with Trump’s takeover of the White House in 2025. Much of it is due to Russ Vought and Project 2025 and their effective use of Trump as a dupe.
The Neurons decide to cheer me up with “Here’s Where the Story Ends” by Sundays in my morning mental music stream. Sample lyrics for you from Songfacts.com.
Crazy I know, places I go Make me feel so tired I can see how people look down I’m on the outside
Oh, Here’s where the story ends Ooh, Here’s where the story ends
It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year Which makes my eyes feel sore And who ever would’ve thought the books that you brought Were all I loved you for Oh the devil in me said go down to the shed I know where I belong But the only thing I ever really wanted to say Was wrong, was wrong, was wrong
It’s that little souvenir of a colorful year Which makes me smile inside So I cynically, cynically say the world is that way Surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise
Here’s where the post ends. Hope grace and peace pop up for us someday soon. Got my coffee. Time to motor. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 