The world is in an economic mess, and my sweet Trinbago too. Life in Trinbago has deteriorated to the point where I am losing hope. I have already lost my mind trying to come to terms with how we got into this cow dung. I blame politicians, social scientists and economists who have all the answers. Okay, I know blaming them will not solve the problem, but at least it will give me some comfort as I try to unravel if we are in a recession, depression, slump, bump, hump or boom and bust. I don’t know about you, but I am in a depression in this recession. Only Zoloft, that depression drug, could solve my problems. I have already given up on crime and the promise of good governance, as I watch the monkey games being played with my life. Reshuffle or reconfiguration, call it what you will, it is the same old khaki pants worn on a different day.
Call me a prophet of gloom and doom. I cool with that. Call me pessimist, too, no big thing. I am feeling the pressure in my pocket with prices, and you know what they say about pressure, “it could buss pipe.” So economists could talk until their throats tight like Dolphus, I have lost confidence in them. At times I get the feeling common sense is not common among these wise guys, who think they have a financial remedy for our economic pain. Basic economics tell me when prices outstrip your dollar, according to the Chinese shopkeeper, “someting wong.” I always laugh when they are not on the same financial page, and wonder if they work in polka-dot suits, a red nose and a funny hat at the Central Bank or the Ministry of Finance. Could it be they like to hear the sound of their own voices and blame the media when financial reports are not presented as they would like?
At times I ask myself if economists are realists, or trying to impress society with their Dookonomics, Ewartnomics, Haydenomics, Marynomics or Sagenomics for that matter. All these different opinions are confusing me and adding to my depression and economic misery. I don’t know who to believe. Are they trying to send me St Ann’s, or get me to jump off a cliff? Why don’t they just leave me alone. I rather drift rudderless in a sea of economic troubles than hang on to the words of economists. Already the “tighten your belt” mantra is being hinted at. I have tightened my belt so much in the past, I have damaged my intestines. I can take no more of this pressure. When I look at life in Trinbago, in the words of David Rudder, I beg to ask the troubling question, “Where we going, St Ann’s?” You see me, I gone!