five year plan

FIVE YEAR PLAN

Just like the Soviets who were as obsessed with Five Year Plans as our federal government was with acronyms,  I seem to have falling into a Five Year Standard For Prepping, myself.  I have no idea why.  Perhaps it was in my haste to avoid any connection to God’s Patriot Preppers and their references to the Bible and the seven years of plenty and famine.  Perhaps I studied up on the Soviets a bit too much in my youth and their plans were just rattling around in my subconscious.  Perhaps I was atoning for my previous inadequate and ill-conceived taking of advice that one years provisions were sufficient for preparations in the event of a nuclear war, and decided five times that amount should be okay.  Perhaps it is because there are five fingers on a hand so the number seemed fluid and organic.  Whatever the reason, I’ve settled on five years as the magic number for prepping.   I have five years of wheat for two ( a bit more for family but not that much ), along with the ever important five years worth of coffee for two and enough minimal tobacco for two for five years.  I have enough factory ammo and reload components for a total of five thousand rounds in battle rifle fodder-I’m not sure if that is fives year worth, or more or less, but it is a number five anyway.

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I did have five Lee-Enfield rifles but the same skeevy wench that stole a pistol from me when I left her mother for the last time ( the latest ex, leading up to the current New Old Lady ) had an ex-husband that swiped one under the guise of refurbishing it ( like bitch step daughter, like step son in law-two peas in a rotted pod ).  Enough shoes and clothes for a minimum of five years.  More than that in water filters.  And on and on.  Is five years enough?  Probably not.  It is far more than sufficient to weather a civilization die-off followed by enough cushion to still eat as I get established and set up into a new tribe with an old timey food procurement system.  If there is a massive nuclear exchange, causing a “nuclear winter”, where the crap in the atmosphere keeps enough sunlight out to cause widespread plant loss ( the same effect would come from an asteroid collision or the eruption of a super volcano.  None of the three is certain but certainly the potential of any one can’t be discounted-one big reason why I discounted living in Wyoming and left from the oceans edge ), than most likely you would want at least ten years worth of food stores.  Yet, every time I try to get sufficiently excited enough to go dig more holes for more wheat-I just can’t do it.  Is it because I’m stuck on the number five or is because I’ve reached the age I really can’t dig anymore-not while still working the job I do?  Or am I just listening to my reptile brain which never steered me wrong ( that is NOT the same as the Little Brain.  The Reptilian one is responsible for survival on a tooth and nail level whereas the Little Brain is in charge of every other decision which is strictly abided by as long as they don’t override the Reptile Brain survival mode.  If you have no paranoia, you are completely out of touch with this part of your brain.  Bad survivalist!  Bad!  No biscuit for you! )? 

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Many questions, few answers.  I’m also wondering why the heck I’m STILL prepping?  Sure, it is better than paper currency.  It gives me something to focus on and is fodder for article ideas.  But I’m also wondering if it might be interfering with my common sense as regarding my employment.  Is the need to still prep, even with five years worth of crap already ( I’m just tweaking the supplies already on hand, not buying any more basics ), a subconscious way on dealing with the stress of work?  If I’m convinced I need more crap, then I keep getting up every morning to go to my employment.  It excuses me for taking the easy way out by staying in the workplace.  I’m REALLY getting to hate my job, something I thought I’d never say about this one.  But every day I’m stuck between incompetence and greed and every day the work load just keeps increasing.  Why do I put up with it?  For ten grand a year?  Because I’d be too bored without a twenty-five hour week at a job?  Or is it pride, determined to outlast all these pricks?  I’m not sure about that one, as that is a Management 101 trick right there.  Piss them off to either drive them away or increase that days productivity ( that doesn’t work in retail too well, but in manual labor jobs-I get a head of steam going and I’m flinging merchandise to keep from wringing someone’s neck.  In retail, mostly only fear works-then you get subservient wait staff ). 

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As The End ( My Beautiful Friend ) gets nearer, aren’t we all reverting to poor form as the only way to cope?  The boss becomes a bigger dingus as her iron rice bowl is endangered, we preppers desperately keep buying crap, the banks pump out even more derivatives trying to increase their leverage, our politicians get even worse as if that is possible.  If the velocity of worse behavior increases, isn’t that indication enough that the End Is Indeed Nigh?  Just food for thought, and a Navel Gazer article from me on a day I’m hot, overworked and going on way too little sleep.

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