I am of an age when I can now enter into Jerry's skin; my exuberant youth that saw him as epistemological cocaine must have amounted to a mega sized pain in the ass; if his poetry is any indication he hasn't changed much, and other than tabulating my damages, I cannot really tell you how much I have changed. There was always some sense of emotional risk and unease that I attached to physical intimacy with potential lovers, and here I am, looking at the young with a jaundiced eye, even if it alters my perspective in relation to my past.
The capellini did not upset my stomach yesterday, as I had it with a light cream and scallops quick frozen and packaged by Trader Joe's (I cannot praise this gift-wrapped franchise model from California enough, although if you asked me how it is so very different from a traditional supermarket, I would probably have to borrow a snot-nosed New York Times MBA to assist me in elucidating its convenience couture), and I actually tired myself out from working yesterday, email upon email, which will accrue as my deadline approaches; I now know when that deadline is, and thus, have calmed, after a brief quake of my scar tissue; it came and went within moments, which is what my earlier therapists and I have been trying to illustrate. With healthy supports, I am pretty much fine, and the problem with Liberty Resources (if you are a parent with a disabled child, I warn you, if you donate to Liberty you assist a bad provider at your peril) over the years has been that it did not provide me with a healthy support environment, which is why I will defy death itself to get this federal mandate revisited, even if I have to repeat this in hundreds of posts.
Which reminds me, I did not print my template letter yet, because I have not had the time to package and protect it against the children so I could post it, but I have been informed that the senator's staff will be here next week. Do I simply present the missive, or properly postmark the thing, or present the missive and mail it to myself and the ACLU? I have my own level of cowardice and fear, but I cannot let this issue go, because crime was committed, my life was jeopardized. I cannot bury this and allow a future Linda to wind up killing someone because she doesn't know how to pay attention, but that doesn't mean I am not scared that the state of Pennsylvania might punish me further for raising my voice.
Mmm. Time for a fresh fake.
Today I am more along the lines of nibbling, pondering the Motorola Faith of Rome in which I was raised, and the nostalgia that surrounds it like my candy coated almonds. I mean, of course I could go back to mass and not say anything, and utilize my parish for my own ends, but I fear my pugilist tendencies against the collar, and the deference we pay to papal authority, which doesn't quite fit the progressive white shock of hair that is Donald Sutherland in the late 20th century, playing a not quite credible Father Koesler in a thriller that languishes. We'll kick it up.
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