Parrot's Game

The elder of my patriarchal cousins who was going to take a look at my Ad Sense support dialogue, the one who told me Drexel's computer center was not a viable option this time around for my problems, he fell through a hole in the floor of a friend of his son's at a graduation party, and I am not sure how much I want to pay Geek Squad to advise and or come fix me up. Now that I could use that lavish Black Tie protection, I no longer have it, and I am not all that keen on taking Septa to Best Buy for a nearly four year old HP, or my newer but cheaper Toshiba that I have used but once, and my cousin said what I told you, "Why are you worried about Ad Sense given what you earned back?" But I invested in it as a motivating force. This is trivial given my cousin's accident. In conjunction with my last post, however, I am no longer a huge fan of peer support counseling where the trained peer repeats the concerns of the disabled individual back to them. Erik's mind may now have significantly limited capacity, but he remembers how to do this. "We all have highs and lows," he said, when I was talking to Monica, despite mutual antipathy, about my brother's slam dunk homeopathic diagnosis. I was actually more liberal once, and like the ACLU, dove in to the LGBT acceptance modality as readily as what you see on Breaking Pointe, which, despite art therapy, the disabled cannot enter into, but not anymore. My life has swirled too much around the undercurrents of the human freak show, and if I could get away with open hostility to Riverside's lady male, I would tell him to go scuttle into hospice and save the taxpayers of Pennsylvania some money, and yes, my antagonism toward Erik & partner is potentially crueler than this, but that is due to my utter and absolute disdain for "the Adapt action". If ADAPT demonstrations were wiped out I would applaud, because they are absolutely ineffective and do nothing to solve the problems with the single payer options in national insurance programs like Medicare or VA benefits, regardless of how empowered they make paraplegics and quads feel.

The accusation of bipolar disorder does not concern me so much as it may seem my previous posts about little Ben might indicate. My mother was more unstable than I could judge as a child, and what Benny lobs at me may reflect his own need to protect himself. My concern is not the label, but the realization that I am weakened, tired, and another round of entitlement poverty will finish me off if I cannot stabilize into sales fairly soon, and I had to pick a site like LiveJournal for a trial run. I came very close to third world subsistence in my twenties, and I will not survive it again in my fifties, nor beyond, and I have to find a solution, or break, accordingly. I am not holistic and happy, and that I never claimed, but I do not have a drug habit like my mother did, haven't been drunk in a long time, but I have been through hell and never fought back the way I should have. I do not want to mentor young women like Louise, not on a personal level, but I was conflicted about her, and then knew I needed to put her outreach aside. I also need dental surgery, and I have no idea what I am going to do. The media is under stress, and I never had any integrated training, like working in a television studio, hence my cynicism that repeating my concerns back to me is an emboldened strategy. Writers need market share of course, but I have had enough of social network friending, in the objective sense of it ever having been of any use, and no, this does not mean I will not click FOLLOW when it suits me, only that online attachments do not amount to much.