Mmm, baby brother accepted my invitation to Google +, this after I gave his voice mail a furious tongue lashing, many weeks ago now, around the time of these events, though I cannot provide a date of the evening the tongue lashing occurred. Why our mother gave him the name of the most loved tribe, born of true love after years of deception, if Hebraic hagiography has any psychic validity, is mystifying, but it seems to suit him. I played chess with his deceased biological father, a schizophrenic who dived on top of my sister and beat her while I had a front row seat on the next pillow over. When he was lucid, I found him sexually attractive, and would have lived Fitch'es best dramatic arc before Oates persuaded her to make it a novel, but the man was on his death march at the dawn of conception. This is Benjamin's history.
He is still my kid brother, and I am his eldest sister, I know people, I know. I have rank, and toggling his blinders might have been harsh, and he has the most adorable boys, my nephews, but those blinders needed some jiggling.
I am not posting a damn word to him in the stream, not now. Lovely, isn't it?
Barring some catastrophic incident, I am not quitting, of course not, but I am not pushing myself hard enough either, not always, afflicted in and not in any good way like Mr. Ramsay, though I hope to hold on, break through.
Not this morning, however. Still need to install the printer. I know it is easy, but I am fearful around all this technology. I came on to reply to my sister citizens who cry out on Facebook asking when is it going to stop?
If you had been paying attention, you'd already know the answer, which is why I have taken so many risks in so many posts, being honest with the negations my dignity has borne, stripped away like a forensic anatomy puzzle. As a journalist, I know nothing, and hell will freeze over before I ever have anything like Ted Koppel's source list, but violence is not created in a vacuum. This is the cost of marginalization.
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