The Bear is Growling

Okay, now that we are in a social media panic, I applied for a third writing position through LinkedIn. I had an advisor lady from the sometimes fiddle to faddle resource site following me on twitter, but even in my neural net which takes things personally, what happened to her is anyone's guess. I am never going to be the eccentric old woman who inadvertently grabs the scruff of the meek out of sewer pipes, and, since I promised myself no etudes to the fiascoes to my north, I will not provoke the pressure cooker this evening, other than to ask if I dare order take out as I am, hoping not to be judged too harshly on delivery. Demonic streaks being what they may, there is still a side to me which is full of life, it is simply obscured by stifling quicksand--

One question, seriously, for the embroiled African American agitators-- are any of you donating to Nepal from the businesses you're vandalizing? The death toll for the wee little country is over 6,300, of late, and I can tell you, I hate section 202 housing with enough vengeance to risk mortal injury at the hands of Philly's finest, simply by virtue of my age and condition, but I've never deliberately damaged this building, ever, whatever my escalating friction with management. I've been on the other side people, I have, ready to declare war on SEPTA, screaming at CCT drivers in a cardiac rage. Paratransit services remains exactly what it was in the eighties, with more efficiency only by virtue of the fact that power chair use was drastically curtailed in 2002. It is how the activism is applied, but emoting, all that earns is a jacket.