Vegetative Demons

"We shouldn't have got involved."-- Josie Byzek

My aunt hung up on me last night. Age, cancer, yelling at me to let my anger go, not to file a complaint against my building manager and her tactics. With all deference to Tony Stiles, for whom I need to make time to engage, I never had a problem with the police. Some officers have been more diffident than others, some more sympathetic, or less, but I downloaded an email for my district, and if I start this, ignite this spark, they may not arrest me, but conceivably could escort me from the premises, and then twitter, in a fantastical show of force, will have to come rescue me, with a small gobbling chuckle in the back of my throat.

If I file a complaint against Trudy Richardson, Debra Horne, Presbyterian Homes, Ken Cantrell, I then undoubtedly raise a flag with the police. I am weighing this, in my small status among seven billion.

Terri Schiavo's brain stem function and Bobbi Kristina's are complimentary in some ways. The disability movement may be silent in Bobbi's case because the famed sire of Houston may have attempted suicide, one. Two, the family is not ending her medical care, though entertainment media seems buoyed on the issue, even if it has been less than six months since the poor little love child became non-responsive. Does her brain deserve more time toward a possible recovery?

Terri, as I understand it, aggravated her heart with dietary supplements, and disability activists made certain insinuations against Michael, the husband, in reference to the marriage, and that after 15 years of institutional care, his wife wasn't improving, so he wanted her out of the way. Josie's argument to me, at the Asian restaurant I could not afford, was that Terri Schiavo, whether she had minimal awareness or not, mimicked those who were non-verbal with mental retardation, hence, removing the feeding tube and letting the autonomic, if absent, woman, starve, gave the American public the wrong idea. How many of us would trade places with Bobbi, or Terri, if given their condition as a choice over and above dying? This was my luncheon with two lesbian Christian case managers, the dumbbell in my head going "This woman is my friend, right?"

Cecil Morales, despite the power of his verbal acuity and penetration, probably would not have worked for me as a romantic interest, and if he is still around, (I am not searching), I apologize to him for bristling and losing my cool. I was trapped, trying to hold onto my belief in people like Ms. Byzek, and my need for someone interesting to trust and sleep with, but I'd give my right arm to have had an anecdote to tell you about the dinner date I never had with a very penetrating Argentine trade journalist who was such a piercing Catholic theologian. She took that from me. Josie.

Her and Ginny. Peevish den mothers. What other kind is there? Forgiveness. Yep. I know, and a novel about it wouldn't lead to a movie deal as it did for Nora Ephron. Learn how to be less passive when people who think they know best screw your anticipations. Now I'll debate going back to work offline, or lying down. I take my time being indecisive about following back. Nothing personal; people don't like it when I let my neural net behave with that peculiar lack of compassion with which savants can be gifted.