Imbecile

I figured out why I cannot activate the 5s iPhone replacement, and it may count toward the decline of my emotional well being that I am reluctant to joust my way downtown so that live AT&T agents can help me swap my SIM in the devices. The constant need to impose inconveniences my desire for self-reliance, but the online staff said it was fine, no extra charge; I now avowedly, avowedly hate iPhones. The 5c came back online, but apparently has schizophrenia, so I have to get the exchange wrapped up by tomorrow, and save my contacts, at least. The stress is poison and not in any way the fault of the old giant and I have no idea why I'm posting this, having not gone with my erstwhile libertarian associates to see the debate. I asked Carly's staff how she feels about the ADA. This Jazzy is still killing me, but that is my fault. I haven't been able to will myself to keep my appointment with the ambulatory practice and get in a boxing match with physical therapists who know jack shit about why I'd like to take Zhang Ziyi's example and slaughter them wholesale. Me and my oh so fine Roman temper, but I have at least somewhat snapped back past sheer toxic panic. 

I'm not going to make it. What does it even mean anymore? Stop posting and work? Yes, with tinnitus, precipitous hearing decline, twenty dollars in my checking account, and my terse cadence with African Americans who keep reciting wonderful tales about case managers and attendants, still pitching in my head on technological upgrade anxiety and poverty, or telling Toomey's staff I make Trump a positive boy scout in comparison to my rage, but hey, here's my resume destroy the independent living center system and relocate me to Allentown, yeah?

I know my attitude would improve if I could leave Riverside, and dismantle Presbyterian hypocrisy.

Politics.