The longer I remain at Riverside Presbyterian, the harder it becomes to hold myself together; if I give my notice the city will be forced to scrape me off the sidewalk unless I become dazzlingly clever, but the longer I stay the more difficult curbing my anger becomes. To stop living manufactured illegality and the intimidation of deliberate, or intentional bull dykes like Debra Horne remains difficult when fear and its past is omnipresent, but what I have been dancing around is responsibility for incitement when one's personal hell is the knowledge that ambition can no longer beat biology, and I'll probably die indigent, in more pain than I deserve, because social services is fucked, and nothing I can write, investigate, repairs this for me. Can't beat the clock, and the supervisor who hurts others remains secure, while I face incarceration because I'm furious enough for a jail cell on short time, at least before I'm forced on oxygen, should we get that far.
Yes, I know the drill, but Trudy Richardson has succeeded in pissing me off enough that the owners under Presby's corporate umbrella will soon make me someone else's problem. Do I blame myself for grinding the axe on my family? I do not know, but I'm defeated, whether or not I'm now criminally liable. No one would obey me because I'm pissed. I just wish I had understood the bullshit in the Waiver system sooner, did something, and I had hoped to control my ex to that end. Barring a miracle, I don't have a way out, even if I find a creative way to still have legal standing to sue Pennsylvania into perpetuity.
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