Camilleri Flats

The British government had become the prime European support of the khedive of Egypt, but sought to remain aloof from the affairs of the Egyptian-ruled Sudan. -- Britannica's encapsulation of slaughter

I took the risk and drove this aged, dimpled, battered and shorting Quantum under the showerhead to hose down, for no more than a few minutes, wrapped in baggies. The bath chair is still functional despite my slide down in 2015, if it occurred in the spring of 2015. Even on sturdier days, the shower stall is a risk transfer, always was, and the Quantum's design ups the notch, as opposed to the easier sling of the P-200, and even with pain killers, and remembering to ease my shimmy off the porcelain throne, I am not ready to play the piper leaving the chair's motors parked close to a good dose of steam, so it is a micro cheat in a necessary living extension of my body. Andrea Camilleri uses power chairs as accouterments in his annoying Sicilian detective series. On my last count, one power chair was the shroud for a clever suicide electrocution, and one was used as a lesson about corruption. If Andrea doesn't like Sicilians, the dowager despises the shame Sicily brought down on Roman glory, even if their old world provincialism seeps into our circulation system like venom. Camilleri is Don in his own right, but he is also a bullshit artist for pathos.

I'm working on my article, very slowly. It is not about rejection, nor commission. As a policy piece, I want it to pass ableism standards. This matters to me, and if it is declined I'll live but you better bet your sweet ass if Editor A doesn't accept it I'll burn through 25,000 journalists if I have to to get it branded. Hence my inactivity of late.

Today, this evening, maybe things aren't so bad. I need to be slightly less pecuniary with pain medication despite daily doses of fish oil, and become more clever with bathing techniques if the pivot cannot be reverted to immediately with confidence, but if you had to choose between end of live indigence in a state bastion like Inglis House, or going out relatively intact, with your dignity behind you, which do you think you'd pick? Camilleri can afford the luxury of a godfather's flesh, etched and contained in codes of honor. Some things never change, and the Sudan is still the Sudan, despite the contest between the superstars, Heston and Laurence Olivier, in a deplorable pantomime of a Muslim nationalist.