Decline and Fall

"Christianity is a sickness."-- my paraprofessional

That I am actually reading Gibbon in tandem with Niall Ferguson's now familiar analogy and rhythm is a coincidence, and that he does touch on healthcare as a staggering edifice of a troubled welfare system is certainly not attributable to me. I worry more, in fact, that pitching to Vanity Fair is a nearly insurmountable task for a non-staffer, as opposed to the bon professor's ready access. I'd have to send a resume to Comnsate Publications, last time I researched the issue. I have to work my way back in on a smaller scale. My bowel is hurting, the adult diapers, as I knew they would years ago, are destroying my buttock epidermis, and I'm having tremors. I was warned about all of this, only now collapsing at 56 plus a testament to thick Italian skulls, well back into the past, and I cannot delude myself that I'm redeemable as a woman with cerebral palsy who refused to apply to Harvard on the fear of social stigma. I'm dying, and I'm dying of nothing but the poverty of technical medical disaster, and I die unrepentant, unable to tweet a compliment to Pat Toomey without getting inexplicably attacked by this account. I did not have to respond to Memes, and it was undoubtedly worth my while not to do so, but I am in pain, and Memes, like a social media jackass, tells me I am privileged because I contacted Pat Toomey about illegal collusion at Philadelphia's farcical disability center. I have no idea what Memes wants from me, and consider his, or her, conduct, no more than harassment. I am not special to Toomey, or his staff, I just agree with him after facing a lifetime of antipodal destruction under Philadelphia Housing authority auspices, and stand by my tweet, which I shall not embed, that Toomey is righteous. Others are free to make their own decisions. I only repent the precipitous decline in my health because single payer option rationing is its proximate cause, and I do not blame the GOP. I worried, briefly, that I'd really destroy my mental welfare by developing a bond with the male paraprofessional on whom I now depend, but then I realize he says uneducated and outlandish conspiratorial sentiments, and it will not happen, hopefully. I have heard such stories of racial remorse conscientiousness before, and I cannot. Because I still harbor that unpleasant internal condensation. He and I "friended" each other, so this evening, I will not push the envelope any further, nonetheless, we're both single, lonely, and if he is going to nurse me for an indefinite period, men are men, women are women, and I need be cautious, or find him better economic security, and return to antagonistic tensions with predominately minority women. This has no correlation to my defense of Niall Ferguson against Pankaj Mishra's charges of neo-imperialism, not at first glance, but throughout history, state welfare systems erode the vibrancy of civilization. I crushed myself with high expectations. Gibbon, as you may or may not know, worked in episodic poverty, and suffered from scoliosis, but he was an important transitional historian, a bridge between hagiography of the Enlightenment, and evidence based means testing and aggregate data of the modern discipline which Niall engages with astute methodology, and his critics miss his main points about authority, central state systems, and the evolution of modern economy and financial innovation. I would not deign to call Niall righteous. It is not the right descriptive for an accessible scholar and analyst, but he's a realist who recognizes boundary markers, concedes progressive victories against differences oppressed by social caste, and his critics are simply off base. He taught me about the evolution of money in a manner I was never challenged to consider, and if that isn't a scholar doing his job, pray tell, what is?