This time, I only missed 36 minutes

If only I could do something important, like bake a souffle, or pick out a tie. --Audrey Hepburn, Wait Until Dark

What I wanted to dismantle this morning, and possibly rectify, is my diffident sensibilities toward MeToo, Nick Gillespie, and his associate editor Elizabeth Nolan Brown. I got into an argument with her about date rape, and although I am capable of respecting Nick and his intelligence, and he mine, I swiped at him in a personalized frustration which will not help me return to the field with the stresses I’m undergoing. I wanted to explain all of this just a little better, and explain it in the sense that I do not need to become a Reason Magazine contributor, but Reason’s staff are often intellectually sloppy, like Brown is with her notions of Kavanaugh’s credibility, only I let my spool unwind too much Wednesday and leaned into my cousin about the paraprofessional who has eaten up a number of my posts on this account. I want to terminate my relationship with him because he lashes out constantly at the way, and how, I speak, and I’m near a breaking point, must have been out of my mind to have ever entertained the idea of becoming his lover. I have been through worse with this outsourced care, but never every single day of the week. I want the nigger out of my life. I can make it happen, but it means grief, possibly his termination, and absolutely nothing of this sustained duress will change for me. Not now. Starting over with yet another minority will wind up in exactly the same place, until I opt to attempt a failsafe suicide method, lose my mind, or give in, go to a state run facility, and if I were stronger, I’d put this torrent fusillade aside and teach myself to work differently, and simply cut him loose. What’s holding me back is I don’t want to keep recycling people whose behaviors are far more abhorrent to me, and that is all. I don’t feel for him in any real erotic context, and beneath the surface, his animosity toward me is taking its toll. There is little to no intervention advocates for victims of [insert category] can offer me, and Nick doesn’t see this, the limits on progressive modality here. Neither, I am sure, does Brown. I was wrong, last spring, to allow my loneliness to let this man cross the line. I crossed it too, we backed off, but cannot quite depersonalize, and for a quadriplegic, aging and always fiercely protective of her independence, it never stops. I’ll have more to say on the matter.