Corporate Accommodation, Early onset

....There are none so easily carried away as those who are without passion. Turgenev

My chair was taking too long to finish charging yesterday for me to drive to an AT&T outlet for assistance, but as I managed to actually fall asleep last evening, I may make it this afternoon, and if wealthy enough, I'd offer Ma Bell's customer service a buffet. How many spastic trolls are there who get away with venting their criminal imagination using their own victimization? My deeper point about Levora, is that the Catholic nun misread the situation. Why push a dying young woman to get an equivalency diploma without teaching her about responsible behavior? 

Many women do sexually irresponsible things, and I've glided over some of my follies, for which I am now too weary, but one thing drilled into my Fallopian tubes was the command "Do not get pregnant!" And I never did. Cerebral palsy is not even degenerative, and yet my womb was forbidden to nourish a fertile embryo. Carriers, like Levora, who know they're carriers of horrific degenerative diseases should remain sterile. Too much trauma already afflicts us as it is. My anxiety may be a prelude to early senility. Marie [the aunt] reads it in me just as I've read it in her since my mother's passing, and I drink a pot of coffee approximately every twelve hours.

Why not continue to play Russian roulette with psychotropic medications?

Three reasons: I have observed how many mentally ill people nearly die on them, including my mother. A proscribing psychiatrist made her lithium dosage too high, and my mother had to be hospitalized for it a few years before she died. Ditto what I was exposed to at Matrix. Mental and physical illness are not distinct subsets, trust me there, and many seriously delusional patients get that way for physiological reasons, and not simply due to depression or traumatic stress.

Major third reason: Proscribing therapists do not know how to treat those of us with brain lesions. They get it wrong and we overdose into seizures. One of my consumers, Cheryl Ward, had cp about to the degree Linda Dezenski does, but her anxiety was much more pronounced than mine. She died here in the building at the sweet age of 24 because she took the wrong combination of script. In my estimation, non-terminal clinical euthanasia is preferable, even if ideation is occasionally an impetus behind it. Home of the Merciful Savior was bad enough as a childhood experience. Inglis House, however clean its linoleum floors are kept, has the overwhelming stench of human waste concentrated in it, so why do this to ourselves? 

When I selected Rudin in my Turgenev collection, I had no idea it was the author's first novel. My sympathies, being Jamesian, are omnipresent; the titular character is a vain windbag, stuck in time.

I don't have the courage to email Jerry and apologize to him for mangling our three semesters with each other in my posts, nor is it necessary. I sacrificed my chill factor in 2007 to contact him for the sake of his legacy. More than that is treacherous, but in a concession to his intellectual superiority, it wasn't his duty to give me a reality check about life as a quadriplegic, in academia, or out of it, in the intermingling of obsession, and a little hatred in the affection. Chair is done. I'm off, perhaps to ask for a prototype Apple to smash as an outlet, grinning, in resignation.

I know I make things harder than they have to be; I know I'm losing, dwindling away out of time, but it remains equally true I've sat here in the carnage of my career too long, and failed to utilize my savings within the appropriate setting to get away from what the independent living movement did to me; I live with my past dying in front of my eyes, and at times it is unbearable.

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.

No Phone, Next Crisis

My battery on the Apple 5c went fritz. It never stops, does it? I think my time with Liberty on the Rocks is done, not that a beer doesn't ease my ligament pain temporarily, but the wind gets sucked out of me, and if I surrender, this is what will happen: I will get inducted into Inglis House, surrender my bodily functions to minority certified nursing assistants, forced on catheters with plastic pantie underliners, have most of my every hour regulated, drugged eventually if not immediately for aggression. Whatever the renovations to the fortress on Belmont, the sterility of the little grey rooms haven't changed, the helplessly sick just staring at mounted television sets, and this is my indigent aging alternative, since the law forbids that I can put myself to sleep. What would you tell me, stop thinking about it and soldier on, shrinking and feeling discouraged? 

My recent exchange with Swarthmore made me feel trivial, insubstantial, despite the fact that the position was something I once did. What could I have submitted without even so much as a passing familiarity with The Bulletin? I have my mildly political topical op ed, a handful of medical bylines, conceded deflation in my cover letter, and had absolutely no response to guide me on samples, soldier on. I bothered Swarthmore's Human Resources department, and they've flagged me because I want to visit the campus, make contact, create another opportunity, and right now, it's impossible to do, even with a tone deaf refusal to take no for an answer.

I filed a damaged phone claim, have an appointment tomorrow, checked Google, powerless despite the fact I've remained passive with the old telecommunications giant. I suppose we'll see what happens. Cheaper device, cheaper plan. I'm worn out, simply worn out, and know I'm not the only one in a perpetual credit crisis.

Easing the Pedal

This interests me as branch off research, as I'd like to be nice to my ISP. If anyone can muzzle me with a "sorry sister," it would be a provider, but Ma Bell has put up with yours truly dashing about for years, wrenching my hair with dial up. I almost left the old telecom in 98 or 99 but stayed because I was confused about downloading a new service, and then never left. Why?

I'm stodgy, never quite agreed with the government breakup of the utility in the first place, and don't remain convinced that Verizon is a rival-- though Verizon Infinity beat Comcast and made a deal with this Presby owner to wire the building. I am not sure this is capitalism at work either, as opposed to inert municipal socialism (sputtering),

But in fairness to AT&T, we cannot all be online at the same time, and slowdowns are bound to happen. Comcast has been known to boot customers for overages, but AT&T has pretty much always accommodated me. True, I pay a little more than my neighbors, but I've never had much of a problem, and stay offline between 12 and 4 EST if I can help it, and imagine, if I need to parse on cell minutes, customer service will work with me. Is 5G plus the phone enough? No, but I cannot afford going up to 7 or 8, and so behave or once in awhile pay for another gigabyte. I may be mean, but I'm soft on Big Corporate, which may be why I never got fed to Jaws.

[Wry grin fade out.]

Hegel in Vancouver

"Married men and married women can only be close friends in large crowds."-- Ted Danson, has been heart candy.

Aunt Marie fell earlier in the week, broke her wrist. I did not tell her ancient cunning "I told you so," but I told her over the summer to begin the process of case managing her decline. She claimed she wasn't ready. Now that she is in pain with a joint fracture which will not heal properly, she is "ready to throw everything to PCA," and mildly incensed me by saying she doesn't know how I do it with one hand. She is old and in excruciating pain, but Jesus H Fucking Christ I need a new set of colorful expletives. I considered poon in the sense Ellroy uses it, but as slang it is more rancid and degenerative than I care to be. Barriers need not be built so thick. 

I spent the early years of my childhood shuttled from row home to row home to row home, yellowed with cellophane lamp shades and plastic upholstery, Marie's included, on my knees on her kitchen linoleum as a monkey child screaming at her Rottweiler, thinking it was going to eat me, which led Uncle Richie to yell at me for frightening the damn dog, the tumors in his chest floating into place with T-1 switches, then I lived with her prior to my entry into the steaming dung of North Philadelphia, but the bigotry rolls like kidney stones from colon polyps.

Any time blacks start something between Temple University and Drexel, it becomes an international incident, but drive byes in Kensington, robberies in West Philly, these are slasher lede segments for the local broadcasts (Fox still sleeps with Coppola's opera; as a local network they believe traditional mafia is still relevant). I have been dealing with the guilt terror in that street thief's face, even if the kid has a defense to play, for 27 years now. It is the face of every black man who cannot matriculate into a professional niche within the business class. It is the face that destroyed whatever liberal creed I had twisted in my vaginal mucous when I migrated back, the face that angrily moved me rightward, the face that allows me to lose intimidation if I set out to teach Spike Lee something about humility.

Of the 600k minorities who legally reside in this large but dilapidated urban grid, two thirds of their children are texting me in face time audio urging me to "get mommy out of the toilet." My restraint has been admirable; it shall not last. In studio when I feel the need I toss the 5c in my canvas and hook it where I can access it. That alone helps me relax, but having matured from a vigorous 30 something into a bitter hag sow on Internet screens, sexting Jobs rib cage is beyond my day dreams.

Forced Conversion Expressions

"I was filled with anticipation; the tension had grown to the point where I didn't want to have open space behind me." -- Bill Johnston translation, location 237

In the not so distant past, Hari Sreenivasan was the good guy, fighting for a more sound equilibrium among our numerous yet fragile masses. There are still many cases of egregious exploitation everywhere, but this PBS profile also has its own egregious tilt. Never mind the lack of any sort of sexual discipline in inner city communities; never mind the fructose-heavy husband who we can speculate has some sort of disability claim pending that games the system and hurts real chronic condition inclusion. We all game it these days, even me, playing evasion to the last resort, angry that I allowed desire to trap me here, even though I did not realize it in my twenties. In my own lack of efficacy, I did not realize my conservative provider had already activated the 5c. The tranquility, however temporary, is luxurious, yet hesitation remains. Utility and device. No one has ever quite sold me. Google and Amazon better than Microsoft, yes, but I will never quite see micro chip miniaturization as indispensable.  My sister Stephanie, on the white end of slovenly entitlement, sent me a text. Can't open it. Still in the tutorial stage, but we'll get there, despite women with more children than they can handle. Who am I to judge with my over-extended self-reliance? If I was smart I'd euthanize Vinnie and send the little female back to the no kill track and neuter shelter. It may come to that, but I can scream common sense while I learn to post home shots. Don't have children you cannot afford, regardless of your position on termination.

Progressives need some sort of reigning in, some sort of personal responsibility, just as I knew, before I pulled on my last decent affinity with another woman, that disability center assurances were broken reeds, piercing though the palms, poor adductor. Too much proficiency may be dangerous, but universal leveling leads to collapse under its own weight. Twenty five words in to an abstract that has more layers than I supposed, the signatory status of an auteur we hope survives extinction. Demise. Distinction may be all we have, but it is not much of an answer to destructive overkill.

For the most part, the better part of valor, I forgive Stephanie, and little Benny. I understand their precarious dashed hopes, despite the fact that they believe in a straight jacket containment for spastic investments. I cannot, however, love them as fully as I used to before they allowed this city to grind me into chum. Children are important, but not so important that they narrow futurist import.