"It had begun early that morning when he stopped for gas.--Tom Pawlik, Vanish
The
age of my technology makes all this more than a bit frustrating. Friday evening
I was able to sync, and sampled an Amazon original, Absentia, which opens with Stana Katic in a water tank, or being
punched, or stabbing a journalist in hospital, but this morning, despite cold
reboots, I cannot get the hotspot to ping, wonder if it is the anti-virus
software. I’d like to lose the USB plug in. It keeps my phone bill high, as the
black man who has based his economic decisions on my assurances drags me by my
legs in the morning like a fucking sack of turnips, helps me sit on a Jay
cushion far too high while the Depends wadding gnaws my rectum for the hours I
sit here.
When
I lose a long time follower like Justin Murphy, the assistant professor kindred
Catholic libertarian, yes, I wince, but caution myself I cannot ascribe reasons
for my account removal to his feed. I was going to keep his on mine, may
restore him later, but I give very little time to my followers, even failing to
recall that Mikaela’s tag line is a far superior resume to mine, and half the
time, I do not know what Justin is tweeting, and so I did not rise above the
law of an eye for an eye as proscribed in Deuteronomy, and dropped Justin and
his specious queries about weed and mass, even as he hit like for a couple of
my responses, which seems inconsistent, a drop with continuing validation.
Trust me, I know imitating Mikaela’s trained anchor pleasantness would improve
my social media ratings, but is Mikaela being hauled off a generic hospital bed
by a minority who failed in manufacturing at one corporate plant after another, from food processing to retail?
I cannot overcome the cruelty of medical socialism, in my 57th year,
plagued by nightmares of being hauled away by force by a bevy of females
similar to the scurrying bitches of VNA, to another institution for imbeciles,
while the director puts his hand down my blouse, strangles me with a forcible
kiss, as I protest repeatedly that I’ve been matriculated and educated, hauling
myself awake much like Stana in her fast moving collision of a lead, it is
still nonetheless a variation on my end game, which my readers assure
themselves they are helpless to prevent. Going out with a time trigger bomb
wired to this power chair, punishing my posture and all but strip mining me
helpless, doesn’t present me with that much of a dilemma. March For Our Lives
cannot de-weaponize the anguish of a life bowed over the screw.
Since
I am, in whatever enfeebled manner, discussing politics, hanging on the implied
assurances of Nick
Gillespie's data, I do not take issue with Reason’s editor at large laying
blame on Hillary’s 2017 campaign as being poorly managed, but having the former
first lady from Arkansas take a mea culpa for having won the coasts and lost
the center doesn’t solve our national ailments. Nick conveniently glosses over
Hillary’s implicit appeal to national
ethos in West Virginia in 2007. Both she and President Clinton were widely
criticized for how they handled their opposition to Obama’s candidacy, but Nick
seems to imply that if she was the wrong candidate against her former boss, she
should have been the right one against Donald Trump. He never mentions Bernie
Sanders, Anthony Weiner’s frolic with girls in middle school, the email server.
These were self-inflicted wounds which could have easily been avoided had the
Democratic Party a viable alternate to the Clinton brand. I can’t speak for
those in Maga, for those who believe Trump will deliver to his base, but I didn’t
want either candidate. I’ve written more than once why I made the choice I did,
and part company with more rational conservatives like James Woods, who has
made his own brand count on policy, when it comes to the border wall. I remain
opposed, despite my recent experience with bona fide immigrants tending to my
care. I don’t think these barriers work. All you have to do is examine Israel’s
border with Syria, then ask yourself if this is what Zionists envisioned as the
war years drew to a close. I also don’t like protectionism and the tariffs
against China, and my life in the Commonwealth is the hell it’s always been,
not to mention that prior to my drastic mechanical failures, I fought like a
dog applying for jobs on Linked In, only to have recruiters vanish into thin air after they approached me with
letters of interest. It’s cruel and not fair that I can’t even get people like
Jody Condi to so much as talk to me after all the hardships I’ve been through
since fall, given my age and what I’m up against, and I am not even in the top
tiers of the administration where generals and executives crash to the ground
in rampant deforestation. My caretaker has been torturing himself all week
about leaving Jewish Employment Vocational Services (JEVS), which has had its
hand in the attendant care till for years, for a custodial job in the school
system where he has been strung along since the Superbowl. I thought he was
leaving, and now I wonder if my regret at his impending departure was an undue
influence on his decision to stay. He said he was sick of submitting his prints
to the FBI. Sign of the times—but it’s not Trump destroying democracy. His
primary supporters did that by making him the frontrunner. That result is the
GOP’s fault, which traditionally has an heir apparent, something the left could
have done without in the waning dusk of Obama’s second term. I’ve made some
progress with this black man who cares too much not to abandon me, like an overgrown
little boy, the eight days I took to pass a large bowel movement not a
particularly benevolent sign. Even if March For Our Lives wins some concessions
on gun regulation, I still think Nick is barking up the wrong tree. It’s past
the point for the Clintons to heal divisions and restore the center left, in my minuscule importance as one of the 177,000 who placed the country on this
trajectory. This aide taught me how to sync via my hotspot, something Andreas
from ATT couldn’t do for all his concerted efforts. I’m grateful, despite the
iPhone unreliability. Guilt on my conscience is another matter.
