This is so weird, to write what someone will read. Momma always said never to commit opinions to paper. I guess that advice goes for the cyberether, too. We'll see how firmly I adhere to Momma's advice.
Who was that Congressman who wrote down every thing he did at every minute of the day on an index card he kept in his shirtpocket? Why would someone do that? Did he have an overinflated sense of self-importance, believing that his eternal reputation would depend on his notes? Or just a poor memory? I have enough trouble remembering to write down telephone messages, let alone a continuous diary. I wonder if he has AD/HD from constantly switching his attention between reality and his journal? I wonder if he's switched to chronicling his life in a PDA? Are his thumbs now worn out from texting? What will we do if our Congressman can no longer use his thumbs? BTW, my mother is at her first oncology appointment and I'm trying not to think about it.
There is a steady, measured campaign going to in this country to deny children of protections of their civil rights. A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook a link to a late-2017 WaPo article describing how the federal Department of Education rescinded 72 policy documents that outlined the rights of children with disabilities. It is now almost ten months later, and what's going on has gotten worse--IMO, much worse. Links to Obama-era documents, including documents about countering exclusionary discipline and mitigating the school-to-prison pipeline, have been removed from Department of Education websites. In addition, the federal Department of Education recently changed its policy regarding the investigation of alleged civil rights violations, saying that it was an unreasonable burden to investigate settings where multiple violations had been reported, and so those investigations are being dropped. As expressed by the New York Times, the "new protocol...allo...
"Mother died today. Or, maybe, yesterday; I can't be sure." The original? "Aujourd'hui, maman est morte. Ou peut-être hier, je ne sais pas." From Camus' The Stranger. The French title, L’Étranger, can be translated as: overseas, stranger, outsider, foreign, alien. Or: extraneous, unconnected, unknown, or irrelevant. Will I be the Mother who dies? Will I die irrelevant, unconnected, extraneous?
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