Phantom pains in an amputated limb
Every year, on this day, around this time of day, I go back and read this again, and all of the little comment threads, so I can remember what happened, how it felt … and how we all knew in advance how the events of the day were going to be used and misused for the next decade.
Some amazing things have happened for me over the past nine years, stuff I would never give back. But looking back over my own timeline, everything up to that date was pretty smooth running and more or less on some sensible track, and everything after that date was all shattered landscapes and tons of wasted effort trying to get back to familiar ground.
There is no familiar ground anymore. Any twinges I’ve been feeling for the American Dream have been phantom pains in an amputated limb.
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This One Time
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This One Time, 48
This one time I was sitting in the jury box for a simple civil case — a suit to recoup damages from some fist-fight that had gotten out of hand when someone’s brother came over to beat the crap out of his sister’s abusive boyfriend. Medical bills, wrecked furniture, therapy for traumatized children that had […]
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This One Time, 48
Station Identification
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Damn.
You should run for president, dude.
There’s a shiny little grenade rolling around on the ground. Should I pounce on it?
No one with any sense either wants or should be allowed to have the job. As executive jobs go, the pay is shit and you get blamed for a million things that couldn’t possibly be the fault of any single individual, no matter how willfully heinous. Though fucking with the Secret Service for the rest of my life would be tremendously tempting.
I’d be somewhere between the worst of Jimmy Carter and the best of Zaphod Beeblebrox, and the skeletons in my closet are *unbelievable*. I should go be president somewhere where my kind is appreciated and protected.