from today's output
Description of a phrophetic fitJeremiah sniped, "And just how are we supposed to find this Deputy wazziname? Where are we supposed to start looking?"
The magic rose up and struck with the speed of a feral cat, claws stabbing deep within her belly. Prophesy blinded Malala's eyes, deafened Malala's ears, wrapped her limbs in bonds of adamantine and filled her mouth.
The next thing she knew, Jeremiah was waxing sarcastic. 'And I suppose he's just going to walk right past us and say hey, huh?'
"Wha ... What? I ..." Her head ached abominably. The world was swaying, or she was, perhaps, and everything was black. She heard Jeremiah calling her name, from a long way away; she sounded frightened was just plain wrong. Nothing scared Jeremiah. Someone touched her shoulder.
"Are you all right, miss?"
And then the pain was gone, the world was still and her eyes were closed. She opened them.
I doubt I "made the nut" today. I woke with my head full of thoughts of one of my sisters, so I wrote a multi-page letter to her on my thoughts about the nature of bullies and bullying. I told her that everyone is the star of their own life, everyone else is supporting cast ... in that person's life. But that person is supporting cast in the lives of other people. That's the way it works.
A bully is one who is dissatisfied with the drama that is his or her life. They aren't as big or as grand as their ego tells them they should be. Life doesn't live up to their expectations. And someone must be to blame. In an effort to make him/herself bigger, the bully must make everyone around him/her smaller. They spend their time denigrating the acomplishments and perceptions of those around them, those who make them feel smallest.
I said that by that rubric, Donald Trump must be the smallest person in the USofA.
I wrote a lot of other things as well, some of it private between us. She's one of the few of my siblings I trust with my ... myself. I'm hoping that there is another, but I am afraid.There is a story, about a scorpion that wanted to cross the Nile. He asked a crocodile to carry him across on his back, the croc, naturally enough, refused. He said that the scorpion would sting him if he did. The scorpion swore that he would not, promised faithfully. And so the crocodile agreed.
Halfway across the Nile, the scorpion stung the crocodile, right between the shoulder-blades (I don't know if crocs have shoulder-blades or not, but you get the drift) and the poison caused the crocodile to falter. Unable to swim, he began to drown.
"You stung me!" he cried to the scorpion. "Now we'll both die. Why did you do that?"
And the scorpion replied, "You knew it was my nature."
I am afraid that it may be the nature of my family to attack when they sense a weakness, to do their damnest (and I use the word advisedly) to destroy their rivals. We were all of us raised to be rivals. We were set against one another from the moment of birth ... of the one that supplanted us. The new baby ... the youngest ... the younger, was always the better, the brighter, the favoured child. Everyone else had to do what they could to attract a crumb of parental attention.
I flatter myself that I escaped ... somewhat ... because of MY nature, the brain chemistry/wiring that is termed autistic. And maybe because I spent most of my childhood reading. I grew up in books. At this day and age, I don't really know if that was a blessing or a curse. It just is.
Even so, I am a child of my family. What they are, so too am I.
It is my nature.
(and for the record, my astrological sign actually IS Scorpio.)
The magic rose up and struck with the speed of a feral cat, claws stabbing deep within her belly. Prophesy blinded Malala's eyes, deafened Malala's ears, wrapped her limbs in bonds of adamantine and filled her mouth.
The next thing she knew, Jeremiah was waxing sarcastic. 'And I suppose he's just going to walk right past us and say hey, huh?'
"Wha ... What? I ..." Her head ached abominably. The world was swaying, or she was, perhaps, and everything was black. She heard Jeremiah calling her name, from a long way away; she sounded frightened was just plain wrong. Nothing scared Jeremiah. Someone touched her shoulder.
"Are you all right, miss?"
And then the pain was gone, the world was still and her eyes were closed. She opened them.
I doubt I "made the nut" today. I woke with my head full of thoughts of one of my sisters, so I wrote a multi-page letter to her on my thoughts about the nature of bullies and bullying. I told her that everyone is the star of their own life, everyone else is supporting cast ... in that person's life. But that person is supporting cast in the lives of other people. That's the way it works.
A bully is one who is dissatisfied with the drama that is his or her life. They aren't as big or as grand as their ego tells them they should be. Life doesn't live up to their expectations. And someone must be to blame. In an effort to make him/herself bigger, the bully must make everyone around him/her smaller. They spend their time denigrating the acomplishments and perceptions of those around them, those who make them feel smallest.
I said that by that rubric, Donald Trump must be the smallest person in the USofA.
I wrote a lot of other things as well, some of it private between us. She's one of the few of my siblings I trust with my ... myself. I'm hoping that there is another, but I am afraid.There is a story, about a scorpion that wanted to cross the Nile. He asked a crocodile to carry him across on his back, the croc, naturally enough, refused. He said that the scorpion would sting him if he did. The scorpion swore that he would not, promised faithfully. And so the crocodile agreed.
Halfway across the Nile, the scorpion stung the crocodile, right between the shoulder-blades (I don't know if crocs have shoulder-blades or not, but you get the drift) and the poison caused the crocodile to falter. Unable to swim, he began to drown.
"You stung me!" he cried to the scorpion. "Now we'll both die. Why did you do that?"
And the scorpion replied, "You knew it was my nature."
I am afraid that it may be the nature of my family to attack when they sense a weakness, to do their damnest (and I use the word advisedly) to destroy their rivals. We were all of us raised to be rivals. We were set against one another from the moment of birth ... of the one that supplanted us. The new baby ... the youngest ... the younger, was always the better, the brighter, the favoured child. Everyone else had to do what they could to attract a crumb of parental attention.
I flatter myself that I escaped ... somewhat ... because of MY nature, the brain chemistry/wiring that is termed autistic. And maybe because I spent most of my childhood reading. I grew up in books. At this day and age, I don't really know if that was a blessing or a curse. It just is.
Even so, I am a child of my family. What they are, so too am I.
It is my nature.
(and for the record, my astrological sign actually IS Scorpio.)