The More Things Change
I’m done.
Finished.
Finito.
Two years and gobs of learning later, I now have an MPA beside my name. But I don’t want to talk about graduate studies, or graduate degrees. It consumed the last two years of my life and frankly, that is enough.
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I love Facebook. Love it. It allows re-connection with old friends, nurturing new ones, and feels like I am still part of good, but distant friends’, present.
It is the shiny side of a new penny in the dirt, all bronze and glittering.
And damn it. Reduced my writing to one-liners. Simple status updates that say so much, and yet nothing at all.
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A lump.
I wonder. Did those two words have such an echo of foreboding twenty-five years ago?
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Boycotts. Once in a great while they can be useful. Like when I boycott chocolate in early spring to make sure my ass fits in a bathing suit over the summer. Or when I boycott cussing. Ok, that one rarely works. Lets be honest.
Some people are power-boycotters. They boycott businesses, people, and in some instances even thoughts, in an effort to punish or correct a condition they believe the business, person or thought caused.
I’ll boycott BP when I stop using oil. Until then it seems a bit, well, hypocritical.
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I am making plans. Big plans. They involve copious amounts of soil, numerous plants,trees, and a napkin blueprint. But first, a retirement party.
See?
The More Things Stay the Same…..