Lethal Injection

I wonder if these agrarian Pentecostals realize that the authors of Semitic scripture were prone to rhetorical exaggeration that is common to all polemical writing of persuasion, and that it does not mean that the human body can withstand lethal doses of venom. Lauren Pond's ethical dilemma is both relevant and a pedestrian false dichotomy. You either do your job as a journalist or you interfere; agonizing about her decision in public is not an expiatory exercise. Same analogy with me and my cat. I killed the animal in the long term by indulging him and in the short term by hesitating, and I have to live with this, even if my bond with Joey was unique. Forgiving myself, not forgiving myself, rationalizing my stress and expense over the last six years, none of this will make any difference. This Pastor is dead and was an idiot, which makes me wonder if religious fanaticism is slowly falling victim to evolutionary necessity, being eliminated out of the gene pool.

My aunt may actually be right, and that, due to age, my sinus pressure is causing my vertigo, which has mitigated slightly; fear of locked in syndrome nearly sent me to the emergency room, but I slept off the anxiety. Bulletproof Heart (1995), with Anthony LaPaglia, is an interesting bit of poseur in its own right, whether or not this reviewer is being fair to Mimi Rogers as the traditional noir femme fatale. I cannot make up my mind from one viewing that did not have my undivided attention, writing this, microwaving a single serve pizza, taking care of little Vinne; his brother's ashes are in. I have to pick them up, and missed what the psychiatric fruit gave LaPaglia's character as a diagnosis to explain Fiona's S&M games, but it is some form of catatonia, sporatic and intermittent.

I cannot really say I know Cheryl Strayed, but she and I used to interact in the Poets&Writers Speakeasy, and there she is on Amazon with Oprah, who looks matriarchal and awful in that photo, and I am still here, in exactly the same place. Rocking the boat may not get me out of it either. I wonder if those on twitter who have attacked me would read Cheryl's work and judge us both accordingly. For all the physical and emotional punishment I have absorbed, I never turned to substance abuse, but there we have it, another average American blonde whose internal struggle is good marketing for a black beauty queen's media.