The Only Thing That Makes

I Just Think I'm Better Equipped To Make A Study Of Human Personality Than Trying To Get Into The Mind Of Animals.

I Used To Think I Preferred Getting Old To The Alternative, But Now I'm Not Sure. Sometimes The Momotony Of Bingo And Sing-alongs And Ancient Dusty People Parked In The Hallway In Wheelchairs Makes Me Long For Death. Particularly When I Rememver That I'm One Of The Ancient Dusty People, Filed Away Like Some Worthless Tchotchke.

Life Goes On With Fragile Normalcy.

Gorillas Are In Danger Of Being Wiped Out By The Ebola Virus. I Feel Like We Have Limited Time To Get To Know Them And Understand Them And They're Going To Disappear - That's Terrifically Sad. Wouldn't It Be Great If We Could Stop That?

Afterward, I Curl Around Her. We Lie In Silence Until Darkness Falls, And Then, Haltingly, She Begins To Talk...she Speaks Without Need Or Even Room For Response, So I Simply Hold Her And Stroke Her Hair. She Talks Of The Pain, Grief, And Horror Of The Past Four Years; Of Learning To Cope With Being The Wife Of A Man So Violent And Unpredictable His Touch Made Her Skin Crawl And Of Thinking, Until Quite Recently, That She'd Finally Managed To Do That. And Then, Finally, Of How My Appearance Had Forced Her To Realize She Hadn't Learned To Cope At All.