10:04 a.m. - March 02, 2005
I feel like there's an arm wedged in my throat snaking its way to my gullet. I don't know what that means but that is the image in my head, discordant and too loud. Too loud? Yes, too loud and that too I don't understand - sound is a component of a silent image?
Dear diary - how loathe am I to sink my teeth into cardboardphrases - I don't understand what's going on over these past few days. Terrible dreams, avoiding sleep, eating like a disgusting fathognasty. Where is the control, the boundaries? A crazyinstinct of some sort has taken over, putting my mind on hold. Does that make sense? I'm really scared - maybe this is like me, but I've always hid it, or so I thought. I am just tired, want a good sleep and tonight's flight to Virginia may be what I need - but I worry, what if I talk in my sleep on the plane? Oh, that would be awful. End Diary.
Mostly prepared for the training: Powerpoint complete, handouts prepared for the copier, new doohickey with extended range so I can walk around, clothes are packed.
It's the subtext I want to engage, grapple with: Why am I feeling like this (anxiety? something else?), what triggered it, why manifesting these traits? Why, at all?
I am in control, damn it.
So the High Court says no to juvenile executions, split 5-4 along traditional acrimony. Now that we're as civilized as the rest of the industrialized world, I suppose kids will cease anti-social activities and we will have moved one step closer to the mythical xanadu.
But let me get this straight:
- A parent is fully responsible for a minor until said minor reaches age 18.