Head over to FiveThirtyEight.com for a piece that touches on one of my pet peeves: the “Democrat Party” gibe.
Maybe both are (referring to the post title), but name calling is almost always a non-starter for serious discussion. As the author puts it: “Couples therapists know a thing or two about this one. Respect is a threshold condition for listening.”
I know my fellow…
You don’t want to read this post. Why am I writing it then?
Therapy.
I have a theory for why I’ve been feeling down lately, and the title to this post is a strong clue. Since it’s apparent no one else is ever at fault for things that go wrong, the logical conclusion is it must be my fault. When everything is your fault and you accept responsibility – even if it’s just…
I turned on the television this evening and was shocked. Then shock turned to panic. Then panic merged with anger and betrayal.
I rushed across the house.
“Cheryl, did you watch any television today?”
“No, why?”
Ignoring her question: “Do you know who was the last person to watch the television in the family room?”
“I can’t think of anyone right…
A few years ago Cheryl and I talked about moving to Vermont. It wasn’t serious talk, just two people inspired by pictures of my mother’s family home in a small town just south of the Canadian border. (Actually, my mother was born in Massachusetts, but both of her parents were from Vermont.) I’ve only been there once, when my grandmother died, but the place has a hold on me……
I was having a good day. Everything was fine until I heard one stray comment. Do you have days like this? Can one or two sentences ruin it for you? I wish I could say I have the self assurance to shrug off what other people think and say, but it’s not me. Not at all. It sticks with me. It burrows and churns through my mind, infecting everything that follows.
“I don’t get it.
Beth doesn’t look forward to school. She’s not afraid of the subjects or the work. She’s one of many of children who go to school afraid of the other kids.
I was one of those kids. I’ve been thinking about my school days a lot lately, with all the messages I’ve received about a high school reunion coming up this year. The small minded, vengeful little prick in me…
The Mac turned 25 this week. I’m one of the privileged few to have one all this time. I was twelve when my father came home from Ray’s Connecting Point with the first Mac. I didn’t buy my own Mac until my freshman year at UF – a sweet Mac Plus with a full MB of RAM, an external hard drive, and an ImageWriter II – a set up that only set me back a few grand of…