* personal note to whomever, mom, dad, next-of-kin, husband (will I ever get married?): please, please, don’t let me live like this, whatever happens. Take me out; pillow to the face like McMurphy in Cuckoo’s Nest, whatever. Just don’t let me become a drooling nothing. To me that would be worse than dying in a long agony of pain.
Sunday, March 27, 2005
When your husband is not your next of kin
Here’s to a more personal, kinder, gentler nation. The politics of compassionate conservatism.
There are two Americas. One America gets its news from the newspapers, and one gets it from cable TV. There is the America for those who read, and the America for those who don’t.