Do hooks make it more attractive, Jerry?

I developed a girl-crush on Rachel Maddow tonight.  I was hoping for more than she revealed, but I refuse to let that quell my excitement.  It’s very probable the leak came from 45’s regime.  It’s the base level clever we’ve come to expect from them.  It’s strangely disappointing how poorly 45 and his gang cover their asses.  Granted they’re not yet rotting in cages, I’m still astonished by how much has been revealed.  I know the corruption goes beyond what I can imagine in both depth and manner.  I didn’t watch The Sopranos, but I saw enough clips to grasp the ruthlessness of mobsters.    I understand ruthlessness.  The Army is ruthless.  I’ll admit, it upset me when I actually apprehended what it means.  It’s cold and uncompromising.

Ruthlessness is a trigger for me.  I’ve accepted I’ll have nightmares about too specific situations in which I encounter ruthlessness for the rest of my life.  The absence of mercy is a giant red flag that says, “Not Human.”  PTSD has ingrained this trigger on my psyche, and I don’t know how to remove it.  So instead, I changed how I feel about it.  I’ve analyzed it while comfortably numb, and have concluded my reaction’s too big. I know how to cope with pain and fear.  I’m not afraid of dying.  So in reality, I’m not as vulnerable as I assumed.  My Kryptonite is other people, especially young people.  I have no tolerance for human suffering.  It’s worse than dying to me.  Much worse.  I think others who have PTSD will understand what I mean.  We’ve been stressed to the limit of survival.  It changes us physiologically and psychologically.

It leaves a scar on our souls.  The scar is extra sensitive to certain situations beyond logic.  When triggered, our minds can get hijacked and trick us into thinking we’re in a life or death situation.  Or even convince us horrible things are happening all over again.  It makes you feel like you don’t have sufficient control over your own mind at times.  That’s always fun.  Sometimes I just feel so proud of anyone with PTSD who still finds the courage to leave their home.  When the above can occur at any time, agoraphobia is always a few excuses away.  I use humor to cope with my quirks.  I’d rather laugh at myself and visualize what I must have looked like when I did whatever than feel humiliated.  I make up for my unfunniness by tripping over dust and falling up stairs.  I’d probably be huge in France.  I just made myself snort.

I love Pi day.  Mostly because it involves cake.  I roll out my useless skill #19 and recite Pi until I see something shiny.  It tickles me so much that people are impressed by it.  It usually makes me laugh through it.  I always want to say, “Up next, I’m going to wiggle all my fingers at the same time!”  I’m off to read.

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