The worst part about being sick, I contend, is that one is too big and too far away from her mother to curl up in her mom’s lap and have her mom rub her head until she falls asleep. No, instead, I get called and nagged to go to the doctor, because I have the thing that everyone is dying from. Apparently.
I have a cold. A bad cold, but a cold.
But I finished Cities of the Dead this morning and it kind of blew my mind, just because I wasn’t aware that the whole timeline for the invention of “but we were fighting the Civil War for states rights!” was so late nor how blatantly it was tied to “Oh, okay, you’ve proved your point, Yankees. You’re going to let us white folks rule the South again, right?”
But the part that just killed me dead was how the Confederates and the women who were wives and sisters of the Confederates just had to sit back and watch the young “states rights” assholes take over the legacy of the Confederacy. Like “No one wants to hear your slavery talk, old man. We just want to be equal to the white people of the north.”
I have some more intelligent thoughts on it, but I’m in no shape to spell them out now. It just cracked me up.
Also, in weird news, I got a Christmas card from a family in Illinois I don’t know. The Butcher doesn’t recognize them either.
They look happy and nice, though, so I’m displaying it.
Tiny Cat Pants 