  Things heating up in Liberia. The name Chuck Taylor has expanded significance beyond those crappy, blister-bustin' shoes since all this began to blow up. See? Everything comes back to footwear... More sticky political negotiations round the world. Never ending geopolitical strife. So, Chuck is refusing to leave the country until international peacekeepers arrive to enable the transition of power to take place peacefully.
Meaning American troops. Look, guy. Number one, were spread too thin as it is. And two, why dont you ask the UN to supply peacekeepers?!! Or dont they matter anymore? Yes, I'm war weary. Enough already! I can't handle anymore, let alone our military. Off to the post office to pick up a certified letter that had been waiting for me all week. Seems TJs is cancelling my insurance as of the end of the month. Lovely. Something smacks of injustice here. I cant /work/ and therefore cant /afford/ to either go uninsured or find another job that will reinstate medical coverage.
My feeling is this: wait until my settlement. Cut me loose, and Ill gladly accept all that the independence entails. Tantrum central in the post office, the scene of screamers spilling out into the parking lot. Waiting in line, I could hear the howling getting closer until the door finally opened and the decibel level hit into my inner brain. The patiently waiting crowd  quiet groans in the queue, desperate for either the line to hurry up or the kids parent to whack little Susie into behaving properly in public.
The entire time, this little brat /screamed/ away while her mother stood silently beside her. And as if that wasnt enough to disrupt the tune-out session that usually characterises an errand like hitting the post office In comes another one! Good god, its my turn at the counter. Quick! Sign the stupid card, grab the letter and run.
Run! The postal worker shoots me a glance, corroborating my irritation. Then a chuckle. I mumble to her, None for me, thanks. She gets my drift and we share another chuckle. Then out the door. Where I find Susie #2s little sister!! Yep, sitting in a protesting, arms-folded, Indian-style posture near the front door refusing to even come in with Daddy, shes so pissed. Also screaming, eyes filled with fury. Good god, could I ever have kids? Would they live past the age of eight?
What a bunch of incorrigible brats. Felt like going up to each one of them and whispering in their little ears, you know, if you dont stop crying, the government is going to come to your house tonight and take you away to an orphanage. Ah, Im serene. Perhaps Ill go on out to the Y for a sweat. 
