A letter to a friend:
You came home, and he was gone. He packed his things, texted you saying it was over, changed his cell # and you never heard from him again. You can’t help but to feel disposed of like an old pair of shoes. It’s a devastating feeling that makes you question your self-worth. Even though I don’t believe he handled this situation in the way a real man would, I believe you should do what any real woman would do. Cry, fall apart, put yourself back together again and pray that he learns to understand that even when we fall out of love with people, it doesn’t mean we have to stop caring for them. Until then, remember, nothing is wasted. There is much for you to learn about yourself, what love is and what love is not in all of this.
But for now…cry.
A Profile of Americans’ Media Use and Political Socialization Effects: television and the Internet’s relationship to social connectedness in the USA ― Daniel German & Caitlin Lally
There are more “non-humans” on TV than women. Talk about unequal gender representation in the media.
Slowly I began to understand fully that there was no place in academe for folks from working-class backgrounds who did not wish to leave the past behind. That was the price of the ticket. Poor students would be welcome at the best institutions of higher learning only if they were willing to surrender memory, to forget the past and claim the assimilated present as the only worthwhile and meaningful reality.
Students from nonprivileged backgrounds who did not want to forget often had nervous breakdowns. They could not bear the weight of all the contradictions they had to confront. They were crushed. More often than not they dropped out with no trace of their inner anguish recorded, no institutional record of the myriad ways their take on the world was assaulted by an elite vision of class and privilege. The records merely indicated that even after receiving financial aid and other support, these students simply could not make it, simply were not good enough.
At no time in my years as a student did I march in a graduation ceremony. I was not proud to hold degrees from institutions where I had been constantly scorned and shamed. I wanted to forget these experiences, to erase them from my consciousness. Like a prisoner set free, I did not want to remember my years on the inside.
Now every time I see dashboard I read surfboard.