We can’t know what it’s like for inmates with various mental illnesses.
Molina grew up poor in Chico, which I bet no other candidate can claim and which is reason enough to vote her onto the Silly Council.
Doomsday might be coming right up, and it might be just the ticket.
I went to see Heidi Hall and Doug LaMalfa, who are running for the House of Reprehensibles, and I accidentally hit the jackpot.
What would this grief have been like, say, two hundred years ago? I would have no photographs of Janice and, unless we were well-to-do, no images of her at all. Would that be better?
I don’t mind the occasional typo or even poor usage, but there’s a level of technical sloppiness that will cause me not to read something, not an easy task because I want to read enough to know whether I want to read the rest.
At this stage of my life, the number of things I realize that I’ll never do steadily increases.
I’m not ready to decide what the correct number of cats is, and I suspect that any such decision is arrogant and short-sighted.
Some mental patients become slovens, some become actors, some politicians.
A few weeks ago my son got a kitten from some guy at the Farmers’ Market, and I figured it was fate.