Panky regards you with suspicion and tomato sauce.
Miss Sasha, Mr. Sasha and the little Sashas arrived safely at home yesterday, in time to contract pinkeye today. Fortunately for me, that’s happening over a thousand miles from the library where I put on lipstick – much to the shock of my co-workers – and posed for pictures. The anti-hunger project is just about complete. Workers will take away the labeled boxes on Thursday. Today, I tossed canned goods while someone else counted and we stacked them until we could toss, count and stack no more; after work, I fell into a dreamy nap, in which I dreamed I was being nice to people and from which I awoke in a cold sweat. Recently, a person I trust and respect scoffed at the unnamed university’s anti-hunger project.
Circe: Can you believe it? A canned goods drive! That does nothing to solve the underlying problems.
Me: It solves two problems: what will these families eat, wash and brush with for a month or so and what presents will these homeless kids get for their gift-giving holiday, but you’re right. Nothing changes.
This is the work I can do within the framework the unnamed university offers me and I can totally rock it, but nothing changes. Is that enough?