I think there should be layers of control with the clones. One layer is just military structure, you follow orders. Some need a little more and get some psychological indoctrination/MK Ultra stuff. And then the really mentally tough ones need chips to force them.
Overall, what matters is what’s best for the story being told.
I was hanging out with a friend and the subject of his ex fiancé came up. I asked to see a picture and he scrolls through his Facebook for a bit. I stop him at one point and ask who the girl in a random picture with the crazy eyes is. His eyes go wide.
“That’s my ex. I was looking for a better picture of her.”
My crazy detector is undefeated.
Looking out over my vast assortment of kids with special needs, medical needs, mental health needs, did drugs, went to rehab, got a record and had to go to court about it crew of kids I didn’t give birth to and I am just wondering who the f*ck you’re talking about because I know for sure it isn’t me.
My credentials would suggest otherwise. When I say I’m pro-life I mean *willing to spend my entire adult life and all my time and money on these same kids you’d straight up murder and expect applause for your benevolence for doing it*. My money, time, energy, love, resources, and legacy are EXACTLY where my mouth is.
Oh but Lu if they’re gay? Oh you mean like the two who told me they were gay?! Like those two? What like I’m a boogeyman from a shitty indie film where the mean right wingers kick out the precocious gay kid? Except we didn’t and just didn’t care and loved them anyway and they both just grew out of it and ended up with men without a single word or side eye from me. What was I going to say? I married one of their moms once. Pot meet kettle. It ain’t that serious.
You can always tell liberals who have no real friends on the right. Like we are all Voldemort. BOO! Like we are characters in an angsty teen YA novel. Jump scare!
It would be nice if he put together a “this is what I was imagining for the series” document with a note to keep in mind that his writing process likely would’ve changed what was in the document by the end.
But there’s no way Sanderson could write what Martin writes. Just because Sanderson was better at writing Robert Jordan’s story than Robert Jordan doesn’t mean it would be true for Martin.
I keep coming back to this post. Inconvenient, difficult, unwell children saved my life. I remember the day I met each of my children. The intention of this post isn’t cruelty. I have made choices in my life that would bring me to my knees with grief if I didn’t know we have such a thing as redemption. Just hear me out. I’m not casting a stone.
My youngest was having a baby meltdown. She was in severe distress. I remember finding a chair and just letting her wail on my chest. Inconsolable. So I sat with her in her inconsolable moment. There for damn sure wasn’t fixing it. At least not then. I will spare the details for her privacy, but killing her in the womb would have felt merciful to the people who imagine death for unborn children could be a mercy.
So she wailed. I rocked. I explained the situation to her. So listen this is a bullshit situation we find ourselves in. You’re in foster care. This is confusing. I don’t smell right to you. My heartbeat is unfamiliar. My voice is unrecognizable. You also feel like dog shit. Like proper bad. I’ve got you. I’m going to just be right here. So she lived. We lived. We navigated that particular stormy sea as we have all the others.
My son was so sick when he came to me I had to put him in a warm bath to remove the clothes adhered to his wounds. This isn’t hyperbole. He wasn’t speaking. Hell I wouldn’t have talked to people anymore either. I’m like boo I would keep my mouth shut too. You don’t know me I might be plum crazy. Let’s go to Denny’s and get waffles and think about this relationship.
There are four more. All different in their own ways. My reactively attached kid. My kid we sent to rehab. Listen none of it is a nicely wrapped package like a hallmark movie. I didn’t snap my fingers and things were just cool. Hell things still aren’t cool. My kids have court dates. They make messy decisions. So do I. We fight. Sometimes we have to repeat classes because we can’t get our shit together and math is hard.
But see the promise isn’t easy. You get the road to travel. It’s proper hard. But my blessings come with actually participating. In showing up. I’ll go to court with you, babe. Want to get coffee on the way I’m thirsty. I mean maybe he had it coming.
Our children are not going to be perfect regardless of their genetics. Your sweet angel will meet the wrong man and develop a pill problem. Your healthy child will get a rare disease and need around the clock care.
All we can do is show up. Allow each unique human life to unfold. Participate in the absolute wonder of it all.
If you should so happen to try again, and that child has Down syndrome, consider this an opportunity for grace. This season will be hard. Your critics will inform you of their feelings. Reflect. Allow some to love you and allow others to speak truth to you. It will be a lifelong grief. But that’s the road you’re now on.
Be well.
@dyingscribe It’s like in a sci-fi novel where the group who live on the hellworld kick the shit out of some empires finest troops and everyone acts surprised.