You’re not wrong. Old wine new skins. That is all this is.
Your article is spot on. It addresses that topic everyone finds silly: taking responsibility for yourself and others, regardless of reward and validation. It is what I write about, in the name of Dostoevsky (to name but someone who has a nice ring to their name.) I write about this because it is what has compelled me since I first started to write at age 7. If reluctantly, if dutifully, for how boring is writing really!?

Is this bandwidth party all going towards another hangover? That’s the question I came to research.

break

(Aside: In my experience, 18 clients a week is an impressive amount for any full-time professional! I don’t know what your professional tag is - banker?? -, but there is a psychiatrist I know who tends to fare (lucratively) well on three a day, which adds up to about 12 a week. Why work a full working-week?!)

reprise

Ah, that blessed middle ground. That shade of grey. That mood of temperance. That here now that leaves us now here. That has, indeed, no place in any kind of media - funny, isn’t it, with the word “media” suggesting otherwise? The middle point is the fulcrum of both extremes of the scale you describe (elation-depression): a very silent point which cannot be shared and is what it is. The tender of the hearth. The rocker of the cradle. The knitting grandmama. Actually the photographers do nothing BUT capture this god-awfully dull NOW. Stilled by stillness.

Being a woman is about bringing the future into motion and allowing it to flow into our midst. Men inject into this future and die like drones. Women build the hive and tend the grubs and make sweet honey. None of these secrets are respected, honored or remotely understood by the over-riding majority of either sexes.

Our subjects are birth and therfore death. I am currently reading about the near barbaric life of the ordinary woman in the LATE 15th century, when you hear great names of the Renaissance dropped already, but boy, being a woman meant only one thing: spreading your legs and giving birth. You birth and then you die. (at around 25, 30 if you have great genes). I remind myself of the Isis cults that had already come and gone, sacrificed always to new machines and machinations and cataclycims reflecting our lack of being in touch with what being human is supposed to be about.

So far, Steemit confirms, for me, that the only way forward will be in real life, where meaningful and lasting communities can be built in a non-linear (links and chains) fashion; and a substantial collapse or depreciation of the internet MUST happen for this to be possible. Call me controversial! No, not back to the days of horse and cart (the deaths, the noise, the dung!!) but back to being truly in touch with eachother.

As you probably already know, my deadline is 31st May. Maybe something to keep in mind? (Don’t forget you sluiced yourself in just before my “recruitment” cut off line). Maybe, a change of tack/material which requires less time? I have to consider this option or else I won’t last till my dead line either!