I'm still a bit worn out from writing yesterday's post, and of course on the train this morning I had to come across
this story on Buzzfeed, about battered women who are prosecuted for the child abuse their partners perpetrate. It's gut wrenching, but it's also an insightful look into the ways in which the system fails women and children in abusive environments.
So, because I don't really feel like writing much, and because there is no conceivable transition between that lead in and pictures of me loitering on some stairs, I present this post largely without comment.
I don't know why I look so depressed. I had gone to the grocery store just before this, and I overheard a little girl tell her mother she wanted to be a ballerina after she saw me. Kind of made my day.
And now I look quite doubtful. Actually, I think I was keeping an eye on Neighbordog. She's been digging in the yard a lot lately, and she likes to jump, and I'm wearing white. A perfect storm of potential outfit destruction.
"Are you there, god? It's me, Margaret."
