I think kids are a lot more capable of dealing with grief and horror than a lot of modern parents think. There are some people who think it's atrocious to have a child go to a funeral and see a dead body. Or to read a book like Struwwelpeter. Or to ever be told "no". I'm not advocating strict discipline and Hieronymous Bosch paintings in their bedrooms, of course, but a simple appreciation of the realities of death and disappointment would be quite helpful. I don't know when I realized that people die, or that even children can die, or that even I would die eventually, but it was at a young age. Being a youngest sibling, I also quickly appreciated that the world was not set up to cater to my every whim. Anyway.
From The Enchiridion:
If anyone tells you that such a person speaks ill of you, don't make excuses about what is said of you, but answer: "He does not know my other faults, else he would not have mentioned only these."
Yesterday at lunch, I got a quart of milk for $.89 because it was reduced for quick sale. Huzzah.
I don't use a wallet. If I did, I would have one that says, "Bad Mother Fucker". Of course, I'd have to be careful when I whip it out.
Today is sort of a max day in the clean and jerk. The question is whether to really push it to the max (over 100kg) or to push it to a "kinda max" (95kg). I want to take reasonable jumps to give my shoulders time to acclimate to the increased workload. But, on the other hand, if you can do nearly 10kg more than that, why not? I'll see what my jerks are looking like and make a decision on the ground. I will do "kinda max" unless my jerks are crisp up to that point.
I thought about something to write during my unending staff meeting, but I forgot it. I will submit the diary instead.
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