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Someone in the back of the class muttered what I assumed many others were also thinking.
They got to talking about programming, and they’ve basically been hunched over their laptops coding together ever since. But there’s more.
“You really do think we’re doomed,” she said, “that’s not just something you joke about on Facebook. You really feel that way.”
No stench of swamp gas or hot garbage today, delightful, so I took a walk to the coffee shop near the highway.
Few people understand that her career has always been a team effort.
The strange Internet story of the speech I gave at my mother’s 60th birthday party.
She complains. She whines. So I tell her, somewhat annoyed, to take some responsibility for the society her children live in.
And then some dude at a bar says climate change can’t be real.
My father refuses to see me, speak with me, to have me in his life.
In the last course I taught at a state university, 2013, most of my students were also working two jobs to help support their families.
She texts me at 7am, says she really needs to talk, sincerely needs my opinion on something. “And it’s too long to text.”
She takes a break from hating social media whenever CNN airs new footage of a few hundred people looting and breaking windows.
When the local newspaper reports that our winters will be getting consistently colder and longer as climate change progresses, I cringe.