Please, If One Of Us Cries, Let

But What Does He Do To Qualify As A Sonovabitch?” Jenny Asked. “make Me”, I Replied. “beg Pardon?” “make Me”, I Repeated. Her Eyes Widened Like Saucers. “you Mean Like Incest?” She Asked. “don’t Give Me Your Family Problems, Jen. I Have Enough Of My Own.” “like What, Oliver?” She Asked, “like Just What Is It He Makes You Do?” “the ‘right Things’”, I Said. “what’s Wrong With The ‘right Things’?” She Asked, Delighting In The Apparent Paradox.

We Have Turned Doctors Into Gods And Worship Their Deity By Offering Up Our Bodies And Our Souls - Not To Mention Our Worldly Goods. And Yet Paradoxically, They Are The Most Vulnerable Of Human Beings. Their Suicide Rate Is Eight Times The National Average. Their Percentage Of Drug Addiction Is One Hundred Times Higher And Because They Are Painfully Aware That They Cannot Live Up To Our Expectations, Their Anguish Is Unquantifiably Intense. They Have Aptly Been Called 'wounded Healers.' " ~ Barney Livingston, M.d. (doctors, 1989)

This Isn't A Watercolor, It's A Mural.

Some Were Brilliant Bordering On Genius. Others, Genius Bordering On Madness

I Think The Peace Corps Is A Fine Thing, Don't You?" He Said. "well," I Replied, "it's Certainly Better Than War Corps.