Bureaucracy has its limited place—monitoring organizational efforts on accomplishing declared aims; maximizing efficiency of action; preventing misuse of resources; and performing several related functions intended to ensure protecting against harmful deviations from the scope of organizations and projects. That mouthful, though, can grow exponentially. Through either unconstrained growth, malfeasance, or overzealous extension, vital functions can expand into activities that were not contemplated in a bureaucracy’s original intent. And restraints and “corrections” initiated when bureaucracies are claimed to have gone awry may worsen the problems. Or they may lead to carving away the meat, along with the fat, and ripping into the bone that keeps the bureaucracy standing. Somewhere between corpulent and emaciated, bureaucracy tends to serve its limited purposes. Its limited purposes are at risk when it becomes bloated; it can replace the efforts it was intended to monitor. When it is starved of resources and unable to function effectively, the protections it was meant to provide disappear. When those protections interfere with malevolent intents of powerful people, those people promote the notion that an extremely valuable bureaucracy is unnecessary; or dangerous. The real danger takes shape when the targets of the propaganda believe the lies.
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Six hours and one-half hours between the time I left home yesterday and I returned; only a a little longer than I had expected. The infusion room at the oncology clinic was jammed to overflowing with patients; some where sent back, only to be told they would need to wait until a chair was vacated. My favorite nurse told me the scheduling process had gone haywire; she and the doctor were scrambling to see all their patients and monitor progress of those who were there for infusion treatments. Fortunately for me, I was seated in the last available chair when I was ready; people who arrived later had to wait. I overheard a conversation between a husband (whose wife was in treatment) and another patient, explaining (I think) that his wife had seven hours of treatment three times per week. My complaints about time, in that context, are trivial.
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The forecast for Friday and Saturday nights this week calls for nighttime temperatures to fall into the mid-to-upper-30s. Somehow, I missed the transition between uncomfortably warm to uncomfortably cool. And I do not remember experiencing the movements from hot to warm and from cool to cold. Shoot. Perhaps next year I will be lucky and will experience and remember the distinct adjustments between Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall, and and to Winter again.
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My blog has been the target, for two or three days running, of bots that flood it with dozens and dozens of “hits” that seem to make my posts periodically unreachable. I used the features of a plug-in that supposedly should have corrected the problem, refusing access to visits from a specific IP address. The restriction worked only for a while. This morning, I tried another way of blocking the bot. I have no interest in learning how to protect my blog against automated idiots, nor against the bastards who automate the idiotrons. But my other option, which I have gone to before, is to spend several hundred dollars for an internet security expert (from my blog host company) to solve the problem. Is this blog worth spending that much for protection? I vacillate between “yes” and “no;” this morning, I am leaning toward “no.” This blog, which I promoted as intended for observations and conversations rarely includes any conversations. I had great expectations, all those many years ago when I created it, but only my satisfaction with my observations have come to pass. Another decision about where to spend my time, my thoughts, my writing, and my money. 4850 published posts and 650 drafts that say very little to very few people. I pay for the privilege of talking to myself.
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Lately, semi-spicy hummus with pita chips or wheat crackers has become a fallback snack in lieu of lunch. I truly enjoy hummus, especially the stuff livened with a semi-spicy red-pepper and olive oil mix. I think I will add some items to the menu: kalamata olives, pimiento-stuffed green olives, sliced cucumbers, tomato wedges, pickle spears, and some little cubes of mixed cheeses. My preference for wine to go with the meal, which I will have later in the day, will be a good cabernet sauvignon or, perhaps, chianti. Fortunately, mi novia is a fan of most of these things, as well. A good friend of ours has, on more than one occasion lately, brought us baskets of goodies. I plan to reciprocate soon. Knowing her affinity for charcuterie boards, I should add a variety of meats. Another friend, who regularly brings snacks when she comes to visit, also warrants such treatment in gratitude for her gifts…both of her time and her goodies. And other friends, a couple we see less frequently than we’d like but whose company we enjoy immensely, are on my list of people who matter enormously and for whom my gratitude will be expressed again soon. I am in that mood; wanting to let people know I think of them often, even though I may not express my gratitude as frequently as I should.
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It’s almost 9. I’ve been typing and editing and retyping and pausing for quite a while. My espresso cup is empty. My Ensure container contains nothing but droplets of Ensure. All that remains of the breakfast banana is the peel. I may eat something else; I should, before yesterday’s chemo treatment robs me of my hunger—no idea when that might happen; could be a day, could be a week. Its timing is not consistent.
