I have this postcard laminated in my office. Malcolm X and righteous love. I am looking at it right now. I may be looking at it forever, that is how long this day has been, long and useless.

It's like magic, my gift at wasting time. I should be suspended in a plexiglass cube over Daley Center where all sorts of hard-working, really driven folks could marvel at the time I waste. "She's Googling 'horchata'? Shouldn't she be writing one of 300 overdue reports, or learning to be a better therapist or something?" Pish. Posh. For the first time in months there is no looming child welfare crisis, which makes the normal pace of a day seem sluggish, and makes me lazy and lame.

There actually was a crisis but it is big and sad and ethically ambiguous, so I am ignoring it. For some reason people keep coming into my office and asking for a clinical opinion (?) about what is in the best interest of my client (?) and, after 30 minutes of constant blather and "on the other hand"s I have come up with the best, most efficient clinical intervention: time travel, back to the child's birth. Oh, wait, his mother's birth. Or wait: back before his mother's mother's father and father's father's mother were enslaved, tortured, whatnot. Before the rapes and drug addiction, before he was even with us, before he did the thing that he told me about that caused the crisis that results in this here question. I got so excited about the time travel idea that I spilled coffee on myself.

Apparently there are no funds for child abuse preventative time travel--total bullshit. We can run cars on corn juice but we can't erase human pain by warping the fabric of time? This current administration, I'm telling you, they have their priorities all messed up.

I exhort you to contact your local robot overlord or wizard and demand more research and funding into this untapped prevention measure.

And thanks.