Someone at an old job asked why I wanted to write up the meeting minutes for our team and I said ‘i wanna control the narrative’ and they were like ‘what’ and I pointed out that no one was gonna remember what we said in six months and so my interpretation of the meeting would dictate the assumed reality of what happened
“none of you ever send corrections when I offer the draft so y’all have consented to my version”
“we don’t read that shit”
“you must trust me implicitly to create our shared reality that’s so sweet”
That’s how several coworkers decided I was a supervillain and how I learned several coworkers didn’t understand record keeping as like a CONCEPT
Anne was tenderness itself, and she had the full worth of it in Captain Wentworth’s affection. His profession was all that could ever make her friends wish that tenderness less, the dread of a future war all that could dim her sunshine. She gloried in being a sailor’s wife, but she must pay the tax of quick alarm for belonging to that profession which is, if possible, more distinguished in its domestic virtues than in its national importance.
ALT
