Filed under: Uncategorized
CollegeHumor, a YouTube channel, produced an interesting skit regarding President Obama’s approval (finally) of the option allowing homosexual couples to marry. In an era where media saturation exponentially ritualized seduction and punishment for having seductive impulses, I found the skit (see link below) odd for a supposed college crowd.
Why, might you ask?
The typical age range of educators today are product of the sexual revolution where two facets splintered – those promoting free love (to whatever degree individual proclivities allow) and the Jesus freaks. The former seemed explorative around issue that human beings are inherently sexual, catapulting the use of that permissive conclusion into some interesting sexual creative expressions. Being a born-and-raised liberal-leaning California girl, however much time I spent in far greater repressed locals of East Coast, I’m (in this manner of categorizing) definitely a conservative member of this group. The latter, while center-leaning members of the freak crowd certainly exist, seem to have coalesced into the scary levels of radicalism to purport their perspective in and through use of legislation while backhandedly behaving equally as sexually explorative – only, and again this is opinion, the freaks seem to get off on playing pious while flirting with the boundaries of their strict perceptions of what is permissible sex.
All of this mire is very confusing to a girl like me. But not because I am governed by my personally pieced together sexual freedom Jesus freak code combination. I’m still waiting for love and loyalty, with or without the business big bucks months long governmental contractual party. So I’m far more conservative than my pure liberal friends and yet have pretty much found the hypocritical rigidity of the more conservative ones appalling enough for me to unfriend many from my life. So, I came up with my own mish-mash moral code. Even had I decided to fully sign up for one camp over the other, both sides disagree with their own sexual mission statements enough to afford an intellectual like me enough conclusive evidence to think the argumentative promotional material of either side operates actually in just as much confusion inside themselves even if the political parameters are trying to offer any clarity.
I like to understand things. I figured out roadmaps are apparently all individually read.
But on the sort of college campuses I am privy to, sex exploration is as much a prerequisite for experience diploma the whole point of college markets to students to believe in. Work hard, come spend money here, be beaten into our estimation of criteria, maybe graduate, and all this – we promote to you – will lead to a return on your investment. But my college apparently had long established a reputation of keeping their customers one more perpetual step away for at least a semester or two without any real clarity along the way. Burnout leading to divorce or resignation is really what would be truth in advertising. The ones who resign to resignation (like me) do so out of sheer comprehension that all the bullshit of that piece of paper now is for personal reason rather than actual pay off.
So the skit applauding President O for burnout resignation on support of the issue for every citizen being afforded right to contractually love another is brilliant far past the production value. The upper middle class parlor room quaintness amplified by white female with dirty blond hair and husband (?) with brown beard and comfortable classy sweater telling his wife to go grab the celebratory cake baked and stored frozen for the past three years is far to psychologically and philosophically rich a minefield to address in this post. Needless to mention how transparent a political play the actual event was in addition to the skits transparency in having Obama portrayed as knocking door-to-door…
Let people have sex if they so willingly choose to do so with each other be it one, two or more of the same or different genitala in the room. People like me who have gone years without interest in having any aren’t any more pious. And I’m as proud a liberal as the current White House occupants.
Thank God, however, their is some flavor in that oval willing to understand what tremendous need in this two-party system comparison indeed exists for him to pander to whatever political upper hand he can acquire. I didn’t vote John or Barack in the last election but I understand now how much one needs to choose the lessor of two concerns.
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1A8UzpGQD5w
Filed under: musings
After dreaming about him for two then knowing him for the past three years, I’m still in love with him. I know all the reasons, professionally and personally, why not to be. For his own sake more than mine. And not because anyone guilted me into that. The reasons they judge so harshly are because they can feel this that is electric. I understand my own boundaries. My own ethics. My own need to sleep at night without that catty female level of entitlement. I love children to honestly to mess with their rights. I wish my own childhood had adults who had understood that. And to top it all off, I am not what he deserves. He should have so much more. I’m not up to par yet. And I am not supposed to agree that one day I could be.
Problem is, no one lives up to him, to what he forced me to discover. He ruined it. I didn’t have my bar set so high before him. He will always be the best. Probably amplified by that whole first time opening up to the surprise of it all.
Like my friend said, it’s falling out my pores the desire is so thick. All the strata of convoluted status of his place and those clawing at him in his world to attach themselves to his brilliance in the midst of my young pure yearning. That’s what it is. That’s all it is.
He has enough to juggle without all that.
wish at night he would be there for me to massage the stress from his body in understanding I’d want to relax him. Nothing else desired but to touch and comfort after another long day of serving the roles expected of him. I want to use my hands and surgically return skilled comfort so that love unconditionally would meet him in warm bath water with me doing foot reflexology.
When his judgement reveals only his level of disbelief that I wanted him, if I am hearing him and them correctly. He is everything, still. I am not embarrased about being in love even if it has to be like this. I am not the deserving worth to be worth him back as I am today to have people keep behaving like they worry about or are interested in facilitating it. His world’s status earned from his own beginning place of hard striving canapulted him into stipulated levels he earned to be accepted into that. I am not after his hard work. I just want him to hold my hand.
I’ve worked my ass off just to get as far onto this bottom of the status pole as I have. I’m tired. But I still have self hope for my own heart. He could love me no matter how much he can’t. And I can’t go out with new prospects thinking right now he could still find a way and tangibly love me back. Wanting to live up to and wait for him is as hard as it gets. And it’s better to cry over desire than regret it. I’m not crying much these past weeks at all. I agree with the consensus that I have needed to get this out of my system.
This is finally my true lesson in how unfair life is. I would never have understood this from my life, at least that would have logic attached to it. I did not expect to fall in the kind of love with him that continues in lasting. I hope he knows that. For sake of flattery at minimum.
This was completely unexpected.
Feliz de Cinco de Mayo amigos. Party safe. I’m going to do the classy thing and appreciate artists at a gallery with live music in the background in an upscale sundress and some lipstick. Those sexy heels, however, are still on hold.
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Been a positively interesting three days, and as all have appreciated the blog low down, this is why I’m going on a phone break this weekend.
Was afforded four interview calls for jobs in the past three weeks, including opportunity to test for a dream position. Two have not called back. Receiving calls at all is complimentary. Such is the nature of this over supply for demand climate and that temp job wasn’t meant to be. Served a good purpose and that is good. But many of you are right, it’s a lot to ask of myself considering the past eighteen months. I hear what your saying and thank you for thinking about my life worth rather than what else I should achieve trying to get there. Simple suits right now for sure.
Realized I need to take time off from some engagements that will still be there when I come around. Buildings typically don’t disappear in the span of a few months. Like you said J, there is nothing wrong pausing to breathe. And yes, if I keep running for surviving everything else I’ll still wonder in future reflection why the gift of this crazy torn down clean slate wish I asked for wasn’t appreciated while going through it. However challenging to experience this experience is.
I was asked out on a date tonight. Yes (insert giggles of appreciation). He thinks I’m impressive, was attracted to my intellect and genuineness all along, but I didn’t see that was where he was coming from these past months. I’m happy to dip my toes in to test the waters, was totally going to go, but decided friends old and some new I’m surprisingly making is still the place best for me to start. Friends first, always. Had no idea he was so interested and eager to approach me and whew, the compliments of and about me are making me smile from ear to ear. I’m not afraid to date anymore, its all apparent doing so is really an option available to me! I’m just supremely interested in taking doing so at an intelligent pace.
So I’m going to spend the next few days doing what my body has needed. Rest. Hydrate. Use the physical release and go play in the pool. Walk my dog. Show that I love myself with care. So if I don’t pick up the phone, don’t worry. I’m taking some time. Smooches!
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Taking a chance by saying to the world of unattached men that yes, I’m oh so ready to date again. May this six year sabbatical end. It’s May which may bring something new. Thanks for all the ‘get to it MarieClaire!’
Let’s see what happens… =D
Filed under: musings
The most pivotal moment in my life was this.
I finally stopped being afraid to go to the town of and University of my native state. I was driven to Berkeley in the car of a fellow former foster child who lives in Santa Cruz (one of the places I lived by when housed in foster care) who worked at the time in the south bay over Hwy 17 with a government agency supposed to help kids incarcerated in the foster system. She is unabashedly lesbian, butch, blond, and had the same enough college periphery that she considered good people.
We were going to a conference at that educational institution about equality for mostly the purpose of women. We were going to hear people postulate on the state of affairs of justice.
It was during the highlighted Angela Davis keynote that I found within myself the balls to step up to the microphone in front of the entire room and ask the one question that has plagued my life.
I asked Angela, while looking directly in her eyes, what the hell I do with the literal fact that my angry Haitian black now dead Grandma who was so pissed after escaping Haiti during the Papa Doc debacle only to find New York immigration landed her into the most racially contentious place on Earth. That her experiences made her hypothesize that if she could just make sure her children and grandchildren ‘pass’ then they wouldn’t be so held back. And she was a nurse anesthetist single immigrant black woman when most white women were barefoot in dresses cooking in kitchens. How would I ever surpass the balls she had?
Angela said I should use my skin color which does pass to my advantage. To our advantage. It was the flip side of a coin in expectation I never asked to be born into.
Problem with that assumption is I may look like white price tag privilege, the very privilege people who are benefited by yet are blind to really see what they still get from it. This is what my mind can’t stand. Colleges tell students not to rely on Wikipedia but that is the very source where I learned that white privilege is perpetuated by white people thinking their lives are the standard by which ‘others’ are disadvantaged. As if everyone should live like American European white people. I live on purpose in a town where when I walk out the front door I can still breathe knowing that the judgement I receive from looking the way I do is more from a place of how they have been treated, just like my Grandma was, then from a place of never being good enough. Because I’m just too tainted enough to remain outside. You know, the one drop rule.
But one day I will either stop having to feel like I need to explain that I am just like them or I will use the presupposed access to advocate for them. All of them. Because I live next door, because I am just as poor, because I am just as judged, and because I am just like what Angela said. Because I have been in enough rooms with white people who did not realize who was in the room with them and deeply heard what they had to say. Sometimes I used my underestimated factor to throw their shit back in their face just to watch the backpedaling. But that came from a non-human place. And I couldn’t love humanity from their flip side place of hate. Buddhism taught me that. But, white people who still want a cookie for giving a shit at all about those people that they deep down know they are part of a system who continues to keep them down disgust me. And, because I am not operating out of some sad place of people who want the kudos of pretending they get it while they prostitute the very privilege they receive from that white guilt are the worst offenders. In my mind, pick a side. Be oppressed or remain the oppressor.
And white people, responsible or not, are so guilty. Not just by a pure court (if there is one since the legal world is all about who plays the game best) opinion but proven to me by the very white people who I’ve known and witnessed in their mastery of placating. They are at their most intelligent when they operate in as they know intrinsicly – that indeed they are right to pretend they aren’t so guilty still. Is it really any surprise anymore that the minute they feel anything suggests they are not above their bullshit they get so defensive saying they know what prejudice is like because they experience it? I even had to literally bite my tongue when a Carmel blond went on a long disertation of how much she hated the way hollywood portrayed people who look like her in Sex and the City 2, which she invited me and I invited a blond from my side of town, to see. The reason for her summation? I could not believe how fake the world was starting to reveal itself to be for me. I didn’t want to believe the very actions of the status quo were only because the status quo wanted to appease the ‘others’ enough to shut them up. While condradulating themselves for extending the short stick of that olive branch. They would not be able to stand if they really felt what they are. Their eyes are to sensitive to see the light. Sunglasses needed.
Of course, I’m generalizing. Some of my favorite people are white and privileged. A lot of them didn’t cheat the system from their platform either. In fact, the person I look up to the most is a man who reached the top of the pyramid and is not guilty about it (finally, legit humble earned pride) but did not forget to care about us throw aways. He is the smartest most consistent man I know. His blue eyes willingly stand florescent lighting. His door is always open. And, amazingly, he thinks well of me. I have to believe him since to question his opinion about me would mean my observations of him were wrong. That has been a tricky place to stand. He genuinely believes I can live up to my potential without even a trace of mocking. To say I appreciate him does not begin to do justice in explanation for how much I do. I admire that someone could give me what it feels like to feel that way about someone. He kept open my dying ability to see people like him as people still at all. That is my miracle.
I still one day plan to make enough money to move to their part of town and just say ’tisk tisk’ at the problems of people who never pulled themselves up by their boot straps to be free from those environments too. But I hope that day of resignation doesn’t garner the whiplash President Obama has had to endure in realizing no matter what he tries to do, he will be worn down before he can even try. His office became his saddle. God bless him as so many of us are so sorry for him over that because he is the healthiest servant for public good we have ever had. Just look at that January 2012 New York Times article. I’m definitely casting my vote in his favor. I am embarrased to say people four years ago yelled at me for wanting to do so and I caved out of fear. He tremendously deserves to allow himself a vacation. To take his women – mother, wife, daughters – somehow away from all the people of either side stoning him.
Why I ever wanted to be a social worker turned lawyer defying Kamala Harris is beyond me. I just want privileged obscurity. In a little town that is like me, in between and trying to be the local municipality operating in the comparable most responsiblity. The place in between both my former childhood ‘last hometown’ where people go to marry or be buried and the place where the military housed the ethnics when society was far more honest in the expression of separate but equal prejudice. I just want to own a condo and be called a resident of the sun belt beach island known as downtown Monterey.
I have such compassion for men. Women set them up to fail.
If its not an angry dissatisfied alcoholic mother trying to deal with the physically absent or present but checked out husband who they seduced for sake of ritual and biological procreation as they blame for not getting what they wanted out of them in life, or the women who use testosterone impulse as a dog collar or an 18 year paycheck, then it’s the women who spend their time emasculating the very men they sought out for their misdirected needs originally. The fake dominatrix who really wants to castrate rather than please.
Like making their husbands into slaves while these poor men wake up one day to look around and realize they never quite are sure how to satisfy these bitches. Or how to fix the blame men syndrome in their slavery thinking that each woman out there is thinking each man they are under is in on the scheme as they do the work they were hired to do (be mom) in trade for the female perversion of that role. That female operates in a sexualized anger though pattern of why not demand worship anyway. Thats what is in far to many offices and in church pews and at classroom podiums of today. In some cultures women even expect to be called queen. Or at least the full prostituted wage of its effect. All the while men are supposed to remember to notice female efforts of the past forty-odd years like sheared off hair and small breasts as biologically beautiful as the soft hair and perky tits men are hard wired for. But not send the message of barefoot housewife when they buy shit for her.
What the fuck did my parents generation go though when their parents were sent to war or factory just to use the drink as salve instead of a Dr. Phil?
It’s confusing to grow up as a girl in this country. It has got to be just as exhausting for boys. Is it any wonder women and men lost any sort of generalized opinion of what means what? I’m not even a man or a lesbian to try and begin to figure out how to handle package delivery.
What is inevitable is I’m going to piss someone off; however, right to free speech, right? Since pleasing everyone, or ever having been saddled by the anesthetizing breast of the status quo, has never been my experience, I’m ok with that. Bring it on.
The year I was born John Lennon had recently died, cowboy republican Ronald Regan was our President, and Deleuze’s Francis Bacon: The Logic of Sensation was published in his native France. Who were female then in my atmosphere telescope, influencing my world? Let’s just say the vast differences in male themes of looking at them each from the outside perspective of how different each male example was denies that all three were men comfortable in their skin and leadership idealism. Hell, the two idealists were shot and the third philosophized the art of mental battlefield. None of the women that could be listed here loved themselves enough to stand directly and unashamed. Even in the front displayed, the natural fragility of a woman was marketed as weak when the message of that very beauty was lost to those capitalizing on the movement. And all were pissed that the sixties and seventies left sour in their mouth the idea that even with free love the dishes still needed washing.
So, since Will-I-Am Clinton, and his cliché campaign song of not stopping the thoughts of tomorrow, I have felt bad for Hillary. She worked so hard to be good enough but ended up cleaning up after her own sadomasochistic self sabotage instead. All the double whammy while of apologizing to the nation for standing by her man. Doing so had nothing to do with Chelsea holding the chasm of her parents hands. Bill had a Hill who had an unhealthy dissociative parental guilt trip childhood too.
That is not the kind of man that lubes my gears that I was talking about people.
Interesting phone conversations however. I’m still waiting for you all to grow balls and preach your point in print. I don’t want to submit to that kind of psychological rabbit hole. The ride would make me dizzy. Women who really delude themselves to believe they can rescue broken men are always surprised to find out that man is either age or mentality another daddy or those women make these men into another legitimate roleplay example of the wife/whore complex theory at any opportunity with every next notch in his belt. Even if they married or end up taking care of mama or, worse, do both, the poor man is the only being fucked. And its not even a rough ride pleasure. Because he ends up the one most alone, exhausted with anger, just wanting someone or some ideal to love him when he only knows how to pretend disciplined control. He can’t be anyone other than prisoner of the prison walls everyone raised him in. Let go? Never.
Think… Edwards, Spitzer, the Columbian secret service detail. They played so hard and fast they were screaming for someone to see through their screaming for help. They were stoned and crucified instead. Think… sports as the only way for men to get the daddy love and emotional aggression out of their systems that America approves of. Until cherished Joe Pa turned his cheek to an obvious predator. Think… Nickelson (in real life, not his use of the movies to justify his proclivities). The man is brilliant yet knows he is only after the good time the girls he pays for offer, even if it’s just champagne in the Hamptons. George learned to never get married again after what an angry wife did to his already damaged soul, so he is at least honest. Think… the men around your local community that have transparent yet glazed-over eyes. Think Demi Moore.
Can someone slice me off some Matt Damon, instead? Please?
I realize someday I’ll have a boyfriend and he will irritate me. I will irritate him. He will purposefully leave worn running shoes that I just took off in the bedroom instead of on the porch. Because he will know on some level my need to temporarily escape now and then. And I’ll pretend not to notice I’m relieved that he is a middle class john doe. I can save up my own fare for a night in Italy to see the modern outdoor opera concerts PBS broadcasts. But I pray he is the kind of guy who is satisfied being there, with me and i with him, even if one ear is plugged into his phone watching the game.
I need some Good Will Hunting.
Filed under: musings
Today is my favorite ‘holy’ day and this year today this day falls on SUNday. I usually dig out my old California Conservation Corps Monterey Bay crew uniform shirt and smile at all the memories of being the only girl on a crew of seven for most of my service, giggle about how much I loved that Stihl chainsaw, and go visit one of many places where my hands helped build causeways still intact now thirteen years later.
When I finally dropped enough physical baggage to climb my beloved 50-foot Garrapata trail again and reached the panoramic spot where everything can be taken in, that was the happiest day on a cellular level I have had since moving back home. I still think of crew leader Mark Bailey, his lanky GQ looks and how he showed me the literal and poetic meaning of construction, how he was comfortable to communicate in direct fashion how proud he was of me for being who I am even though the immediate conclusion was I as such an obvious outlier to no way even last a month. Yet sticking to the challenges anyway. The best was when he was shocked that in the midst of working support crew duty in that fire camp how I was obviously in pain but loved how each night when resting I preferred to sleep under the stars instead of in my tent. A close second to that communicated shifting of his original conclusion was his approval for my taking a college course at night in social problems while in the midst of each new measure of new project duty madness, earning an A grade. He had to see for himself how much potential I didn’t then realize was being discovered in me and he was just as much of an idealist. He was a good mentor and man.
Josiah Brown, however, was one hot rugged fellow crewman version to live with. What a crush. And what a beautiful ass. The kind that creased just right in his pants…
There was a lot of multicultural male eye candy going on under one roof. And looking was fun.
I was not physically the image of nor the right sex to walk in and fit in the return desire for image and the boys, well I still think about how much I learned from all the stages of testing I was indoctrinated in that environment through. Especially since we were legally adult age. How before I got to that station at that particular time the only other female influences were the female cook and she lived off barracks. The crew leader’s family lived up the road but never interacted with us. Up the road in the other direction were female Department of Fish and Game employees but they were living offsite and sometimes project leaders so I practiced how to be myself in a different level of testosteroneness alone. The boys came to see the youngest, fattest, and female as just one of them while someone to find any new definition to explain all their various modes of why they must compete and conquer. I came to accept that and learned boys either are fascinated with or disinterested in you. I liked that more than the catty ways of most girls. The logic was genuine. Like the processes of Earth.
Some of the boys even became comrades and we had good fun interesting times. The stuff you do when young and free. I miss that level of carefree. Wasn’t the first time I was living in a place as the only female flavor of the group but it was the first time I eventually came to be just another part of the team in really special life lesson ways. How that microcosm would teach so much more about the world is what I think of when thinking of how much else life changed in experiences between seventeen and eighteen. There were a lot of firsts experienced there in our Elkhorn Slough home base. It was a what other survival option journey do I have for us all. And there were so many take away useful times to having that be the experience in my coming of age late teen years.
That was even better than the pet black feather chicken or lizard or corn snake all named Charlie after my love of Charlie Brown childhood. I was finally allowed to be the girl who loved playing in the dirt and sleeping under no boundary skies just to find earthworms hanging out after sleeping in the pouring rain. I was no longer thought of as strange for being a book lover and being more interested in squishing garden food under my toes and in my bare hands rather than joining in misdirected gangs of my teenage environments. I loved feeling the surprise of Earth. That was real danger, without being contrived. That is romantic idealism and I am not apologizing for hugging trees and joining in legit movement because of ocean and nature care. The philosophy was purpose on full speed.
That is what is holy.
Happy beauty of our terra firma day!!! I was up since dawn for celebration of this mornings sunrise with Charlie the dog and now off to hwy 9 Santa Cruz to hike (and maybe lick another banana slug). Apropos for a SUNday.
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=TQmz6Rbpnu0
Filed under: Uncategorized
Spent two days running toward yet away with one other person while she had her individual adventure of significant sorts. I love real friendships. Yesterday included driving past miles of farm land into central valley, the process of farming and cultivating legally captured land is in my blood on my paternal side and in witness continually as home is in the salad bowl region of this world. I appreciate so much people who work the land. Their labor is legitimate.
Then today was such a gorgeous day mostly spent watching crashing waves at Del Monte beach with that dear friend who deeply needed me as much as I need her presence back for reason and ability for sight. Seeing yourself is always an act to close to home.
In the last 48 hrs I may have finally got it. The it that I hope is real to have gotten was continued theme of how observing helps and reason for why I’m hardwired in showing up anyway for meeting the need seen in observation, because I can more than handle it. I apparently have great unafraid skill more than aware was had to love with both of my sincere hands held holding an open heart when someone has proven to be in a pressured hard limbo. My Harvard cardiologist step-uncle taught me this just by knowing from variant conversation about his behavior patterns and philosophies (and observing at times his own behavior). He was a distant epitome of different than that I had to endure living with.
For the rest of my life and in far to many hours of each literal day I have to think about anorexia, bulimia and morbid obesity behavior consequences. The psychosocial biophysical effects of each and as they intertwine. Every time I know the hour to make a choice about nurturing my body.
I needed someone to example the outcome of right choices and he was the closest way to mitigate my need. But I barely had chance to know him especially since I was just his sisters husbands fifteen year old and his family lived out of state considering the medical practice laws in that state were reason enough to not set up shop there.
Oprah’s book club never interested me despite how well being set up to like her was in my life. Not even my lawyer mom’s claiming she was exactly like Anita Hill in her lawsuit against some people you do not play with did I realize my situation as her daughter. A very precarious tightrope because people associate to greatly the reputation of one as reason to judge the other. And I wasn’t even prepubescent in when this understanding happened. I felt jipped and set up to be screwed. When my role as one who will endure the effects was understood from both sides of analysis, that was when I decided to not myself choose behavior to have risk of children far earlier then should have been even understood had already been mastered. I was not going to spend eighteen years of an innocent child’s life setting them up to fail for sake of self-aggrandizment. When you have children your needs are secondary until they are grown.
When Rebecca Walker’s Black, White and Jewish: Autobiography of a shifting self came out, that was when I learned what the real art of grammar was for. I didn’t even know at the time where to put a ratio symbol (the colon) or where it went as her title statement argues. At once, I realized I did not know how to take her premise and I could NOT believe anyone could phiolosophically understand me more.
In that moment, standing there absorbing those words realizing three stipulated titles should not be so profoundly or be how profoundly least of an importance they are as singualr reasoning to define THE self. How the need to change that perspective that this communication was is how the world indeed facilitated and has people needing to globally scream that self (while it need not be such a religion) is the very reason for the shallow reasonings used for way of this world and why such regards our fellows self-perscribed definition.
I did not like that view of community or my fellow man on all sides of its argument and I had not even read the book yet. While Oprah was easily the hypnotic babysitter instead of a mother figure everyday. I did not like the savior complex after taste from a boob tube.
My mom was also vacillating between uncontrolled blatent alcoholic mental illness effects at that time and would act out by sexually aggressive blindness with men at night in even the common room, with inappropriate ways those nights alone with me then often communicated her wish of having aborted me. I was very confused by her behavior and choices and the effects had upon me. Other nights she’d dead bolt me in her wardrobe just to pass out usually forgetting me until hours later with ever inconsistent messaging eyes as the eyes waking me. There never was apology, only negotiated explanation and reasoned expectation of compliance.
I did not tell my therapist “good job” when she finally appeared to figure it out, that she really was wrong to implement attempt at relation or at legitimate physical presence. She was not given to rescue while asking for that use of rescuing. I need not such transparency. And she said she was co-author on a book about race relations while dropping directions like her privileged family – specifically dad – married a woman who almost went to Stanford but chose to instead be near her family and how he wanted her to be a lawyer but she chose a comparative lit undergrad from Berkeley then spent six years on a personal save the world mission which included Haiti to then decide a Master’s from Columbia U was in order because of office politics. How her advisor in their social work department told her all she had done before arriving there wasn’t worth shit. Was it an insulting compliment since she got in? I never figured out if one or the other or both. She thought that to be her greatest backhanded compliment of her life alone. She graduated with her titles and then did the post grad and was licensed. She appeared the flip side gamble to help me see.
I could not decide which evidence to believe, if the delusional level of interwoven coincidence happening in my life to show me at the end of the day everyone has reasons in actions chosen to cope. That only the people with true intensions of evil are in fact so. That most people don’t justify what they do to use a child in the evil I endured and thathot hers would tell me they knew as from their own experience with those charged in ‘care’ of me were because they used to be friends with them or a colleague or a witness of their world. Are those people evil for not stepping in to help a child escape what they determined was not at all good to associate with themselves? And why bother telling me as an adult in random reconnection with me when they knew my mom nineteen years ago when what they were to me was another perfect stranger. It was hard enough to grow up knowing people who knew what was going on all throughout my childhood would still promise me it would get better someday as they drove me back to it that night.
So much more was occurring these years like the example that most of you know of how many times and in how many ways I have been blocking or being blocked from finishing my even undergraduate degree as the purpose of how I had moved here (back home?) for completion of that twelve year journey. Hoped I had finally found someone both deeply legitimate and far more educated (in every way) than me in knowing need for therapy until she thought I questioned that qualification of intelligence and effectiveness. As if I was comparying my study of human behavior skill against hers and only then did I really begin to do so. Was I arrogant as I needed to feel safe to submit to the process of tear down and I was told by enough along the way to need the analyzation. Since I was willing to comply for sake of ‘you fucked up’ messenger approval, I did it while paying for it before believing it. For so many I seemed to sensitive when it seemed everyone kept repeating the facilitation of a deep sense of loss in me while most seemed intent to be communicating how stupid I was. And I was an ungraded student of social work with ideals to heal to help other foster children like me. I may have come to a place of sustaining disbelief in the profession’s practitioners.
Even if my therapist social worker with attachment to that classroom practitioner pool and with other attachments in result of living in a small town and having such hatred of those cages as to not even have name on location of the private practice office, I still loved her ability to sit there and think about whatever as I vented. There were topics I never discussed and topics that I held to personal to keep discussing. Would she would be another older person lying and relying on what tool next to educationally or manipulatively pull from a bag of pretense and used philosophy to maneuver in practised skill. Thank you, to my male school mentor also far to familiar with wanting to be a social worker helping disadvantaged students. The use in idea of personal interest in another’s success from a truly altruistic need to be needed too is shared by every social worker, but just like any other profession idealism can and often becomes tired or an excuse. He wasn’t driving me in his car or showing up at hospital or my apartment or sitting next to me on a couch yet was being my rock in such a historical personal system of figuring out which one in the situation asking to be rescued.
While living though seven anonymous life altering shots.
For all the amount of personal disclosures about the vastness of experiences had with me from everyone to thematticly represent and sometimes say these representions was what I needed to see. I am needed as inspiration too and in return to escape past the pursuit of ideas of status for instead pursuit toward far richer tangible clarity of living with open eyes the ways past, present and future are always in melody.
I had no idea witnessing such growing trust of me would speak into so much that was buffer against my disallusioned place or how meticulously I draw conclusion by that observation. Even while I fancy myself an optimist who keeps striving. And then the theme was defined when he took opportunity to communicate with me that had never met anyone enduring and fighting still against so many rounds of boxing choosing to stay alive and interested pursuing a place past the boxing ring. That is what is support services. Coming alonside to help someone see that no matter what they can do this thing rather than saying your too fucked up in my view of you to bother trying.
I’m so glad you chose to keep pursuing this work. You keep fighting back too, like everyone else must try to do to best of their ability. The world needs people in the college setting who aren’t wholesale pessimism.
We are all trying to beautifully cope with reality. However, we are all living in exactly what reality is the real one. Pretending disallusioned otherwise makes the broken system later become reason why so many walk around seriously making corruption excusable. Their tired for good and the good retired from them. Life becomes too short and time constrained to do the right thing and who is looking out for them anyway? On either a care or in an audit fashion. And when that guilt creeps in because some blast from the past or present is in your target, then is when they want the target to excuse the guilt for them.
I’m stupid? No. I need to be able to lay down at night able to sleep without self delusion or after effect of action untaken.
No wonder, on every level from the religious to the personnel, did I attract moving back here forty-four months ago on so great amounts of levels of hypotheses. I thought I was coming home and it would be good now. It all would be worth it now. It has been. But I didn’t even know that what I was really going to learn had nothing to do with the savior complex I had toward the world. That I needed to use my savior complex to save myself.
No wonder I fell in love with and realized the importance of consistent behavior while humanly striving to live up to a given name, the profound intentional relevancy of meaning in names, and a named international point of deMarkation. I needed a god alongside theoretically and tangibly with such interest to care for his charges and I needed someone skilled to marshall along the understanding that love was not a shameful result unto itself. These two reasons for my heart were only good. It is good to know not every boils down to timid cynicism. I like being called out in genuine kind concern over my shit and the tests to see I wasn’t frightening after all or if my loving the impetus for my experience were cause for concern. I felt marshalled toward protection and therefore not out there floating through the maze alone. That was the only safe place to find the answers known but looked for clarification over. It was that which showed me at least one solid rock understood the innocence of it all and didn’t blame me for being an interesting human. Leaning on him for stability only became hard to accept when he started telling me I was fine. I don’t want to loose them.
I apparently will never have even a day’s time reprieve from the mealtime reminders to express my thanks for all the facilitation in understanding that has occurred simply by moving back to the one geographical area that has ever felt like home. That so many and many more have been easy to learn from. Even with all the undertow to decode why I trade between satiate need of food analysis and love. That’s just my responsibility alone and I have all the resources within me to trust I own the ability to make right decisions. That is what I needed all that stuff to learn.
I surrender the battle in lieu of acceptance that this childhood conclusion was far to cut and dry a measure to define myself by. My favorite colors are still pink, green, blue and gray.
There is far too much subtext, additional layers, and far to many more participants seemingly universal in use just for theme of gaining understanding. And I didn’t understand why I had privilege to have perspective access to life lessons of this level. I am in awe and genuine in that awe. We have such a great teacher just by virtue of life and decision. And we are all worth understanding. But the responsibility to understand is our own. No one else is ever responsible for your self.
All I feel like doing tonight, now that I am home in my literal apartment, is try to breathe. Something that is fairly scare in experience since I used to have to practice when I still sang. People walk around all day breathing shallow out of habitual fear. Inhaling has become a derogatory word. Because I am well situated as member of those who are part of that equal experience of lives lived in quiet desperation and because I am still alive and specificaly here, I should breathe freely if for no other usefulness than trying to be more disciplined. Not stoic or for self abuse, but for interest in living higher. My personal understanding of God apparently understood how much of a crusade I have been on to understand what happened and something at all about the point to begin with. What a tangible present. I hope this is not delusional arrogance. I hope I’m recognizing valuable to accept the great value of such being gifted for purpose to see a gift that is being given unconditionally.
I am not mad at anyone anymore. It’s purged for real now. Maybe life does take almost loosing it to really live.
I feel such a penetrating sense of love.
Filed under: Uncategorized
For the past seventeen months I’ve been dared to believe myself free to be a woman of my own determination in interesting conversations with many of you in interesting circumstances, usually over the phone. I won’t count here the talking of the world or generally with various people of one context or another. To you, my friends, the amount of shift about who this MarieClaire post-accident is from why I can talk of topics like this now won’t come as surprise. Other than my surprise that several of you, being the curious and concerned amigos you are, have asked me why I’m so however I am lately. Haven’t meant to shock now that I can engage on a far less superficial level about topics like sex in our convos even if I’m not saying much shocking at all. Since it’s easier to say this once in this blog, here it is…
I’m surprised. That’s it. I’m finally coming out of hibernation.
Everything taboo, from topics of being a sexless thirty year old to reason for why I was chasing closure for the last year, has been having you scratching your heads. I appreciate that. In real sincerity. Dear Ms. Stiletto, in particular, thank you for arguing your position on wearing clothes for my own pleasure irrespective of the female-to-female judgement factor. Thanks for reminding me of how alright it is again lately. I’ve worked hard to reach a body potential that is still slowly becoming used for my own recognition and that recognition of how alright proud of not looking the way I did 28 months ago is. Yes, I’m not afraid anymore to be beautiful. I had to believe it even as you all would say so much. I still don’t know if I am ready to practice the rest we have all talked about yet, I’m definitely interested. But, yes, I believe I am beautiful.
That’s why I’ve been freaking out over my face. I did not want to loose what was discovered and I am ok again with loosing to meet that plastics goal.
That accident did some good.
Thank the sweet Lord for use of human dogma to shut people up quickly about my mish mash of reason for being ‘odd ball’ in this modern sexual free for all. I’m fine listening to my trusted bunch but far to many bold random women need to take a lesson from men by simply appreciating the potential as I’m moving at my own pace. Especially since they are not my trusted bunch. Damn small world. And why should they care is my finger is occupied or legs have been spread? Gawd. Why women of my generation and younger are somewhat confusing to older generations is in part, at least for several with similar ideas that I know, because (while we appreciate the hard core feminist crusades intentions of affording options) a lot of us have grown up with clear understanding that all that war rage didn’t make you ‘icons’ happier. To some of us you aren’t icons at all. I’m not one to pretend its ok to pay me less for the same job but I’m not any less progressive for wanting to have my man know that I want him wearing the preverbal pants. I would never want to be Jackie O, I’d far prefer to be Michelle O.
So, I’m not cool with the sexually active around me being so eager to push me off onto the ledge because you all don’t understand why I don’t party too. Because if I wanted to this afternoon, I’d just go get some. Its not fear by trauma, I’m selective about that dance because I have so much to learn. I’m not some Jane Austin character, my needs are not contingent on a paper contract, and I’m not going to have sex just to do so. I’m more an undercover librarian, and I’ll read a book to learn kissing technique before randomly just doing it. I have important reasons that I still do not care to share on an everyone level, if I ever do because some things are still private and personal even in this voyeristic world. And certainly not because my unique goods are “going to erupt like Krakatoa” (although that was hilarious Ms. HB).
Before anyone calls my bluff in the coming weeks, things to think about: yes, I still have the wedding and baby boxes packed away eight years ago and yes, I’m still cool with the decisions made the past six years. I knew my life was worth more. And sure, sometimes I wonder if the romantic is dead and at times I’ve dug the fabric out and cried. I’m not ashamed. I’m waiting to respect the love I deserve. Even if this knowledge isn’t meant for me.
I dare you to argue with that.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I am not presidential material. Even though people have been delusional enough to pass direct compliment on of their opinion of my perseverance to qualify for that role, literally I don’t have the balls to operate within the precision expected. I am not delusional.
Yet, people have awarded me into and nominated me for governmental leadership roles in public service positions at the student levels I am in. Fine. Hell, thanks even. Their opinion that I may have the balls to tolerate the prejudicial facilitation of government and sorority roles that I have been complimented to be thought for are appreciated. But, when the very people subordinate to you or in mentorship over you behave in manner that set you up to fail? And that pattern is discovered to be one you did not realize had been so efficiently programmed into you to adopt? The blame then is only your own.
But aren’t they also a bit delusional? Besides, the smartest service role when dealing in type A competitive circles is Vice President.
If minimum wage was sufficient to live on, I’d stop trying so hard. But I know far to much about how the poverty cycle roles (and the role of government in facilitating cycle continuity) to self delude that I could ever stop trying.
Problem is, I’m tired of wrestling.
The private musings italicized from journal entries shared example the ridiculous level of self analyzations I operate in. Don’t need help amplifying how much I know what the accomplishment and exterior presentation expectations are that this world expects. And rewards. Or how those ideals facilitate admission. I’m doing my best able while vacillating between the bottom and top of pyramids and protractors.
Fuck you, Maslow, for amplifying the known.
