Disgusted

Here I write the truth.

I write true stories of actual events, my real feelings.

I write nothing but the truth.

For that I have been virtually locked-up, punished with endless torture, separated from my family, my cats have been taken from me.  I could go on forever and not scratch the surface.

I have had to take Bing off my internet browser.  Which hurts me because I so enjoyed the pictures.  However, it was being used to hurt and manipulate me.  I’ve had enough.

Do you know I used to have a picture of my mother that is no  longer in my possession.  I shared it on Facebook.

I used to have a ring with a green stone that has been swiped.

They broke my pizza stone because I went to see Star Wars.  They have no idea how upsetting that was.  I was not amused in the least.  It was my mother’s.  I have purposefully not thrown it away because it was my mother’s and I am sick to death as pieces of her are hacked away, stolen, and taken away from me.  It was my mother’s baking dish.  You had no right to it.

At this moment I cannot believe how ashamed I am at ever having known DKW.

I cannot think of anything more unproductive, vicious, cruel, unbusinesslike, and harmful than to allow someone to hurt themselves first, then SHOW them well after the fact of version of actuality.  Never telling the truth, or allowing it to be.

I am sick at the moment.

Disgusted and sick.

I have never in my life been so appalled at humanity and those I know.  Those I have stood up for, those I have written true stories about, those I have loved, those I have wished nothing but their most extreme happiness, those I have been loyal to, those I have worked for – I AM DISGUSTED!

I am disgusted because I have done nothing but time and time again stood up for women, for gays, for humanity, yet in return I have NOT BEEN THANKED, OR APPRECIATED, OR TREATED WITH RESPECT, OR HAD MY WORDS AND ACTIONS ACKNOWLEDGED IN ANY WAY.  

I am disgusted!

If you do not know now, then I am afraid the truth will never get told.  You have no idea the amount of manipulation I deal with in order to work.

Grand Tour Men – I have always enjoyed your show.  I will always love you guys.  However, I am surrounded by idiots who believe, who cannot grasp the importance of moving on, of just because I saw you when I was parked months and months ago on one side and now I park on another side does not mean I am going back to the other side, nor does it mean I will not enjoy watching you boys again.  Talk car to me.  I am a girl.  Excuse me, I am a woman, but I love it when you talk car.  Slow down, man.  You talk so fast I have no idea what you are talking about and I want to know.  Car talk=lusty talk for me.  Some things never change.  It is amazing how long I could watch a show where the camera is simply following the car around.  Talk car to me.  Drool.  Drool.  Drooling.  Sorry, I was remembering the Aston Martin I saw at a car show.  God, he was gorgeous.

McLaren – I have usually chosen first when I played Formula 1.  Do you know how much I miss the sound of people talking.  I miss being able to have a television just so I can hear other people talking.  It is unfair to me that I am unable to have things like a television because it only knows how to watch me in return.  McLaren’s I liked because of its longer body gave better handling and drive-ability.  Plus, it had grip without being too heavy.  Some cars have so much grip that just sit on the track making it less than an enjoyable experience.

Here’s irony for you as I am in the middle of watching Electric Dreams episode nine, and what I do not enjoy in my Civic is the fact that it was designed, engineered, and built to function as a commuter car.  It is not a touring car.  It is not a sporty car, or a fun car.  It is meant to take you from home to work and back again without problems and function with a long life.  But, where is the zest?  Where is the joy in getting in your own vehicle?  Where is the excitement?

Someone had this idea because I worked on the Obama campaign to put me in a devastating car crash, then saddle me with a Civic for the duration of my car loan.

I should have received a job offer from the SPCA instead because I would still have a job there.  I would not have had to move.

Because I am good with animals.  I am good with people.  How I love old people.  Not everyone does.  This is who I used to be.  I miss being able to be myself regardless of the company I am in, regardless of any circumstance.

But, this system, this program, this show, this neighborhood, this life is severely FLAWED.  Poorly designed.  And WRONG!