Desperate Dream
David Wolfe, since I and we are not speaking:
There has been a terrible mistake.
It seems somehow that are records are not quite accurate. You have been given incorrect information.
It appears that your cats had been rescued. The cats are being returned to you the original owner.
We are sorry for any confusion this may have caused you.
We are sorry for the time you have lost spent away from them.
Your cats will be returned to you immediately.
Thank you.
Cherith J Gjestland
This is a Men only read.
From now on my Coffee and Breakfast posts will be men only.
I was trying to be diplomatic in my inclusion, however after the blond woman sightings I am putting my foot down. There is nothing wrong with me saying and demanding a male-only read. This is not a gender-bias sound-bite speak. This is about what always has been, what will never change, and what always has been.
This is for men only.
I miss my Tuesday and Thursday.
I want it recorded and corrected when I was at The Container Store helping a woman, she mentioned something about carneys or circus people to which I replied, they are people too. Meaning that a person is more than their job, where they come from, or where they live. However, that black hole (whole) should never have happened for it can never apply. It has absolutely nothing to do with black persons or African-American persons either it has to do with James Franco, it has to do with the straightening-out and cleaning up of California.
Also, be aware this pussy only accepts white meat.
More food dates.
It seems the only way I will ever be allowed to have men in my life is if I write about them.
God, I miss men. I miss man-flesh. I miss being able to run my fingers through their hair. I miss being able to devour them with my tongue. I miss rutting around their flesh with my nose against their body discovering their smells. I miss being able to grab at their belt buckle, pulling at their pants, pulling their man-hood toward me, pressing it against me demanding their full attention. I miss kissing men. I miss kissing men with my tongue in their mouth with such determination as my hands are constantly grabbing at him, pulling at him, demanding his body closer and closer constantly at him as he…
God, I miss men.
I couldn’t be more over, sick and tired, beyond disgusted of having to live off potato chips, French-fries, candy, and beer because it is the cheapest way to eat.
Here are a few menu options, ideas to ponder, ways for me to endure this brutal isolation, or perhaps just an interesting read.
Keep in mind these are meant to be served as non-restaurant sized portions. I am not writing to gorge you with food. It is meant to feed, create desire, satisfy, and arouse. Yeah, you heard me.
My guess is no one likes it when I write like this. It is too strong perhaps, too visual, unfortunately for them – this is me.
Ice-cold water, please.
Sick and tired of my home-work assignments. Sick and tired of the destruction of my property.
I am a shade of angry not on any spectrum.
Disgusted by the idea of a man who I once thought to be good has now been turned into my mortal enemy.
In this battle of keeping it off which has been waged against me at the pump and at the bar because I dared to say I am not able to be your friend anymore. I must respect myself first and you do not bring that to me anymore.
Absence does not always make the heart grow fonder sometimes it creates a divide that has become unreachable.
DKW has become my mortal enemy and I would rather have died believing in him, believing that men can be good than this.
I am a shade of angry not on any spectrum. That IPA does not belong in my belly, or anywhere near me or my life.
You have all miscalculated.
There is no competition. It can never be the head-set wearing black wrap you want it to be which I told the head workers several weeks ago. I said, I’m sorry to break the news to you. If you were listening, you would have heard it. There was a black woman at the concession stand as I read her: Military probably with potential to go into other fields, however it is not want she truly wants. Her heart and mind were torn. She is a good worker, however what they wanted from her they would never get in return. She was a – no. If they were listening, if they paid attention, if they took my notes and read them, then I wouldn’t have this heavy weight bearing down on me now.
That Cigar City just proves to me what an enemy David Kahit Wolfe really is. How he can no longer be a friend of mine. How he will never be able to recover the good opinion I once had of him. How living like this has set me against him forever.
I would never in all my life have ever created such vengeance toward him as he has done to me. I have always wanted nothing but the best version of himself for him.
It is a heart broken that he will never be able to mend. I have said this, written this for years.
You should have listened, Maze Runner.
It is absurd to me this notion of those who are frightened by me. Because I see them.
They put me to sleep tonight. Drugging me with cologne inducing me to sleep rather than work or do anything I want.
I wore my Merrell shoes to the movie tonight for several specific reasons: 1 – Merrell is a great shoe. When I worked in a shoe department I heard a lot of information about the materials, design, and so forth. 2 – If I really had a conversation with Meryl Strep, if I really saw a model example of me – this bubbly, bright long-haired blond – than, I saw her at the beach. Now, when I first tried to leave here and Florida for good did you know they posted signs at a beach in the Panhandle of Florida stating that child molesters were not permitted to visit or enter the beach. Can you imagine such a thing? Was this DKW’s idea? They posted these signs trying to shame me trying to see if I would leave the beach or go for a walk. I walked. You got to be fucking kidding me?! You sick fucking bastards!!!!
You have miscalculated.
As I was walking around the movie theater tonight there was a tiny tot of a boy walking around with a mint-colored shirt and a gold chain necklace. He was so cute. Little feet, little body, walking baby walk. Walk, walk, walk, walking. He was adorable. They use this to calm me down. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes I am too beyond angry. Then, I thought…wait a minute, what time is it? Shouldn’t he be in bed? Did he have a nap today? Has he slept? It was too late for him to be up and about, he should have been in bed. That is bad parenting.
You have miscalculated.
3 – There never should have been a day in court. Never. Never. Never. I kept my head down while I was at this faked hearing and courthouse because I was disgusted and appalled at this fake put-on, going around the back to enter the courthouse, this fake…well, it was all faked! Jesus Christ! I was so fucking sick of it all and this was July/August 2014!!!!!!!! I ate in my car at lunch because I was NOT going to eat with another fake version of Roy! Was that James Franco or David Wolfe as North Carolina behind me at the courthouse?! Doesn’t matter. This stupid fucking fake documentary is moronic! The day in the courthouse is an un-retrievable breach of trust that cannot be undone.
You have miscalculated.
4 – It should ALWAYS have been my company all along. You have had it wrong and the other way around for too many years! I am not your pet, not your dog, not your cat, not your horse, not your baby, I am not yours at all! And, I never needed to be re-trained at all, not ever.
5 – I do more work with less than any other person there. ANY-OTHER-PERSON-THERE!
This pedophile sign nonsense at the beach is so revolting!
James Franco – Will never be able to repair the damage he has done to me.
David Wolfe – Will never be able to repair the damage he has done.
Edison – I never wanted to see again. Fucked and dumped.
I have been used as a sex toy and experiment.
None of you will be able to return to my good graces again.
This game at the bar with my ID has become a problem.
I am sick to death because I just got paid, and I am broke.
I just got paid, I am broke.
Broke.
I repeat again, I do more work with less than ANY-BODY-ELSE! I had to use the tiny bit of savings I had to stay afloat.
FUCK YOU FOR THAT!!!
None of these people around, live the way I do. They all have staff cleaning their homes, cooking their meals, doing their laundry, and on and on.
None of these people live the way I do.
You know, this place used to be nice. There used to be roses planted here. The landscaping used to be nice. Everything was painted and pristine. It is not the same anymore.
Everyone seems to care more about my car than they do about me.
Are there rules for which I alone must live by?
There are more rules by which I have been unable to be myself or the greatest version of myself, but I am sick of giving the pet rules an audience.
Going to the movies should not feel like work. I simply cannot do everything, fulfill every request as it pops up. I did not have time for jewelry – that is all.
These pet/game rules need to end! It has done nothing but dumb-me-the-fuck down! I used to have a vocabulary which has left my brain which I am trying to recover…MY BRAIN!
I want to mention when watching the scene of the killing/murder of the female/assassin in Munich I could not help but to see and think how Hollywood the scene was. I have been in battle too, you see. Yet, no one recognizes my victories, achievements, and work as it is all done in my head.
Listen to me when I write and say, I am not going through the motions of correcting the stop signs, or the stairs. I am not got to walk around with my paper towels to throw them away in the cart that says Rubbermaid. This part of the adventure/choice game needs to end! It is a part of the dumbing DOWN of Cherith. I cannot tolerate anymore.
I am not walking around or changing my direction because of someone placed in front of me or because someone placed earbuds on the ground!
Just going to the movie has set me back at least two days. I am already two days behind in work I need to do to function at my home.
Reading the news has become lost on me. It has lost its importance. Something has gone astray. The timeline cannot keep up with me and my writing. It does not meet with my expectations for answers or help.
I miss being able to be a part of the world.
This is a long post.
More like a conversation or a downloading of information requests.
Also, note it was nearly impossible for me to wake up today…like trying to breathe though leaded water. A shade of angry not on any spectrum.
Friday night at the movies – this part is showing work to teacher because no one believes I have done this all along without help or training – the very blond woman at the pizza shop that I saw who looked convincingly safe yet is not. I immediately stopped looking. It is best for me not to write anymore. Understood? Immediately stopped, looking.
Previous to 2012, my mind upon sight would have done the same thing. Plus, I would never have had to show my work.
At the gas station, wearing a maroon colored shirt, upon seeing him, I immediately said to myself, why is he not working? He needs to be working. Needs.
At the burger restaurant, he was not working, nor did I have a chance to read anything, so I placed an order instead.
How many years is this going to take?
How many more years is this going to take?
How many years must I say the same thing over and over again.
This – this – is not the same thing at all. Not for a moment.
There is only one way this works. One way.
It has NOTHING to do with gender equality.
I has to do with my fucking brain – first!
My brain!
The way that I work!
There is only one way to handle me. This will never be able to be changed no matter how many years you keep me as a slave in forced work.
I can only be handled by men.
Women get the FUCK out of my brain, my bed, my house, my computer, and my business.
My brain!
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!
Let me preface this post with a few clarifications. When I use the word – right – it has no correlation to my driveway, or my parking situation, or any neighbors here. It has to do with honest and goodness. Plus, this is the writer in me wishing I had written this better. Wishing I could fully grasp and convey the depth of emotion.
Easy.
What is it like to sell Disney?
Easy.
I still remember my job interview for Disney the first-time. I took all the basic education computer tests, the computer-generated scenarios, plus I had the experience.
What is it you think we do here?
My interviewer asked me because I mentioned something about Disney movies in my interview.
She was far from a kind interviewer. She was rough, she was hard considering her employer.
It was a relief to know I didn’t have to work with her.
I could tell you the stories of the weeks and weeks of training they do at Disney’s Tampa, Florida call-center for resorts, park tickets, and special events in Orlando, Florida. Yet, none of that matters. Of course, it is important. It is a business after all.
What I want to tell you about is the people.
Walt Disney World has some of the most loyal and long-term cast-members (employees). In all my working years I have never worked with a company with such a high number of its personnel who plan their life with their employer retiring with them.
Perhaps, you disagree and do not believe that fact to be significant enough to write about. But, it is.
It is.
We sell hotel stays, tickets to the theme parks, airline tickets, car rentals, airport transfers, tickets to our special events like Night Of Joy, Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween party, and Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas Party.
I am here to tell you that is not what happens.
This is not a surprise since I believe Disney used this as a marketing campaign.
Everything Disney is, everything Disney does, everything in my experience that is Disney – is memories that will last a lifetime and beyond. They are the stories that you tell your family, your friends, your neighbors, you post on-line, taking pictures in hopes to capture the feeling.
Disney is memories that you pass down as you speak, down the family line, to your children, to your children’s children, they are living, breathing memories that don’t let go, that grab your heart for all its worth and more, and give love in return.
Disney memories. The moment you look at Disney and stand still with such a full heart it cannot be restrained – it pours out, out of you, past you, and you are never the same again.
There are so many Disney memories for me, it would take time for me to remember even a portion of them at all.
There was a time at Disney’s Hollywood Studios with my friend Char, her disabled daughter Liz, and her disabled friend, we went to see the Beauty and the Beast show. We were the last to leave the auditorium. No one else was left, and Liz, her friend and I sang a repeat of one of the songs. As if the world wasn’t watching, singing our hearts out because we could.
There was a time at Disney’s Animal Kingdom, it was my mother and me. I have so many memories of my mother and me at Disney. At the Festival of the Lion King show. I don’t know what it was that sent my mother, but her whole being became undone. She was jumping out of her wheelchair, screaming emotionally, incoherently, wanting with desperation to get closer to the performers, as her exuberant, uncontrolled, excited joy, contorted her face from stroke brain-wiring. Some memory, expression, person, or the performers ignited within her something her strokes had long ago taken away. She was alive again. She was alive before her strokes again. Becoming weepy as her excitement overtook her.
When I was in the hospital with my mother after her first bad stroke that took her mind from me and the world, she wrote about Disney. She wrote about the time I took her to Whispering Canyon at Disney’s Wilderness Lodge for dinner, then strolled her in her wheelchair by the pool watching the bunny rabbits eating the grass as the light of day disappeared beyond the horizon. She begged me over and over to take her back there. I would start to cry because she was writing because she was no longer sleeping because she was begging me, and as soon as my tears fell, she closed her eyes and surrendered to stroke slumber. I could not help but cry more thinking the sight of my tears had sent her brain away. I did not know how to control my grief.
I do not know how to control my grief or pain.
If I thought about it. If I really thought about it, I could write pages and pages and books and books of Disney memories where good will always win, where right will always triumph over evil, where happiness will always bring light to the darkest of days.
In the year 2004, hurricane season. Hurricane Charley was the first to hit Florida, yet I went to work. I steered around fallen trees, through non-working traffic lights, from miles away to help guests with Disney reservations. Because it was still a day I could make a difference in someone’s life, for it was still a day that a Disney memory could be created.
There were only a few people in the building working on an emergency generator. Working for several hours until we had to leave.
It was not the first hurricane that year. I worked through every hurricane, tropical depression, and severe storm I could.
Do you understand?
Yes, there are brightly painted cartoon characters decorating the walls, and there is only so much Disney music you can withstand especially while on hold. Did you know there are forty verses to Davey Crockett? Forty?! Really? They couldn’t stop at…oh, I don’t know, thirty, or twenty, or five?! Forty. Wow! Forty verses of the same tune can make you a teensy bit unsettled. I mean in a rip my head-set off kind of way.
I spoke with many people from all different backgrounds, from all different economic levels, from all walks of life while at Disney.
Every day was a day to create a memory in someone’s life most of which I will never know about. Yet, I know I worked not only with the brightness of my mind, but with my heart pouring out. For all.
I heard it all around every day. Every cast-member (employee) on the phone shared ways to make the guests stay better by sharing their own experiences of Disney. It is an invaluable, and irreplaceable quality for a business, for a company, for an organization, employees like Disney can have.
Sharing memories.
Truthful, real experiences, brimming hearts pouring out over the phones every day.
That’s an easy sell.
It creates something in and of itself.
It is proof that selling and customer service do not have to be mutually exclusive. If you take care of the customer. If you listen. If you know your product through knowledge and practical experience than you can create an experience unique to each guest.
Standing in front of Cinderella’s castle as the icicle lights drip down and light the castle.
Screaming my fool head off while riding the Tower of Terror.
Spending endless days in the wave pool at Typhoon Lagoon.
The night at Raglan Road.
Every EPCOT experience.
The days of Disney Institute.
On and on and on and on.
A day to create memories for others is a day worth living.
Last week waking up, the man sharing my brain-bed wants to know the answer to this question.
Which before I start, he should be in my actual bed. Nobody likes it when I write this way – with conviction. Without timidity. Balls out. And unafraid of your opinion of me. So, yeah, he should be in my bed. I should have been able to have many REAL men in my REAL fucking bed. Shit, even when I was overweight, I should have been fucked often.
BTW, these Nerds candies are so delicious!
Jesus Christ I am an easy woman to love! I am loveable. I am adorable. I should have had many love affairs in my life! I should never have had to spend my entire life all alone!
I am fucking hot at the moment! So, yeah I’m fucking swearing! No one likes when I swear like a sailor either. Don’t fucking care about your opinion on my flying fucks.
Fine. Brain-bed. The one-armed man at Hilton – I am sorry I forgot his name. He drove a Mustang, I am pretty sure it was a dark blue. We are talking nearly twenty years ago, so it is possible I am not correct. Sorry, it’s laughable – wondering if a memory of a co-worker’s car is incorrect from twenty years ago.
Jesus, give me a break!
Why did I not try with him. I did explain in an earlier post how I saw his brain in many pieces, fractured, broken-ness everywhere…and, there is nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with him. I want to make sure it is understood that he is a man who could and should be loved. However, I had already met David Wolfe.
Let me interrupt for just a moment and clarify my caring for my mother. I am a caring woman, however it should have been my mother’s husband taking care of her. I was filling in for his lack. How often does this happen? How often do family members fill-in for another’s role because the other person is missing, unable, or incapable?
It should have been my mother’s husband taking care of her until her dying day – not me.
He should have divorced her if he did not wish to fulfill his husbandry duties.
Hard truth, there.
It is a hard life for a funny woman. Men – as it has been for me in my life – do not appreciate a funny woman.
I guess no man has yet to find me marriage material. All they want to do is experiment and do clinical studies and research on me – like I am a thing rather than a woman.
So, I had already met David Wolfe. Peebles and Bam-Bam as I once said to him with his big club going bang, bang every time I tried to get near him. Yet, when we looked at each other and the world stood still…that is the kind of love I wanted to have for the rest of my life.
No one seems to get this funny business – that funny people, some of the funniest people are the most cerebral and intellectual. Rowan Atkinson comes to mind, my guess super smarty guy there.
Plus, the – man, I hate to keep writing this, I wish I could remember his name – the one-armed man never asked me out on an official date. Do men not do this anymore? I don’t think so. For some reason men just don’t ask me out. What the fuck is that about?! Do I honestly have to pretend I am less than I am to get a man’s interest?! Fuck off with that!
Where are all the good and available men?!
In my brain-bed, he wanted to know why I loved David Wolfe, who would never love me in return.
Well, I neither look the same as I did in college, nor am I the same in my head. I’ve worked through a lot on my own in my head.
Edison said when he was here that I was obsessed with David which I vehemently denied which is I guess one reason why I slept with him. Fucker!
Now, because of DKW and James Franco I am no longer able to meet any available men.
Sleep with me for real men, I fucking dare you! Flesh to flesh! I fucking dare you!
Whoever is responsible for entering my home while I was at a job interview with Dave and Buster’s and destroying my personal property is vindictive, cruel, a coward, and afraid of speaking to me face to face. I purposefully made the point – speaking against entering my home just because it was a job interview.
Does anyone honestly believe that I believed that since the name of the company had Dave in it I would actually believe I was applying to work for David Kahit Wolfe?!
That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard.
Dave is a common name. And, there is more than one Dave in the world.
Do you actually want me to believe that was Courtney disguised as Mississippi Roy?! I have never said or done anything to Courtney other than proclaim how perfect they are for each other. If she is responsible, she is vindictive and cruel.
Whoever Mississippi Roy was they were extremely nervous which is why they went off my radar. It’s a mopping the floor moment. Nervous. Nervous for more than one reason. Nervous. She did a bad, bad thing.
I am NOT James Franco’s property, nor am I his baby, nor will I ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever love that pussy lover. He is nothing more than a slave owner.
I have done NOTHING but spend YEARS of my life TRYING TO GET AWAY FROM DKW FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!
If Courtney does not believe that than she is not the smart woman I thought she was.
David Kahit Wolfe has long ago left my life.
David Kahit Wolfe has long ago left my heart.
David and Courtney are perfect together. She is the perfect wife for him.
Which is why I will never understand why DKW has not allowed me the same.
The only conclusion I am able to understand is that DKW is not the man I believed he was. Which proves I am not always correct.
I have been very, very, very wrong about DKW. I will loathe him until the day I die. Loathe. Loathe.
Let me repeat this until the day I die – It was not ME that called David at his place of employment for years. I have never gone to David’s place of employment EVER! I have not hired detectives, PI’s, undercover agents, and stalked him?! He has done that to me!!!!
How many times do I have to write that I will never look at him again. Stand him next to me again. I will not look his direction. I will never again willingly speak to him again.
Rape me of my mind and body, then put me on public display. Tell all of my stories incorrectly and were never your place to tell to begin with…and, you want me to speak to him again?!
He is no longer the same man to me.
Any man who is incapable of not speaking to me in person without a mask, without the Bluetooth, without glasses is not worthy of me, my time and energy, or my good-thinking.
He should be happy. He got what he’s wished for, or he never would have allowed himself an out.
David Kahit Wolfe is no longer the same to me. He no longer can be.
You have been wrong.
You have been so very wrong.
You have been wrong DKW!
You have wronged me!
I hear, and I see people. I see people, and I see their brain. I can see inside their brain. I hear people, and I see them. Sometimes I see in their brain, sometimes I see something in their life, sometimes I see talent or skills, sometimes I do not see good.
Believe it or not. Perhaps it’s real. Perhaps it’s not. I am not always right or correct. I am still not sure myself if what I see is truly real.
But, I was wondering if I wrote about what I see and hear if the world would become a different place then the one I’ve been living in.
I am prone to giving people nicknames. I have no idea why. It started when I worked at Dillard’s, I gave all the Florida State Troopers working security nicknames. My favorite was the blonde handsome trooper who was my age, I made him laugh out-loud every time we talked. Why did he never ask me out? Why do men NOT ask me out? I will never understand this.
Let me start with this first: Working at Dillard’s I was helping a woman with dark hair shopping for sunglasses. I thought she had placed the sunglasses she was trying on in her purse. I called the troopers who then approached her and to my embarrassment did not have the sunglasses. She was a wealthy woman, who then returned to the store often sometimes alone and sometimes with friends to harass and embarrass me. For how could I a lowly, hourly wage employee accuse a woman of wealth of theft when she could have easily afforded them?
So, here is my dilemma. If I truly see and hear people – I am not always right. Or am I?
Working backwards.
Higher Power – We’ve had several conversations. I have always listened. I bring you into the light because this one conversation was important. I differed in his word choice. Because the difference of a word is delicate. It can make all the difference in the world. The exact conversation and words I do not recall. That is not what is important anyways. I differed on the word choice he used when we spoke, I showed him the difference, and he laughed at my correct choice and correction.
Silver Hair – I stopped. And, I listened. Listening is a brain place. Seeing into another dimension. A place within a place within a place. I saw this man’s brain. Real or not, I don’t know, but I saw his brain. Which was remarkable. His brain. His brain was – pristine. Pristine. Think about that for a second. All that gray matter in his brain was pristine. Not clean, not ordered – pristine. I have never seen anything like it before. There is only so much training can do. This man. This man has taken everything, everything learned, all his training, his relations, his relationships, his work, his…well, everything, and on his own…wait a second, part of it is how he is hard-wired, how he was created, the way he was born. Yet, you should have seen it. This man’s brain is pristine. Wow! Of course, he is calm while dealing with many different things at the same time. This is hardly worth mentioning given his job and career. Silver Hair is constantly thinking, not typical for every man. This is a guess. He was across the street. I was driving along and turned my head. Because something…well, the best way I can describe it is – feelers everywhere. Something got my attention, so I looked. What is remarkable is the pristine nature of his brain. I listened. I only saw him once. The man that came back the second time was NOT the same. Not for a moment. Not for a second. They did not even look a-like to me. If you are wondering why I do not call him Pristine, I can only say this. I think Silver Hair is better.
Special – this man exudes so much. Changing his shirt, I saw him. He is bigger than his body. His reach far exceeds. I saw through the black face and saw the man changing his shirt. Then, another black man walked around the corner. And, he was gone. These two men looked nothing the same to me.
Native/American – He is a good and bright man. He is educated and smart. Capable of speaking for others, a leader, capable of speaking in front of important people. I was not worried about this man. The second man I saw, has had several bad days. Not necessarily a bad man, he’s done time. He did not look the same as the first man to me at all.
Pack – This solider has been wounded stopping his career short. There is pain all over him. I see the burden of humping a pack. I see the pain of a moment of innocence. For a solider, there is not a moment of relief or let-up. While caring for my mother, I felt this way. I was not allowed one moment of let-up. The back of my mind, my mind’s eye, was constantly on high alert. I wondered if Pack had a moment of innocence that ended his career. As I see him, he is doing well and going to be fine.
Ever So – This man I will write in another post. He deserves his own.
I will not give everyone I write about a nickname. Not everyone has a place in my brain for a nickname.
Random voices in the night.
I heard a voice during the night, what I saw he might not like because I asked of him to be the bigger man. I saw him going round and round in his mind keeping his mind on something that was keeping him behind. Instead of being a bigger man than whatever it was (probably a female relationship) that was keeping him behind. It is not wrong for a woman to ask of a man to step up, be better than he thinks he can be, be better than his job or situation, and be a man beyond his circumstances. It is a purposeful choice. It is not complicated. It is not difficult. It is a choice and nothing more. Be the bigger man.
I have no nickname for this man I saw. He did not want to be seen. He did not want me to see him. This is not a bad thing. It is a way to protect himself. Nothing wrong with that. I saw in him a disagreement, my guess between a superior and himself in which both were correct. However, that might not be true. For if what I saw was real and true, then he is correct. He needs a new handler. For the outcome depends upon the handler. The experience, the results depend upon how he is handled. A lot happened to me, so trying to work backwards the most that I remember is the need for a change in being handled.
There was a dark-haired man with a laptop who looked at me with curiosity. He wanted to see my face. This man as I saw him is overly talented. He is overly talented for his position. My guess is he has asked to be promoted or moved, and he is being held back or kept in his position and job. However, I believe this man is correct. He is overly-talented, he needs to be promoted or moved or have done what he has asked for. For the whole world would benefit from his talent.
Working backwards again.
This is not something new or learned for me. I have always had this. I have just not had to show my work to teacher. It has been instinct and intuition. I worked with a man who had one arm. He was a better driver than most people think they are. He and I and another couple went to a bar and played pool. I did not understand if this was meant to be a double-date. Now, I have done a lot of mental work on myself since then, however what I saw in him was disorder. Broken-ness everywhere. Fractured pieces everywhere. Turmoil. Within myself this is where I take a step back from someone. I wanted to encourage him, not make-out with him. Perhaps it is not always a good thing to be able to see beyond people for he was a good man. Aloneness is not good for me. Living entirely alone, without friends or a man in my life in not a good thing.
Have you ever seen a person and been stopped? This is not always a good thing.
So far this has happened to me twice. I am uncertain how much of this I discern, and how much is transplanted into my brain.
I was at a courthouse, he was an average ordinary looking man. Now, let me fill you in on something, since my second Disney working experience I have been made quite anxious about sitting down. I am not worried or scared, I am anxious. It is no longer a good experience. When I saw this average looking man, I stopped. Wow! But, this was not good. I had to stand up, I wanted to pace because my whole body had become consumed with what I saw. I am the ONLY one who lives this experience. This man that I saw was behind bars for a horrible crime, and I felt it in my whole body. This man is caustic. I believe this man liked to cut people up and eat them. For me, it was like trying to breathe through toxic chemicals, then pretend I wasn’t feeling it in every part of my being. It was such a slam in the head it is difficult to think about now. Perhaps it was his brain that made me feel that way. It was his brain that was caustic. This man should never be let out of prison. Soon enough his psychiatrist walked around the corner. She tried to get my attention. I listened some, however I am so much greater than this woman I was not interested. This is not a disparaging remark. It is not meant to be disparaging. Part of it is that I’ve had my fill of shrinks getting it wrong and doing research on me. The truth is – how I see myself – I am greater.
Now, this happened a second time. I saw a man and I am walking through toxic chemicals, trying to pretend I am not feeling everything, everywhere. No, it did not make me feel dirty, I did nothing wrong. It did not make me want to shake or shiver, I was not scared. This man did a terrible and disgusting thing. I believe he hurt children. I do not know if he will ever hurt people again. However, he was disgusting. Disgusting. Gross. Disgusting. I am writing about him, although I have already forgotten how he made me feel.
I want to make a point about something to make sure it is understood. I wrote about how she could never be special as he is special. This is not a put-down or disparaging remark toward women in any way. She. This vague and no-named she I refer to is the she that has used me as a pet and a slave. Perhaps it has been a she who has used me as a sex-slave. Telling me and making me only choose her.
Understood?
It better be, any person who uses another human being as an animal to be re-trained should be sent behind bars. It should never happen.
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