Author: You didn’t pull! You don’t understand! You do not own my accounts! Perceived control!

Day 1,553

What I had planned for Coffee and Breakfast today will have to wait.  I was going to do something different and include all the PK’s – preacher’s kids, turn it around and you get KP’s.  My real father is a PK, a preacher’s kid.  It is a difficult job and you are only a child.

Coffee and oatmeal for me, have whatever you want.  When I am dieting, I do not dream of food.  It is placed out of my mind.  Always has.  Organizing my brain.

Roses and flowers and beer bottles will have to wait for now.

However, time constraints being real, I cannot today.  Look forward to it hopefully, soon.

It must be so nice for you to know that your program works enabling you to predict the shows and movies I will watch next.  It must be so nice for you that I am so predictable, so that you do not have to get to know me in person.

Be aware how very unhappy I am with that man on the side of the road.

Tell me, was the whole purpose for him to “play” against me, to see if he could get me to change fundamental values, views, and beliefs I have such as God and men?

Then, he is a giant loser.  I will say no more on this.

You let every and anyone have access to me?!  Whose brain is it to begin with?!  Mine.  Not yours!  Passing me around from person to person as though that would not have an impact upon me!

Try having one person stay with me for a whole shift and see how exhausted they are at the end of it.  A person does not go to a gym and workout for 10 hours?!  Your thinking is wrong!

What else am I supposed to learn or understand from the ladders being opened other than there has been a breach of security within my home.  Am I supposed to believe it was only in my head?  When upon return to my locked home I discover illegal entries into my home.

What else am I supposed to learn or understand from the events in April other than it was all staged, none of it real, and entirely faked except the damage it did to my head and wanting.  You place items in front of me that connect to each other, then a voice or something, then I think I believe I know the truth when it is possible that it was merely put in on the other side making me believe when it was nothing but a falsehood.

I do not have to prove my writing.  This is not a dissertation; my writing is not a dissertation or a thesis paper that I have to prove!  How many ways to Sunday do I and must I continue to say no or the truth?!

What else am I supposed to understand and learn from the experience.

If I was any good.  You wouldn’t do that.

I am too mad to continue this for now.

Day 1,552.

Just coffee for me.  No time today to talk or share what I had in mind.  Have whatever you want.  I did not get anything done these last three days that I wanted to get done.

No, I will not be going to the movies at this weight.

Cub – buc, buccaneer.

Man – nam, Vietnam.

What’s the question?

I am more logical than have been given credit for.  I am more logical than you understand.

My mother when I was just seventeen or so said the kind of car I should have is an MG.  I immediately said no.

Now, I wonder whose idea it was that I should have an MG hers or someone else?

I immediately said no because I was so aware of my financial position.  How was I going to pay for parts and service on a foreign car?  This was the 80’s service stations were different.

My finances said I was not an MG, I was a slightly used stock factory car still under warranty and original parts.

My personality however, is a convertible MG.  Zipping around town, I would be so cute.

Is this why the pastor at Harborside drove a convertible?  He told a story of his son playing basketball getting a bloody nose with friends, using his shirt to stop the blood.  He stopped for gas on his way home throwing the shirt with blood in the trash where someone at the station called the cops believing he had done a crime and was getting rid of evidence.

I just looked at my pastor when he told me this story.  It felt just like a story and nothing more.  It’s one of those moments where you say to yourself, how do they want me to respond to them?  In a normal conversation you don’t say that to yourself.

Do they want me to forget that I saw David Wolfe (2012 or so) in a car in front of me sitting in the middle of the back seat?

Day 1,551.

I am exhausted.  I am on my third day of non-stop writing that I must get done before I get to my paying job or I get yelled at.

What’s my job?  Because I don’t know anymore.

So far today I have been writing non-stop for eight hours, and I still have a massive list a mile long to accomplish.  I am so tired I was unable to bathe yesterday.  That’s bad.  That is a bad sign.

Since I am having trouble writing about food still this is going to be different – again.

When I had placed my mother in her nursing home I started to do things I had longed to do like go to the beach.  I went to the Ringling Museum in Sarasota.  I could spend days if not weeks with all the artwork they have there.  I took some wonderful photos while there.  I went to Fantasy of Flight, did the zip-line, and harnessed to a wire while climbing a tower stories in the air.  Things I had been wanting to do for years.

The property I had written about previously with the outdoor room built from reclaimed wood I am keeping.  Adding more details.  I have several rescued animals on this property besides my cats.  Horses, dogs, donkeys, some goats, and bird feeders throughout.

In this outdoor room I’ve made a glass wall out of wine bottles that have been enjoyed, epoxied together.  Creating beautiful colors in the sunlight, every so often taking more bottles, creating more colorful light to the wall.

I want to move on.

I want another job.

I am tired and spent.

And disgusted at the moment.

To me both sides International door, pressure washing, and spraying is exactly the same as the US side door.  It does, they both are exactly the same thing.  Why would I choose one over the other?  They are exactly the same.

I do not understand the weight gain.  It is not funny.  I do not understand why anyone is EVER allowed to enter my home when I am not at home while I am at work, or any other time.

What is my job?

I want another job.  I want to be able to move on.

Day 1,550.

This one is a little different from my usual Coffee and Breakfast’s.  This is one I made up in my head while working.  The part about God’s Throne is true.  When I visited Dominica, I looked out over the ocean thinking to myself it could be God’s Throne the area held such feeling only to turn around and see a government official – like a Governor – historic home.  Many times, before I have talked about how when I visited Dominica it still felt like the French and English had used the island and its people like a soccer ball.  Back and forth.

This story could be better, I am exhausted from all the work.  The book bar I wish I could write it the way I saw it in my head, but it takes time to flesh out details for writing.

My wish is that is does some justice in creating a memory and memories.

We were having trouble.  We were no longer talking any more.  We no longer loved each other anymore.  You went your way, and I went mine.  Love was only a four-letter word.  It was no longer felt between me and you.

How I loved you like no other.  Every man would have been jealous, mad, and wanting had he know how and to the depth that I loved you.

We hopped in the car you and me.  Taking a trip with no course.  Making our way hoping to reconnect and remember why we ever loved each other to begin with.

Up the coast, we drove.  Up the northeast coast, and just drove, and drove, and drove.  Like strangers who had never touched.  Driving.  In and out of the car.  In and out of the gas stations.  Hotels.  Moving, so we didn’t have to feel.

Filling the hours together, I would every so often tell you frivolous bits of information that you believed annoyed you when you really longed for me to tell you.  Every time I started to tell you something relief would wash over you like your whole body and being waited expectantly for me.

Then, there was that seaside town, small and quiet, full of character.  We walked around discovering the shops and businesses.  Was it me or was it you who saw it first?  The building of such distinction we walked over to it wondering what it was.

We walked into the best bar, didn’t we?  Books and books everywhere.  Two-stories high of nothing but books up to the ceiling.  Little niches and nooks for private reading with a beer or beverage of choice.  If you wanted to read a book you had to order it.  The barman would get on the railed ladder and grab the book of choice.  What ambience.  We had to walk around the whole bar before we sat down together.  Windows and light.  Filtered light.  Sofas, leather chairs, bar stools, and outdoor benches.  A bar unlike any other.

We sat together in the oversized leather chair, each with something to read and a beer.  Reading, you had your arm around me and I leaned in for the smell of you.

Going for a walk along the beach before sunset with the wind in my hair, playfully, I jumped on your back making you laugh again.  I did always like the sound of your laughter.

There was a clearing on a cliff that looked interesting.  We walked up the long winding wooden staircase to get there.  At the top there was a vista over-looking the ocean.  I said it looked like God’s Throne when we turned around and saw the Governor’s historic house.  Now wonder they built a home here.  You could see for miles and miles.

Talking away about something I turned to face you with the sun at my back.  The light shone through my hair creating a halo about me.  It was here you fell in love with me for the last time.

It was the picture you held onto the rest of your life.  Me beside that tree, the sun at my back, my hair softly blowing in the breeze, the sun shining through my hair.  You took my face in your hands kissing me as though you could never get enough of me.

For clarification, I was and am upset about the bulking of my food that was delivered to me.  The reason for me writing about not wanting to go on a fast.  It felt intentionally done, bulking me.

I believe my phone signature delivery person was chosen by Michelle Obama because I, Cherith Gjestland am a nice person.  So was the person who delivered my alcohol.  It has nothing to do with the color of her skin, clothing, or anything else.  The Russian t-shirt connection.

While working at Disney there was a white woman who worked in Guest Services who spoke to me several times about her bad experience of having dated a black man.  She was extremely emotional about how he had ruined her credit, on and on.  As soon as she started telling me not to date a black man, I stepped back in my brain.  This is not the time or the place to have such a conversation.  Since, she was so emotional I let her speak.  It seemed she needed to get it out.  That was more important to me than correcting her.

I disagreed with her in my head while letting her talk.  I started avoiding her after a few times of the same conversation.

This has to do with Chocolate Chip.

This has to do with the job audition in Orlando when I was a teen-ager for voice-over work.  There was someone else in the “room” while I was speaking to this agent about work.  I didn’t understand the job because someone else was present.  I understood the job to be about one thing, then when I got there they said it was something different from what I thought it was.  At the time I believed that is what threw me and why I said no.  However, I think now there was someone else watching.  That is what threw me.

My mother’s car accident and trial.  I was reading the abridged version of Princess Bride.  We prayed before it was to convene, and the lawyer flipped his lid and yelled at me and everyone for praying.  Swaying the jury or something.

Princess Bride, “I must know who you are.”  “Get used to disappointment.”

Any man who gives himself a nickname like Chocolate Chip cannot be taken seriously.  He had one of the best Mufasa voices.  People used to remark about it all the time.

I am not sure it was a date or not.  It seemed to me more like friends agreeing to meet and eat together.  Because a man plans a date, asks the woman, and pays for the meal.  This is how I see it.  We went to Cirque together and ate at The Contemporary.  I like the restaurant because it is open and has lots of openness about it.

I do not recall exactly what happened when the bill arrived at the table.  I paid and told him, he could get the bill the next time we went out.  I did this all the time with friends.  There was something weird about the bill.  If it was a date, he would have paid.  There was just something weird about it.

To me the date, the meal had nothing to do with what the woman in Guest Services spoke about.  Because it didn’t apply to me.  Nor did Chip apply to me.  The date felt like work.  I had to work to make conversation.  A man I want to date and have in my life should not feel like work.  Conversation should happen, naturally.  It should not be forced or contrived.

Also, Stuart talked too much for me to be interested in him as a potential relationship.  Not every moment should be filled with words and conversation.  It is nice to be in the presence of a man and not have to speak just to fill the air.

The strong, silent type.  This was said to me by my work husband at WORSHIP.  I enjoyed talking to him.  He told me that is the kind of man I need and like and it is true.  It is the kind of man I connect with.

To be clear, I want to be able to wear make-up to work.  However, if I must skip make-up to make sure that I am writing a justice than as a matter of priorities it is more important that a justice is made than my vanity is saved.  Still, I miss the person I was at The Container Store before I knew everything was faked.  Did my make-up, worked-out, got to wear and go wherever I wanted, etc.

I believe it was David Wolfe listening on June 25, 2018 and they put it to a vote and my supervisor was outed.  Or was that put in my head?  Or is it not true at all?

To be clear, If I was living with a man, or married to a straight man, I would not allow him to see me doing certain maintenance beauty things.  There should be some mystery in a relationship.  Do not read too much into this.  It is a truth.  How else can romance be kept alive if every detail under a microscope is known?

Bruno was the name I gave the dog I had.  He was the most beautiful dog.  I don’t remember what breed he was.  I barely remember anything else about Bruno.  Blocked memories (that is what it is called) to keep bad away.

Gorbechev was the name I gave one of the ducks because of the markings on his head while living in Oldsmar. I don’t need to share the name of the apartments.

This is not for reproduction, not every victory is won like a Hollywood movie.  The moment I paused when my fiancée asked me if I would ever date a black man, he went away from me never to return.  He went away in spirit.  I became disgusting to him.  He still had sex with me.  But, he soon found another woman to live with.

That kid at Hilton who smelled of must, or musty, or mildew, something along those lines I would talk to, however he is the kind of kid who sass’s his mother, he is not always polite, and at times kind of mean.  He is not a bad person, he is just not the best kind of person.

Patty, my supervisor at Disney – seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you people – who got engaged to a man who did not have a job who used to be a VP of a company and no longer worked.  He was living off of her salary.  In my head, I didn’t like the relationship.  He should be the provider or at least working.  Also, he needed to have a hip surgery.  She spoke about masturbation while in a supervisory meeting.  I had no idea how to respond to such inappropriateness other than to not say anything in response.

For me it is important my husband or boyfriend is the provider.  I don’t want to make more money than him.

Did a person purposefully disable my filtered water forcing me to drink alcohol as a way to hydrate?

Why would such conversations be important to you people?

Sunflower seeds.  Shelled sunflower seeds.  My grandmother had an enormous bag of sunflower seeds in their camper when they visited us in Oregon one trip.  This is how I remember her.  My poor grandmother who after becoming a Christian stopped wearing make-up and listening to records.  She threw out 45’s.  I got to keep a compact of hers that still had powder and puff in it.  I remember how fine the powder was.

I used to cough with my asthma in Oregon.  I disliked running track in Oregon.  The cold, damp air used to make me sick.  I got bronchitis at least once a year.  The PE teachers always acted like I was making up a problem with running, however one time it felt like a lance (true story) had opened a hole in my chest.  I laid on the side of the track after running trying to catch my breath.  These are just coincidences to the movie, I believe and nothing more.

What’s my job?

I’m exhausted!