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

Still, unbelievably upset.

I am so tired, I must be dehydrated.

To clarify the reason, I heard President Trump give a specific number was a way of speaking through actors.  James Franco being brown-haired, brown-eyed.  They want me to believe in that man by the side of the road.  I cannot anymore.

I cannot when I have been so deceived.

It appears to me what has happened was not actual events taking place in real time rather more like a video being displayed and shown in my head.  Otherwise, what was the point of making me so terribly ill and sick that lasted so many days?  If not to incapacitate or influence my brain and mind.

My desire for food has left me entirely.  Therefore, I am not really living anymore.  This was done purposefully.  Because I was writing to men.  Although not every writing was just to men, nonetheless, I was writing to men.

I have been segregated from the human population since before 2012.  I have been denied male companionship and male relationships since 2012.  Of course, my whole being, and body is in such need and want I cannot put the feeling and emotion into words.

There is no reason I should be separated or segregated from the entire human population and male relationships.  None.  It is immoral.

I will not apologize for deleting apps or devices or games that used me to control my purchases and freedom of choice.

Every day I go to work to be yelled at, made fun of, laughed at, put-down, made to feel less than, treated as though my life is meaningless while being denied human relationships, my animals, and male relationships.

I do not have a choice.

You do.

Life is meant to be enjoyed.  No, I do not want to hurry up.  I want to enjoy my life, my work, and what I am doing.

Can you imagine this – this has been my life since 2014.  Hurry up, be a race car driver – now.  Hurry up, be an actor – now.  Hurry up, be a comedian – now.  Hurry up, be a detective – now.  Hurry up decode – now.  Hurry up, be an activist – now.  Hurry be, a leader – now.  Hurry up, be an artist – now.  Hurry up, and cry – now.

At the drop of a dime I have been expected to change from one “role” to another as if that is at all possible.

For instance, if a person is a race car driver they live on the track.  Spending time there.  Mentally preparing.  Training and so forth.  A person does not fall in and out of a career path, or job like you are changing the subject in a conversation.

It is the same if a person is a leader, manager, or any other job.

Truthfully, I am not interested in writing at the moment about the black truck I saw on my way home from work yesterday.  Not enough has been done for me.  Showing me a civic in a garage is not enough.

This idea of not really communicating does not work in this capacity.  It never has.

This is nothing personal Barack Obama.  I am simply demanding I receive more acknowledgement, credit, and the right to my own life and opinion.

I am beyond tired of being turned into a yelling machine.

What I see anymore is the only reason for persons to be placed in my vision is to create this false immersion experience that tries to make me believe I am participating in a movie or experience that I am not, and to sway my movie purchases.

I see no reason anymore for privileged conversations.

Talking Computer: Privileged Communication – June 13, 2018

1. I am here at my computer because I have nowhere else to get rid – if nothing else – of this information.
2. If I see any more pictures and so on like my post about Religious Experience I do not feel it is in my best interest to share on my blog. However, I want to share it.  Otherwise, what is the point of seeing it.
3. I am at a loss again because it seems I am the only one who does not understand what is going on. I don’t like this.  I never have.
4. Now, I am having a problem with the head gear. Did I arrive at that conclusion or did someone place it in my head?  The past I can be certain of because your mind tricks were not there.  So, I am unable to fully appreciate, grasp, feel compelled, or believe.

I believe I did say it my head that the hunched or turtle-backed man seemed grateful.  He was the man on the left in 12 Strong and the man at the meeting was on the right.  I saw this burden for his people similar to a robe – not a bathrobe, a royal robe, draped down his back past the sides and back of his body.  He has a great love for his people.  I saw rocks in the landscape of his country, I could almost see the shape of his country.  The rocks were pitted with holes, burrows, wind and water erosion, of this like.  I saw there must be natural beauty, with water.

I believe that was his daughter that I saw.  It was a close match, but not really.  I saw bubbly, light things, like pop culture.  However, it is not in any dismissive way.  She is educated.  I just saw things she is interested in.  How much she is shielded from the problems and hard decisions.

Was this real or put into my head?

The other man, I felt he was studying me for some royal reason.  This made me a little crazy.  Looking at me to see and judge if I could be related.  I didn’t respond to the black and white motorcycle jacket because it was too vague its meaning could not be certain.

Now, I believed it was he who used the “helmet” for lack of a better word that felt like I had been lifted up a few inches or I was standing taller and it was – serene.  He did so, I believe, to show where he thinks from.  It demonstrates great purposeful thought.  Also, what he has and who he is goes beyond loyalty or duty.

I always return to if I was any good.  If I was special I wouldn’t be where I am.

June 15, 2018 – 4:15 am.

Conspiracy Theory: A reason for a good news story would be able to divert attention and resources away from another story or event from being interfered with.  Such as the Casey Anthony story that doesn’t make sense to me.  The Boston Marathon bombing.  Lots of stories that don’t make sense to me.  They could be true.  I just don’t understand them.

Conspiracy Theory:  Because it does not make sense that Princess Diana’s driver was allowed to drink alcohol.  It appears as if no one was supposed to survive that crash.  So, if no one was supposed to survive then it would be a suicide car killing.  Who would have anything to gain if they were killed?  None of it really adds up for me.  I could not see anything from the crash photos because they are soooooooooo – touched – for lack of a better word.  Because the driver was allowed to drink alcohol it implies complicity.  How is it that the driver was not watched or governed?  Unless, the driver never had any alcohol and it was placed by some other means into his system.

A head on crash, where there were no cars impeding traffic.  I remember something about motorcycles, however that seems so unlikely to be able to cause a crash.  It looks deliberate.

This is just a theory and thinking through thought and nothing more.  Don’t get carried away.

Beyond tired as I drag myself out of bed.  I nearly killed myself getting less than a few hours of sleep to write Two Presidents before I went to work.  For what?!  To constantly be told over and over again I am not good enough.  I am not valued.  I am not a valuable person not just to my employer, but to anyone?!

Last night I said, it must really be threatening to see a woman with physical strength.  Because I am trying to understand why they placed such a man in my brain.  I have an extremely physically demanding job.

I have no choice but to work or die.  I have no choice in where I work.

There was no other reporting or news of the events that took place on 4/23/2018 or 4/24/2018.  I believe much of what happened was not real – it was a trick.  You have lost all credibility with me.

This re-training and re-educated I have had to endure amounts to nothing more than the worst case, series, and experience of racism I have ever seen before under the disguise of work.

Am I the only one that can see how if EVERY single black man, woman, and child, every African-American man, woman, and child – IS A VILLAN – how unbelievably damaging, harmful, beyond any gross miscarriage of justice, it is sick and disgusting.

It is not merely a matter of actors portraying villains.

There is a way they have of being able to create a quasi-emotion in my head that is not real.  There is no reason for this.  There is no reason someone should be in my head creating an emotion or vision that is not real.

You chose wrong when you chose sports, you have lost all credibility for me.

If it is not real, I have no reason to protect anyone.

If it is not real, I have no reason to communicate with anyone about any threats, dangers, or persons.

You have not done enough for me.  Your communication sucks.  Your communication is beyond lousy.

Sat = San Antonio, Texas, Riverwalk.  AM = Ma.  My mother is dead.

When I am correct.  When I see someone and say, he is a good kid, his mother did a good job, or he is someone’s brightness and there are giggles around him.  If this is real and what I see alone – you have failed to give me the smallest amount of credit, communication, and acknowledgement.

You owe me more than a coke.

A small person is unwilling to give praise, or compliments, or credit, encouragement, what is done to me on a daily basis is shameful.

Where is the outrage that I must endure this life without a man of my own?

Since, it is not real I will be going public with my writings I believed were protecting information.

Every morning when I go to make coffee, there is Lambert talking and talking.  Still the skinny boy begging for food on the street.  Lambert lives off of love.  Truly what he lives for is love and to be loved.

He and I are not that different.  The only difference being I have gone my whole life without being loved.  I have only been able to give love.  I have yet to receive love.  My whole life.

I want my life back.  Virtual partners, virtual boyfriends, virtual is not living.  Virtual never works.  Not in the capacity that I have had to endure.

Dies = side

In all the writing I did in the last few days that is basically demanded of me and not of my own desire what I get in return is more demanding.

Seven feet tall?  I wish my vision had been better.  Something has to give way when so much is demanded everything is not possible or the world would be a different place.  It is as if those in charge how no understanding that time exists and takes – time.  It is not a video game.

Seven feet tall?  He was exceptionally tall.  As I was driving they were trying to make me laugh, I said no.  Why I had been thinking about Cirque du Soleil in Orlando, and the strong man, I have no idea.  He was my favorite.  I have no idea why.  I used to just watch him.  The movement.  How does someone come up with such a character?  There must be something else to him.  Had I known my brain and what it was capable of I might have had better understanding.  He is not an obvious choice for a favorite.  Then, he went away and was replaced with another man who was not the same for me.

I believe he is Russian.  The strong man that I thought was so interesting to watch.

If you do not see the connection it is because I watched Stargate where reading and writing were not allowed, and I had not yet written about Cirque or the strong man.

They want me to write about Tuesday, she loved Bear.  Tuesday used to let Babee Bear bathe her like a mother cat would do.  It was somewhat difficult to watch at times.  Tuesday loved Bear, almost devoted to Bear.  Must have been a protector and provider kind of thing, or simply because he had so much person about him.

Babe Bear was my cat.  He was entirely devoted to me.  Walking the perimeter of our house chasing other cats off his property.

Because Bear was so important to me Thursday made sure he was friends with Bear too, he also loved Bear.  Bear was always patient with these two younger kittens.  Even though he was in a great deal of pain.  It was not just in his walk, I could see his pain.

Bear was not the most photogenic, I think because he was looking at me and not the camera.  Thursday knew the camera was ok.  He said its fine, take a picture.  He was my brightness.

Not every person has a human animal bond experience and until you have you will never truly appreciate it and its loss.

I am not interested in giving attention to those I believe are unworthy of my time and attention.  I will not write about either of them.

Full Sail University = FSU = Florida State University believes they are doing something clever, I find it dangerous and unwise.  I will write no more.

Taliban = IT, AL, Alabama, al – Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Paul Simon, ban = denied access.

I miss writing in food.  I am too heavy.  No desire for food.

If you have missed it two men are out of my mind, heart, and life for me.

Problems have consequences.  Men who allow problems and consequences of no merit – Someone has to be held responsible for what happens to me.  When all that I do is what is asked of me and I am too sick and disheartened to continue writing the rest of the sentence.

The brown-eyed man on the side of the road, it is final for me.  I cannot pretend anymore.

The wax-man, it is the same.  I am tired of being lied to and mind games that were not real.

What is the point of these people if I can see without them?  You chose wrong.  It will never be sports.

Did I or did I not see Marcel Marceau?  That is a relative of his?  Did I not see that?  Or did you?

You must confess and admit my vision far exceeds what you think is vision.

People do not look to a television program to tell you the truth of the reality.  It is only entertainment.

He, Marceau wanted to entertain and have a conversation at the table.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.  Because that would be entertaining and interesting.

I want my life back.

If you think I am going to change anymore from wearing jeans while at work, you are mistaken.  I saw you.  I will not be wearing shorts anymore.

If you think I am going to wear athletic or yoga pants at work to be destroyed, you are mistaken.

Taliban = IT, Information Technology, LA, Los Angeles or the state of Louisiana, ban, denied access.

There was an incident I had with my mother at a Ruby Tuesday, I was so upset I was going to go back and let it be known.  However, not every battle won, is won through words.

Your sports request is DENIED!  As it has been from the beginning.

If you think, I am going to write a piece about the white hate group beating up gays and laughing about it, then you are mistaken.

Your mind tricks have proven to me to be nothing more.

I am fucking pissed.

I want my life back.

If you think I am doing anything other than wearing clothes I have as I take out the trash, you are mistaken.

If you think I am going to apply for jobs and STOP because of any wording such as purple eater, then you are mistaken.  If I did not apply for a job ever again because of a number, location, or any wording I would never get anywhere!

I want another job.

You fucking morons!

This is nothing more than busy work!

I have done nothing these last three days other than write – to correct!  Non-stop!  Without a break!

Fuck off!

These are two stories I had started to write many years ago.  This is the sort of writing I had wanted to do when I moved here.  It is the sort of writing I want to do with my cat stories that I have tried to work on and develop.

 How do I get to have my life back where other people’s wants for my life – leave?

 

There once was a mouse

with velveteen fur, and whiskers and toes of white.

He was grey from his ears

right down to his tail

and his belly was full

from the treats he had stole.

His toes would curl

with the sound of a girl

who would giggle with glee at his sight.

She would hold and caress him

but never address him

as a feline, a cat, or a kitten.

He was far too mature

to care or be cured

of knowing that he was a mouse.

“Mouse,” she would say.

“Where have you been today?  In the field over the way?  Or down by the stream?

““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

There once was a mouse

who lived in a house

who loved to play with lizards.

He would frolic and play

then sleep all the day.

 

Let me paint the picture of the events that took place on April 23, 2018.  I am a real person and not a machine.

Pulling up to the gas station, I park at the number eight pump, I do this for my blog – for this reason alone.

A woman in front of me with blonde hair touches her left rear pocket.  This means nothing to me.

To my left a non-descript vehicle of a hunter-green color.  Reminiscent of the hunter green phase in the nineties.  It is facing the opposite direction from me with no person around it.

I feel I can step out of my vehicle.

Looking around I see no one else other than a vehicle parked in a parking spot with no persons near it in sight.

There is only one door to enter the gas station.  Nothing on the doors, walls, or cameras that read to me.

Up to here this is pretty much in real time.  I am writing as the events and my eyesight took place.  For you to understand my brain, how my eyesight works you will need to imagine these next few minutes – as it is only a matter of minutes – as stop motion.  As though the world as I see it stops in time, in place as I view them.

Buckle up.

I walk into the gas station, male gas attendants behind the counter – stop.

Turning my head to the right, I see two men and a woman pretending to browse the store by the hot dog machine and cooler doors – stop.

Walking ahead, I approach the men behind the counter – stop.

Immediately a man with glasses and a beard of brown skin takes me to the other register without speaking – stop.

As I walk to the other register, I look at the men I am walking away from and the look in their eyes as I walk away – stop.

I pass a candy barrier the shape of a barrel where you can take candy items from either side or from the top.  In the display is Swedish Fish – stop.

I avoid the Swedish Fish because the last time a Swedish female actress rung me up at a gas station I was sent into months of sickness and illness.

Now, I am standing in front of the brown-skinned man, wearing glasses and a beard and I must speak to him, so I can purchase my gas, however there are other people talking – stop.

To the left appears a person almost solid in form, ghost-like, without the flowing, floating effect, I see talking.  I see talking to him the man I am trying to purchase gas from – stop.

Words appear in my mind – stop.

Another person on the right appears – stop.

More talking – stop.

The gas attendant is looking at me – stop.

It is hard to start speaking with all the other talking around me going on – stop.

To listen and speak at the same time – stop.

This gas man is different from the moment I see him – stop.

Besides not being the man, he appears to be – stop.

I tell him my gas order – stop.

Talking and talking and talking all around him – stop.

Worry, concern talk, talking, trying not to stress him, the gas man too much with how they talk to him, while stressing the great importance of doing the job well, concern, worry, talking and talking – stop.

I am trying to understand why there is all this worry and concern speech and talking surrounding this man – stop.

There were six men behind the corner now there are five behind the counter – at least one is wearing a moustache – because the man I am speaking to has walked to the other side – stop.

Worry, concern talking – stop.

Why is there so much worry and concern talking, I am wondering – stop.

The two men and the woman are moving around – stop.

I shift my gaze to check them – stop.

The transaction is taking a little time to go through, so I take the time to unload a grievance by saying, dumbest thing I ever had to do to get to a gas station.  Make left hand turns.

The gas station attendant says, I am trying to process that why would you have to make left-hand turns?

This is where I see you.  This is where I know I am speaking to Barack Obama – stop.

However, it does not appear to me in that moment who the person is, I simply knew in that moment I was not speaking to one person – stop.

I am looking at the gas station attendant because he should already know the reason for this.  For left-hand turns.

I am looking at him and I am not seeing anything that would answer my question – stop.

Why are the two cons in the corner still walking about – stop.

The two men in the convenience store with the woman are cons.  Now, just because they’ve done time doesn’t make them bad people.

I ignore the missed acknowledgment of left-hand turns – stop.

My mind’s gaze is on the cons – stop.

The brown-skinned gas attendant rolls his neck backward toward the wall of cigarettes – stop.

This is something, a move, a behavior my Lambert does.

Yes, please I would like a receipt.

I give the gas station attendant one last look before I leave – stop.

I look at the two men and the woman still shopping before I leave – stop.

I look at the men behind the counter before I leave – stop.

Real-time again.

I go to my car and pump the gas.

Then, before I am finished pumping my gas one of the cons walks to the parked car and stands at the back of it.

Backing up away from the ex-con, I exit the gas station.

Making sure I get to work on-time I park in the closest parking spot that happens to be, Red.

Not every time I see a person in disguise creates a stop-motion effect.

An African-American female walks past who is taller and looks different than the woman she is trying to disguise herself as – this is one of the Obama’s daughter.  I will not guess.  I do not access to enough accurate information to say with certainty.

When I arrive at work I am assigned a station to go to.  There is already someone in the station I have been assigned to.  I will never understand this thinking.  Go someplace to go someplace again.  I never know what to say to people who are already working there.  So, I say, are you leaving?

I imagine the person already knows they are leaving the station because I am trying to find a logical explanation as to why I am assigned a work station if someone is already working there.

The reaction of my co-worker when I asked her is she was leaving – stop.

This is where I see Michelle Obama.

Now, due to time constraints I will need to condense the events.  This has taken several hours to write so far.  Fact, this writing is not as simple as it appears to be.

Also, muddling has occurred in my mind and memory for many reasons.  I am up against corporations, companies, and hundreds and hundreds of employees, people and money.

I am only one person.  I have feelings and emotions.  I am still grieving.

Speaking with Michelle Obama about immigration and the need for private companies, not just government policies and involvement, but private companies and private and public citizens to take an interest in the benefit in the welfare of Mexico and Mexican citizens.

The need for grassroots involvement with people, face to face conversations and involvement.  It needs more than merely throwing money at a problem.  Because the problem is not about immigration.  The problem is much bigger and greater than immigration or crossing the border for an American life.

Then, the yelling happened.

Hearing what I believed to be this attractive man on the side of the road, I gave him a bit of my what for.  You know the saying, chewing ice is a sign of sexual frustration?

There is not enough ice in the world that could amount to the depth of my frustration and dissatisfaction with this life.

I told him to speak to me face to face.

Unaware that there were other people in the room, or I would have responded differently.

Yes, Mr. President, I heard you.  Yes, President Trump I heard you.

How many conversations can you listen to at the same time, President Trump?

I am unsure how many I can listen to.  It is not as easy as it appears to be.

You said a number, that I will not share.  You said a number for a reason.  For me to be able to connect and make a connection.

Due to the events of April 24, 2018 that number has less of an importance to me.  For more than one reason.  Certain displays have come under my scrutiny.

A dishonesty has been allowed, I believe.

I was asked that night if I would apologize knowing I had been in the room with the President.

This is a trick question.

It gets asked – a lot.

Face to face conversation are different.

This head-speak, they think is a clever way to create a real conversation when it is not.  It never can be.

Of course, if I knew who I was speaking to I would respond accordingly.  Most people do.  Of course, if I knew I might have offended or given away a confidence the man on the side of the road had in me, I would have spoken differently.

However, I do not apologize for speaking direct or bluntly.

Stand on my level, work in the way I must, work with the barriers, soggy underwear, then see if your speech and work is the same.

Stand on my level.

Now, you ask me former President Barack Obama why at a gas station I must make left hand turns?

Then, I have no idea how they got you to participate in the first place.

Let me share and explain to you how my “re-training, teacher training” has been done.

There have been many different variations shown, told, and “taught” to me.  Star Wars, court-case, black and white, men vs women, on and on.  However, if I was a person connected to any of the franchises that have been used to educate and retrain me I’d be more than upset.

What has been my education since electing you as President, since having to leave my job at The Container Store in 2014 is atrocious bordering on criminal behavior.  As I do not have the same rights and freedom as every US citizen.

I am not allowed to be outside in the daytime.

I am not allowed sun.

I am only allowed to be out in darkness and night.

I am not allowed to have men in my life.

I mean, honestly, I could go on for pages and pages of retraining I have endured that means nothing more than a means to control.

When, I, Cherith Gjestland, saw Sean Penn, on the left and Robin Wright, on the right standing side by side their son, Wolfie while you spoke through him.

Either that is real, or it is not.

It is one or the other.

It is possible that since on a lunch break I had a conversation with Sean Penn.  He told me he had a temper too.  I disagreed.  Mine is not a temper.  It is justifiable emotion.  Not exactly the same thing.

Robin Wright rang up a gas purchase for me at Thornton’s.  Also, I saw her at a park with kids while I was staying in Key West.

Perhaps because I had more communications with these persons that is why I was able to see them.  Or, I guess it is nothing more than a trick to fool me.  Either way, there is no excuse whatsoever to re-educate a human being into an animal or baby of any kind.

I am an intelligent woman, I deserve to be treated as such.

So, does every person, of every color, of every size and shape, of every economic level and background, regardless of their sexual orientation, or religion.

I who have had to endure being spoken to in my head over and over, nigger lover, the n-word over and over while I scream back in and out of my head, you are not allowed to use that word.

Ask Denzel Washington, he tried to say it in my head, playing around-like.  I told him, no.

What could have been a grand event, gesture, or writing has been permanently damaged with potty-training, diapers, rape, unwanted attentions, that is just to name a few.

I, who have seen two African-American women, knew they were related, and seen how they behave toward one another.  The anger, biting, bitter, mean, nasty, hurtful, terrible words and deeds they have done to one another.  One woman is a police officer and she has tried, really tried to be a better person in her family, yet she is not blameless.  The other woman, they try to play it off as a form of communication, this is how we speak to one another, laughing on the surface, full of rage, anger and bitterness underneath.  And, it is such an ugliness and vileness I cannot stand to see it in my head.

What I see has nothing to do with the color of their skin, their economic background, their jobs, their clothes, or anything else.

It hurts me.  It literally, physically hurts me when I see such things.

It is a family in hurting.  They are mean to each other and hurt because of it.  It has nothing to do with their skin color.

I, who see a young man walk by and can see the great things he will accomplish and do in the world.  I who see the careful, purposeful planning his parents have done.  How his parent fought, disagreed on his purpose and direction, very few times he has had to interrupt and say his mind to his parents.  How much work his parents have done to make sure he is a good steward, humble, such good work he will do.  I have no idea why he is still here when he should be doing important work.

What a great man he will become.  I call him Ever So.

It has nothing to do with the color of his skin, his education, or his background.

Either these things are real, or they are not.

It is not the first time I have seen greatness.

Or, I wouldn’t have voted otherwise.

The relevance of this eludes me.

I wish I had never moved here.

When we moved here, my brother asked me to go to Toy’s R Us and buy Formula 1 and Assassin’s Creed X-box games with a check he signed.  It seemed unlike him as he has never asked me to do such a thing before.

The connection being my boyfriend had given me a signed check to pay for the abortion of his child.

Why this should be anyone’s business or public knowledge leaves me more than angry.  They had no right to do what they did.

My mother enjoyed so much The Saint.  I thought it was an unusual movie choice for her.  She never told me why.  All the years later, she never spoke of it.

I wonder if she would feel the same today – if she was alive.

Ain’t nobody happy.

The saying is a little different, yet the meaning here is still the same.

And, I ain’t happy.  Not for a long time now.

If you had any idea how much the Bluetooth – a generic name – is able to steal from me before I can lay down the law about the wrongdoings, illegal entries, illegal procurements of documents, emails, text messages, thoughts, copyright infringements, not to mention the priceless value of years of a person’s life, you would be outraged.

Any entry into my home other than me – is illegal.

There should not be another person in the WORLD who has a copy of my home or car key.  End of discussion.

Ain’t nothing but a thing, chicken wing.  This was my response to Beth Hart.  I felt it said a great deal about her.  She is casual, approachable, and unencumbered with formalities.

Not much different was my response to Joe Bonamassa.  He, like Gary Oldman, looked a bit like, is this really gonna work?  There is not much to say when I am packing.

I, of course, am at a loss as to why this is such a big deal to everyone.

I know I sing my fool head off on my phone and in my home to unplug my head.  I let out when it feels good.  Haven’t you ever felt so much you just had to let it out?  Same thing.

I am not proud of my singing.  I do it because I want to and because I believe I can.  However, if I was any good, I wouldn’t be where I am.

Before anyone starts to get any notions about why I did not order pizza from Papa John’s after the visit from part of the Goo Goo Dolls and crew family?  As other people are fully aware the last time I was at a Goo Goo Dolls concert at City Walk, Universal Studios in Orlando, Florida, I felt literally green around the gills.

You know, in the movies where – I think there is one in Raiders of The Lost Ark – where the character (Harrison Ford) walks away from the camera and debris and dust form clouds falling away as he walks.  This is how I felt.

There were clove cigarettes, cherry cigarettes, tobacco cigarettes, all different flavors of cigarettes, and green smoke.  Or, pot.  It was a puff, puff, pass…WTF?!  I don’t think so.  I was so not interested.

My memory of the concert is tainted by the smoke.  I barely remember anything else.

Laws have changed since then.

I was going to include this in another piece I wrote while a good man was present, however my Coffee and Breakfast pieces are at a stand still as I am fucking pissed.

Florida was the last state to amend its state constitution allowing women the right to vote.  Can you believe that?  I can.  Guess when this great state decided that perhaps women were smart enough to think on their own and deserved the right to vote?  Any guesses?

1971.

You gotta be fucking kidding me?!

I’m sorry, say again?!  When did The United States amend the constitution allowing women to vote?

Anyone know?

1920, The Nineteenth Amendment.

Please, can you tell me why it took so long to amend the state constitution?  This is not, I repeat, not merely about women being allowed to vote.  This makes me angry, and I bring this point up – constantly – because this is about a mindset.

A mentality that is allowed to continue after votes have been counted, marches have been waged, protests have happened, and history has been made on television.

Why is such a mindset allowed to continue?

Why has such a mindset been allowed to continue?

Yes, they changed the constitution – finally.

But, it is not enough.

The acceptance of behaviors and attitudes in our culture must never allow for ignorance, bigotry, and small-minded-ness.

Ever.

Are we, or are we not the greatest country, this United States?

I believe we are.

As long as we believe we all are.

On my drive the other day, I saw a woman who had cancer although doing well.  To me it seemed, I said I would have to do research to give a better answer.  It was as if her systems, organs were not working as they should.

One lending itself to the other.  If you look at a highway system from the sky, you see the cars going up and down and around, moving systems.  Flowing.  This is how it should be.  Something is creating a problem.

Someone asked me if I thought she should go on a fast, I said no.  It could upset her system.  Not everything is the same.  I am also, not a doctor or a medical practitioner.  I saw her husband, who loves her, very much.

An African-American woman aware of what she is capable of, married to a man who was smart to marry her.

Then, there was the horse.  Riding along in the trailer, saying, I have no idea why we are going for a ride.  I was just fine, then they told me to go in the trailer and here I am.  This horse likes his or her home.  A good-natured horse, easily managed, not too picky.

I heard there was a bit of a disagreement in the barn.

Something or some horse just needs to be changed.  Then, whichever horse it is would say, Now, was that so difficult?