Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought to Light

New Year’s Eve 2012

Sitting side by side with a white-haired old man, drinking and talking politics, I spent New Year’s Eve in a stranger’s backyard as I tried to move on with my life.  A phone call from a friend asking if I wanted to spend New Year’s Eve at a small house party.  Was I going to get out of this house?  Yes?  I’ll go.

My hair and make-up – this is an important point because I no longer know how to wear make-up – was done so that I looked my best.  Wearing my emerald colored blouse that had a casual sophistication, black leggings to flaunt my gorgeous new body, and ballet-style shoes to keep the look a refined simple elegance, I walked out of my house meeting the gaze of a man on a motorcycle across the street from my house.  Who in turn looked like he was in shock.

That looks like David, I thought to myself.

I tried to get a better look at him as I drove by yet, he turned his head as far away from me as he could.  Hours later I am in a someone’s backyard drinking and talking with this white-haired old man who suddenly asks me to have lunch with him.  As much as I was enjoying the conversation, I was not about to lead this old man on.  I did not want him to believe I was after him for his money.  Isn’t that usually what happens?  An old man with money seeks out a younger woman to show-off his success?  It is what I thought at the time.

After midnight, a sort of contest started between this old man and a young kid (he was probably in his twenties which makes him a kid when you are twenty years older than him) about who was going to take me home – in a manner of speaking.  I don’t think like a man, so I had no idea what was going on at the time.

This kid was no match for me because I would have won every single argument or conversation.  It wasn’t even worth my time to show teacher how uninteresting it is to watch me rule over a man.  I was light years smarter, more intellectual, had more experience, more ideas, thoughts about how the world should be, I could go on and on – I think you get my point.

I hope you get the idea.

One, was not a match because he was too old, not how I wanted to spend my time.  As an old man’s way of getting back at the world, and making himself feel better.  The kid was not a match or interesting because I would have been the one to make every decision, and probably pay for everything too – story of my life.  Do you know how many men have used me for free food and drink?!  It is so depressing.

Somewhere in the middle of the evening, I took a picture.  A quick snap from my phone with my friends on either side of me.  Here I am, deflecting my good looks in a self-deprecating way, playing down what could be perceived as intimidating beauty, I stuck my tongue out to the side with playful innocence, and looking out of my eyes to speak flirtatious fun.

Months and months afterwards, I signed up with an on-line site hoping to find a man to love who would love me in return.  I used that New Year’s Eve photograph in my profile because it was such a great photo of me.  Wish I still had it.  However, in the background of the photo, sitting down is that old man.  That old man stuck his head in my photo.  Why did that old man stick his head in my photograph?  I cropped out the old man sitting down with the Maryland crab artwork on the wall.

Before arriving at that New Year’s Eve party, I got the signal from the go-ahead letting me know I was not alone which colors everything for me.  My perception, my feelings, my mood.  It changes things that I do not understand in each exact moment.

Here I am five years later, I still do not understand why David Wolfe stuck his head in my photograph.


Coffee and Breakfast

December 31, 2017

This is what I was thinking, Coffee and Breakfast will be one of my regular postings.  I will write in food to share my thoughts, for those like me who are at present unable to create their own diet, meal plans, dining experience, menu, or grocery list, and are simply missing the joy of food, breaking bread, and sharing it with loved ones, family, and friends.

This is not a special New Year’s Eve for me, this morning all I can manage is water.  A pitcher of ice-cold water, and nothing else.  My bad belly feels like a medicine ball has been lodged where my intestines should be, my whole body is bloated and swollen, so I am miserable.  I want to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my face, and just die.  I am so miserable.  I can’t even manage coffee today.  It is a bad, bad, bad, day for me.

Do not even get me started on my underwear situation.  You will hear more from me later on the matter.  I mention it only to get it out, so that it is known how miserable I am.

Perhaps another day I will feel better, more like my old self again, and not like some caricature of someone else’s idea of a character that does not even resemble me in any way shape or form, and I will be able to give of myself through writing in food.

Unfortunately, I cannot give you anything more today.

I hope everyone else will be able to celebrate New Year’s with a kiss, I will not.  Just like every year anymore.  It’s been decades since I’ve had a man to kiss.  How depressing.  For a woman like me forced to live the rest of her life alone.  How long can that last?  Of course my opinions have changed about people given that fact.

Coffee and Breakfast

Here I am eyes swollen shut, and miserable because it is more important to have my house clean before I leave for work.  Why?  Because of those fucking trolls!

Will another set of locks help?  How many do I have to go through?

Will another job help?  Is that what will keep the fucking trolls away?

So unhappy.

Drinking left-over coffee, dried-out taste-less baked items for breakfast because I have to hurry up before the trolls get here.

Oh yeah, and more bad dreams.

Will someone please keep these trolls away from me, and out of my life for good!

Here’s hoping everyone else is having a better day, time, life, and food than I am.

Declassified Files: A Series of True Events Being Brought to Light

July 6, 2017, July 7, 2017, July 8, 2017

To J                           ,

This is a little FYI, it is not important to me to keep the same people (character’s) around me.  I know that none of it is real it is not in me to pretend to talk to people as there is no way to make a connection or create relationships.

I believe it is completely unfair to not allow me to get another          , or to end this.  I am sick and tired of being used as a science experiment.

I want James Franco denied all access to me.  He can never make up for the harm he’s caused me, or others have caused in his name.

You know something has to be done – I do not enjoy not being able to have my own freedom of choice.  Instead of working around my choices of purchases items are placed in front of me which pressure me into a purchase I would not normally make for financial reason, or because I feel like eating, or wanting something different.  It is not fair to me.  And, I am fed up with not being allowed to choose for myself without any repercussions!!

Do you know how organized I used to be?!  I didn’t used to have to even think about it, I just knew the answer.  I knew in my head.  I didn’t have to search through hours and hours of paperwork to get order back again.

Am I not allowed to ever have          red or otherwise ever again?

I am at an end.  Because of the faucets and what happened to my hands.  Because you allowed me to brush my teeth therefore ingesting that into my system I no longer wish to continue.  That breech in security has caused an absolute shut-down in my brain and mind.  I am so depressed.  I am so disgusted.

Do you know how I know this is in no way about love?  If you love someone you let them go.  I have written this before because this has been shoved in my face so many times before.  I was happy for David Wolfe and his love and happiness.  Because even if it came at the expense of my own heart break as long as he was happy, I was happy for him.  But, the real truth is I was never in love with him.  There is a difference.  I keep repeating it because it has been repeated over and over to me…1, 2, 3 for going on three years now.  How unfair it is to me to not be able to make new friends, or memories while everyone else gets to live their life.

So unhappy.

Going through all the bankruptcy stuff it is so hurtful realizing how people have lied to me and for so long.  Telling me                  I didn’t have to worry about bankruptcy or paying my bills because it was going to end soon and I wouldn’t have to worry about money then.  That went on               for a while.

I am so devastated by the events and security breach of the faucets, I do not want to continue.  I do not want to write anymore.  I know you do not like to hear this, however it is the truth.  I would rather kill myself than to continue living like this.  I do not have the mental ability to now find a doctor to figure out what is growing underneath my skin, on top of the bankruptcy, on top of all the lies about my mother’s death, on top of all the misdirection and miscommunication.

The toll this has taken in my body is tremendous.  If it ended today I wouldn’t get out of my bed for months.

I’m spent mind, body, and soul.

So here I trying to tell you everything before I have to rush out the door – not looking like myself at all – and it is impossible to get it all done and live at the same time.

I am gonna forget things I want to tell you for clarification and whatnot in the process.

They should have been kept me at The Container Store if people wanted to talk and interact with me, then at TCS I was surrounded by products I enjoyed, employees who cared about each other.                   Because I felt I was doing something worthwhile when I worked there.  I have never felt that since.

Because of the faucet situation I feel compelled to no longer wear my Reebok shoes.  They have taken on a meaning that I do not subscribe to and have never subscribed to.  Plus, I am so disturbed by the violation of trust; I feel my shoes along with wanting to share thanks, gratitude, and what I see in people ended.  It shut a door in my heart, and I’ve locked it for my protection.

The dressing of me and connecting to purchases such as gas, garbage, and so forth is oppressive!  It is asinine.  It has stifled any form of creative expression I would ever be able to make.  Because somewhere along the lines someone allowed a person to have control over my life and force me to only have one option and if I did not do otherwise, I was penalized, punished, and humiliated.

I want my life back.

Cherith J Gjestland

PS The reason I did not have the H&D coffee was due to the           on the paper packaging.  Now, my             coffee is ruined since I went to the mailbox it no longer has any flavor.  – Fucker!

Notes from The Director’s Chair: Wonderstruck

I apologize that I do not have more to offer on this one, but it is simply too long ago already that I do not have much more to go on.  Also, the fact that I was misdirected into my movies and theater had an effect on my viewing of the film.

In case that was too sublte, knock it the fuck off!  Stop allowing others to play dirty!  It is ruining everything for everyone – fucking cowards!

I do appreciate the sharing and exposure of the deaf world to the hearing world.  There is not enough done, in my opinion, to expose the world and audiences to others, to people of different cultures rather than what is fashionable, chic, trendy, or popular.

Also, I have great appreciation for what it feels like personally, as well as, from others I have known, to be unheard, misunderstood, and/or unable to communicate.  It is a terrible pain to not be heard, or able to communicate.  Brother, let me tell you.

You will probably find this hard to believe, but casting Millicent Simmonds was a lucky find for everyone.  It is a tenuous task to go from the deaf world to the hearing world.  It is very difficult to show and express which she did quite well.

I apologize I do not have more to give you other than that at this time.  For, I cannot see more in my head, I cannot see it in my head any more than that.

I am sure some people wanted more than this, but I cannot give any more than I already am.

Notes From The Director’s Chair: The Darkest Hour

In watching The Darkest Hour I was expecting to take away two – please, do me a great service and do not get hung up on the number – certainties.  I knew I was going to enjoy Joe Wright.  I knew I was going to enjoy Gary Oldman.  How much and the extent of my enjoyment was entirely left up to them and what they put on the screen.

It’s a shame – for me – that I was not able to write this when it was fresh in my mind.  I am only human, even if others disagree with me and believe I have super human powers.  The truth is I do not, for I break all the time.  I live in a constant state of delirious sleep-deprivation not to mention actual relaxation, and un-plugging of my brain.  A lot of what I was going to write about Joe Wright is gone at the moment.  I am sorry, Joe Wright.  I cannot offer more at this time.  There is only so much I can do and retain.

I want to mention this too, I am writing this one first because of what Joe Wright and Gary Oldman gave me in viewing the film.  If for any reason there is any debate, or contest between the movies I write about.  I chose to look beyond the smoking cigar and watched the performance.  I am an extremely demanding audience.  I am probably the worst audience a director, actor, producer, or anyone in the movie industry would want in the theater.

See, I knew I was going to enjoy Joe Wright because I have seen Pride and Prejudice more than once.  I believe it to be one of the most different of the Pride and Prejudice’s.  From the moment – No, I stopped myself just now, I was about to go on about Pride and Prejudice, but that is another movie.  I don’t want to take anything away The Darkest Hour.

Joe Wright has an eye for beautiful.  He creates it in every film.  He creates moments in every film he makes.  The running across the screen cut-aways – fantastic – it is a movie in itself.  It is complete.  It needs no beginning, no end, it exists on its own.  Audibly fantastic.

Looking up from his computer screen, other than being a darker version of himself, I have no idea what else he looked like, for I did not see him as the altered version of himself trying to blend in with my surroundings.  I saw beyond him.  I saw him as he was, in that moment looking at me, before the actor took over and started working.  Gary Oldman looked at me from the corner of his eye with an almost timid curiosity, is this going to work, how is this going to work, is she going to recognize me, what will she think of me?

You are going to hear this from me more often, perhaps to the great begrudging of others as I am constantly asked for words to define the moment, or a person, or a place, etc.  Although some things defy words, can only be felt, and experienced.  It was the briefest of glances.  But, I saw him and knew him in that moment.  However, as not much has changed since then, I was miserable.  So, my experience, the experience of seeing others is controlled by how little I enjoy my present.  But, do not forget or mistake me, I saw him, and I knew him.

What fun!  I exclaimed this over and over while watching Gary Oldman in The Darkest Hour.

I will say this first because it is one of the first thing I noticed about Gary Oldman as Winston Churchill.  He must have loved and hated the experience.  I could be wrong, and that is ok.  However, what I saw was the joy of being able to portray a character.  I saw the love and enjoyment he had for being a character.  I knew this from watching him in other films because is there anything that Gary Oldman cannot act in?  Nope.  He is one of those great actors with ego he takes to the stage, then sheds his ego for the character.  I love it.  It is very rare.

He loved it, to be able to play such a character, and hated it for the bodily form he had to endure to play Winston Churchill.  It must have been annoying and wearisome to be burdened with a heavy body – it is what I saw.

Being able to wipe the floor with someone.

This is what I say when I know with such certainty that there is no one greater than me in the room.  I know what it feels like to be in front of an audience, or crowd, and perform, or audition knowing that no one is looking at anyone else other than me.  To command complete attention.  To fill the entire room with my presence.  So, I know it when I see it in others, and I have seen other actors just wipe the floor with another actor.  We all have.

Here is Gary Oldman in front of the camera, delivering a performance unlike any other.  Yet, the best – for me – was not that he could wipe the floor with any of his fellow actors.  Because he could have.  He could have wiped the floor with any of them.  The best part was watching Gary Oldman egging on his fellow actors, come on!  Match me!  Be here with me in this moment!  Egging them on and cheering for them in the same moment!  Fantastic!  Scene after scene!  Do you have any idea how fucking rare that is for an actor to purge ego for the greater good of the film, project, character, and audience?!  I fucking do!

It was fucking fantastic to witness and watch!  A battle not to compete, but to perform.

So, here is the thing.  I have had this idea of writing film appreciations for more than a decade.  Since, at the moment, it is killing me to write I am uncertain how much more I want to watch and write about.  If, however, I do continue to watch and write – be prepared.  For I want it all on the screen.  I want everything an actor, director, writer, producer, every single person on the crew has to give, and then I want some fucking more.  Do not let me see a cheapened, hollowed-out, imitation, or copy of a person, or character.  I want all your blood, sweat, pain and agony, defeat, your tears, your burden, your joy, your sweet and simple, your fucking disgusting, your rage and compassion.  Do not chicken-out on me.  I want the expanse of your universe shoved down into that deepest well of truth we all have and hold onto, shove it down, then given with precision and purpose.

For I will take nothing less.

Coffee To The Power Of Three

On my third cup of coffee, so blurry-eyed tired I am just starting to see clearly.  As I could barely see my writing when I woke up with all the grammatical mistakes for someone reminded me I left out a portion in my Great Expectations piece earlier.

I am so tired my face hurts.  I know it hurts to look at me too.  Making my second pot of coffee wishing the coffee was stronger.  Perhaps I am in such a way that no amount of caffeine can bring me back.

Wish I was hungry enough to write about it, but I still have no appetite – not even for sausage.  Now, you know there is a problem when this girl doesn’t want to put sausage in her mouth.  Because sausage and me are never going to break up.

Papaya, earlier I felt like eating papaya which I believe speaks to my bad, hurting, upset belly because papaya has enzymes that is the most I can give you.

Killing myself writing and I don’t know why.  I am killing myself on my days off writing, why?!  I mean, I don’t get paid for it, it doesn’t get me anywhere in life other than more stressed and tired, and further behind in chores as I have piles of other day-to-day work piling up that I have no help with.  It is overwhelming and burdensome.  I can’t stand the amount of time it takes hours and hours, and hours and hours, and hours and hours, man – no joke.  Ugh!


Trying to get ahead of someone who had it easy for months getting one or two posting a day.  Now, I have to – for some reason – hurry up and get it all done in one or two days off?  I don’t know why I am doing it.

Why am I killing myself writing?

Notes From The Director’s Chair: Great Expectations


What is he…

What is he doing?

Wait, what is he doing with that boy?

Is that boy in trouble?

What is he going to do to the boy?

No, don’t hurt him!

Is he going to hurt him?

Wait, is he…

Is he, ok…

Is he an ok man?

Why is that boy outside by himself anyway!

He could get hurt!

He can barely see with all that fog.

Don’t hurt that boy.

What is that boy doing anyway?!

Why is he outside?

Why is he alone?

This is me at eight years old falling in love with my first movie – true story.

Sitting on the lowest floor of our split-level home in Oregon that was built into the earth where the view from the windows met the ground outside.  An unlit wood stove in the corner, afternoon light filling the room, a twin bed tucked up against the other wall, I am sitting as close and as far away from the television as possible.  A butt lift, and a stretch away.

There was no remote control, I was the remote control.  There wasn’t cable television.  There were three, sometimes four channels, and depending on the time of the day it was possible to get one or two more channels.  So, I sat so that my greatest effort amounted to me lifting my bum, stretching out my arm to change channels when bored.  And, that was a great effort.

Black and white, David Lean’s Great Expectations had transfixed me.  I don’t think I started breathing again until Pip went home to eat with his family as Mrs. Joe starts bleating on and on, I nearly raised my bum to change the channel.

I am glad I did not lift my bum, for if I had I would have missed meeting Miss Havisham.  Wow!  I couldn’t believe my eyes.  At eight years old to see a person portrayed with such grotesque interest.  Miss Havisham is disgusting, cruel, and mean, however to look at her you know there must be more to the story.  For who would spend their entire life mourning in their wedding dress for the happiness and happy ending that never arrived or happened.  Setting their anger on its heel with such salivating, sharp, jaw snapping anger that the audience cannot help but feel pity, compassion, and revulsion at the same time.

I disagree greatly with Charles Dickens’ ending to Great Expectations, however much I enjoy Dickens.  He has such a way with characters.  I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve read Great Expectations.  It wasn’t until high school that I got to read Dickens’ Great Expectations.  There is not another writer like Charles Dickens who can capture the human spirit, condition, and struggle to hold onto our own humanity despite ourselves, in spite of our own self, or because of our self.

As the story of my life goes – film first with reading to follow.  But, that was it.  I was hooked, I became a cinephile in that moment when the boy on the screen pulled me in, worrying for him, caring about his safety, wanting to reach across the screen and join him.

It never left me over the years, I thought I was going to attend film school.  I had done my research on schools, Florida State University was my first choice, I thought it was the most logical choice since I lived in Florida.  And, from what I understood about the program I thought it would give me a good foundation for film making even if the school was not able to keep up with the ever-changing world of film making.

My other choice which was a complete fantasy because I couldn’t afford a state university let alone a school abroad, but I wanted to go to Bath, England and attend their film school.  I believed it would offer me a different academic film experience that I would not receive stateside.

I also auditioned for Southern Methodist University trying to get into a school that would or could offer me more than what I already knew or expected.  For I already had the basic information and knowledge of acting, writing, storytelling, and film making, I just did not have the practical experience which is what I was after –  the experience of it.

Also, I have said this before, I wanted to go to film school to learn about writing, directing, and producing to make films, so I could give myself a job.  Because director’s look over me and did not hire me.  I mean look at me.  So, if I didn’t belong in front of the camera, then at least I could work behind the camera where no one could see me.

Like most things in this life, my ideas, my thoughts, my plans are too grand and big for this world – for the world I live in.

That boy in the movie, I was so worried for that boy in the movie, I had to watch the rest to make sure he was going to be ok.

So, I did.

Emergency Prayer

I have said this prayer for many years now.  Every time I see an ambulance, an accident, a fire, a problem where emergency vehicles are required – especially when I am driving.


Please send help to those people in trouble, and hurting, who need it.  ASAP.

Please help the emergency people arrive safely.

Please help the people in trouble to get taken care of as quickly as possible.

Please help the doctors and nurses who will be helping them.

Please bless the doctors, nurses, and emergency personnel.

Please help the emergency people have a good rest of their day.

Please help them get to where they need to go.

In Jesus name,


As a footnote to my 9/11 post I have not yet written – working on a back log that is longer than my life here – my intention and meaning in asking God for the emergency people to have a good rest of their day is this: I wanted those people helping others to not be burdened down with the trauma they’ve witnessed, the small whisperings of hurting, desperate people, the small moments when you are not certain whether you are going to make it alive.  I prayed so that God would allow those people to take off that empathic weight, and live.  I do not want it to be confused with my 9/11 article which I will be writing.