Category: Uncategorized

Day 1,571.

This is for all those men who believe with me that this co-existing teacher house never should have happened, been allowed, or made possible.  There is no excuse whatsoever for these alone years.  None of the work I have done was of such a nature that they had to be done with me in seclusion and absolute aloneness.  None.  There is no excuse for it.  None.

If the only way a parent is able to manage, handle, control, give instruction, or deal with a child is to sedate them, keep them in bed, locked in a house, and again constantly sedate them, they should have their extended access revoked immediately.  It should never have been allowed.  100% revoked.

No, people I am completely unable to pretend to mingle, have conversations with co-workers as though I am not completely aware they are being told in their ears what to say and do as if it is real, in a false, pretend, and fake environment.  This is not in any way the same as believing there is good in people that the possibility exists for great good things in people.

There will be no cage matches.

I will not be responding to gay haters.  I will not be responding to haters at all.

For, I am too physically worn out.  Mentally exhausted from the mental and physical work to write much else.  I had written in my head several pieces of importance while getting my house in livable order, cleaning and what not, however both are a drain on my physical and mental capacity, especially after so many of these years.

We are at a beach.  I am in a hammock swaying in the breeze under the shade of some trees.  Listening to the sound of the ocean feeling the salt water air on my face.  Wearing a thong and coverup with thong sandals.

Because I saw through the weighted disguise and she was wrong.  She is the one in disguise, with black face, pretending to be a man.  She is wrong.  Not me.

I was correct.

Have a hammock with me, or sit on the sand, or wherever you feel comfortable.  Stoli on the rocks, maybe pineapple juice, or beer.  But, there must be water as well.  To not have water is to die.  I am too worn out to imagine food.

Swaying in the breeze in a hammock, I will tell you of the adventures of Maurice the Handsome, Lambert the Good, Murphy the Magnificent.

And, Barney.

Day 1,570.

Worn through.  Too tired to eat or write.

Otherwise, it would be a fried egg sandwich with some tomato slices, parsley, salt and pepper.  Some fruit.  Freshly ground coffee and brewed with cream and sugar.

I remember the man who told me sitting was no longer allowed.  I do not know who was speaking through him, but that person needs to leave the building never to return.

Perhaps another day I will be able to tell you more about the Gjestland family.  How Leif was the one to whom the family would go to for help and so forth.

Too tired.

Help me find another job.

Tell me because I am unable to understand why this happened and was allowed to happen to begin with.

JB.  Whose initials are these anyways?!

Ethan Hunt.  Why was he placed in front of me if not to see him, so tell me why I was reprimanded, written up for again doing a correct thing.

I have given up trying to figure anything out.  I am unable to go any faster than I do.  I am unable to do more, give more, see more, understand more…I am so depressed.  I need another job.  Unhappy am I.

To Whom It May Concern:

I would like to introduce myself, let you know some things about myself, what you can expect from me, and what I expect in return.  I want to make absolutely certain and understood what I will not tolerate within the workplace, in my free time, in my home, in my life, and in any other way that I may not yet have mentioned within the context of this letter.  I want to make clear and certain what the spirit of this letter intends if there is any room for doubt, or unmentioned specifics.

In applying for this job, I will not be playing a key role of any kind or sort.  I am unable to pretend I am anyone other than myself.  I will not copy myself after anyone.  I do speak English rather well.  Also, if you want to know what I am thinking, ask me, I will respond out loud.  You will not have to go so far as the recesses of my brain for any knowledge about me.

I am not a spy, or a secret agent.  I am not a dog, or a cat, nor am I any other kind of animal.  I am a middle-aged woman, so the time I was a baby has long since expired, therefore, I do not need to be housebroken, or toilet-trained at all.  It has no place whatsoever in the work place to begin with.

I am not a detective, or an investigator, or a police woman.  I am not a guinea pig, or a lab rat to be researched and tested upon.  I will not need to be told what to eat, when to eat, how much to consume, when to drink, or in any order by management, or by any other means.

I have a very good brain, so I am not in need to be told what food, clothing, or supplies to purchase.  I do not need to be told how to spend any of my free time, my days off, my vacations, my sick or personal time, or any other time while not on the clock.

Understand this, no person of any sort will be allowed permission into my home while I’m at work, or while I am at home.  Furthermore, no person of any sort will be allowed remote access into my home virtually or any other means – at all.

Good thing for you, I will never be able to be pregnant.  It is an impossibility.  Again, I am unable by any means to become pregnant, carry a baby, or by any other means have a natural child.  I have lost a lot of weight in my life, so you will see I will remain quite slim and healthy.

When driving to work, I will choose the fastest and most cost-effective route.  I will not zig-zag, or choose specific lanes based on anything other than the fastest means possible.  I will not be playing a driving game or any sort, nor change lanes for any other reason other than the fastest route possible.

Competition that creates division, hurt feelings, and in any way alters a person’s normal bodily function is unacceptable in the workplace.

While I have a light-hearted and good sense of humor, the workplace is not a place for pranks or tricks or any sort.  If humor is at the expense of a person’s feelings either financial or mental it does not belong in the workplace.  If humor causes humiliation, shame, suffering of any sort, embarrassment, or creates ill-will, or sexual harassment it does not belong in the workplace.

I see great and wonderful things within people, places, animals, and the environment.  I will not allow any good, kind, and wonderful things that I see to be taken from me, turned against me, or in any other way perverted.  Even if someone calls it art.

My vision is unique.  My mind is unique.  As I am – for no one else can be me, but me.

I am a wonderful employee.  No one works harder than me.  I can say this with certainty because no one in the entire world works the way I work.  There is not a single business that wouldn’t profit from my employment.

 

I don’t have to eat anything ever again because some women think I am able to live off of air?!

 

 

 

 

Day 1,569.

No, Hollywood I will not be responding again, how can I help.

Video conferencing or a monitor, how many miles and miles away does a person have to be to be heard?  On the other side of the globe?

I know what was being asked of me this morning, let me respond in this way instead: Jesus Take the Wheel is a true story for me.  A literal and true story that happened to me.  It was a bright and sunny day after it had just rained.  Get ready for this.  I was driving a Bronco, the vehicle hydroplaned.  I literally closed my eyes.  While driving, I closed my eyes.  There was a response.  When I opened my eyes, I had made it to the side of the road in between two light poles.  With my eyes closed.

There is a famous trial about a murder, and a former football player in California.

A news story about blow jobs.

A school newspaper photograph of my brother while attending school on campus.

A newspaper photograph of my brother playing Jesus at a church Christmas pageant.

The View, a certain host spoke about an affair with an African-American man.

My real father has a saying in response to how are you.  Four words.

There is a better way to keep wrinkles off a woman’s face, she does not have to be shrouded in cloth for protection.  Call something for what it is, do not propagandize it.  Believe me I will tell you so in the appropriate setting.

No, I am not Marilyn Monroe in Bus Stop because thinking in this way does not get me excited, I get calm, mellow not quite serene, but close in manner.

Enterprise – Star Trek, ten-ER-rise.  President – dent, resident.  Side of my vehicle.

Now, I have always been of the understanding that items, movements, clothing, placement of people in movies has been taken from me first.  The parking spot I parked at, or the exit I took, or the way I did something and not the other way around.  It is the abuse of power and information turning it the other way around that I am then made to believe I should follow after I’ve seen a movie.  When it was me all along.  I believed the intention was to make me feel involved somehow.  The problem is, it has not.  It has had quite the opposite effect.  It could have something to do with the amount of time this is taking secluded from the entire world.

It is a matter of scale.

Very valuable information has been too easily placed in the wrong places and people.  I am keeping my writing as specific as possible within the allotted timeframe.  Those who know and understand are the only ones that need to be concerned or involved.  I am at an end for spelling every detail out.

Want to eat something?

Next to my outdoor dining room, I have a separate building with a kitchen I use for making big meals, parties, or trying recipes.  A place where I can make a new meal, or dish and I can feed the leftovers to the birds, or the animals I have on my imaginary property.  The kitchen has a great island that could have seating, or they can be taken away depending on the function.  There is a television, and the assorted gaming, X-box, Wii, what have you.  Just like I used to have.  There is seating, a covered patio that tables and chairs could be placed depending on the function.

Let me preface the meal with how embarrassed I feel about my lack of knowledge and exposure to different food, combination, and cuisines.

This is a more relaxed and casual dinner for lethal men.

Veggie burgers, turkey burgers, beef, perhaps buffalo, portobello mushroom burgers, chicken burgers, your choice cooked however you want.  Made to order.  I have homemade pretzels, and buns.  The buns are of specific proportion.  I dislike hamburger buns with so much bun at the top.  It is too bready.  I am thinking a better proportion will have a better bite of ingredients ratio.  Grilled vegetables.  Artichokes, squash, onions, assorted grilled vegetables drizzled with olive oil and seasonings.

At the island are all the accoutrements for the burgers.  Lettuces, sprouts, turkey bacon, avocado, onion, tomatoes, apple slices (chicken burgers?), and cheeses.  Sharp cheddar, Vermont white cheddar, Jarlsberg, Swiss, and Bleu cheese.  Somewhere in here is some truffle oil either with the burgers or something.

Homemade chips with rosemary, thyme, perhaps truffle oil, and kosher salt.

There is a bar area separate from the island, stocked with an assortment of alcohol for mixed drinks, and this is a beer night.  Beers from around the world, your choice.  Whatever you want, feel like, and want to enjoy.

You can take your meal with you outside to the dining room, or a few small tables have been set up in the covered patio.  There are places to sit in the kitchen building, but not real proper table and chair.

Dessert is homemade cherry cobbler with homemade vanilla ice cream or real whipped cream.  Sprinkle some cinnamon or chocolate shavings.  Coffee, espresso, or lattes.

Enjoy.

For me I feel the only way I get to do things the way I used to, or feel better, or good at all is to remember or imagine it.

While mingling let me tell you how Lambert talks to me.  Every morning when I walk through the door he starts talking to me.  Any time I go to the garage, Lambert says, I’ll go.  Once in the garage, he inspects everything saying to me as he jumps on my car, what is this?  Paw-paw.  Is this why you are gone so long?  Paw- paw.  Is this the front end or the back?  Paw-paw.  This thing must be important if Cherith is in it.  Paw-paw.  Wonder why it takes so long.  Paw-paw.  Placing his lion paws all over my car.  Then he and Maurice roll around on the cement.  Rolling their loose fur off just like brushing their fur.  Murphy doesn’t believe he needs to do that.  He is not as interested in the garage, he is a bit of a city boy.

Another one.  Pebbles and Bam-Bam.  Here I am trying to talk to David Wolfe and it feels like bam, bam, bam, bam.  This is how I felt he communicated back to me, bam.  Bam.

Because Thursday, who was my brightness, had separation anxiety and stress I purchased a cat product, a spray to help him.  As a way to move it through the air rather than simply spraying I, I would walk and spray at the same time.  Also, as a way of him associating me with calm and help.

There is a reason why I talk to my cats and animals in a certain way and tone.  For my cats they will be able to discern and understand when I am talking to them or someone else.  If they hear their tone they know I am speaking just to them.

I believe one version of this story-telling is better than the other.  Better, more interesting, involving, and better.

Running.

Complete darkness.

My eyes are closed. 

Running.

Panicked breathing and breath.

Up and down.  Jostling.

I am being carried while they are running.

I open my eyes.  Blood runs in my eye.  Darkness.

Open my eyes, an Emergency room.  Lying down on a gurney.  People around the gurney.  Then, the doctor lowers toward my face.  Darkness.

I couldn’t have been more than four or five playing in a neighbor’s yard with my brother and the neighbor.  They had a Great Dane.  While I was playing on the swing-set my brother and the neighbor were off talking, playing with the dog.

I could see the dog was unhappy.  They were talking to each other and the dog.  Either I called the dog over or he walked toward me, either way I knew I could talk and play better with the dog.  Talk to him and make him feel better.  I went to put my hand out to pet him when he bit me.  It is surprising to me that I passed out from it.  It shouldn’t have been so much trauma that I passed out, but I don’t remember anything else.

It was not the dog’s fault.  Him biting me.  This is how I saw it at that age and now.  My mother felt I should be frightened by dogs.  It didn’t faze me.

It might not have been the boy’s fault entirely either.

Poke a stick at an animal long enough it will eventually react.

I felt the dog was agitated and didn’t understand me because of how the boys had talked to him.

This is why boys need kisses.  Lots and lots of kisses.  They already have that tough stuff, boy stuff, they need to know kisses.  So, they will learn about joy.

Here is the other version.  The quick version.

A dog bit me when I was a child.  I didn’t think the dog understood.  Now I have stiches.

Which is the better version of events and storytelling?

I believe my way is better.

They have messed with the natural organizing of my brain.  For instance, I preferred to use the very most left hand turn near my home.  It has been taught out of me.  Just as my driving has been taught out of me.  My car being more important than me.  It is just a short distance, and if I am already in the correct lane then I do not have to zig-zag or change lanes in traffic.  This leaves my brain available for more important things because I have already prepared my path.

I’ve noticed recently, that I’ve stopped listening because there has been too much interference.  Wrongness.  Not to mention the amount of work and work load.

Whose fault is that?!

It was known that my destination was not going to end in Seattle, I wanted to go to BC.  It was known.  Interference was involved.  In this home, in my devices.

No, I am not going to exercise to DVD’s to make my lack rate.  It is an abuse of power and management to do so.

Abuse.

Overloading.

Overloading on stimulus.  Mental stimulus.  And physical stimulus

Overloading.

Shut-it-off!!!

 

Day 1,568.

She was wrong yet again.

The same friend who told me WEN was not a good product is the same friend who told me that being alone was better – it is not for me.  It never has been.

Can I just say, I have no idea why people do drugs?  Yuck!  The stuff they shoved in my face tonight!

I am not changing anything else.  Surely, my work at work is not based on what exit my vehicle takes home, or the side of the garage I park on.  Since there is only one side I am able to open my door on.  Or, what time clock I use.  Or, what bathroom I use.  Surely, that cannot be true?!

What a waste.

I am 46 years old, I am more than tired of throwing boxes around all night trying to make a living.  I am not a teen-ager, I am not young anymore.  I want to look pretty again.  I want to be a girl again.

 I need another job.

I am trying to understand why this has been done to my body.  Why this house was allowed to happen.  I am unable to think of any logical reason.  Since, there are so many ways they have of being able to control, maneuver, or reach my head I simply cannot believe in it anymore.

If they want me to believe otherwise they are failing to reach me.  Failing to communicate.  Failing to manage me.

Maurice, my Reetzie, this good and best-behaved boy has discovered something.  I had a pet-hair remover from The Container Store days I had not used for a while.  I took it out to clean my futon when Maurice discovered the smell of it.

What is this?  Wait.  Wait, what is this?!  Is this a girl?!  Is this a girl-cat?!  Is this a girl-cat smell?!  Wow!  Wowee, wow, wow!!

Maurice is shoving his face in this pet-hair remover sponge going out of his mind goofy with happiness…to the moon, happy.  I didn’t dare interrupt him.  Wow!  Wowee!!

I miss my real cats.  The cats I had before this house and before they had chips placed in them to respond in a certain way.  Thursie used to go to the kitchen sink with me every time.  He loved water.  He loved watching it trickle out of the faucet.  He used to try and play with the water using his paw.

Fri-Fry, my Friday.  What a most likeable cat.  My neighbor used to stop by just to visit with Friday.  It is a most difficult thing to be likeable, to be so likeable.  Friday was the cat everyone tried to tell me they could take him home, I said, no.  He is my cat.  How he loved the sound of his name.  How he grieved for Sundae when she had to be out to sleep from cancer.  He stopped eating.  He would run to eat, eagerly wanting food only to take a few bites and stop.  His whole being unable to continue.

Staring, looking out the window with such a stillness.  He was inconsolable with grief, inconsolable.

I know a little something of inconsolable grief.

It is such a gross misuse and abuse of power.

I, of course, would rather write about my cats than tell you about my cats, as the people they are, as the great characters they are, it is not the same thing nor is it as creative.

Sitting on the kitchen floor.  I am still sitting on the kitchen floor after I had been told in my head while talking to my brother on the phone that my mother had passed that she had been gone for some time.

I am still sitting on the kitchen floor drinking a six-pack trying to understand how and why something like this could happen to me and my mother.

For some time.

I am just sick.

How many more years must I live like this?!

Before this gets out ahead of me and my schedule, I have said this for years.  I still believe I am correct about technology.  That it will become the baseball trading cards of the future.

We believe technology is disposable when I believe there is value beyond what may seem possible at the time.

Also, before this gets out, I am constantly in a struggle within myself when I see excess.  The size of vehicles, for instance, how long can that last?  How long is that sustainable?  Or the size of homes and mansions.  How long can that last and be sustainable?

I do not know why I concern myself with such things.  When I am so poor and broke, yet there it is.