Category: Uncategorized

My job.

My job is so physically demanding.

Ten hours of lifting, pulling, pushing, standing, walking, standing up for ten hours, then standing once at home doing household chores.  I collapse into bed every day.  My body begging me to lie down and rest.

My hands are swollen and achy.

Joints hurt.

My body is swollen and fatigued.

So, I go to my head spa.

I am a million miles away creating beauty…trying to create beauty in my head to get away from the hype, the media frenzy, the evilness, the hatred, the ugly, and the aloneness.

I have been a million miles away for months now.

In a spa, where my skin is being buffed and polished off of all the blotchiness, skin discoloration, sun damage, and swelling.

Where I am allowed to groom myself once again without description barriers, photo barriers, advertising barriers.

Where I have my muscle control back to myself.

Where I can smell perfume and flowers again.

Where if I am not wearing make-up, it is not because I have not been allowed to clean and groom myself.

Clean, crisp clothes await me.

Clean, ironed pajamas allow me to rejoin civilization.

Where I can read any book I want without hackers destroying literature.  Where I can read.

What a novel idea to be allowed to read.

Going back to my beach.  My beach where I visualized my bikini body I have yet to reach.  Guessing the reason my body is in front of me with my back to me, I am looking at myself in the future that has yet to happen.  In a bikini with my long flowing hair down my back with no jiggly and sagging skin.

Never thought I would miss the green of Oregon so much.  The green in Florida is a different color.  Rain and weather never stopped any Oregonian from doing anything outdoors.  You simply are prepared for it.

There is so much nature to discover in Oregon.

As a family when I was single-digit young, we were driving on a road in the middle of nowhere.  Trees all around.  We stopped.  There was a pull-over place to park for a few cars.

There most remarkable, side of the road, natural beauty.  These are the kinds of things I miss about Oregon.  Huge boulders and rocks formed a natural pool of the most beautiful emerald green water.  It must have been fifty or more feet deep at the drop.  Though there was a boulder sunken in the water that was flat creating a natural “shallow end”.

Wonder why the water was green as it was absolutely clear.

I am not sure if that was natural rain water or if the water was from another source.

The most beautiful color.

Just driving along, nature can be so beautiful.

Taking a nap today I wake up full of relief.  As if someone and someone’s thoughts have vacated the premises.  Giving me back freedom of my mind.

It has been asked of me to figure out and “out” a famous person.

I will do no such thing.

If a person wishes their sex life to be out in the public, they can do it themselves.  I will not do it for them.  I am tired of doing other people’s dirty work for them.

Case in point, I deleted apps from my electronic devices so that I could have freedom of thought.  It has created a stop hold to read false new stories and false publications.

I have been led to the point of watching Silkwood.  Please try and guess why.  I ask you to think for a moment and guess why I would be surrounded by people who would have an advantage or any interest whatsoever in me watching Silkwood.

Give up?

Closing my eyes, I can barely type this as I go because the very idea is so ludicrous, idiotic, imbecilic, so unbelievably harmful I cannot stand it, nor do I have any room or patience for this line of thinking.

Yeah, I have zero tolerance and I do not apologize for it.

Guess who stars in Silkwood?  Meryl Streep.  Guess what storyline “someone” would like to “play out” if I watch a movie where Meryl Streep’s character dies?  They want to act out in real-time an assassination or hit against a real person.  A contest between Nicole Kidman and Meryl Streep.

Dumb doesn’t cover this idiocy.

Guess where this might ever be appropriate?

When I lived in Seminole in the 80’s I was cleaning out the garage.  A van drove by and I immediately stopped what I was doing.  Watching as the van drove by.  My back was up.  I told myself to go back to work.  The van drove by again.  This time it felt worse than the first.  I felt the need to get inside – QUICKLY.  I shut the garage door, walked/ran into the house, locked the door, shut the curtains, turned off the lights, checked the back door, then listened at the front door.

Hearing nothing, I went into my room, locked the door, and waited for it to return to normal.  I have yet to see that day.

I feared and felt as though it was an attempt on my life.  I felt as though they were going to kill and/or kidnap me.

Going back and forth through my writings, I have arrived at the conclusion that a person or persons placed Michael Brown in my path.  I do not know why other than to see if I would take to him, an older man.

Guessing I had Daddy issues.

Remembering a time, I gave Michael Brown a test.  It turns out my instinct was correct.  I told Michael I didn’t like people or like to be around people who drink.  Then, I watched his reaction.  We were in a parking lot of a restaurant.  He took off going a million miles.  Leaving me without a ride or way to get home.  Had I understood my mind better then and what it is capable of that day would have been the last day Michael ever saw me again.  I tested him to see his reaction.  I tested him, he failed.

I just forgot to listen to myself.

It’s true I did not grow up with a lot of alcohol around the house.

When I worked at Visionworks, I had another job as a hostess at Tex-Mex.  Walking from my job in a lab where I wore a lab coat I’d change into a Mexican layered skirt, off shouldered white shirt, and sash in the restroom.  I was cute.

Usually a co-worker would drive me home, I never had a car or the car.  Michael who was unemployed most of the time always had the car.

One shift I worked as a cocktail waitress walking past some people without thinking I wiped the salt off the man’s hand – cleaning up.  Nope, I was eighteen and had not yet had a shot of tequila.  I was not asked to cocktail waitress again.

Why can’t I just be let alone.  To live my life without any of them.

Give me back my mind and body.

Could people stop caring, critiquing, scrutinizing, and photographing me as I take out my garbage?!

It is so dumb.

I will not unscramble or decode it for you.

This man will have to wait.

He just wanted me to know he has a sense of humor.  Well, that is not all he wanted me to know.

My mind is a million miles away.

And, the kitchen is still closed.

Robert Frost,

You will be reading a great deal of information that I would probably never share with you in person – it would just not be relevant.  However, I am in need of being able to talk to someone.  It is really pretty bad.  Not being allowed to speak face to face with just one person who doesn’t look at me or talk to me as if they are on television.

If nothing else, it will serve as an account of the events of my life if anything happens to me.  In the event of my death.

The lack of personal relationships.  The lack of intimacy – I will never be able to describe.  It is truly cruel.

Trump – 5

Pence – 5

Together are 10 or equal 10.

Backwards and forwards meaning, I forget the name for this when it is the same thing.  However, they are different meanings.

TP = toilet paper.

PT = Physical therapy?  Part-time?  Could be different meanings.  My first reaction was physical therapy.

RE = as in regarding.

ER = as in emergency room.

UN = United Nations.

NU = Norman, You?  North University?  Not You?

MC = as in an MC of an event.

CM = Cast Member – Disney.

PE = Physical Education

EP = Electrical Pulse?

Also, these two names could be the two side to park at my work.  The US side being the President Trump and the International side being the Vice President.  It is true I did not know who the VPOTUS was because when I saw him all I saw was military.  To me there is nothing that says lawmaker his mind is unusual and not the stayed DC type that runs in and out of the button-down shirts and blazers as a way to cover up for their sloppiness and frantic work.  Mike Pence.  MP = Military Police.

Donald – 6

Michael – 7

Together = 13

DM = Doctor made?

MD = doctor

OI = Operating In?

IO = Ion

NC = North Carolina

CN = Central Nerve

AH = as in an expression

HA = Funny

LA = Los Angeles

AL = Alabama

DE = Delaware

ED = Education

L = lady, lonely, 90 degrees, or names

You could also turn these into names.  Names of persons held, imprisoned, POW’s, or spies, and so on.

Is that everything?

And…?

Or, they could just be names.

The sign reads, the kitchen is closed until Cherith is able to return to her normal weight that she has maintained since 2012.  Until then no more food writing.

I, Cherith am so terribly unhappy and sad for too.  I was having so much fun in creating food.  As much fun as possible given my circumstances.

It is an all-stop.  The numbers on the scale.

Not to mention all the writing I wanted to paint, so the world could know and not just a select few.

I was inspired too.  By the man from Africa.  A coastal country?  Just above central Africa?  On the Northwest side?  I could almost see the whole village/town.  However, that writing painting will have to wait.

Who was that man last night?!  Wasn’t that a beautiful story I painted last night?  Could be if I could actually sit and write it.  How well he wore on me.  Some time I will have to write that meaning better.

Wasn’t that a nice picture of Herman Melville’s relative and family members on the Supreme court steps?  I am not sure I quite painted that picture very well of how I saw Herman Melville in my present which is in the past or history at the same time.

Do not believe the hype about same-sex discrimination.  It is merely a puzzle piece because I first told the story to my brother about Herman Melville.

Yes, I saw the facial hair in a circular fashion around his mouth it is not what I saw first.  How odd that is to be able to see people.  What a good, hard-working man he is.  There is something else I see in him I haven’t been able to find the correct word for.  I will think about it.

Surprisingly happy he looks to me.  Beyond the smile.  So, there is something there for me to think about.

For clarification, it is possible for me to see people and store the memory of it in my head for me to think upon at another time.  This is something I have taught myself to do as a way to protect my head and brain that is not always on a secured line.

Let me paint the picture for you, imagine in your head a vast room like a public storage facility, or a barn full of stalls, rooms about five feet by seven feet high without doors.  Like a diorama without the scenery or glass partition.  The light is on the path I walk in front of them lighting them from the front.  Now, I can go back and forth in time with the picture in mind and see the person as they were.  Not the facts or deduction because I see them with more than my mind.

There are several messages I have read; however, you will need to be patient as money is very tight.  I must be careful.

Special Conversation, South Carolina, Robert Frost many things have been brought to my mind, you will have to wait.  The painting I do and write requires time.

Yes, yes, yes before I forget…G-I-N.

There are too many stories to write and paint.  It is like a smattering of paint splotched here and there and all around.  What I want to do is clean it up rather than write it.  You should take a look at yourself, it needs to be streamlined and simplified.

It is not an all clear day.

I am being threatened, yet again.

So, it is not all clear today.

Do not be surprised when I do not call upon you, perhaps not ever again.  Because you have yet to know the truth because I have yet to write the truth.

It is of course, impossible to avoid all traffic camera’s.  Something that is being unjustly asked of me to do.

We will not be having coffee and breakfast together.  The undue pressure exerted upon my physical frame carrying extra weight has caused a creative stop-hold.  I will not be eating.

What a terrible thing for someone to take away another person’s vision and eyesight.

I reserve the right to decide who and what manner a person is good for me.  This has nothing to do with the color of their skin, sex, sexuality, religion, or any other manner.  It is a brain thing.

So, when I see that someone has been placed to oversee me because they are straight, yet do not have a problem with – the best way I can describe it – being flirty with the same sex, I will of course, push back, buck, fight, have my guard up and so on.  It is extremely inappropriate.  It is a falsehood masquerading as acceptable.  I have been greatly distressed, upset, unhappy, and angry because of it.

I will always push back against this person.  I don’t know how many years it will take for me to say over and over, I do not like you like that.  I never will.

How many years do I have to prove my sexuality?!  How many years do I have to prove I am straight.  What a terrible crime to commit on me and innocent person.

How many years must I live a hands-only life?!

Where is my justice?

To be clear and understood – I back my vehicle into my garage…so, I can open my door.  I have shelves and garage-related items on the other side.  If I did not back up I would not be able to open my door.

Clear?!

Sorry, Benedict Cumberbatch I will not be watching anymore Patrick Melrose.  Please, do not take it personally.  You are a great actor.  It is always a pleasure to watch you perform, however there is an undesirable presence that has been allowed to enter my world because I watched Patrick Melrose.

As if because I watched a show about drug abuse it makes me an addict, too?!  WRONG!

If you follow that line of thinking that would mean if you watch a show about cops, then you must be a cop.  If you watched a show about Muslims that would make you a Muslim.  If you watch a show about a family that would make you a family.  If you watched a show about a homosexual couple that would make you a homosexual couple.

STUPIDEST LINE OF THINKING!  WHAT BRAIN DECIDED THAT WAS A SMART IDEA?!

If you only understood beyond the forefront it is actually quite flattering.

One way I lost weight before was to go on a liquid diet.  It has many names, a detox, Master cleanse, the lemonade diet – it is a diet.  It has nothing to do with control.

If you’ll notice Benedict Cumberbatch in Patrick Melrose does not have the same muscle mass, he had in BBC’s Sherlock Holmes.

How terribly flattering, yet again for me.  As it seems he has taken my weight loss and means to lose weight and used it as inspiration for a character.

It is unbelievably flattering.

However, because of the external pressure being placed on me I cannot watch Patrick Melrose anymore.

As always, I will still be interested in Benedict Cumberbatch’s acting.  I am still an Anglophile.  I still adore all things British.  As both my parents have British heritage and backgrounds.  More than that, I like it.

I wanted to have tea the other day because in my head spa I was making tea and an almond scone with cream, yet what was delivered to me was weight and heavy mass not flavor and taste.

Again, to be clear, I cannot conceive children.  Uterus should know that by now.  The only children I have are covered in fur and have four legs.  Maurice, The Handsome.  Lambert, The Good.  And, Murphy, The Magnificent – The Brilliant.

So, yes, I will leave lights and music on for them while I am away to ease the separation, calm their nerves, and comfort them in my absence.

This is knee-jerk reporting that I have to do.  It is not what I want to write about.

No food.  I am too fat still.  Too heavy.  To depressed and unhappy because of it.

It is not all clear today.

What I want to do is go for a run.

For years I have wanted to be able to go running when I feel like, not for any other reason other than to be able to run.  Not because of the day of the week, or time of day, or for any other direction other than to go.

Running was one of my best thinking places.

I used to be able to return home from a run and my mind would be full of sentences, ideas, thoughts.

Running used to exhaust and expend physical energy while allowing my mind to free-think.

I would say, let’s go for a run.

Let’s slather on sunscreen.  Lace up the running shoes.  Put on the spandex with appropriate under garments to wick away the sweat and moisture.  I’ll put my hair up, wear my hat that keeps the sweat out of my eyes.  Wear sunglasses because sunscreen, hats, and sunglasses are all best preventative measures against sun damage.  I’ll bring my shuffle.  It is so small it is a great way to keep my head going.  And, we will all of us away through the streets running for the fun of it, for health, for cardiovascular health, for healthy lungs, for the whole body sweat that gives your skin – the largest organ of your body – a healthful glow.

We will away the streets because outdoor running along with being outdoors is so much more enjoyable than being locked inside four walls.

I would cook for you except that has yet to return to me.  I had been enjoying myself.  Wonder what this tastes like?  Wonder what it tastes like if you put this and this together?  What about this flavor?  What happens when you add this with this?

Yet, it seems there is a diabolical teacher and Svengali allowed upon my whereabouts and premises.  Every time I start to let go and create in my mind which is a positive experience – WHAM – aside my head, self-esteem, heart-mindful-power-thinking, and my mind is gone from me.

Because I am not allowed to have emotions, feelings, thoughts, ideas, or imagination.  I am only allowed to “do.”  Or, copy.  Because it is more important that someone else stay employed rather than listen to me allowing me to be.  Just be.

What a wonderful thing.  To just be.

However, I am not allowed to go running.  Or run.  Only in my mind where I used to be allowed to be me.

Since, the desire to cook and make others and myself feel better through food has left me so dramatically I would prepare us a breakfast sandwich.

I haven’t been able to have one of these for years now.

Morningstar makes the best breakfast sandwich.  English muffin, soy-based turkey sausage, and soy-cheddar cheese.  Some fresh fruit, whatever is in season, and yogurt.  We did have a big run after all.  I’ll do us both a favor I won’t tell you how to have your coffee and you won’t tell me how I like my coffee.  Capeesh?

As I am using my spoon to scrape the slightest bit of flavor left out of this plastic tray of microwaved breakfast it is just a dream I could one day hope for.

Also, I am on a diet as what has been delivered to me is nothing but extra weight.  I am only 5’2” after all, a few pounds make a big difference.  My BMI would say I should weigh a LOT less.  So, greatly unhappy am I.  Aren’t you all happy for that?!

The truth for the weight, someone’s idea to make me by new pants.  Like I have the money for that when I have so many things around my house that need to be fixed.

Just because I watched a show about someone else’s drug abuse does NOT mean it applies to me.

I want more time off.

I do not feel well – still.  Fat and heavy because what is delivered to me is not what I ordered.  So, depression, great unhappiness consumes me.

It is a toxic combination making me rely on my job as a way to lose weight because I am not allowed to be in the break room or eat while I work.  What a great way to motivate someone?!  Taking away their self-esteem and any positive ideas they have about themselves.

I should have been able to write several pieces that I have in my head.  Writing I want to do.  However, what was delivered to me was problems, heaviness, extreme fatigue, and no imagination.

They should be fighting for me rather than against me.

Is it just me or does it seem that The Washington Post has a separate paper just for me?  Centered around me?  How could that be?  Aren’t there other news stories?  Everything is so specific it would have to be a separate edition for me.  Why do that, I wonder?

I wonder if I should share with you this poem.  I would rather have written one of my own, so it could be more personal.  So, that I could use my brain and write.  However, writing has not been my friend these last few months.

It is hard for me to not look at a person and see.  Are you able to stop yourself from breathing?  Can you tell your heart to stop beating?

I didn’t think so.

So, as am I not able to not see.

Call it vision if you want.  It is being able to see people beyond words and explanations.  It is not police training and deduction.  It is the ability to see into their hearts and minds.  It requires all my senses.

So, this is for a man I saw who’s known persecution, torture, and imprisonment for writing.

This is also for a family torn apart by drug abuse disguised as addiction when words would allow healing.  Time, attention, time spent meaningfully with one another, and truthful words spoken – could heal more than wounds.

Isn’t it true words can create such pain and derision they can become impossibilities stronger than any metal?

Yet, the greatest truth written and spoken breaks down walls, barriers, shielded pain, exposing the greatest part of us, our humanity.

 

Another

By, Pablo Neruda

From, The Yellow Heart

 

From so often travelling in a region

not charted in books

I grew accustomed to stubborn lands

where nobody ever asked me

whether I like lettuces

or if I prefer mint

like the elephants devour.

And from offering no answers,

I have a yellow heart.

 

If it is possible to visualize healing for another person, then let me place my hand on your heart, and just be.

There is nothing wrong in that.

*If you saw a news piece that looks similar to what I wrote above, I wrote it first, several days ago.  It’s just that my writing has received terrible coverage that I do not understand.

Truth be told, I do not want to be here.

I do not want to be sitting down writing.

Writing has become – a problem.  As it is being used as a means of controlling me rather than bringing joy, enlightenment, honest revelations, interest, or stories.

There are few who are privy to this information, so before it gets turned the other way around let me tell you about these boys of mine.

Ahem, I mean, cats.

I used to live on street that was named after T.S. Eliot.  My mother asked me what I thought a good name for our house was.  This was an unusual question, I thought for her.  I decided the name Eliotwood was a good name for that house.  It had thickets of scrub oak trees in the back and front.  Not to mention all the other trees we planted while living there.  Birch, Almond, Cinnamon, Dogwood, Camphor, China Doll, Raintree’s, I could go on and on.

I gave my cats monikers.  It has suited them.  My cats are great people, they always are.  My Thursday used to run to the door when I returned home like a dog.  Tuesday would follow also, but Thursday had the excitement like of dog of seeing his owner or person return home.

Maurice, The Handsome.  My Mauritz.  My Maurit-zie.  He is the saddest boy in the world, but he is the best behave-est boy in the world.  He has the most remarkable colors and colorings and markings.  The top of his head has a skull.  His tail seems to have been chopped off for it is shorter than it should be.  He is a skinny boy, he just has a gooshee fur coat.  Gooshee and slightly shaggy fur coat.  He rarely talks or mews.  He is quiet, and his favorite toy is a mouse he likes to carry in his mouth and drop.  He tremendously enjoys standing on his hind legs like a jackrabbit for a treat or to clean the spoon of cat food.

Lambert, The Good.  The Ever Vigilant.  The Protector of All.  My Lambie-love.  Lambert looks like a lion, he has a broad chest so much so that when he lies down his legs must bow to make room for his chest.  His white fur almost looks pink, a shell pink, unusual.  He has markings on the top of his head that look like little ears with a set of antlers in the middle.  He is the strongest cat in the world.  He could push my piano across the room.  He has no idea how strong he is.  Once I gave the boys a bath, and it was Maurice’s turn Lambert stepped in front of Maurice to protect him.  I have never seen another cat step in front of another cat.  Getting himself between me and Maurice.  Lambert didn’t talk or hiss or fuss, he simply stepped in front of Maurice.  They must have lived on the street before I adopted them.  He is elegant, and sophisticated.  He is humble.  Lambert’s favorite toy is bird feathers on a wand.  He takes that bird down every time I play with him.  Puts the bird in his mouth.  As if to say, Yep, again.  He would play with those bird feathers all day.

Murphy, The Magnificent.  The Brilliant.  Murph.  Murph’s.  Murfreesboro.  He likes Murphy best.  If it was possible for a miniature cat, Murphy is it.  Murphy also has a skull on his head.  He can do anything.  Anything.  He tells me so all the time.  Cherith, did you need something?  Did you need me to go down the stairs?  I will go down the stairs.  Did you need me to go in another room?  I will go.  If I had thumbs I would help you do the dishes, but I don’t so I will just lie on the counter and watch you instead.  He can catch a treat in mid-air with his front two paws.  He has caught a treat with his front paws while doing a back-flip.  True story.  He wants to help.  All the time.  Did you need something?  Just tell me, I will do it.  Just tell me, the Murphy.  Murphy loves to play.  Any toy, no matter.  He plays Pounce and Play with Maurice.  Sneak, sometimes not so sneaky, then Pounce.  And run and run and run and run around the house.  Pounce and Play.  Maurice is so glad Murphy plays Pounce and Play.  Murphy says, yeah.  What else do you need me to do?

This is just an introduction of my boys.  I could go on and on.  I believe they are a good children’s story.  I believe all my cats would make a good children’s story.

Lambert just told me it’s time for me to stop writing.

Another time, another story.

I will not be returning to the movies or movie theater anytime soon.

Not for Star Wars, not for Infinity War, not for anyone.

I am not your baby.

I am not your girlfriend.

I am not your lover.

I am not engaged, or married, either secretly or otherwise.

I am not waiting for a man to sweep me off my feet.  I have yet to see that happen for me in real life.

I am tired of all the lies.  I am tired of every “him” lying to me.

I am tired of women standing behind men pretending that is a conversation.

I will not surrender to your tactics of retaliation and abuse.

You have lost yourself, a customer.

Good luck trying to get that back.

I am sick to death of knee-jerk journalism, and reading about it.

I am sick of sound bites that are not real or based in fact.

Before someone decides they have nothing better to do in the world than dissect a t-shirt slogan, “you” has nothing to do with it.  Every person would buck, and fight against a person and persons who decided you were nothing more than an animal.  That you and your life were not meaningful enough you had to be “trained” as an animal for entertainment.

I am sick to death of this hands-only life that has never applied to me.

It always has, always will be nothing but man flesh.

Because of that I get…a life of extreme loneliness, doctors played by actors, and to be forever alone.

I am sick with grief and sadness.