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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?

I reserve the right to take a day off or two.

Do you know I have been working these last two days for ten or more hours on writing – for free.  Because they have required it as part of my $12/hr paying job.

For free.

So, if I am fucking pissed and mad as hell all the time.  It doesn’t take much to correct problems.

If you are not a part of the solution, then you are a part of the problem.

No more problems.  No more mind games and tricks.

I want my life back.

Either it is real, or it is not.  I do not need anyone in my head to tell me how to think.

I am fucking pissed about my hair.  I am simply a great deal more gracious than you have ever giving me credit for.

What this “teaches” me, what they “tell” me with idiocies such as my hair – is that the events of April 24, 2018 were not real.  They made it up in my head.  The reason why no other news agency told the story.  However, what they did to me.  What they did to my body, head, and mind was real.

I am fucking pissed.  I want another job.  I want my life back.

I am not a superhero, I am barely managing to live off of the pay I receive.

The cost for me to be able to receive groceries and supplies = $179.00 a year.  Just to be able to receive food.

Then, every purchase has a fee added to it equaling over $4 an order or transaction typically.  If you round that up to $5 every time and I order or make 2 orders or transactions in a week that = $520/year.

Just so that I am able to get food.  I am not allowed or have any other means to eat or receive food otherwise.

$699 a year just to be able to eat.

Any other person would be able to cut that cost by being able to go to the store and shop in the most economical way possible.  I am not allowed to do that.

So, when it is demanded of me that in addition to all of that I ALREADY DO, I have to spend every day WRITING FOR FREE.

I am mad as hell.

It amounts to be barely earring minimum wage, and pretty nearly me paying my employer to work there.

Any wonder why I want another job?  To be financially on my own?

It’s extortion.

I want my life back.

Chris Hemsworth, is this is real name?  CH, this is my sign name if anyone is unaware.  I am uncertain as to why anyone would want me to believe that another actor portrayed something I really did.

Anymore it seems only a copy of a movie rather than an actual event.  So, I am mad that this has happened to me.

If it was actually real – the mickey mouse games, for lack of a better word and term would go away and there would only be a single, goal, mission, and purpose.

Or, better yet – just give me my fucking life back!

Give me a real job and give me my life back!

This was originally on my board and in my mind as part of a bigger story.  However, too many events, too many pushing jobs, on top on jobs, on top of jobs has made that story disappear.

When I worked at WORSHIP, I carpooled with Keith Scott.  He also rode with me on the way to visit my brother in the hospital.

Keith Scott and his wife had one car.  She was a nurse.  I believe they have three children.  I don’t exactly remember.  This was 1992 and 1993.

They were a nice family.  The wife was overly sweet, I am sure she still is.  Someone who has had it hard and knows the value of a kindness.

What I remember is how hard it was on Keith Scott to accept a ride from me.  Being a man and not being able to be the man he wanted to be and thought God wanted him to be.

Shame has a way of sitting on you.  I saw it on him.  It takes something away from you that you cannot deceive others with.

This late afternoon, I had picked up Keith Scott from his home and we started off to work.  I stopped for gas.  Across the street was an old house of less than a few hundred square feet with no windows that “sold” produce.  I have no idea what kind of a person buys food or produce from a house that looked like that one.

I started to go to the pump to pump gas when – DANGER – NOW!

I looked around quickly and told Keith we needed to go inside.  This was out of my norm for me.

What I felt was an awareness that there was a black man and a white woman together and something was going to be done.

The closest explanation I can give is that it felt like an attack.  It felt physical to me.  It felt like immediate danger.

I was not going to let that happen to Keith.

When I pumped the gas, I will not share what I did to create security and protection for us.  I did it.  Not just for he and I, or our families.  It was done for all of mankind.

I doubt he ever knew there was a threat.

When I saw his son the other day, I swear he looks just like him.  All grown-up and doing well.  Then, I see an argument and disagreement between parents and child in my head.  This child that is now a man deserves to be on a better path to life because he is capable.

He is the baby of the family.  His family – every one of them – so loves him.  I am not certain if he has allowed that to fill his heart and resonate there.

Knowing you are loved in your head and knowing you are loved in your heart are two different things.

Do you want to know why this is titled The Hunter’s Prayer?

So, do I.

Because I believe I saw the reason just the other day.

If you are wondering, I have had to place my Russian diamond earrings in my jewelry box where they will remain because they have been replaced with earrings that literally make my ears bleed – dripping blood.

This however, does not in any way change the fact that Russia/Disney experience where speaking to a man who was pretending to go on vacation sharing his pretend story about adopting two Russian children to get a reaction out of me, so he could read me was Not A Problem.

I simply knew that whatever he was “doing” was not a bad thing or harmful.

It is a specific instance.  It has a specific meaning to me.  It cannot be shared readily.

Please, do not get your feelings hurt if I say NAP is not the same every time.  I reserve the right to be specific.

I reserve the right to want to be able to move at my fucking job!  I will not apologize for wanting to wear a belt so that my pants don’t fall off my fucking ass!

Quit being a small thinker and get out of your own ass and out of mine!

Fucking pissed!

I want another job!

I want my life back!

The reason for the turn at the church has nothing to do with the church sign.  The reason for the church is to keep pedophiles behind bars and away from children and adults.

Patrick Melrose = PM = Prime Minister.