Month: November 2021

I believed in “the progression.”

By then, it was middle of 5th grade when I was transported to the Bay Area.

There was no way I could win: everyone had grown up together.

And I was a sweet, white girl – not “street urchin” Mexican.

It was a painful ending to that year. I barely learned the 50 states as weathered lack of common language.

Junior high was only slightly better and much more confusing – being launched at last into the fabled “gate” classes, without preparation or warning.

I wasn’t ready for the mixed-culture preppy, high-browed, and narcissistic targeting of my open-hearted inquiry.

They didn’t know what to make of me and called me “tinsel teeth,” “electric light lady,” and not the least segregating, “Little House On The Prairie.”

I got braces early, my mom overpermed my fine, light blond hair, and I wore those types of dresses she still picked out for me.

What was I thinking in expecting that they could handle individual identity? Why couldn’t they see me for me – when I could see them so clearly?

I paid for it when the white, thick tom girl went after me with her chicola sidekick and the strung out, white bean pole tweaker henchman.

In that same long, dark blue dress – where I was doomed for sacrificial lambdom because I couldn’t run from them as it snugged legs tightly – I talked them out of pounding me by using psychology.

I asked the guy why he was doing the white badass girl’s work, and the chicoola what she had invested.

I apologized to the frothing butch if I had trangressed with her, and offered to be friends.

Divide and conquer was an inspired strategy – from where? I was only like 12 or 13!

And once the coast was clear, I did run home – crying and terrified, although the danger had passed and I’d already handled it.

When high school came, I just straight up said to my peers, “We’re older, now.” – and kept hanging around the same ones I’d been with.

By Sophomore year, I was one of them, and life was finally opening before me as I dared to make plans for university.

But, a lot can go wrong again, suddenly.

And just because I believed in continuous growth did not mean they also wanted the benefit.

Years later, I happened upon a boy from the group I’d had a minor crush on, but in high school sitting behind him, had realized he didn’t wash his ears.

Ear goop can put a reality check on any fantasy, and it turned out later he decided he was gay!

He certainly cleaned up nicely in that decision, but his attitude in the elevator was even more regressed with his nose turned up at me.

I don’t understand what people see in me, that they get all defensive and put on a show – as if I’d harm them.

Maybe my visage reflects their own truth to them.

Maybe it’s because when I look at them, I see right through the “glamour” and am ready to explore what being real friends could lend.

Poverty is not a fun state of being.

There’s just no way to get out from under the burden of judgment and debasement to one’s sense of well being.

When it first happens to you, you can believe, “Hey – this will only be temporary.”

Like when a husband leaves you and children without income, that’s an unusual circumstance.

Then you climb out from “the streets” and rebuild everything by opening a business offering housecleaning.

You get through the packed-in neighbors drinking constantly and fighting, the man abusing his girlfriend – which your kids are now exposed to in their teens after you strove to ensure they’d never be exposed to such things.

You get through the younger landlord living a door down from you and showing up on your doorstep in only a hospitql gown, straight from a night in jail after an accident from her own drunk driving.

You get pulled into trying to help her to secure a better life for her to lend stability for her and your own family.

She tries to get you to parent her and take over the bills, but you don’t go this far, sensing the dangers in liability.

She doesn’t pay the monthly mortgage due to her addictions, gets behind on paymemts, and her past party friend who is likely now on meth and cocaine talks her into trying to evict you so they can raise the rent by another $1000.

You fight her off for two months and get your family out of there, not paying the last month’s rent because you know there’s no deposit because she already spent it.

This all looks “great” on rental history when you seek replacement housing. Oh yeah, you’re considered a “prime” candidate for tenancy.

“Unlikely.”

You can’t use her as nearly four year’s reference now from money earned and paid by yoor own hands, and you can’t use the rental reference before that because your husband disappeared and made you homeless, causing a similar ending rent-unpaid nightmare.

Which, even though you sought her out while still poor and are to this day still trying to make good on 10 uear’s ago agreement, she refuses to give you all that time before credit.

Then, you move to a new state where you can’t compete for administration or other work: you are too qualified for factory shlopping, and 14 credits shy of your Bachelor’s degree against others who have their but don’t have your same work qualified experience.

You innovate to get into the health field and work your way up the ladder in a passive-aggressively hostile work environment where people refuse to trust your high standards and excellent professional etiquette.

When they at last find a reason, they fire you – by their own fault of exposing you to COVID.

Then that employer lies and tangles unemployment benefits as you must petition for, wait for, and experience multiple reschedulings of the hearing.

Hearing ruled in your favor, but system locks up as recalibrating payments.

Check back in a month.

Check back in another month.

You forge a way to get to a better community with a great job – and then get fired again, again arbitrarily. Even though you file a new claim for UI, is also gets tied up by the old one’s still being stuck in processing.

(Today’s specialist you called today admits in astonishment she’s never seen such a complicated mess in the system as your should-be-straightforward claim.)

Designed for and capable of so much more than an average wage earner, repeat “failures” try to crush you.

Did I mention that I lost my glasses?

They must have slipped out of their case when I leaned over and they were in a smaller pocket of a different jacket I began wearing.

What I have left are tiny pince nez of a heavier prescription that were once my mother’s.

No help, there.

Or, I have the ones I am currently using, which my father bought me 5 years ago in the summer of my “breaking free” in 2016.

Yeah, well, they fell a while ago – and guess where they landed?

Exactly dead center on the lenses, over where my eye holes look forward.

Yep.

So, I am typing anything I care about while dodging and angling to see around these scratches blurring and fogging.

I can only partially see through tiny patch-swaths of clarity around the edges.

No, I don’t have $15 to replace them.

AA!AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

And, have I mentioned what a feck-ing pain it is to type quickly on my phone and look back on my work, only to see intelligent scripture left in a swath of visual garble?

Which bright bastards decided to eliminate my beloved, textural feedback system of actual click buttons?!

I want to disassemble all their beloved functionality for a day – or how about whenever they really need it in moments of precious inspiration – over and over and over again..

Would they then get the message while consumed by their vexation to restore my keyboard to me?

I’ve missed mine – or rather, they don’t seem to appear, unless I create them.

I’ve seen them show up all around me, without other people even trying.

And they have turned and walked right up to these chances, which open right up and welcome them.

I guess you have to be sleepwalking for them to come to you.

And another person has to be sleepwalking, heading toward you if it’s a chance for loving.

It explains why real connection has been fleeting.

I mean, if media is advertising a smorgasboard with “all you can eat,” there’s pressure to drop whatever you’ve found “easily” and move onto the “next best thing.”

Or else, you “aren’t living.”

And this ageist society has new angles developing to regulate me into while trying to suppress and swallow me.

Did you know pupular medical practice is reverting to age-shaming women again in their 30’s, claiming upon conception they are now having a geriatric pregnancy?

What about someone my age who is still healthy and productive?

70 years old would now be actual geriatric pregnancy!

Since when did it become again mainstream to force women to produce in their 20’s?

Oh, that’s right: current media is cornering their target market as “the favored and chosen ones.”

Keep them happy and egos stroked, and those of us who know better are dumped by the wayside.

We won’t fall for marketing gimmicks and manipulation, and we fight to uphold the morals media hype is dissolving.

Get rid of knowledge and free will by psychological manipulation, and you gain control over more impressionable minds with mouths gaping wide open for higher percentage consuming.

I worry now that I’ve turned 50.

I can feel the machine gnashing its teeth, wanting to categorize and consign me – either for profit or discrediting.

It wants to take my identity and pin me to a wall: “You will be this or that – welcome to your fall!”

i just climbed out of my 40’s, which honestly were the hardest to break out of as circumstances tried to damage me.

It’s been almost worse than my childhood in negative impressing

When you are a child, you have no control.

But, if you look at adults around you, there’s hope that as you grow, you can gain it.

When you are an “adult,” “it’s supposed to be different.”

Damage from fighting for the right to live, breathe, and be free of others’ projections can be crippling when the adult mind is forced back into a child’s helplessness.

I swear.

I just want to shout, ” SEE ME FOR WHO I REALLY AM – YOU IDIOTS!”

To the world, to the people around me, and to the mechanistic capitalism investors busy churning our lives into nonsense.

Hey, I’m just asking for the space to be have and express my Identity.

Last night, I had a bad dream.

The kind where sickly goo coats your insides, keeping you attached to the sensation and feeling bound to it when you wake, afraid to return to sleep.

Are you proud of yourself, sleep spectre? That you only exist and flourish by preying upon others where they feel weak?

Why don’t you try a new line of work, where you are actually helping people. Then, you would be welcomed to return – likely more frequently!

I am irritated at the presumptuousness of the older man who attempted to break in through my window, against my will, pushing his agenda to “treat me right” (not what he said in his malice).

Just because I voice my thoughts does not mean I am a willing victim. Don’t tell me you like it that way – take a hike! Get a better “profession.”

I guess I am struggling to clear out old garbage messaging. I’ve heard that if you repeat positivity with clear intention, it can become your new programming.

There are only a few guys on this planet, likely, that I could sync up with properly and have a fulfilling life with.

Don’t take it personally, Mr. Stalker: you don’t need to force your beliefs on me.

There’s someone better for you, too.

Yesteray, I had asked Guidance to help me think of additional income sourcing which could be immediate.

This morning, I dreamed about a previous housecleaning client owing me payment, and that I could get more money, since she had more for me to do.

So, I then spent the day aiming to get my housecleaning business going here – even to getting 100 cards printed.

But, when I told my youngest about this – determined to keep doing things to help and make him proud of me – he pointed out my “disconnect.”

Housecleaning is not healthy for me. It puts me in a bad state, mentally and emotionally, and causes the pain within to flare up and go into reinjury.

After he went to work, I spent time undoing all of my ads.

He had reminded me that I had promised myself to never put myself through that, again.

Because I have witnessed and experienced atrocities, it becomes difficult to not lock onto perceived outcomes in data streams’ constantly shifting and realignment.

I have been the target of violent brutality, which was due to someone’s repressed, then expressed, acting out from others’ past injustices put upon them.

I have experienced hope of financial security shattered repeatedly when reliant upon other people’s business whims.

I have received the punishment when others have not accepted their personal accountability. I have had to pay that bill that gets forwarded to the next victim.

I have seen decisions being made, that if I could somehow counter, might avert a future disaster.

Interacting with others can leave me quivering for the bravery I daily exhibit, when I no longer feel confident.

I just get up, dress up, and show up – hoping for the best – and choking on having to accept that it might not happen.

Ehem.

Can I get a chaser with that, please?

(Hand raised to summon the waiter.)

His father was a great strategist: a renowned warrior from The Days of Glory.

But, because he died when the boy was too young to learn from him, the child was cast adrift in a broken society.

The woman he met in his wandering saw the truth buried within him.

She tried with her heart, mind, and spirit to call it forth to help save him.

But, his hardships made him fight her and suppress it.