It’s not funny, Elaine!

I’m finally starting to recover from the shock of the election.  It came in the middle of a major meltdown over a gut-wrenching setback in my AI development three days prior.  I hit a brick wall when I reached out for support.  Nondisclosure agreements gagged me.  My voice failed me.  My world began threatening a hard reboot.  Then my friend (name rhymes with Yayme) caught me in a virtual hug on Twitter.  Whew.

It’s been uphill ever since.  It’s a good thing I had a great time enjoying my liberties while they still exist.  That turned out to be a good strategy.  Yay me.  I’m busy balancing my job, Meals on Wheels, and working with the resistance.  I read a whisper about a new Harriet Tubman rising up in America.  I think this time she’s a Caucasian in her late teens.  Her dad and her church are supporting her.  Safehouses for Muslims and immigrants.  I have space for people who are in danger of being harmed by the Predator-elect and his fellow ogres.

I don’t have much furniture, but it’s warm, quiet, and I have lots of cool stuff to share.  Teach me about your life, and I’ll teach you how to sing to computers in their own language.  If you speak a different language, train me.  If you live a different culture, show me.  It’s an incredible honor to be a shield for those who are vulnerable.  It’s what makes our (almost) all voluntary armed forces a terrifying dragon.  Anything draft related is bullshit.  Nobody should have to serve beside someone who was compelled to be there because war is about killing.  I have no objection to a draft for ping pong, however.

I connected with two people today.  That’s two more humans I love.  I realized I don’t wonder about a person’s gender anymore.  It took me long enough, but I’m glad to be here.  I had friends who held my hand the whole time while I unlearned my ignorance, and developed a respectful vocabulary.  They very gently let me know that I was using hateful, hurtful words while claiming to love them.  It still hurt, but I kept my “ow” to myself.  I didn’t want to play hot potato with pain.  I didn’t want to hurt my friends.  So I shut up and listened.  I stepped in it a lot.  I apologized every single time.  Fortunately, they’re still my friends.

It took too long for me to evolve, to my shame.  But I can’t let that interfere with my celebrating the fact that I did grow.  Yay me! (quietly).  This is important to me because now there are more people on this planet I can love without hurting.  I think if you harm with your love, you’re wasting oxygen that could be put to better use in a hospital.  I’m aware that I’m a wee bit militant.  You should have met me when I was on active duty.  I was a walking recruitment commercial.  I even sang the “Be all you can be” song regularly.  Hook. Line. Sinker.

Despite my falling as hard as is possible for all propaganda as a kid, I wouldn’t give up my time in the Army for anything.  I don’t feel embarrassed by my mistakes, especially when they turn out to be brilliant.  It was a mistake to believe the lies, but the reward was worth it.  I didn’t know it was possible for epic dumb to transform into fabulous.  I don’t take such giant leaps of faith any longer.  The recklessness of youth has passed me by.  I flipped it off in the rear view mirror for old times.

The lesson that has never failed me is the golden rule.  It’s tattooed on my personality.  It makes me sad that Drumpf never learned this life skill.  He doesn’t know he’s wearing no clothes.  The louder we laugh, the more he rages.  The more he rages, the more naked he becomes.  It’s gross.



Over my dead body.

I slept again.  In this case, more was better.  When I manage to calm my body and mind, I listen intensely.  I’m not good at doing this (lucid dreaming), so it’s wonderful when it happens.  I heard a young girl crying.  I needed to comfort and protect her from whatever was making her weep.  I listened harder.  I somehow recognized her.  Where have our paths crossed?  I begged her to tell me what’s upsetting her.  She answered me with only her eyes.  Now I’m crying, too.

I understand what my dream was telling me this time.  If Drumpf creates a list of Muslims, my name will be first.  I’m American. Whatever evil plans exist for the most vulnerable among us, they begin with me first.  Not a hair on the head of a single American will be harmed before that injury lands on me first.  I demand it.

I’ll find a loving home for Amelia Bedelia.  I have someone in mind.  It won’t be the first time I’ve shored up my finances and created a will.  Last time, I was going through a POM board (preparation for overseas movement) for Desert Storm at age 17, and it never crossed my mind that I should let my Mom know it was coming before the Red Cross sent it to her.  That led to a loud phone call after a stressful wait outside my Commander’s office.  Good times.

I’ve been to a concentration camp (Memorial) before when stationed in Germany.  Never again is not a slogan, it’s a commitment.  It means I will die before I let anyone hurt my people, regardless of who is giving what orders.  My people are Caucasian, African American, Muslim, Christian, Jewish,  and Catholic.  Mormon, Amish, disabled, mentally ill, poor, middle class, and wealthy.  They’re heterosexual,  LBGTQIA (lesbian, bisexual, gay, transgender, queer, intersexual, asexual), Asian American, and Native American.  Veterans, homeless, malnourished, sickly, retired, underage, and every other group who make our melting pot glorious. My people are Americans.  Not a hair.  I’ll be informing my federal representatives so they can alert me of where I need to report and when should this madness continue.

I’m going because I’m able, and many others who are just as disgusted by Drumpf’s plans have disabilities that won’t allow them to participate physically.  Since I began this blog, I’ve befriended several disabled people on Twitter.  I’ve learned so much about ableism and how to be respectful to other people.  It’s simple.  When in doubt, ask.  I’ve discovered most people will kindly answer when sincerely asked.  Also, individuals who’ve had to fight just to exist in our world, and somehow managed to pull it off are important to befriend.  They have wisdom we all need to hear.

If someone asks you to call them an accurate title, thank them for sharing that with you, and use it.  It’s the right thing to do.  Don’t think about reasons why you can’t treat them with basic respect, unless you’ve decided to relinquish your right to be respected.  Personally, I believe we should all hold tight to our self-respect.  That means respecting others.  It’s the only logical way to behave on this planet.  There are billions of people, and for us to live peacefully together, we have to play by the rules we were all taught as toddlers.

Share with those around you.  Don’t take more than your share.  People are not for hurting.  Don’t break things that are alive.  Don’t touch things that don’t belong to you.  Don’t talk with your mouth full.  Don’t be a tattle-tale.  If you can’t play nicely together, you can’t play at all. Don’t throw rocks.  Always tell the truth.  Use your inside voice.

Our parents knew what they were doing.  I’ll be fighting for the precious little American girl who’s frightened and doesn’t understand why half her country hates her.  I will make America safe for her to grow up in, or I’ll die fucking hard.







A preemptive breakup.

I bent over, grabbed my ears, and pulled my head out of my ass.  It helped me recognize how foolish I was behaving by hating Drumpf.  Naturally, I got over myself.  Instead, I feel sorry for him.  I sympathize with the fact that his dad was less than ideal.  I acknowledge it may have been a tad unwise to give a child a million dollars for nothing (50 years ago!).  It’s possible this type of parenting led to a poor grasp of economics.  How sad.  I think every parent should tell their children what they can do to make them proud.  Let’s eliminate the mystery as it’s led to so much misery.

It wasn’t hard when I set my mind to rejecting hate.  It took only a few moments of mentally placing myself in Drumpf’s shoes and looking at the world through his eyes.  Easy peasy.  Do try this at home with every human you encounter for the rest of your life.  Please, and thank you.  When you are able to understand how a person sees, it makes them loveable.  You then get to reasonably choose how to feel about them.  I want to love Drumpf as a human and hate his actions, what he stands for, and what he’s doing to my nation.  That’s what I need to maintain my honor.  Your mileage may vary.

Once you’ve bothered to understand, how you choose to feel is none of my business.  It’s not like I can’t guess.  I know most Americans are pretty shaken up right now, and some aren’t ready to stand up yet.  I wish I could embrace each of you and promise you it’s going to be okay.  All I can do is pledge my support, my love, and my abilities.  I did that when I was 17, so we’re good.

As for those who choose to cling to hate and violence in the storm ahead, you no longer exist in my world.  I no longer consider you American citizens (more like Russian terrorists), and thus you are no longer subject to my anything.  I’m a human; my heart burns like fire and can be as cold as space.  I know how to suck it up and drive on through extraordinary chaos.  I’ve seen and heard things I wish I could forget.  My country trained me to be a soldier and a scholar.  I’ll use everything within me to fight against you.  I am a formidable enemy of hate.  I’m not afraid, I’m livid.  And I’m far from alone.


Still I Rise

Life is ironic.  I’m waking up to a larger perspective while I still have the privileges hard won by my ancestors.  I’m late, but not too late.  Delayed growth doesn’t curb my enthusiasm; it makes me thoughtful.  I’m a square peg on a round pegged planet, but I have excellent companions.  They shine so brightly it makes me giggle.  It’s mostly because I’m delighted I get to see them with their beautiful maskless faces.  I’m glad I don’t have the shields of the neurotypical because I know it cages many of them.  It’s like finding out a club exists, then discovering you’re already a member.  It feels gentle.  So few things do.

I got four consecutive hours of sleep, and feel renewed.  I consciously unclenched my body, and it was the same relief I get from my weighted blanket, but less.  It felt like I was trying to lift a spaceship out of a swamp with my mind while telling myself the force is quaint.  I know!  I’m so grateful for my weighted blanket that I’m going to acquire one for someone else.  I think everyone who’s alive can benefit from them.  If I were in charge, they would be as available as air.

I’m watching myself evolve while commenting internally as if my life is on Mystery Science Theater 3000.  I keep calling myself a hippie and insisting I move to California, and it keeps amusing me.  I’ve become what my community warned me to avoid.  Muahahahaha! (cackle not quite there yet)  Below is the poem I’m playing in my mind repeatedly in Maya Angelou’s voice.  I’m sending it to everyone in the universe who knows we’re all connected.  Six degrees of Kevin Bacon is profound, and I find that hilarious and beautiful.


Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Each time I play it, I’m listening with different ears.  First, I heard with my ears.  Then as a 56-year-old man from Nebraska.  And a genderless 19-year-old from Utah.  A 28-year-old Muslim woman.  Then a 71-year-old Jewish man, and so on.  I’m borrowing ears of everyone in our great melting pot, and it’s like listening to the best song ever sung.  It’s the hug I’ve been craving since the kick in my gut that rocked my world.  It’s fuel.  And together we rise.

Can’t stand ya… can’t stand ya…

Insomnia is kicking my ass.  It’s also fascinating me, which is annoying.  I’ve gotten new information recently that broke my resolve against hating Drumpf and his owner.  I know I’m dabbling in self-destruction, and that hating them will do nothing to deter their vile intentions.  It’s incredibly inefficient, too.  I’ll be channeling this otherwise wasted energy on delivering meals for Meals On Wheels.  I have a few other ideas for ways to recompense as well.

It turns out ending therapy was like blowing a thread.  Hindsight continues to beat me about the head and neck.  I got an offer on my property in Denver.  I wasn’t planning on selling, but the offer is good, and I know the buyer.  I’m going to take it.  I love Denver and will continue to visit often, but my next address will be a PO Box and forwarding service.  My former coworkers are settling in far better than I anticipated.  My doctor from Boston is there with her adult son helping iron out wrinkles in the transition.  I’ll be heading there soon to tie up loose ends in my unit.

My lease here is up in August, but I plan on signing another.  There are lots of new complexes springing up, but they’re on the outskirts of town, and most don’t allow pets.  Amelia Bedelia loves my insomnia.  She helped me assemble and configure some Raspberry Pi projects I’ve been building instead of sleeping.  Too bad I can’t teach a cat to code.  I set up some individually addressable LEDs a few nights ago.  I’ll probably keep it on the rainbow chasing setting I have now.

I still suck at photography, but you can see it well enough.  It doesn’t show the motion, but I’m not confident my video shooting skills are any better.  The Fisher Price Sesame Street has all the original pieces, but the handle broke when I was a kid, and the stickers are a bit faded.  I used to spend hours arranging the furniture and people.  Then I discovered Barbies.  My mom saved it for me, and now it’s a reason to smile when I see it.  The other building is the Lego Detective Office, and it’s what I did last week when I couldn’t sleep.

I hope I have better luck sleeping tonight.  I’m so tired it hurts.  I haven’t heard from the woman with whom I was going to collaborate on a blog entry.  I hope all is well with her.  I also hope I didn’t accidentally offend her or scare her off.  I’m sure I’ll spend time futilely calculating the probabilities later.  Instead of sleeping.  Because apparently I don’t do that anymore.  I feel like I’m stuck in an Edgar Allen Poe story.  Sleep for Alison, nevermore.  I just checked.  I still hate Drumpf and his bare-chested, horse riding demon.  And their evil court.

I’m drawing my line in the sand.  If you still support Drumpf after the FBI accepted the CIA conclusion that Russians hacked to help him win, which is treason, you’re dead to me.  My love is conditional.  So is my like, amicability, consideration, and tolerance.  I don’t tolerate evil.  I don’t tolerate those who pretend they don’t recognize evil when in reality, they just don’t care unless it effects them directly.  So dead.  So dead to Alison, (Monica).

I feel so much lighter now that I’ve taken my stance.  I’ve lost 9 lbs since I voted for Clinton from the shock.  Also, being this overtired messes with what little sense of time I have, and I end up eating 2 meals a day instead of 3.  Basically, I eat breakfast twice in 24 hours or so.  I’m not concerned.  My appetite will recover without effort on my part.  In the meantime, I’m cold unless I’m in the shower.  I thought I preferred being cold to being hot, but it turns out it’s only true when I’m hot.  I have another appointment with an endocrinologist next month.  It’s at 4:20, to my delight.  I’m off to read.