That doesn’t work, we’ll give ’em Kramer!

Fucking Nazi’s.  Since writing my open letter to the tiki torch-carrying losers, more information about their actions has been revealed through photos and video footage.  And of course, the murder of Heather Heyer.  I can’t pretend to be as shocked as most seem.  The overwhelming ignorance of oppression in America is like forcing the oppressed to smoke two packs of non-filtered cigarettes a day.  We can barely fucking breathe, and people think we experience the same lives they do.  Most non-oppressed people have no fucking idea what we go through.  They’ve seen some videos now, and are starting to believe we struggle, but they STILL don’t get it yet.

They have little frame of reference because they think watching Roots brought them up to speed.  They believe now overt slavery is banned, we’re all living equally ever after.  They think Obama succeeds because of Affirmative Action, rather than sheer will, hard work, and drive most can’t even comprehend. They hate him because his existence reminds them how pathetic they are in comparison.  He achieved something incredible, and instead of motivating them to work harder, it enraged those who don’t even dare try out of fear of having their darkest fear proven correct.  They’re terrified of looking at themselves, because they know there’s nothing great to see.  The utter lack of effort they’ve put into building themselves up destroyed any self-esteem they managed to develop.  They surrendered before even trying because it was easier.

How many of you know someone branded by racist pricks?  I served with someone who bore this scar (while honorably serving the nation that enabled his torture.)  They used the same tools they use to torture livestock.  He escaped before the lynching.  This happened in the 70’s in America before the internet made it easier to expose racist evil.  When I saw his melted, scarred tissue, he quickly covered it and refused to speak of what happened.

I found out when he got drunk one night and sat up telling me his history.  I lost a lot of ignorance and innocence that night.  He was detained by racist fuckwads after school for a beat down, and was injured, (2 broken ribs from being repeatedly kicked while down.)  It made him miss his bus, and he had to walk home alone.  He was ambushed, beaten further, and branded, in preparation for a fucking LYNCHING.

They tried to horrifically murder him for walking down the street with brown skin.  He was a 9-year-old child.  It made me vomit.  My childhood was heaven in comparison.  (The difference being location, location, location.)  My family settled in an area that isn’t dominated by hate, bitterness, ignorance, and fear.  In the south, they celebrate this type of behavior.  Think about that.  This is only one horror story.  There are far, far more.  This one didn’t end in murder, but he’ll bear the scars for life.  I decided that night I’d never visit the Hate States.  I would never willingly go there, knowing evil murderers walk free as a matter of course.

Not everyone in the south has committed such atrocities.  However, everyone in the south lives among these demons.  They’re your neighbors.  You might not be aware of their evil activities.  Our fucking AG (attorney general) is a racist prick who lied under oath and colluded with the enemy to gain his ironic post.  Jeff Sessions is what a demon looks like.  (He’s an angel compared to Mike Pence.)  I wonder how many children he’s tortured and murdered.  I hope he dies in a fire.  I hope all who pose as humans while behaving as demons are annihilated.  They’re enemies of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  They’re traitors to our beloved nation.  Every time they inhale, it’s a tragedy.

Nazi’s need to crawl under a rock and stay hidden until they die as miserably as they lived.  I don’t differentiate between the groups, with all their various disguises.  They’re all one group.  Enemy.  Evangelicals, white supremacists, the GOP, neo-Nazi’s, and whatever other names they’re hiding behind.  All expendable pieces of shit holding America back from achieving further greatness.  All hateful and evil.  All bent on ethnically cleansing the United States of America until all that remains are the privileged:  Those with white skin.

Only, it won’t stop there.  The only way vile pseudo-humans can feel okay about themselves is to belittle and oppress others while falsely inflating their single qualifying attribute, (like 45.)  It’s incredibly weak and evil.  Spoiler alert:  Once the brown people are gone, they’ll turn and come after you.  Do you have brown eyes?  Brown hair?  Freckles?  Maybe that means you’re not actually white.  They don’t use science to make these determinations, so it’s only a matter of time.

And all this evil is made possible by people who only stand up for what they think affects them directly.

It’s the American way.  Nazi’s are exterminating people in vast numbers in concentration camps?  Do we come storming to the rescue?  Fuck no.  We wait until a Divine Wind awakens the Sleeping (self-interested) Giant before we decide this is UNACCEPTABLE FUCKING behavior.  Still, think America is number one?  The world police?  Think again.  America is a fickle bitch who only helps when it’s profitable.  We value money over human life as a nation.  By a long fucking shot, too.  If you come between the rich and their god (money,) some of them will kill you for it.  Not with their own hands, mind you.  They’ll hire someone to do it on their behalf so they can continue pretending their elite.  Koch brothers?  Fucking evil pricks bent on killing the planet to get RICHER THAN THEY ALREADY FUCKING ARE NOW.  They’re enemies of life.  Die. in. a. fucking. fire. Koch. demons.

The only rich people who don’t deserve to perish in a fire are the ones who earned their wealth through success, not through conquest and loopholes.  Most are only rich because of inheritance, fraud, and theft.  They cheated.  They didn’t spend years training themselves to excel as an artist, scholar, inventor, etc.  They haven’t achieved anything.  They got their status for being born.  They got it by a fucking loophole.  They’re pampered and privileged and live in bubbles of unreality.  They don’t live in the real world and aren’t subject to real consequences or strife because their $god protects them.  From everything, including murder.

The sickest part is these loophole lottery winners rarely contribute to humanity in any way.  They don’t create.  They consume disproportionate resources.  They pollute more with their private jets and multiple McMansions.  They usually live and die unnoticed, having done nothing of note.  Most of them aren’t even happy in their perfect lives because they can’t trust anyone to love them sincerely.  Here’s a hint:  It’s because you bypassed the type of life that leads to good character.  You were too busy being pampered and elitist to deign to even speak to someone who isn’t worth a billion dollars, so you don’t know anyone who isn’t a human decoration with no purpose but to consume and look cute while doing it.  Sad!

It pisses me off because it’s such a waste.  What if  Einstein had a father like 45, and was rewarded for existing?  What if his potential was smothered with excess and sycophancy?  Those who put forth nothing and gain everything are a waste of oxygen, a bad example to those more impressionable than reasonable, and a drain on our planet’s resources with zero returns.  If a leech attaches to your body, you pull it off and shudder in disgust.  Why aren’t we doing the same with the parasites draining the lifeblood out of America?  I don’t understand why we continue jumping off the cliff like fucking lemmings.  The only way I can conjure an explanation is to accept the planet is rejecting homo sapiens as a species.

It would explain why we aid in our own murders.  Why we venerate our killers rather than annihilating them.  We as a nation are fucking pathetic because we usually don’t give a fuck until it hurts.  Short-sightedness, ignorance, and evil are steering humanity toward utter destruction.  We’re failing at survival because a few fuckwads want more wealth than they’ve already stolen.  It’s never enough because it doesn’t fill the void where their souls should be.  Instead of recognizing this, they just keep taking more.  Allowing them to continue is America’s shame and pending destruction.

If there is consciousness after death, and I highly doubt it, we’ll just use it to lament our pathetic failure to survive.  It’s easier to give up, surrender, look away, walk away, and pretend it’ll all go away if we do nothing.  We’re dying as a species because life took too much effort for some people to bother even trying to live honorably.  I’m starting to think it might be for the best.  When I see Nazi’s brutalizing citizens while openly brandishing weapons so powerful the police take cover, I think maybe homo sapiens is a virus, and the planet would be better off without us.

My protective nature is beginning to recognize the planet is more worthy of saving than we who are destroying it.  I’m starting to think I’ve wasted my life loving humans more than trees and seas.  I’m finding it harder to recognize our potential as a species because it’s buried under so much hate it can only be seen with faith.  Why?  Because a few are unbelievably evil, and for some reason, we don’t kill them for it.  We let them lay waste unmolested and pretend we couldn’t prevent it.  We all lose if we don’t stop them.  Our extinction event is set to be self-destruction.  No comets, aliens, or zombies necessary.

Quick! Everybody under the desk!

CW: Aftermath of SA, related triggers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fuck.  I haven’t pinpointed for certain what I did wrong to cause this round of hell.  Deep down, I suspect I know, but the reason pisses me off.  I had a birthday last month, and I ate like someone who doesn’t have autism or PTSD.  I thought once a year was sufficient moderation.  I was wrong.  Hence, pissed.  Welp.  Maybe this means I’m going through The Change, (still only once since The Election.)  That would be fair.  I guess.

I’m hiding out in my closet.  I’m trying to convince myself I’m safe.  I’m self-mothering so Siri will tell me when my time is up, (30 minutes.) This is the first time I’ve ever thought my closet is too big.  I know there’s no such thing as safe, but I’m willing to negotiate an understanding.   I live in a secured building in a community with security, in a smallish city with a reliable police force, in a flyover state, in the Midwest.  I don’t need to install motion activated anything in my apartment.  Besides, I don’t want to know too much about what my cat does when I’m asleep or away, (I already negotiated an understanding with my germaphobic tendencies.)

I’m only allowing myself to use old coping skills for a day.  I’m allowing myself to be afraid, and remember today.  The overwhelming shock felt like desperately needing to inhale, but my lungs were already filled to capacity.  I got stuck there for a while.  My internal music stopped for the first time in my life.  The silence was so loud, it wailed.  For a long time, I wished I died.  It’s figuratively the night I found out math isn’t real.  The night the music stopped, and I forgot how to breathe.

I’m angry I was forced to give up my beloved false sense of immortality while still young.  I was fucking using that.  I wasn’t ready to let go.  I was so ambitious and motivated.  It still stings to remember how much I’ve changed because of one night.  I liked who I was before, and barely got to know her before I became me.  I can’t find her anymore.  I think she’s dead.  I still remember her.  She wanted to help end war for good.  She had brilliant plans oozing with logic.  But she’s gone.  I’m what remained plus what I’ve since gained.

I miss her fearlessness.  Her eagerness to volunteer and assist.  To try new experiences, and take significant risks.  I’m far more cautious and careful.  But I remember.  I’m better at accepting the changes these days.  Some would likely have come about in time, regardless, as they’re more prevalent in youth.  I’m angry my time as Alison 1.0 was cut short.  Sigh.  Alison 2.0 cracks me up sometimes.   Fucking silver linings (made of Doublemint wrappers.)

I’ve finally figured out how to accept the fact I was naive as well as the fact it wasn’t my fault.  (It was fucking rocket science.)  Based on the long pause I just took, I’m going to add, barely.  I guess I better go back to sticking post-it notes everywhere that say, “It wasn’t your fault.”  Usually, they make me think of Good Will Hunting, (at which point I smack it lightly and say, “how ya like them apples?” in my best Boston accent.)  It’s a note to my subconscious, so taking them seriously while awake isn’t necessary.  It’s such a good movie.

Okay, my time is probably going to run out soon.  I’ll just ramble on about the film until it does.  I’ve seen it several times, and M. also enjoys it.  He’s not bad at speaking in movie quotes, but a lot of my favorites are what he calls chic flicks.  (We mostly intersect with blockbusters and sci-fi.)  My favorite line in GWH is, “Because fuck him, that’s why.”  I should get it on a t-shirt.  I’m hitting the treadmill next.  Listening to Annabelle Lee by Stevie Nicks on repeat while I run is incredibly comforting.  Then a soak with an herbal bath bomb, and finally, starting over with The Dark Tower series by Stephen King.  (It’s fucking outstanding.)

If they have individual personalities, I’m not sure we should be eating them.

I’m Alison Wonderland.  (It’s what my family often called me when I was growing up.)  I embrace it because I recognize it’s accuracy.  I do live in my own world.  It’s the only way I know how to be.  I connect with people who can accept me as I am.  Usually, it’s individuals who are steady enough within themselves to come a bit closer.  Close enough so I can hear their song.  My wonderland is a bit slower and calmer.  In my world, I look with my ears because they never lie.

I’ve been watching more Stevie Nicks: Live from Chicago, after wrestling with nightmares.  It helps yank me out of the post-nightmare dread quickly.  It’s a far gentler solution than flashing light in my eyes.  (That has its own miserable aftermath.  It works, though.)  I’m super unwilling to linger on bad dreams.  They can only fuck with me while I’m unconscious, dammit.  And only then because I haven’t yet figured out how to annihilate them once and for all.

It’s been a rough few days.  My nightmares have brought background fears front and center.  I’m using paranoia level security in my apartment again.  Nobody’s getting in safely without my permission.  M. knows the drill.  He finds something else to do when I’m fighting a skirmish with PTSD.  I like that he understands my need for him to be scarce exists, and my need for him to comfort me does not.  I did a horrible job of expressing my wishes, but he still got it.  Whew.

I tried to tell him I became my own mom after my mom died.  I meant it to be a gentle way of telling him I don’t need him to comfort me;  I can do it myself.  I strongly suspect he quickly decided he’d rather go play video games alone than wait for me to explain what I meant to my satisfaction.  (Good call, M.)  He works long hours and could sleep through a tornado.  I info dump while he falls asleep, (and long after, of course.)  It’s amazing how much he remembers.  It’s fun to quiz him sometimes.  I think surgical residents are also human tape recorders.

I realized today I’m tensing around men again.  It feels like I’m going backward after so much progress.  It’s unbelievably expensive to my energy level to be wound so tightly at work.  I’ve never worked in a field that wasn’t male dominated, (but I can’t think one that isn’t ATM.)   When the nightmares stop, and I catch my breath,  I’ll worry about it.  Right now, the fear I typically keep in check is kicking my ass.  I’m hyper aware of my vulnerability.  I hate The Fear so much.

I know I can beat it back, but right now I feel whiny about it, and there’s no fucking whining allowed.  I want The Fear to be tangible so I can ask a Republican to come over and shoot it.  (No, wait, they’d want to take it home and feed it.)  Fuck!  I hate being irrational!  I want to go for a run, but…  Whoa.  Almost went there.  I’m going for a run.

How big a look did you get?

I got all my chores done early this weekend. I canceled the Twilight marathon because I don’t have any shields when I watch movies, and it’s super emo.  I can’t go there right now, but perhaps soon.  I’m too hyper to sit still for long, anyway.  I watched Stevie Nicks Live in Chicago, for a bit instead.  It’s awesome.  (Nobody is screaming, fainting, or rushing the stage.)  It’s a pretty big crowd, but not rabid.  I like the band, too.  The lead guitarist, especially.  There are three women singing back-up, but they do it like Fleetwood Mac.  It’s not a lead singer with a few voices in the background rounding out the sound.  It’s multiple voices becoming one by blending together beautifully.  It gives me chills when people can pull it off this well.

In a way, watching it on DVD is better because it’s seamless and well recorded in Dolby 5.1.  She did a duet with Vanessa Carlton, who also played the piano.  It. Was. So. Good.  I held still for the whole song, barely breathing.  That good.  I’m starting to hope I get to see Stevie Nicks perform live someday.  I know she’s not done writing music.  She’s probably working on a song right now.  I know because she’s alive.  I’m familiar with The Muse;  We’ve hung out.  I’m pretty sure The Muse has Stevie Nicks on her home screen.

I’m afraid to go to sleep tonight.  If I stay up all night, I won’t have nightmares, but I’ll be overtired tomorrow.  Being overtired has a distinct drawback:  Once I do finally sleep, I sleep too hard to force myself awake from a nightmare, and I get locked in for the duration.  I hate playing chicken with myself.  My cat usually wakes me up, but sometimes she just goes somewhere else to sleep.  Welp.   I’m going to get it over with tonight while I can still easily awaken at will.  I’ve been having flashbacks all day, so I know I’m in for a doozy.  There’s nothing I can do about it now, so I’m ignoring it until I can’t.  I just wish Anxiety would get the fucking memo.

I only have one hard thing to do this whole week.  I’m already calling the victory because it’s happening, dammit.  I might even tack on another hard thing because my anxiety can only rise so high.  Worst case, I have a panic attack in public.  I’ve never died from a panic attack.  I’ve wanted to, but it can’t kill me.  The most it can do is ruin an hour of my life.  Shit.  I’ve spent more than an hour wedged (stuck) under a missile while on guard duty in the desert, (It was the only shade.  Desert.  Shutup. 😂)  I can take the hit.  It’s worth having two hard things out of the way.  I’m off to beat my drums.

I hear everything.

The Depression Monster has me in a Full Nelson.  (I had to use Wikipedia.)  I’m no longer able to ignore him, but I’m flipping him the bird.  I’ve learned studying Stevie Nicks requires a commitment of sorts.  You have to accept the fact it’s going to hurt sometimes, or you have to move on.  I didn’t even need to think about it.  I like earning my passage into her world.  It’s calmer.  I also like how it doesn’t matter that I’m out of sync in time.

I’m on the second documentary now.  It’s called Stevie Nicks:  In Your Dreams.  I’m at the point where Katrina happened.  Fuck.  I wasn’t ready.  You can tell Stevie directed and edited.  It’s raw where it needs to be, and soft where it’s not.  I suppose this is a trigger warning.  Pause when you see the first hint of Katrina coming next.  It will be obvious now.  Make sure you’re in a safe place to ugly cry.  Get tissues and a few bottles of water.  Round up your pets, and your favorite blanket.  Then take a deep breath, and hit play.  You’re welcome.  (I do this because I love you.)

This hasn’t happened since I spent hours listening to Amy Lee (Hartzell) sing, Hello and Like You on repeat, while I wept with her over losing our little sisters.  It’s a good thing I eat intensity for breakfast.  I never thought I’d say that.  I’m so used to people telling me I’m too intense, (and having it sound like, “fuck off.”)  I’m glad it keeps proving valuable where it matters.  I slept on Tuesday night, so I should be good for a while.  I started writing my short horror story last night.  In hindsight, it may have been better to do it in the morning.

I learned some secrets about fear years ago.  It has a ceiling.  There’s nothing beyond scared shitless.  Further, I discovered there’s a limit to how long you can remain terrified.  I’m sure with practice you could extend it, but for most of us, it’s a relatively rare event.  It’s intense until you run out of energy.  Then it’s surreal.  It stays surreal while you recover a bit.  Then it repeats a few times, like a chorus.  But it has diminishing returns.  Your initial level of terror is greater than your fourth course.  Eventually, it just becomes hysterically funny.

Don’t look at me, I didn’t create these rules, I’m just reporting them.  This is how humans process prolonged fear.  At least the ones who don’t pop straight away, that is.  It’s not good news, but I believe it’s better to know up front.  I hate surprises.  So anyway, my point is I’ve learned how to cope with fear.  I don’t flee at the sight of it.  It’s a bitch, but so am I.  And you can refocus your eyes, I’m done giving myself a pep talk.  I plan on writing more tonight.  Last night I wrote two pages, then deleted them and started over.  I thought about an outline, then didn’t create one.  Finally,  I wrote two better pages.

Creative writing clearly had a far greater influence on my writing than English Grammar.  I love rules, except where creativity is involved, at which point it reverses.  Rules are for one type of thinking.  Creativity is for the other.  They don’t mix.  Mixing them should cause profound halitosis.  That’s how serious I am.  Incidentally, when my orchestra instructor tried to tell me how to feel about Beethoven, I noticed he had funky breath.  (I don’t believe in coincidences.  I’m far more impressed by irony.)

This is the closest I’ve ever leaned into my blog.  I’m incredibly impressionable, so it’s likely Stevie Nicks’ influence on me.  I’m becoming a little more open.  I didn’t see any of this coming.  Despite the tears, I’m having a fabulous time.  It’s a little like following a rabbit down a hole if you know what I mean. 😉  I have a long night ahead.  I’m off to get to it.

I don’t think you can return an item for spite.

Today flew by.  I’m out of town visiting my sister again, so I’m way too disoriented to keep track of time properly.  My anxiety is too high.  I feel like I’m waiting for the starting pistol to fire, signaling me to run like I’m being chased.  Knowing I’m being chased by my own fears is intensely frustrating.  I want to meet those fears head on, but I haven’t even managed to identify them yet.  I feel like I’ve lost my place in my own life story.  It’s uncomfortable.  I know it’s temporary.  It just sucks right now, while I’m figuring out how to get through this unexpected detour.  It’s hard to concentrate lately, especially on abstract concepts.  I think whenever I take a hit to my ability to concentrate, I panic a little.  It’s one of my superpowers, and I rely on it heavily.

I tend to be either scatter-brained, or hyper-focused, with very little time spent in the middle.  I suspect my level of interest plays a large factor in this.  I’ve been reading a lot.  I re-read Lock In by John Scalzi last night.  It’s another favorite.  Reading is my favorite way of dealing with insomnia.  I think I’m going to re-read something by John Irving next.  Last Night in Twisted River will do.  He’s in my top 5 of authors.  I’m feeling the loss of Pat Conroy, so he’ll likely be up after that.  I’m off to read.

No, I mentioned the bisque.

Today was frustrating.  I’m taking a medication to lower my T hormone levels, but unfortunately it seems to be working far too well.  Sitting up in bed shouldn’t be this difficult.  Moving and being awake are almost more than I’m able to manage.  I know exactly why it’s happening, and that at least eliminates the sheer panic I would otherwise be feeling.  Sluggishness is a trigger for me.  I feel drugged, and on the verge of tears.  I know it’s temporary, but my mind won’t stop hypothesizing negative scenarios.  My cat is put out that I won’t play with her.  Usually when she spontaneously tags me, and I say, “I’m gonna getcha!”, it begins a fun game we play often.  She’ll take off running, but only quickly enough to stay just out of my reach.

If when we play I do something typical, like stub my toe, she’ll wait for me to recover.  I love her for that.  I feel guilty that I can’t entertain her.  I feel like I’m failing, even though I know intellectually that this is purely chemical, and has nothing to do with how well I’m utilizing my coping skills.  It’s frustrating, because I don’t have the energy to argue with myself until reason prevails.  I feel whiney, which means I’m annoying myself.  Deep down, I’m worried that after my thyroid is removed, and I begin taking a synthetic replacement, the prescription won’t be sufficient to prevent this becoming a permanent state.  It’s a finicky treatment that will require my taking it at the same time every day.

I have to trust that the doctor will prescribe the right amount, and that’s not easy.  I don’t like relinquishing that much control over my wellbeing to a stranger.  But at least I’m pretty sure that I’m experiencing the low extreme now.  I’m surviving it, I suppose.  So I guess I can surmise that regardless of how competent my doctor is with prescribing the proper dosage, I’ll survive.  I’m going to write down my questions and ask before anyone touches my thyroid.  I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure insomnia beats sluggishness.  It’s a close call, though.  I’m off to read.  At least I can still do that.

I was never sorry! It was cashmere!

I’m in Colorado visiting my nephews.  I seem to have escaped the worst of the heat dome.  I’m sitting in air conditioned comfort, but my thoughts and worries are with those who are forced by circumstance to endure this awful heat.  The middle east is setting heat records.  I hate global warming.  I hate knowing that so many are about to die from heat related injuries, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  I’m having a hard time coping with the knowledge of so much strife in the world.  I don’t know how so many can just go on with their day, and not feel like the world is on fire.  I don’t know how to harden myself to horrors.  Exposure has no impact.  I don’t know what’s wrong with me.

I’m trying to be The Fun Aunt, but it’s hard right now.  I’ll probably have to submerge myself in World of Warcraft soon, in order to regain control over my focus.  They changed a lot of things with the pre-expansion update, so I had a lot of reading to do.  Blizzard knows their fan base, and are really good about informing us ahead of time before changing anything in the game.  They give us all the information necessary to prepare for these alterations, but many choose to ignore them, and then fall apart when they’re enforced.  My entire office had a meltdown over it yesterday.  We did our garrison chores simultaneously while on break at work.  Within 5 minutes, there were tears and swearing.  I felt like asking Calgon to take me away.

Instead, I probably had the worst reaction from a leadership viewpoint.  I asked them why they hadn’t read about the changes before they took place.  The worst part is that I realized the second the words left my mouth that my question was pretty much a suggestion that they all have a meltdown.  I felt my body start to follow suit, but slammed on the brakes immediately.  Because fuck having a meltdown at work.  I’m supposed to be setting the example to help ease our transition to Denver.  I managed to hold it together for the most part.  Long enough to tell everyone to go home for the weekend.  Then I sent them an email summary of the changes, and links to new talent builds for their toons.  That’s what I should have done beforehand.  Sigh.

I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but it won’t be for too long.  I end up missing my cat too much after a few days.  I had no idea I would build such an attachment to her.  I kind of wish she was a dog now, so I could take her with me everywhere.  But on second thought, a dog probably wouldn’t survive as my pet.  I love dogs.  It’s just that they’re too submissive to lay across my keyboard and swat me in the face, while screaming, until I feed them.  Unfortunately, that scenario used to be a reality.  Now that I’m being mindful, my relationship with my cat has evolved.  This is probably the biggest reward so far.  She’s got such a sweet disposition, and she makes me laugh often.  I’m missing her already.

I caught a Kakuna (Pokémon Go) in my lap earlier.  That was awesome.  I made a decision while on a Twitter flyby earlier.  I decided that I’m not going to live in fear of being murdered by the police anymore.  If I find myself in a situation where I’m unfairly murdered for having brown skin, then so be it.  I figure it’s an unlikely scenario, because I follow the law, and treat authority with respect by default.  I’m obviously aware that this doesn’t guarantee my safety with the police.  That used to make me feel afraid all the time.  No longer.  Fear is an energy vacuum.  It was having too great an impact on my quality of life.  So I let it go.  Because physics.  Twenty minutes of fear followed by certain death is better than a lifetime of fear followed by certain death.  I’m a creator, not a destroyer.  Life is attracted to me.  That’s good enough.

I don’t know if I can be friends with you anymore, after this display.

Today was good.  I talked to my therapist, again.  She makes me laugh a lot, which is awesome.  I chatted with an Apple Support rep. online, and we fixed my main issue.  I was ecstatic, because I thought I’d have to take it to a tech in person.  I went online to check my AppleCare dates, and figured I may as well check their database to see if it was an easy fix.  Nothing came up, so I went into the chat.  It was an easy, albeit time consuming fix.  However, I’m still having problems with powering down.  I wasn’t planning on seeking support for that, as it’s an OS X issue, and contacting support for a software issue is against my religion, (as a software engineer).

I got my case number and thanked the guy who helped me.  He did a good job, and didn’t make me feel frustrated by over-explaining simple tasks.  I think the way I explained my issue was enough to inform him that I wasn’t a computer neophyte.  That’s all just pride and ego flexing.  I think it’s practically a human trait to dislike being told how to do what you already know how to do.  It could just be an American thing, though.  I’ve had more than one non-American imply that we tend toward arrogance.  I don’t get upset when non-Americans criticize our nation because it amuses me.  When there’s over 300 million people being insulted right along with you, it’s kinda hard to take it personally.

The whole concept of nationalism amuses me to a degree.  My amusement over it increases with age.  The older I get, the more I see myself as an earthling, and less as an American.  My time in the service helped me see beyond the lies we’re taught in school.  I suppose that’s what experience does.  It alters your focus and perspective.  I still have mind boggling (to me), experiences on a regular basis.  Sometimes I think it’s because my world went from being very small to huge overnight.  But I think it’s probably more complex than that.  I’ve always been the kind of person who faces fear like I’m secretly participating in a lifelong game.  I jump in with both feet, and come what may.  The more it scares me, the more likely I am to rush in and get it over with.

Even as a little girl, I would jump into the pool rather than slowly allow my body to adjust to the temperature.  I think it’s because there’s not a detectable difference in how I experience fear, be it from a spider, or jumping out of a perfectly good plane.  Both scenarios scare me as far as I can be scared.  So I kill the damn spider, (after trying to get anyone else to do it for me).  Or I just say, “Fuck it”, and jump.  I’d like to say this strategy is working well for me, but who knows.  I can say that it makes my life pretty exciting, sometimes.  Usually, the exciting parts are far better in hindsight, though.

My brain tends to forget the sucky stuff, and put a red bow on the rest.  For example, I have fond memories of basic training, and remember it as a fun time in my life.  But if I challenge that ridiculous notion with a little thought, I can recall sitting on a bench in the latrine, wondering if it was possible to lose weight from crying.  When I had that thought, I was extremely stressed out, and spent an indecent amount of time wishing hateful things on my Drill SGT’s.  Now, I look back and laugh.  I was such a spoiled child when I showed up for basic.  The Army cured me of both being spoiled, and being a child.  Uncle Sam had a lot of practice long before I came along.  Although, according to my Drill SGT, I was the most suggestion making, why asking, Private he’d ever trained.  So there’s that.