I’m disgusted by the Americans who continue to support treason. Law applies to all or none. If you think you’re safe as houses while this continues, you’re setting yourself up for a horrible surprise. I’m looking forward to seeing Beyoncè perform live next month. After that, I’ll keep looking forward to seeing Fleetwood Mac a few months later. Assuming we’re not all dead or dying from a nuclear tantrum, that is.
I completed NBC (nuclear, biological, and chemical warfare) training while serving in the Army. I know enough to be alarmed by the recent chemical attacks in the UK. I know exactly how to react to such tactics based on this knowledge. Do you? Russia denies everything, per usual, while gleefully celebrating yet another victory against the daft Americans who surrendered their free will to Fox News.
But, hey. At least 45 is white, huh? And he’s a Christian because Fox News said so. A white, allegedly Christian man with lots of money (do you truly know how he got it?) can commit treason, and you’re okay with it because he promised to overturn Roe vs. Wade? And he encourages you to hate loudly and boldly, and you love that shit, don’t you? Just as much as you hate me when I notice and point it out, eh?
There are a thousand clichè’s to describe how history repeats itself. What comes around, goes around, etc. Lay in the bed you made. That one seems fitting on many levels. Much of writing for others to read entails creating a story that uses symbolism to relate wisdom. I mean the underlying tale that’s rearranged, recast and reworded over and over by author after author.
The unspoken motivation for writing in the first place is what I’m referring to here: To cause the reader to feel, think, and experience your creation. To draw on that to which we can relate, then share a perspective. As a voracious reader, I treasure this bond. I love seeing the world through the eyes of another. As a writer, I’m finding myself reluctant to share. I recognize now it involves a slight level of trust.
The state of America affects me in ways I never considered before. I’m saddened by how quickly I’m becoming anti-theist. Presently, the word Christian is meaningless. A transparent shield of lies. I’m embarrassed by how naive I was. And disgusted. Wolves in sheep’s clothing don’t seem to understand why I respond like they’re a wolf. Maybe I should copy. If I pretend to believe hard enough, perhaps I can be a tree. We’ll see.
Open Letter to the tiki torch carriers in North Carolina:
I woke up this morning and (eventually) checked my Twitter feed. Oh. A demonstration in North Carolina by angry, privileged, and misled individuals carrying tiki torches. You’re upset because despite having an entire nation specifically designed to give you a better shot at everything in life, you’re still not thriving. It’s not enough you’ve never experienced life surrounded by hateful people who despise you for existing. You don’t even know what it’s like to face life without every possible advantage at your disposal. You can’t imagine it. It’s much easier to ignore these facts, and pretend to be the victim, instead, eh?
It’s also simpler to waste your life than live it to it’s fullest. Privilege is an advantage, but it doesn’t live your life for you. It doesn’t guarantee you will be on top of everyone else. It doesn’t automatically make you awesome. You still have to get off your lazy ass and build your life with effort, which is what truthfully has you so upset. It’s unfortunate you didn’t focus on making yourself into someone you can love, and instead chose to concentrate on hating everyone else. Every single one who carried their tiki torch around the church, while spewing racial slurs and saluting a dead, meth addicted loser, has publicly announced you are a miserable piece of shit.
That was precisely the message you delivered. Nobody saw you, and thought, “Hey! This person has factual information to share with the world!” We looked at you and were disgusted. What a pathetic tiki tantrum by spoiled brats who haven’t figured out how to adult yet. We don’t pity your invented woes. We know your cause is bullshit. We are aware you’re merely proving yourself one of the poor fools who fell for (weak) propaganda because it was easy and didn’t take any effort. You just want to be a terrorist without consequence, and this group will take anyone with white skin. Finally, you get to fit in without effort or policing your poorly formed personality. How sad.
Barrack Obama was President of the United States of America for eight years. He has brown skin. Obama overcame every single obstacle that stood in his way. Not one of you tiki torch carrying fuckwads has even faced a single one of the barriers he conquered. Instead, you’re bent on creating more barriers to ensure such an incredible achievement never happens again. Even with all the privilege and advantages, in this beautiful country where you automatically have a far better shot at life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, merely for existing, you’re still losers. That’s so fucking pathetic it’s hard to believe it’s even possible. Holy shit.
The worst part is the why. Why are you so miserable and pathetic? The answer is simple. You chose this. You looked at all the opportunities America has to offer you, and said, “Nah, that all sounds like hard work. Instead, I’m just going to make it harder for everyone else, and then pout over not being treated as if I’m valued, when all I have to offer is hate and destruction.” On second thought, I do pity you. If I see you on the street with your bug repelling torch, I’ll hug you. I can’t imagine how awful it feels to be you. Besides, you’re alive, which entitles you to my consideration. You don’t even need skin for me to consider you and your feelings. But if you strike me, my return will end you, so don’t. Take the hug or don’t. It’s yours to accept or reject.
Instead of choosing to be hateful, you can always change your mind and embrace all of America in her glory. Together, we’re amazing. I’d rather you were part of our greatness because I suspect you have something inside you that makes you one of a kind. Not part of some angry group looking foolish. Just you, alone, without all the fake baggage. Oh, there you are! I can see you better when you’re not pretending to be a psychopath. I don’t even believe you hate other Americans. I think you’re angry and frustrated. You’ve accepted a lot of bullshit as true and decided to go with it because you know you can get away with it, (now.)
I’m hoping you figure out this path leads to a dark empty place. Many have traveled it, but none of them are still around to share. You’ve chosen the team that will lose every single time, regardless of how much money and KGB bots feeding the effort. In the end, love and life always win. They’re the point, silly. So think again about who you want to anchor yourself to, and why. Do you want to spend the rest of your life angry and miserable? Many have chosen to do this. We have diseases named after them. I hope you decide you want far more. I hope you opt to be honest. The hate is your thing. I don’t hate you. If I did, I wouldn’t bother writing this.
I love you for being alive. I’m angry you’ve chosen misery because I know it’s a choice. Nobody is forcing you to go down this road. You’re truly only hurting yourself. Don’t do that. Life is hard enough without sabotaging it. You know what’s right and wrong. You’re free to choose. Just remember, every choice has consequences. You’re probably going to get away with terrorizing North Carolinians last night because of your white privilege. Nobody is shocked by this because we live in a nation that doesn’t treat everyone equally. We hate it. We fight it. We do whatever we can do legally to try and even the playing field. We don’t show up and terrorize you, though. We treat you better than you deserve, and you make us beg just to exist.
I hope you think about what kind of future you want for yourself, and make better choices. Your white skin isn’t necessarily going to protect you forever, so please work on building yourself into a decent individual. Nobody can do it but you.
I’m so overwhelmed. Yeah, I saw this coming, too. Sleep deprivation is expensive. Typically, I feel like I’m a few seconds behind the world. I’m used to The Pause. Presently, my mind is racing. I have too many things I want to process at the same time. I’m demanding my brain keep up, but it’s like trying to make the rain stop by shouting at it. Nevertheless, I’m still shouting. I know it’s futile, but any action seems better than stillness.
I’m struggling to understand Americans who hate me so much, they’d rather destroy America than tolerate my existence. It’s not going well. I have a glitch I was apparently born with. It scares me, sometimes. I’ve never in my life managed to hold a grudge for more than a few days. When I hate someone, it takes over my mind and becomes all I can think about. I can’t read, listen to music, watch TV, or socialize, and hate someone at the same time. Hating is essentially cutting myself off from all else. It’s exhausting, and my hate-stamina is pathetic. I always end up rejecting it, and as I’ve matured (shut-up 😂), I often skip the process and let it go straight away.
My sister, Heather, seemed the opposite in this respect. I remember marveling at her ability to remain furious at someone, seemingly permanently. I assume it’s a survival mechanism to some degree, but mine’s broken. It makes me feel vulnerable. It used to make me question my intelligence, but I decided it’s irrelevant. I know a lot of people are feeling the tremor in The Force resulting from Americans hating Americans. I suspect many of my fellow neurodiverse people are struggling right now. One of the lovely perks of membership is often a high sensitivity to strong emotions of others. A tremor in The Force is nearly literal, (depending on your level of Star Wars/life integration.)
I’m focusing my energy on removing my contribution to the tremor. You’re welcome. I’m having a Healing Day to get back in sync. I went for a long run early this morning. I listened to Chiquitita by ABBA, Whenever I Call You Friend by Kenny Loggins ft. Stevie Nicks, and Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks on repeat. I mostly love repetition, but when people ask me the same question more than once, I get stuck. (I wish more people would get behind my idea of a universal visual signal and/or sound whenever sarcasm is used.) Remember the cartoons with crappy resolution and expressive soundtracks? The music was an essential part of comprehending the humor. At least for me.
Oops, there I go again, wishing. I just rolled my eyes at myself. Part of me believes others should be considerate enough to let me in on the joke. The eye-rolling part thinks it’s ridiculous to even desire the world where others put forth some effort to enable me (and many others) to participate. Guess which part of me I like better? I just cracked myself up. Also, if you haven’t spent some time experiencing Stevie Nicks, stop being mean to yourself and get to it soon. I’m off to play the violin to some cows while the humidity is tolerable.
I made it through today’s challenges. The hashtag game that started my day at 6 AM was lots of fun. The tag was lovely (about hugs), and lots were funny and touching. After that, the guy I hired to haul off my junk arrived with his two young sons. He wasn’t able to maneuver his truck into my underground parking space, so one boy stood guard in case a neighbor needed him to move it while we headed upstairs. It took less than an hour, and they didn’t damage any walls in the process. It was mostly Ikea furniture I’ve outgrown, and my sofa. The sofa barely fit out the door and took a lot of effort to get into the elevator. When we stood it on its end, it brushed the ceiling in the elevator.
I could tell I was their first customer as they were still working out the logistics. Typically, when I encounter someone starting a new business, I offer to build them an app or website. I forgot this time, but I’ll be hiring him again shortly. I have a Jenga-like tower of boxes from TV’s, speakers, monitors, etc. in part of my parking space. I saved them for when I move, but in the meantime, they’ve washed the floors, and that ruined several. They’re now an unbelievably dusty nuisance I’d rather not touch. I’d rather pay to have them come back and have a filthy box smashing party on my behalf. I saw lots of spider webs seemingly holding my Jenga tower together. Ew. No.
Unfortunately, I stressed so much about meeting a stranger, and letting him into my home; I didn’t sleep last night. I lay still in bed while listening to 21 Pilots on repeat. I felt fine throughout the hashtag game, but halfway through helping load the truck, I hit a wall of nausea. I soldiered through until we finished, then drank some water. It helped a bit, but the 2-hour nap helped more. I’m confident I’ll sleep tonight. I feel good knowing I managed, and it’s over.
I did most of my chores but still have windows, and dishes left. I’ll do those tomorrow. Tonight, I’m going to binge watch Pamela Adlon’s new show, Better Things on FX app. I’ve seen the pilot, so I already know I’ll love the show. FX’s app either shows lots of commercials, or it seems like more than what I’d see if I watched it in real time. It’s annoying, but it’s Pamela Adlon, so I’ll deal. I loved her in Lucky Louis, Louis, King of the Hill, (and much more voice-overs in anime and video games). I love that she’s little on the outside, big on the inside. I love that she’s effortlessly sexy and funny at the same time. There are so few who can pull that off. Mariska Hargitay is another that comes to mind. I love the androgyny a few beautiful people have brought into the spotlight. They’re making perceptions of beauty broader, which is awesome.
I had a weird moment where my body was reacting to emotions I didn’t consciously feel. I have these episodes often, and rarely give them my attention. Usually, I cry in my sleep from a disturbing dream, then awaken with post-crying hiccups and no feelings to explain them, which is standard with PTSD. Today, I had a similar moment while awake. It was just creepy enough to guarantee I won’t stay up all night again soon.
While I lay there listening to music, I wrestled with the Orson Scott Card issue again. I forgive him for being imperfect in such a hateful and harmful manner because I reject hate. However, the boycott continues. I can’t stomach reading anything he writes ever again because I imagined myself as a gay teenager growing up in South Dakota, reading Ender’s Game, then finding out Orson Scott Card is an outspoken hater with no regard for how much pain and loss it causes.
I don’t like to rant about religion because it’s disrespectful to those who believe differently than I. I firmly believe hate is wrong. I question the judgment of anyone who justifies hatred, especially if religion is the justification. I’ve mentioned before I’m offended by religion in general, and this explains why. I realize not all who hold tight to faith embrace hatred. Yay. Those who do confuse me at best. I’m at war with hate, and I’m a soldier. Brandon Sanderson is a far superior writer, and he doesn’t spread hate. So there’s that. I’m off to continue reading his latest; Arcanum Unbounded: The Cosmere Collection.
I’m off to Denver today. Yay!! I’m excited to go this time. My anxiety is a little high, but not more than I can handle. I didn’t sleep well again. More Trump nightmares. Sigh. It’s just so hard to reconcile the fact that it’s 2016, and so many are still ignorant and full of hatred. I’m trying not to think about the fact that the 2 leading candidates are racists. I’m not feeling terribly proud to be an American. For the next few days, I’m going to have fun, and try to forget about the ugliness. At least I’ll get some sleep. Hopefully nightmare free.