“You see those two ladies I’ve got showing? Do they look scared?”

Dear Universe, I get it, damn.  I’ve officially quit caffeine.   I’ve been made aware of the foolishness of continuing to imbibe any substance that hurts me if I forget a dose.  What I’d like to know, is how long the withdrawal headache will stay until I’m forgiven for this oversight?  At first, I thought I should run it off, (my usual cure-all.)  Then I remembered dehydration would just make it worse.

I’m quite familiar with Motrin from the military.  “Sucking chest wound?  Here, take a Motrin.  In fact, take two.”  If one dose doesn’t end it, a second dose would only add hurling to the mix.  Sigh.  (My body hates pain remedies, which sucks because I hate pain.)  I haven’t slept in a few days, which probably isn’t helping.  I can’t help it, though!  I’m in the middle of a book¹ where falling asleep is considered a death wish!

I had a blast practicing my drums earlier.  I upgraded my hi-hat trigger and will use the old one as a splash or something.  Another perk of electronic drums.  I had to go against the instructions to install it, which irks me.  Yamaha 3-zone cymbal triggers vary depending on size, but the instructions are only for the smaller model.  I figured it out, but damn.  Would it kill them to add a paragraph to the manual?  (I’m cranky from a headache. 😂)

I played along with Mary Jane’s Last Dance by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers until my hands were numb.  It’s my favorite song right now.  I’m also digging Attention by Charlie Puth.  (He’s the first male voice to impress me since Bruno Mars.  Before Bruno was Michael Jackson.  Okay, I’ll stop.  Deleted four more.  Heh.) American Girl always evokes memories of Silence of the Lambs.  I wish I could unwatch that movie.

It was like An American Werewolf in London for me.  My older siblings went on and on about how great it was, but wouldn’t tell me the story, (probably because I was the Queen of Nightmares.)  So of course, I sneak watched it, was horrified, then began seriously thinking about time travel for the first time in my life.  (So not the last.)  All of this could be prevented by a new law requiring all scary movies first be released as a novel.  Just saying.

I’m starting to miss some aspects of Twitter.  Mostly the hashtag gamers and my Resistance sisters.  I liked having at least one belly laugh over a tweet per day.  It’s changed my role in the Resistance, too.  Aside from my one-woman protests, the rest of my activity will consist of sending money to Democrats running for office.  I used my AI to determine which candidates will most benefit, so at least it’s fun.  Many of them are running for office for the first time.  That’s wicked cool.  I’m off to figure out that bass riff in Attention, by Charlie Puth.

¹Sleeping Beauties by Owen and Stephen King


Jerry, I’m your mother, now what is it?

All Manner of Things Unwell

Thought things were better
Thought I might survive
Thought fewer were hating
And plotting genocide

Had so many plans
So much to create
So many to lift up
Such joy to await

Now it’s all crashing down
Like an avalanche
Nowhere to take cover
No righteous circumstance

Stuck in a holding pattern
By ignorance and greed
A hostage to hate
Dying to be freed

Dying to be freed
We’ve been here before
Thought this was finally something
Our country stood for

Wrong, so wrong
Can’t unclench teeth
Can’t eat or sleep
Can barely breathe

Don’t want to cry
Watching Americans suffer
Don’t want to die
Knowing things will get tougher

Faith was first to jump ship
Beneath an epic guilt trip

Know where this is leading
So many bear this fear
Alone in the silence
Headlight-captured deer

Body is failing
‘Bout all that is left
Spirit is weeping
Fate inevitable by theft

Mind running for cover
The Babies are crying
Soul fading to nothing
The Babies are dying

Nightmare reality
Locked in the cage
Never wanted to trade
My life for your rage

My life isn’t mine
It’s all an illusion
Not being a slave
A painful delusion

Suppose it’s too late
To become pro-abortion
Already born
In time to die for extortion

Many are shocked
Think right-skinned might make it
We’re all niggers now
Just so one man could fake it




Mom, Dad… I have fleas…

(Reads previous post and cringes.)  I’ve tried to hang on to my rage, but it fled about ten minutes after I published my rant.  I can’t stay angry for shit.  It takes too much energy for something that accomplishes nothing.  I worked on my quilt a bit earlier.  I’m hand quilting for the first time (though I wish I picked a smaller quilt.)  I understand why thimbles exist, now.  I discovered this after sewing through the top few layers of skin on my finger, (and wondered why my quilt was stuck to me.)  Still, no blood lost, though.  I’m using Wonder Woman flannel for the back, and black and white striped fabric for the binding.

I think drumming is improving my motor skills.  I don’t bother with the tools built in my module to test my timing anymore.  I get 100% every time now (which kinda ruined the fun.)  I think it’s intended for noobs who are learning drums as their first instrument.  Or people who don’t practice very often, perhaps.  I keep talking myself out of building my own drum module (and programming it not to suck.)  My brain won’t leave it there, however.  If I do that, I’ll want to sell it to others, which means I’d have to make it talk to Yamaha, Roland, Alesis, etc.  And that means coding for the proprietary hardware of competing companies.  (The horror!)  There, I just talked myself out of it again.

I watched Tina Fey’s Weekend Update segment.  I love her.  Oddly, it didn’t make me want cake.  (Probably because it got massacred hilariously.)  I lived in Boston while earning my Ph.D.  Watching 20k people show up to march today made me miss it.  It was incredible, and many pointed out they far outnumbered 45’s inaugural farce.  I hope they know their actions today healed some of the hurt, so many of us carry in silence.  I hope they know it made me so proud of them.  They are my America.  Sassy, bold, peaceful, and not having IT.  It led me to say something I haven’t in a while;  I love my country.

I spent much of the day doing chores and hanging out with M’s mom.  She braided my hair, (and it’s not tearful tight, yay.)  I finished Far From the Madding Crowd and began the last of the Thomas Hardy novels I downloaded.  Tess of the d’Ubervilles.  I’m going to read books by women authors for a while after this.  I need a break from the (Victorian era) misogyny.  I might give Ann Rice another shot since she’s mentioned in one of Stevie Nicks’ songs.  (Fan logic. 😂)  Five days and a wake up until Stevie Nicks performs in St. Paul.  😊

I learned some things when I watched her concert DVDs.  Turns out, they don’t do all the new songs on their latest album.  It surprised me, and I’m disappointed.  (Not terribly, though, as I’d still love to see her perform any song.)  The last concert I recall attending was DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince with JJ Fad opening.  (Supersonic 😂)  It was an outdoor concert, and when he began, Parents Just Don’t Understand, the crowd surged forward, and all of us up front got pushed under the stage for a bit, (at which point they stopped the show to let us out.)  It was 102° F, and his hip hop dancers were drenched in sweat and looked like they were on the verge of heat stroke.  They ended the show early to prevent that.  It was still cool seeing Will Smith, though.  I’m off to read.

Because I’m single, I’m thin, and I’m neat.

The above Seinfeld quote cracks me up because I misinterpreted the intended meaning of “neat.”  I laugh anytime I hear someone refer to a personality as, neat.  The word, neato, if pronounced with the proper enthusiasm, can render me a quivering heap of giggles on the floor.  There are perks to having older siblings who were teenagers in the 70’s.  Flipping through photo albums showing them in their plaid bell bottoms on holidays is still a favorite.  I still don’t understand what the orange, avocado, and mustard yellow everything were about, though.  Did those colors look better in the 70’s?  Asking for my eyes.

My eyes are glazed over from reading news articles all day.  I can’t believe I have subscriptions to The New York Times, The Washington Post, and The Wall Street Journal.  I’m not complaining, just marveling at how much 45 has impacted my life.  I used to only read articles about artificial intelligence, computers, games, gadgets, etc.  I’ve cut back on some of my interests due to the state of emergency in American government.  I tend to do my best when I’m intensely focused on a small number of projects.  I can juggle three at a time, but two is better.  The extra one only when I’m not sleeping for a stretch, (but I suspect I waste as much time staring into space from being overtired as I gain from not sleeping, so it probably doesn’t count.)

The Resistance is my priority.  My other obsessive focus is on my drums.  I had to take a day off from practice to let my hands heal.  I’ve been playing along with Fleetwood Mac, Rumours.  It’s such a good album.  I understand now why drummers move in ways I used to find awkward to watch while they play.  It’s because it feels good.  I do it too and laugh at myself when I realize.  I used sticks dipped in rubber (on the grips) and no gloves.  Mistake.  I peeled a disturbing amount of skin off my hands today.  Then obsessed over the new skin for a bit.  I’ll be wearing gloves going forward.  I wasted at least 30 minutes messing with dead skin like I had nothing better to do.

I got my laptop back yesterday.  Everything looked like it should, but I still stayed up all night shortening the lifespan of my hard drive.  I appreciate TSA for getting it back to me so quickly and intact.  It’s clear lots of people leave stuff in security because they have an impressive Lost and Found department.  The process was as easy as typing, “I left my laptop in security” in a browser.  The first hit was TSA Lost and Found website with a phone number.  It had automated instructions informing me to give them 24 hours, then call and see if it was turned in.  I talked to them on Sunday, and my laptop was back in my hands on Monday afternoon.  That’ll do.

Apple got my attention with the iMac Pro.  I haven’t had an iMac since the G5.  It’s been Macbook Pros and mini’s since.  I’m just going to get the new 10.5″ iPad Pro with a 512 GB SSD.  I have an iPad Air 2 with a 64 GB SSD.  I use it mostly for making music.  There are some amazing apps for IOS, many of which let you download samples and instruments.  Faster and more space?  Yes, please.  My sister will appreciate the old one.  I have a one in, one out policy now.  I’ve progressed in my mission to get rid of my excess stuff.  I’m not done yet, however.  I need to purge my t-shirts.  I have an obscene number of them, mostly from sites like TeePublic, Woot Tshirt, Teefury, and DesignByHumans.

I was going to make some quilts with them, but I’ve since changed my mind.  Instead, I’m going to drive down to the state mental hospital with a box full.  It’s about an hour away.  It’s a surprisingly nice facility.  It was built by a former governor who I believe had a spouse with mental illness.  It has an Olympic size indoor pool, full-size indoor gym, music rehearsal room, and the wards are arranged around an indoor walking path that loops around.  I love such thoughtful architecture.  It’s one of the buildings I’m proud of in my state.  When you consider our laws regarding the mentally ill in South Dakota are embarrassing at best, it’s remarkable.

Here, the police transport the mentally ill in handcuffs and leg shackles.  I’m. Not. Fucking. Kidding.  The last time I went down to see the building, I talked to a kid who was from Rapid City (western side of the state).  He was 14, and they brought him there on a prison bus with prisoners seated adjacent to the mentally ill patients being transported to the state hospital.  They had him in handcuffs and leg shackles for the entire 5-hour trip.  He told me the prisoners taunted him and the other patients, calling them derogatory terms for MI.  He was crying by the time he finished telling me.  It really shook him up.

I’m pretty sure it would have shaken me up, too.  I reported it to a local advocacy group.  They told me it would be wise for people with mental illness to move east because people are more understanding there, (practically a quote.)  It’s 1960 in South Dakota.  I felt ashamed to be an adult that day.  The building is nice, though.  Sigh.  I’m off to read.




I was just being folksy.

Today was informative.  It was a good day for The Resistance.  Visible effort is taking place to hold 45 accountable for his crimes.  Watching 45 tweet another lie during the meeting and get called out for being a fucking liar was icing on top.  The Obama administration came through for Flint, finally.  They were given the funds to fix their undrinkable water problem.  45 tried to take credit for this, too.  But in reality, it was Obama.

It sucks having a shitty used car salesman sitting in the White House, pretending to be a leader.  I’ll be glad when he’s in prison.  So anyway, I’m on book 8 of The Wheel of Time series now.  It’s my fourth time reading this series, but I still catch things I missed.  This is the series that convinced me to buy my first Kindle.  I like having the entire series in my hand.  I remember how awful it was as a kid to have to wait until the next trip to the library to continue reading.  I didn’t walk barefoot uphill both ways through 8 feet of snow, but it still sucked.

I’m working on a new song that’s been bugging me.  I got a software program with much better sounds for my midi drum kit.  I also got some gloves to prevent getting more blisters.  I suspect I hold the sticks too tightly.  I’m trying to be conscious of my posture while practicing, too.  I know from learning other instruments it’s harder to unlearn bad habits than it is to learn good ones.  I play better when I’m sitting properly.  I like practicing.  I have to remember to remove my FitBit before I practice, or it will tell me I ran a 5K while seated.  The first time I noticed this issue, I thought I was having a particularly hyper day before realizing it was from drumming.  I’m probably going to read all night again.  I’ve been having nightmares about the Florida inmate who was boiled to death by the guards who won’t be facing any consequences.  Sigh.

Race him Jerry. Race him.

Maya Angelou is one of my favorite poets.  I mentally recite Still I Rise often of late.  It empowers me and motivates me in my fight with the resistance.  It inspired the poem below.

Disclaimer:  I write poetry.  I do not write poetry well.  Just like with hashtag games, I don’t let it deter my enthusiasm.


You may call me names like “libtard.”
While you embrace Republican lies.
You may hate me for my differences.
But diversity is on the rise.

Does my melanin upset you?
My disability enrage?
Are you bothered by my joyfulness?
Outside your for-profit cage?

While you celebrate corruption,
And revel in your hate,
Don’t call yourself a Christian.
The accurate term is reprobate.

You rail against the hungry.
You’re disgusted by the poor.
You idolize the wicked.
Then help them take even more.

You call yourself a patriot.
You wave the flag and cheer.
Never mind if it’s the Russian flag.
Why not kiss Putin’s rear?

Is it fun to be the villain?
Nothing binds a group like hate.
It often leads to violence.
But by then it’ll be too late.

Your ignorance is costly.
The bill will soon come due.
Will you still think it’s funny?
When he comes after you?

Did you think you were exempt?
From the depravity and greed?
Do you feel safe as houses?
While you watch the criminals feed?

What will you tell your children?
Do you think they won’t find out?
Clean water laws are now history.
All they’ll know is shortages and drought.

The swamp was filled with vipers.
Destroying America is their goal.
They didn’t even try to hide this.
But instead, you believed the troll.

Your role will be remembered.
History will not be kind.
Comparisons to Hitler,
Overshadowing any mastermind.

The Resistance will be triumphant.
Horrible crimes will be exposed.
We, the people, rise together.
Evil will not be forever imposed.

The speed dial is like a relationship barometer.

So here we are.  A month into 45’s regime.  The disturbance in the force is still resonating at high frequency.  A lot of Americans are wondering when Congress plans to do something other than run and hide from their constituents.  It’s frustrating because we’re discovering so many GOP politicians don’t give a shit if their constituents know they don’t represent them.  They don’t think anyone is going to hold them accountable for their actions.  They feel quite confident in the fact that they run the committees that oversee their corruption.

It’s depressing.  I know a lot of people are struggling to keep their chin up.  I’m so proud of The Resistance.  I know it’s painful having friends and loved ones who don’t share our views.  It’s agonizing to disagree so vehemently with people you care about.  The reason you care about them is that they’re loveable.  But loveable can still be frustrating as fuck!  Hang in there.  Don’t turn your back on them, they’re going to need your support no matter what happens.  Please, hang in there.  Remind yourself what made you love them in the first place, and hold that thought tightly.  We’ll get through this.

Keep up the good work.  Keep reading and listening to leaders and news sources that consistently pass fact checking.  Follow your representatives on social media to open another avenue of communication.  Keep calling and telling your representatives what you want them to do on your behalf.  If you can’t get through, leave a message.  If they shut off their phone, send a postcard or letter.  Be persistent.  Remember, not everyone we’re fighting for can do this, so if you’re able, thank you so much for lifting others with you.

I’m doing my part and following a good leader within The Resistance. If you haven’t joined yet, here is a link to an ACLU-run site that can help you get involved.  Also, don’t forget to donate to the ACLU if you’re able.  I’m using the funds I saved by canceling cable to send them a monthly amount.  I have to say, it feels great to donate money to them.  I gave to Bernie during his campaign, but that was the first time I put money into politics (willingly).  Now I’m addicted to activism with my wallet.  The best part is it’s not contributing to my “too much stuff” issue.  Bonus.  It’s got to be in my top ten adulting actions thus far.

Remember to step away when you need to, and come back refreshed.  It’s a marathon, not a sprint.  Don’t feel guilty for self-care.  It’s mandatory for humans who want to continue being humane.  The Obama’s are back and looking rested and ready to dig in.  Hillary Clinton has also been publicly cheering us on.  They’re with us.  But even better, we have each other.  If you need a shoulder, I have two.  You can reach out to me knowing I’m awkward and dorky and usually ruin the three jokes I know, but I care about you because you’re alive.  Being alive sucks sometimes.  When that happens, reach out.  Some days are too heavy to carry alone.


So you want to go out in a final blaze of incompetence.


Another week of lies from 45 and his minions, followed by another vacation at taxpayer expense.  It’s “Do as I say, not as I do,” the In Your Face Edition.  As his support continues to dwindle to all time lows at this stage of the presidency, 45 continues to go after the media.  He’s trying so hard to follow Hitler’s script, but he’s even failing at failing.  Hitler was addicted to meth during his madness.  Cocaine seems to be what 45 prefers.  Sniff.

Whenever I see his self-inflicted ugly, I see hysterical fear; the unfortunate side effect of those who habitually step on others.  Most Americans learn on the playground to avoid stepping on others.  It almost always ends in violence.  For some reason, 45 has made it to what is clearly the winter of his lifespan without learning this.  He behaves so much like an unsupervised toddler, it’s embarrassing.

The overwhelming fears that drive 45 and many of his most devout followers come from an undeniable recognition of deserved retaliation.  These fools know they’ve stepped on so many to get where they are now, they can’t possibly escape the consequences.  They fully expect those bills to come due at any moment and behave accordingly.  They’re constantly looking over their shoulder for that long overdue payback.

Frankly, I’m impressed 45 has enough sense to be afraid all the time.  I didn’t think the ignoramus was capable of deciphering the consequences of his actions.  Or perhaps Bannon told him.  That’s more likely.  A lot of the GOP leaders show this fear.  I don’t think they know they’re naked.  Again, embarrassing.  They gather behind closed doors to scheme about ways of stepping on more and more people.  Republicans think money can protect them from reality.

I suppose I shouldn’t find that shocking.  Especially not when I consider how many Republicans believe sitting in church for an hour a week makes them a Christian.  Or dodging taxes makes them intelligent.  It’s as funny to me as the atheists who think being an atheist makes them brilliant.  My atheism hasn’t impacted my intellect.  (All it’s done so far is make me think about religion far more often.  It’s fucking annoying.)

Reality doesn’t cease existing because you cover your eyes.  Personally, I found Peek-a-boo convincing.  Some obviously didn’t.  I’m not looking forward to watching 45 face the consequences of his actions.  I hate seeing people suffer.  It doesn’t matter if I think they deserve it or not.  I just don’t like it at all.  I feel like I’m watching a vulnerable boy hold his hand over a fire.  He won’t stop, and the flame is already touching his skin.  I can almost feel his pain.  I don’t know how to harden myself or cover my eyes.  So I fight.

I know where 45 is headed, and I refuse to follow.  I’ve been fighting for my right to exist my entire life.  I’m far from alone, and many who haven’t had to fight are joining the battle out of righteousness.  I know from history these warriors who seem to have nothing at stake often turn out to be the most fierce among us.  I embrace all who fight against the wickedness unleashed by the GOP.  I’m fighting for the future of humanity.  I’m fighting with everything I have.

Her aunt dying is the best thing that ever happened to you.

I tweeted to Michelle Obama as FLOTUS yesterday.  It was in response to her farewell from the position speech.  I know it’s entirely possible she won’t have time to scroll down an epic thread to find and read my message.  On the tiniest chance she would, I poured my heart into the tweet.  Then I cried a bit.  Then I made fun of myself for crying on Twitter.  It led to my laughing instead.  I’m so glad I got to exist while Michelle Obama was FLOTUS.

I have a feeling I’ll be jogging more than marching on the 20th to stay warm.  Fortunately, I have the proper equipment to ensure it doesn’t end in frozen tears.  The woman who is guiding me (and several others) in participating in the resistance got retweeted by Rosie O’Donnel today.  That was exciting!  Rosie will be fighting beside us.  I love it when celebrities use their fame for good causes.  Angelina Jolie and Mariska Hargitay excel at this as do many others.  I was taught by more than just my mom to avoid becoming fanatical about Hollywood stars.  I’ve been listening to and trusting Lisa Bloom since her Court TV days.  She was the first person who taught me about ethics on TV without any puppets or cartoons.  The Kardashians and their ilk never had a chance to take root in my world because I read The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand when I was a preteen.  I used to have nightmares about Ellsworth Toohey.

Reading was a favorite activity in our house when I was growing up.  My brother, Steve, was into comic books.  He shared Little Lulu and Archie and Jughead with me.  Kevin gave me a paperback copy of Dune for my 11th birthday, and I’ve been hooked on sci-fi since.  My mom read novels of all sorts, while Heather preferred age-appropriate serials.  Most of my interaction with the world before the Army came through reading books.  In school, my peers were in another league when it came to socializing.  They were dating before I figured out how to initiate a conversation without throwing up from the anxiety.  I’m proud of my schoolmates.  The horror stories I hear from my autistic friends about their experiences make me grateful for what I had.

These humans who as young children whipped me with jumping ropes and told me my name was Kunta on the playground after seeing Roots on TV, grew into teenagers with good character.  That day on the playground still haunts me, but I forgave them in real time because they were traumatized, and I wasn’t the only child sobbing.  It’s not something a child should watch without a parent nearby whispering truths in their ear.  Such as, “This happened a long time ago, and nobody who did these awful things is still alive.  America doesn’t allow slavery anymore.”

It will also remain a measuring point for the incredible growth I witnessed in them between elementary and middle school.  Today, when I run into old schoolmates, I look them in the eye even though it’s difficult for me.  I do it because I want them to know I know they’re decent people.  They taught me prejudice is a teaching opportunity, not a reason to lash out.  It’s still working for me.