Bye bye 2005

In approximately three hours and twenty five minutes this year will be history. So many things happened it's hard for me to believe it was merely 365 days. 2005 feels like a lifetime. My health, my home, everything took a turn...At lunch, Mom asked me what my big plans were for 2006. Hmmm. I'm not sure I have any. Not that I'm a directionless slacker or anything. But what exactly do I need to plan for? I need to get a job, a new place to live, meet some new people. I'll keep buying clothes, get furniture, applicances. But that's a given. That's not a plan. I learned this year that I have everything I need and all the other stuff is just extra. Would I like to embark on some exciting career? Sure that would be great. But I have finally severed the connection between what I do and who I am. If I don't end up with an exciting career, that's just fine. I'll enjoy getting new stuff, but I'm not all wrapped in that either.
Now that I know that things could get worse, I can't help but believe that they will get better. It's all Newtonian. Now there will be an equal and opposite reaction. I guess my plan is just to take it as it comes. Just as I have been. I don't need to search out any more external validation. Not that it was working anyway. If I have peace, I have all I need.
So farewell 2005. I would say good riddance, but I won't. I have to think that, if only in retrospect, this year has been a turning point. This year has been a literal force moving me forward and onward. So for that alone, it has been a good thing and perhaps as it should be. When I'm an old lady doddering off in some rocking chair, I'll fil in the blanks. But for now, I'm going to stop navigating and just enjoy a little of the scenery for change. I don't need a plan, I have all I need for this journey...

Looking for Nairobi...

Turns out I do have a picture of my kitty. My cats were taken from our house on 9/29/05. If this cat looks familiar let me know. She is 10yrs old and between 15-17 lbs. She was wearing a black velvet rhinestone collar with a small gold tag. I miss her. She was my friend...

More musings..

So where did I leave off? Oh yeah, I was trying to get to the core of what may be keeping me from true enlightenment. Before I get to that I just want to say that what I said about the guys I've been involved with being unacceptable or unavailable was meant in relation to me. Most of them were perfectly nice guys...just not right for me. There's only one who I'd like to see under a bus, and I'm even at peace in my mind about him. I'll never see him again. Unless I find myself stranded on some unmarked road in Mississippi. Even then I'd call law enforcement or even the Klan before I thought about giving him a ring. No drunk dialing him. Ever. But even in that situation, in retrospect, I can appreciate how I contributed to that disaster. But there was no way I could have seen it coming or unfortunately prevented it.
But this is no relationship post-mortem. I just didn't want to give the impression that I'm morphing into a man-hater. It would be bad timing since I stopped knitting and don't have my kitties anymore. No, I am looking back so that I can understand where I am and if necessary make adjustments going forward. So back to that...
The common thread in the 'things I'm ashamed of' seems, in my preliminary assessment, that they are things that were outside of my control, but caused me great pain. And while I can understand intellectually that the things were outside of my control, I still cannot figure out why I am ashamed. As opposed to mistakes I've made, which I have no shame about because I made the best decision I could with the information I had at the time. I don't do regret...My shame seems tied to misplaced trust and fear of judgement. So the aforementioned Man From Enterprise, for example, I have no problems about the circumstance of our relationship and some truly scandalous things I did during the course of the dalliance. what I have shame about is something that he did in the course of the relationship that I had absolutely no control over, that I will not specify here, that I did all I could have to prevent. It was something HE did, but I feel ashamed. That's illogically. Relatedly, the other issue I'm wondering if I need to dig out of the crates is something(s) that happened that I did not do, but at most participated in before I had agency or capability...Sorry to be obtuse...So if there is no way I would hold another person responsible for these things, why am I ashamed of them in relation to myself. Why don't I volunteer them in relevant conversations? For example, you know I experienced something similar to that...Never happens. Mums the word. Except for a few bonding sessions with friends I've known forever. In bits and pieces. If I died tomorrow, it would take a team of forensic investigators to put together my biography and the most reliable sources would not be my parents or family members. Even my closest friends and consorts would realize there were huge gaps, questions, inconsistencies, etc. in their versions. And they might come together in a wholly unexpected way.
Maybe that's OK, maybe it's not... Maybe it's relevant to me moving forward, maybe not. Going back to the daddy thing and even a mommy thing. Should I, as an adult about to change demographic brackets (gasp), spill the beans to my parents about things I experienced? Knowing it would drastic change, even ruin their perception of who I've been and become? I rationalized...no need to dig up the past, to hurt them, to disrupt the present with all that. But is that just self-manufactured bs?
More important, how has keeping these secrets and shame affected me? Changed how I see myself and how I interact with others. So far, the few times I have revealed things to friends, I've been floored by how understanding they are and how much overlap there is in our experiences. It's made me challenge one of my youthful handicaps--now returned in different form--self-isolation, detachment. I would avoid connections because I was afraid of rejection, judgement. And back to my motley relationship crew, I hid myself from every man I've been involved with...Sometimes 90%, sometimes 10%, but always enough so that after the pieces fell, I could get up, dust myself off and say "aww, that didn't hurt so much." I wasn't really all in anyway. And that's not good for a woman, ahem, of my age. So there's the realtionship problem there. I can't connect with someone else when I have all this crap I'm keeping cordoned off from view. even if I'm good at it. When I like them, I get neurotic from trying to hide it and when they are into me, I resent that don't notice that I'm withholding. A conundrum!
So that made my head hurt.
On a lighter front, I finally read enough of the blogger instructions to figure out how to add pictures to my posts! It's on. Between my camcorder and my cellphone, no one will be safe! You've been warned...

I just added-- I think-- a picture of our uninhabitable adobe in New Orleans...

The root of my problems...

It's going to take a long while for me to finish this one. I'm not going to try and do it all at one sitting.
Anyway after my drunken dialing, J and I ended up having this long conversation about relationships. That is, after I stopped whining and crying about what a loser I was being. I started talking about the role of fathers in all this, mothers too. But at the heart of it was me wondering if we can repair old wounds without going to the source. We all have painful childhood memories, some deeper wounds than others. It seems unfair and unreasonable to me that whenever I make some measure of progress, when I stumble I realize there's mor ework to be done. Are my edges ragged because I try to fix my shit myself? Maybe my problem is that I don't go to the source. I was saying to J that while I have been saying I don't want to pick at old wounds with my parents, maybe the truth is just that I am deeply ashamed. Ashamed of the topics, ashamed that I need help, just plain ashamed. And perhaps the shame is keeping me from growing into my own light and possibility. That instead of finding resolution with tropes from the past, we find ourselves replaying them over and over with new players because we simply haven't gone to the source. Or at the very least our parents are two people who are biologically driven to support and protect us. Yet we stop--I stopped--asking for their perspective their aid. Which takes me back to fathers, why don't ask my dad for relationship advice? He's undeniably a man. And he probably could have talked me out of the drink and dial. Which, was mostly jokey and in a perverse way, highly revelatory! But maybe daddy could enlighten me about why I seem to oscillate between the unacceptable and the unavailable. Really. No offense guys. Really. None at all. But I have undertaken dalliances with people who for either of two reasons were at the outset slated for sayonara. Why? That is what I need to figure out. Why do I waste my time this way?
I am also coming to believe that there is a significant tie-in with my professional choices as well. At the very least I am at the helm of all these decisions. Perhaps I am utilizing the same funky logic box. What are the core beliefs, fears, expectations that are driving my decision process?
I read and re-read Nelson Mandela's inauguration speech where he opines that our greatest fear is that we are brilliant.
Could it be that I am afraid of heights?
Metaphorically and literally. I wonder if my fear, no hysteric aversion, to swimming is really some inability to let go, relax and relinquish control to something larger than myself. That at my core, I feel insecure. In the strictest sense of the word. Untethered to anything solid or true.
When babies learn to crawl they venture out further and further from their parents, always returning to their central position until they are brave enough to go out sight with firm belief that their parents are where they remembered, wholly unnecessary.
If I were that infant, I would not be able to crawl away. Or at least my circles are ineffectively small. And when I return, I'm not learning the lesson that things are OK so that I can go further out.
And maybe it's because I don't ask my parents. I always hear about people who have to make peace with a distant parent or a dead one. I don't, thankfully, have that problem. I can talk to either of my parents whenever. Yet I don't. In fact, I have erected many walls between myself and them. Topics I do not broach, emotions I don't show, characteristics I don't display...

Winter Solstice

Today, light begins increasing. We've been in Virginia three months. I've made a few adjustments. Rather than putting find a job as my first priority, I realized I needed to put taking care of myself at the top of the list. I felt so paralyzed about going back to the grind maybe because I realized that it won't work to keep skipping the step of taking caring care of my heart and health first. I've tried jumping back into the fray and hoping things will fall into place. It only works for a minute. Eventually, as I like to say, wherever you go, there you are. Which is not to say you can go lollygagging through life, but sometimes the timetables you set have no bearing upon how long it will take to make your journey. It's also not to say that you be knocked down into a fetal position. Previous down periods I've avoided going in search of myself. I felt like I needed to remain motionless, I felt unworthy of the joy of self discovery. Maybe this time I can change that.
Everything has literally been wiped clean, except mercifully for the ability for me to regroup and move on. I have, as the saying goes, all that I need for this journey. All that needs to be determined is where I will go.
I've been thinking a lot about women who, when they turn forty or fifty, feel liberated and unleashed to live as themselves. Maybe I can have that revelation early. If I am willing to really take care of me first, I can be who I really am and want to be all the time.
I've been keeping my eyes and ears open, mostly because from where I am now there is little I can do but observe, but I am starting to notice and hopefully learn. I am noticing my own body, how it changes in the course of a day. How I give lip service to treating it better with uneven results. Probably due to stress, my skin has been having a minor freak-out. The acne on my face has been replaced with dry, flaky patches and the rash on my arm that caused so much concern at the beginning of the summer came back. I've succumbed to a few cravings and I can watch my stomach expand after I have some dairy 'treat.' Some other ingredient also causes midsection to swell but I haven't figured out what it is. By some happenstance I caught a PBS special featuring that muscle-bound Dr. Perricone--he who touts skin and anti-ageing diets on Oprah and in bookstores. Anyhow, I stopped and listened to what he had to say about anti-oxidants and anti-inflammatory supplements. I looked through my natural medicine books and remembered that I had embarked on a plan to revise my diet this summer. I n fact, I was sneaking up on a fast--but never did it. Anyhow, over the past few days, I've also noticed magazine articles and newspaaper features about some of the same supplements. Last night I was in CVS and they were having one of those buy-one-get-one free sales that they often have, but I'm never prepared for, on supplements. So I got a huge bottle of fish oil supplements (Omega3 and6) and (though the research is mixed) evening primrose oil, and chromium piccolinate. The chromium piccolinate was actually something an adolescent doctor recommended - and I blew off-- to moderate my then raging hypoglycemia. This time I am hoping it will help not only with glucose regulation but also with my tentative effort to lose twenty pounds or so. The fish and evening primrose oils should help with a variety of complaints. They are said to help with PMS (which I have with a vengeance. I should be locked in a small room before my period. It's when I do 'crazy' things like I did last week. My temper flares, life seems irredeemibly bleak, and I sob like a faucet) so that alone would make it worth trying. It also helps with metabolic regulation and acts as an anti-inflammatory. The fish oil, in fact, because of its anti-inflammatory effects is said to be helpful with lupus, arthritis and similar conditions. Perricone also recommended other supplements, but I need to review the tape. I think Glucosamine condroitin (sp) and Coenzyme Q 10.
I'm not sure of the efficacy of these things. But they are supposed to improve my skin, elevate my mood, help to even my metabolism. I'll certainly report back. But if my head is clear and my body is running smoothly, perhaps I can stem some of the anxiety I've been feeling and come up with some plan that I would actually be able to act on. I'm attempting to take care of myself in preparation for getting back to work rather than vice versa.
And you all know I love retail therapy. But I am noticing that when I pay attention to my emotional needs, I can be much more restrained. Much more. Yesterday, mom and I put a minor dent on the Macy's lingerie department--getting unexciting items like a flannel robe for me and new pajamas for Gram. I did more damage at DSW--God, I love DSW!-- where I bought four pairs of shoes. The old, buy-frenzy, rationalizing was there...I think, I mean now I actually am replacing things...but I made really good choices. I bought three pairs at 80% off and one at 40% off. In fact, I limited myself solely to the clearance rack. I spent a good chunk of cash, but I got shoes I could never afford otherwise. I got a completely fanciful pair of Prada platform slingbacks and some Casadei platform pumps that are just a joy to behold --if you are a shoe person--regular retail, they'd both be a rent payment. In fact, I saw the Pradas when we first got here and couldn't afford them even at DSW. But now I have them both for less than what one pair cost on discount. Plus I have a fabulous pair of Coach boots, that my mom thought were extra --"another pair of black boots!"--but these are fur trimmed. And my Target boots are not as fly as these! And isn't it what Barbara Bush would want? For me to have the best boots ever! But I don't want any more. After we were done, I wasn't thinking about the next time we go shopping. I still have to work on the MAC jones, but I am only wanting to buy the things I need. I haven't wanted to go because--without a job-- I don't need a thing. Of course, when I get a job I won't have (as much) time to shop. But I won't need anything else until then.
The things I have bought would certainly qualify as aspirational. When we were in Port Allen, I couldn't stand going to the store for things I needed. I remember going into the store and having a full freakout about the whole thing. I ended up with a pair of khaki pants and two t-shirts. Now I have better things. In part because fall and winter clothes are better, but mostly because when my nerves settled I was able to shop for things I needed for the life I wanted rather than the one I was experiencing. So I feel a little goofy putting on my nice coat, but I can't wear my Katrina gear to an interview--that's not who I am or want to be. Flashing back to all those people who took their FEMA cash to the Houston Galleria. I completely understand. Completely! Some took it to extremes, but I completely understand that you want to get started on a new life, a new perspective so you go out and get the uniform and trappings of that life.
Today I am going to call around about a temporary gym membership or yoga classes. It is way to cold to walk the streets, I need social interaction and I need to get my body moving.
I'll keep you posted...

me... 

Trying to come back

So today is not so hot. Mama's snippy with me because I didn't want to take her and Gram shopping. Thing is...I haven't checked my voicemails or returned phone calls since before Thanksgiving and I promised myself I would do that today...and I still dread the idea of going out. I only have a few days to summon up enough stamina to get out of here for a few hours. I need to get gifts for Gram and Mama. It would have been nice to be able to send a gift to Daddy, but that's not going to happen. I don't have an address for him.
I'm pretty worried about the dread thing. I was feeling it before all this happened, but now I feel it physically. iwas thinking maybe I should start with a part-time job or something. I just feel nauseous about leaving the house. I posted yesterday--but I don't think it made it up--I'm trying to sort through all these feelings and get some solid ground beneath my feet. I don't know if I should give myself a deadline to deal or just ride through this.
Once again I'm thinking of taking that Sisterlocks class. There's one in Philly in February...but I'd actually have to leave the house to make a go of it. A small enterprise for myself might be good though. I could feel a sense of accomplishment again.

Back again

It's been a while. I haven't been up to posting, but I've had a hell of a lot on my mind. Having this down time has given me an opportunity to think through things. And definitely feel things. Last time I posted I noticed how I had 'planned' to relocate to NYC or DC by Fall. Dammit, here I am. Anyhow. I guess I'm thinking that it's as good a time as any to figure out where I am and where I want to go next. On the one hand, I wish I wouldn't have put my name in the blog name because I may want to go into some say sensitive areas, but on the other who the hell is really looking so wtf.
I am realizing, as a result of not really having many obligations or much motivation, that there is a list of things I've been not quite dealing with, not quite feeling, resolving, processing. I'm also thinking I'm doing pretty good with some things and not claiming the benefits of that.
I had two interviews for a job in DC, but I pretty much figure I didn't get it. Even though I have this superstition that what you talk about you lose--jobs, relationships, clearance items--I'll go ahead and air it out...especially since I figure I already didn't get it. Well, in the space of waiting between the first and second interview and especially right after the second meeting, I started having--let's call it a panic reaction to the whole idea of going back to work. I felt all clammy and jittery. Not like I've ever felt before. The whole idea of getting up, getting dressed, sitting at a desk all day and interacting with people just made me freak out. So I wasn't exactly heartbroken when I didn't hear good news after a few days and now a few weeks. The problem is I feel thatw ay about just about any job and a lot of social situations and people. I'd just rather take a pass on the whole thing. I'm not sure if that is going to pass on its own, but maybe if I could think of something I'd really like to do I could pursue that.
I spent over a week in New York on J's couch. That was fine until I got pre-menstrual and then had too much to drink at her party. Do not drink and dial, people...the phone is not a toy. Anyhow...I made an ass of myself and totally polluted an already jacked-up 'relationship' that was going nowhere...in retrospect no harm done there, but definitely a prime opportunity for me to reassess there as well. The whole thing involved a situation that wasn't working from about the day after I met the guy. But I've been willing, probably out of boredom and sheer lack of motivation, to go along and not put a bullet in the situation. In fact, I've made half-ass attempts to 'move on'--meaning I've dated other people in the interim--but I decided I needed to make this situation work despite a legitimate depth of feeling of connection. Complete fantasy production. Well, I totally made an ass of myself on the phone...tears, the whole nine yards...why, why, why. I was getting on my own nerves. And for what? I don't know. It seemed more entertaining than facing reality. Yet facing reality is inevitable....
Maybe I'm working up to it. Sneaking up on it. Only fourteen more days in this damn year.

Keeps coming

There's not too much about this experience that I have any perspective on...I mean, I'm, grateful that I have my life and that my family is safe, and I haven't really thought too, too much about losing all my furniture, books, photos, clothes, pots, pans, etc. etc. etc. I mean material things can mostly be replaced and all that. What keeps getting me is that there is no end to all this. There's no waking up and finding that everything is getting back to normal or drawing to some sort of conclusion. And everytime I think I ahve some sort of handle on things it seems like I haven't bottomed at all. I'm feeling like what's the point...as soon as I deal with this crap there's going to be some fresh hell to deal with. Like my life is some game of dodgeball or something. Not to say I'm having a pity party, though I could just lack perspective. I just, honestly, can't come to some rational philosophical ground for all this. Are we all like ants? Just putting things back the way they were because that's the way the were and that's what we're supposed to do. ANd then when we're all tired out some new ants take our place. It doesn't help at all that I turn on the news and see all the reports about global warming, freaking bird flu, you name it. I suppose humanity has dealt with the probability of disaster and eminent calamity since time immemorial and I've even thought about it in the abstract, but now it's all too real. I don't have children...Should I? I mean in graduate school it was about the existential dilemma of race or class, but now I think about the existential dilemma of our very existence. Wars, famine, plagues...that's no place for a sweet baby. But then you have the partially theological laden hope that the next generation will produce some salvation, some change. But I bet every generation has that hope. As for me, growing up an only child, I always figured having a child as a single person was an extremely precarious situation into which to bring a life. But the divorce rate is so high in this country and so many people--two income or one--live everyday under the encroaching threat of financial ruin...
So I do have this crap on my mind. But I'm really freaking out because my Dad is considering going to Texas with his job. I never actually figured my parents would actually be split up by all this crap. I hope that he doesn't do it. It seems like the worst idea ever for them to be separated right now. But it's not my decision to make. I was rooting for him to find a position up here and transfer until they could make a decision about the house. But my mother comes in this morning and says he's going to go to Texas. Maybe they are still just talking through it. If he goes, I don't know if that means that my mother and Gram are going to go too. I don't know if I could stand to relocate and leave my mother and Gram here alone. I don't know if I could handle the commute if I stayed. And above all I'm pissed that I even have to hyperventilate a second about my parents being separated. In my mind, I need them to be together through all this. I don't need to have them in separate places, having separate worries...

Fall back...

Things are still feeling pretty surreal. I know that I need to find some inner resource of calm, cool collection. But I'm not sure where to look. I am hesitant to leave my bubble of familiarity and hit the mean streets. I guess, though, that's pretty much what I have to do. Last week, or was it the one before--they all blur, we had to take Gram to the hospital. She collapsed in a chair. The doctors couldn't pinpoint a problem and just encouraged her to eat better. It was week before last; this week she had a follow-up visit.
Yesterday FEMA called to find out 1) if we have a place to live--hello it's nearly November, shouldn't you have asked sooner? and 2) if my grandmother wanted a travel trailer. When I pointed out my grandmother's age and the perfect apparent unsuitability of a travel trailer, I was referred to the 800 number to answers to my questions about suitable housing. She was denied an SBA loan in such a way that it would not appear to be age discrimination. But no one seems to have an explanation for how she--by proxy me-- is supposed to 1) assess and develop a plan to deal with her house-- which we still can't access as far as I know and, for all I know is condemned-- providing short term housing and expenses as well as paying for potential salvage and demolition efforts...2) securing suitable housing in another market. There is no way I am going to be able to purchase my grandmother a house comparable to the one she lost with the resources she has, much less one that meets her current needs AND replaces everything she lost.
But it's easier to rant about others. I did not receive any housing assistance from FEMA. My brain is fried. I'm acting as chauffeur, personal advisor, practical nurse, etc. for my family. I'm sleeping on the floor because I'm tired of my feet dangling over the edge of my little bed...The only thing I want to do less than commute to a stressful new job is move to avoid the commute to a stressful new job. But I lost all my crap and come next summer I need to pay all these students loans again and I need to save for my retirement and get some damn medical insurance and...well I need to go on and live a normal freakin' life, right?
I haven't been back to Red Cross since before we drove back to New Orleans. I need to do something. I just need to focus my attention and resolve long enough to come up with some plan for this episode I'm living...

I'm just doomed...

to be in communicato. After I finally got the DSL up and running, it shut down. So I haven't been able to get back online until today.
I am exhausted.
We came in last night and found Gram slumped over in the kitchen. I called 911 and she spent the evening in an ER exam room. She was dehydrated and probably malnourished. I've been nagging her for weeks about not eating. But what can we do? Can't force the old lady to eat. She's promising to do better. I understand how she feels. This all has been no fun at all. Today I took her to see the eye doctor and now she's in her room.
I just can't keep up with all this.
Now something's wrong with my car. The turn indicators don't work. I hope it's just a fuse. I hardly have time for this. Tomorrow I'm going into DC then meeting Tonya. I'm going to babysit Nia Saturday morning and wait for Janella to come down from New York...I guess I need to turn in early tonight so I can keep up with everything. But I really could curl up in a little ball. It's pretty crisp today...Maybe yesterday was the last warm day...

back from new orleans

So this weekend, I went back home to New Orleans. Daddy and I drove down to survey and salvage. I must say that I was dreading the whole experience. But I did it.
My parents house will need to be completely gutted. The water came in about three-quarters up the staircase...about seven feet. Where the water didn't reach, there is mold. Funky mold on all the drywall, covering the furniture, coating our belongings. From one the berooms, you can see straight into the attic and sunlight streams in from the roof. In my room, latex puckers away from the walls, the ceilings threaten to give way...On the other side, my stuf is washed into a massive pile of pulpy, smelly muck...
So from here, I will backtrack and fill in everything I've been doing and plan to do. I've been offline because since I got to Warrenton, I've been without a reliable connection. As I type, I have a new DSL account with Verizon so I can type away...
I'll try and figure out how to post a photo or two...

Log in Lag...

Got a gazillion stories, but Verizon shafted us. Can't log in until we get phone service. Now I'm going to library branch and Red Cross. As soon as I get a place to log in I'll get back up to speed...

Storm weary

I was just reading about the growing strength of Rita. This evening I went into DC to attend a career networking event. Remember I was going to hit the ground running and all that? Well...whatever. The event was interesting, people were pretty friendly, I have some leads to follow up on...not jobs just friendly contacts...but I'm not feeling it.
Tomorrow we're getting the boot from this hotel because there's a big golf tournament in the area. The gas isn't on at the new place so no hot water or stove. But we can stay there.
I'm just thinking about that wall people hit. Maybe I'm coming up on it. I'm tired of being hopeful and focused. I tired of soldiering through. I just want to stop. I just cringed at being introduced as a "Katrina victim" and at the helpless, overwhelmed stares. "Oh" was a popular response to my third party intros. Here's Renea...she lost everything. The crazy thing is that then I feel compelled to comfort them. "We'll be ok" or "It's not as bad as it could have been" or, my favorite, "Hey! What are you gonna do?"
Everyone was really nice but I just don't want to talk about all this just yet. Some jerk actually asked me if any of my relatives or friends were killed or missing. Like I'm a hypothetical representative of "all this."
Ironically enough it does help to write about it. Whenever I can squeeze in a minute. Things have been so hectic this week I've barely had a chance to think.
Everyone's processing differently. I've developed this hard candy shell. Sometimes I just smile and try to be really nice, other times I cut right to it, no chaser. But I try not to let anything in...And while all my senses feel heightened, my emotions feel really dull. I told my parents we should all ask the Red Cross representative about seeing a counselor. By the way, the staff at the Fauquier Chapter of the Red Cross were extra kind...both of them, Phyllis and Denise. They have a small chapter and the two of them are part time. They have a lot of volunteers helping out.
I feel kind of detached and achy. My arm is all blotchy again but my face has stopped twitching this evening. I've been eating pretty well but not sleeping so much.
I dreamed Robi and Sam were sleeping with me. Sandwiching me in like they used to before Sam started prowling the streets like a real tomcat. I hate to think about them being gone. I tried to reassure myself that the feeling was a reassuring presence. But I feel like I failed them. I haven't gotten any reply about them being rescued. I'll keep checking. Even if I couldn't get them back I hope they find a safe home...
Sigh...

Downtime explained

OK-- I figured I'd be offline for a few days while I worked out all this moving stuff. But I didn't realize how difficult it would be to get online or how busy I'd be.
How I've spent my days:
1) Waiting for traffic to let up on the Beltway
2) Navigating maps and printing directions from the internet
3) Being late

I got to Maryland last Thursday...I think it was Thursday...the days blur together. But I didn't get to Warrenton until Friday. I think it was Friday. Anyway...the house is really nice. And so is the town and all the people I met. Of course I'm going to flesh all this out. But right now I fell like someone hit me with a bag of quarters.

Tonight despite the fact I am still crazily trying to get things settled at the house, I am driving into DC for a career network event. Got to meet the people. And I have no iron. So I may be rumpled and late. There's a look. But I should be able to work my posting out Thursday and beyond. Oh the stories I'll tell...

Moving...

It's my second full day in Maryland. I arrived Thursday evening. All the days are running together. I have to check to make sure I know for sure when I left and where I am now. Yesterday I was able to drive into Warrenton and check out the place. My parents are going to be OK there. Today I just need to get some things for Gram, safety rails for the bathroom...I'm going to try and find Mom a tin rooster...just so she'll feel at home.
I'm starting to lose my energy. Once they arrive, I'll really have to process all this. Yesterday I was driving around on the Beltway realizing that there was no home for me to go back to...when my parents arrive, here is where we will be. I am feeling inundated with choices and information. Sitting in traffic yesterday was really the first time I started to get angry and short-tempered about all this. I'm not sure if I should stop and let all this emotion come through or just keep it moving...
This morning I remembered not to put on the same jeans and t-shirt. The routine, uniform was getting kind of comforting. Monday I'll be able to catch up to the Red Cross and really look around Warrenton.
I was reading some of my internet sites for info. One African American message board has already erupted with backlash. People from Houston complaining about people from New Orleans...critiquing how they are allegedly spending their "FEMA money," griping about their behavior and the whole situation. I'm glad we didn't go there. I think like Baton Rouge, Houston, Dallas, maybe even Atlanta are going to have the first outbreaks of 'compassion fatigue' if not outright breakdown. I'm told there are 23 other families relocated by Katrina in Fauquier County, Virginia but I'm not sure where they're from our what their situation is...I'll tell all when I find out.
I've been putting off this FEMA paperwork, but I guess I need to get back to that.
I think it may be a bit trickier to get back into the swing of things than I imagined...

Leaving Port Allen for VA

So my parents had no luck finding housing to accomodate them and Gram in the Baton Rouge area. Gary's family came through big time, so I'm leaving tomorrow (!) to get some things set up in Virginia. My parents will follow in a few days.
So dont' send mail or anything to us in Port Allen. We won't get it.
When I get a new address, I'll let you know...
I should be back to blogging by next week.

Break from Katrinaland

Today I took a break…My parents went out to look for housing, find secondary support for Gram. I only went out once, stopping at local farmers’ market and finally getting a notebook and pens.
So now FEMA is going to throw some cash our way. I can’t find any info about how or when these debit cards will be distributed. I am also concerned about whether my grandmother will receive one. My mother hasn’t talked to her, as far as I know, about this whole insurance hot potato thing. But we have to get it together and file an appeal. Zero dollars for someone’s house fully submerged by water! Bureaucracy reigns. Foolishness reigns!
I really needed a break today. A mental health break. But I don’t want to lose momentum. So either late tonight or first thing tomorrow I’m going to use my new notebook and pen to start a list of job leads and other tasks that need follow-up. I’ve been trying to keep them in my brain…not the most reliable filing system right now.
She didn’t have a lot of details, but apparently the housing market in Baton Rouge is bleak. They were shown a really unacceptable place that even the agent was embarrassed about. They’re going to get back to it tomorrow. The plan is to work something out with their mortgage company or something.
Some of the kids at the motel are going to school. I wonder what it’s like for them. Others run around all day unattended. I wonder what their parents are thinking. Orleans Parish has announced that school is probably closed until January, another parish—St. Bernard, I think—has thrown in the towel for the entire academic year. There’s a sweet little baby on the first floor who’s been wearing the same t-shirt for three days- “Somebody in Costa Playa Loves Me”—another curly haired toddler trods around in diapers and baby work boots. All he says is “Hi”…he’s very focused on staying upright in those big boots.
There are three guys staying the room next door to us. Every night they split a case of beer in the parking lot under a tree. Today I saw a big fluffy cat in someone’s window, gray with that smooshy, flat face.
So the horror begins again. Soledad O’Brien is reporting on over thirty people found dead in a Chalmette nursing home…some dead in their beds…and about 100, also in Chalmette who died awaiting rescue at the Chalmette Slip.
It’s hard to strike the right balance watching all this coverage. I want to know everything. I want to honor those who have lost their lives by not turning away. But I guess you could drown in sorrow taking this all in…
After 9/11 I felt the same way. Coincidentally, I had left New York City the day before that tragedy. How can I turn away? How can I not?
Now it’s my own hometown. I watch the reporters rowing through neighborhoods and I scan the poles for street signs…
Now FEMA wants to ban photos of dead bodies. When will they stop trying to spin and get to their work? If they were helping people they wouldn’t have time to censor the press. I wish someone would tell them to stop telling people who have lost all their possessions to go ONLINE and file a claim. I wish they would dispatch their representatives to the area and start trying to convince people they have some humanity. Now that would be a PR coup…

Oprah in Katrinaland

So the motel TV is copperating enough for me to see Oprah Winfrey today. Apparently, she came down to New Orleans this weekend and tape an episode. I love that woman. Of course, I'm a weepy, snotty mess. But I'm glad that her audience will be reminded that this is still going on. I can't believe how tramautized I feel, and I am lucky. I left before the storm started. I watched the rain come with my family through our motel window. And when I dream at night my house is still there. I have not seen or heard or smelled or feared or known what these faces register. But I still cry everyday...
Thanks Oprah. Thank you for talking and seeing and caring and mostly for making your audience look and understand and witness.
On CNN, they are now discussing New Orleans. People are writing in that they should turn the city into a theme park. Keep the French Quarter and let the rest go back to marshland. My childhood under water. My parents and my grandparents hard earned homes paved over...Wow...People don't think about how the words they say might sound. That damn Barbara Bush. The lives these 'underprivileged' people were living had dignity and value. They are not "better off" or "making out much better" because this calamity swept through their days.
I'm not sure how things will ever get back to normal...not ever.

Barbara Bush comes to Katrinaland

So what am I supposed to be shocked? This is the woman who first looked at George W, surveyed her job as a parent and said, "Mission Accomplished!"
I guess poor people everywhere can thank the Bush Admininstration for turning Katrina into the first natural disaster social service program. Next Washington D.C. will find its poor swept into better environs perhaps by monsoon winds.
As long as she kept her mouth shut, I used to enterain the fantasy that Barbara Bush was just as dumbfounded by her sons and husband as I have been. But now she's opened her mouth. That whole family is a bunch of pseudo-patrician, anti-intellectual misanthropes who could care less about anything or anyone that isn't related to their own cliquish, oil-grubbing world. At least W is a lame duck, soon we'll be done with them.
I applied for the unemployment. I have to wait as long as seven days to find out if I'm eligible.
My grandmother got a letter from FEMA today. It says she is eligible for $0. That's right. I called in and was told that anyone with homeowners' insurance is automatically disqualified. This despite the fact the aftermath of the hurricane damage was caused by flooding which is specifically disallowed by homeowners' insurance. Then I was told I was technically making a help call, to call back in a week because they are focusing on taking claims.
OK. So if my grandmother had no savings, she would be in a shelter. Now she's has to fight Uncle Sam to prove something they should already know. Flooding is not covered by homeowner's insurance. Compounding this all, I'm not even sure my grandmother has homeowner's insurance. She says she does, but I don't know. She also says she asked her agent for a flood policy for a year and got nothing...but that's another rant for another time. Now, though she has no paperwork, I'm going to have to harass my grandmother to remember the name fo the company she has homeowner's insurance with...file a claim, get a letter--if she's covered--that says flood damage is disallowed, and file an appeal with FEMA within 60 days. If she runs out of money to keep her motel room before then, I suppose I should bring her to a shelter...
Oh people, if you only knew...

Since my grandmother lives on her and my deceased grandfather's social security benefits, she qualifies as part of Barbara Bush's new upwardly mobile social segment. Yes, indeed. Gram's getting fat off Uncle Sam. She's moved up like George and Weezy. FEMA said no, but I'm sure she'll get those food stamps. And everyone knows what a bonanza Medicare is...discounted prescriptions and all. WTF! I can't believe Barbara Bsh thinks the Astrodome is the threshold to the promised land, I can't believe she thought New Orleans was such a hellhole anyway!

Gosh, I learn so much everyday...

Katrinaland

Maybe I'll change the name of my blog for awhile...Anyhow, after apologizing for losing yesterday's post, I see it went up...typos and all. Go figure! I came back to balance it. I don't mean to suggest that everything that is going on is racial. I think a good chunk of the failure to respond has been garden-variety ineptitude. And I also don't mean to paint Baton Rouge with a broad brush...many of the people here have been very nice and this experience has been traumatic for everyone. But like my favorite novel--Invisible Man--I couldn't help but to fill out the opportunities I've had to see how race continues to play out in this situation. That is what I am interested in, so that is what I muse on. I'll probably touch on class, gender and other social issues as well as occasionally having personal moments (pity parties, I got a right!) I'll get to put all that theory into praxis again. and I will write my posts before I log on...I'm seeing other people are finding my blog, please bear with the fact that I also use this site to communicate with my friends. If you would please consider the quasi-personal nature of what I may be posting here I would appreciate it. Translation...don't scare me by sending weird letters to me or my parents in my post office box, we've been through enough.

Katrinaland

First, off blogging and stress don't mix. I wrote a long-ass post yesterday talking about race and response, updating all on my social service experiences...Then pushed the wrong button and lost the whole damn post. So this is the deal, I looked at the comments some people posted. I'm totally on the people side right now. I hope they are calling the agencies and organization that formed to offer long term support to 9-11 survivors. Things are going to be on that order. Health-care for first and continuing responders, psychological support, relocation and job training efforts, etc. Did I already post that FEMA is nowhere in this area? At least that's what I was told Saturday at the Red Cross Center. I can't get a person on the phone at their toll-free number. I have no idea what's going on or what I'm supposed to do. We all are just following each other like sheep from one social service agency to another. "I heard such-and-such" "Really! I'll go over and check it out." So tomorrow I'm going to file for unemployment, I'm sure I'm ineligible...

Katrina thoughts

So I promised more travails in the aftermath of Katrina. Being African-American--like American Express-sometimes has its benefits. After reading a fellow alum's BS post about how 'we' had no use for Kanye West's comments--which I saw after the fact on CNN--I feel compelled to address this recalcitrant notion that race is not playing a role in this unfolding crisis.
OK- so today, I ventured out of the house again. Though I fully expect to be denied, today I went to apply for emergency unemployment benefits. Before I got there, I stopped at the local Red Cross shelter. The volunteer there very sheepischly but very clearly told me that FEMA is NOT in the area. And by area, she meant Baton Rouge. I have a car and she was give me directions to different state social service offices that are open 24 hours a day this week (That's right, 24/7) to handle the needs of incoming displaced evacuees. The food stamp office-- where I refused to queue yesterday-- is open 24 hours until the 7th. Likewise there is a state Job Center office across the bridge in Baton Rouge that will be open 24 hours a day processing unemployment insurance claims. So again I say, lay off poor Kathleen Blanco. These Feds have been conning her all week, but she is doing all she can to make sure the state offers assistance.
So back to the racial stuff. I was in line behind a young white man. His family is homeless and displaced from Gulfport. He told me about '"the so-called Christians" (his words) at the church next to the office who all during their food giveaway referred to the mostly black people there as 'refugees.' He sad he walked away in disgust and gave their food back after he lectured them. He told them that until last Saturday he was hard at work and that everyone there white or black had the right to be treated with respect. Some of the younger, black adults in the line were talking loudly about being refugees taking up the word...like some do the "n"-word. He was clearly pained about it...
So my brush...Last night around 11PM, I am standing outside trying to get my cell phone to work. A fruitless, thankless ritual. A sheriff's deputy appears and tells me I have to 'go inside' because there is a 'curfew.' I startle him by questioning, "Since when?" His reply, "Just go inside!" My reply, "Sir"--because when confronted by law enforcement, the first rule of being stopped while black is to be very polite, even if ironically so--"Sir, I'm an adult, I do not have a curfew." He says, " Ma'am" --because the second rule of being stopped by being black is that law enforcement will be very polite to you even as they suggest the most outrageous abridgements of your rights--"Ma'am, I'm just trying to keep things safe. There's an 11 o'clock curfew. You need to go inside." I reply, "I am standing outside my own room trying to use my own cell phone. I am not going inside."
So he walks away. And sure enough fat, hot, little tears start rolling down my face. I am furious. And soon my nose is running and I am having a good, ugly cry. I have spent this past week being very philosophical about the fact that all my belongings are gone, that my parents house may be gone, that my grandmother's house may be gone, that my damn hometown may be gone. And now, I am being told to go on lockdown. All week in the local paper, evacuees have been referred to as "New Orleans thugs." I've felt the tension in the air as locals find their town swelling with lost, stressed out black people. Some disheveled, some destitute...
I decided that I was not going to be treated like an inmate. Especially since I am paying to be here! I marched over to the front desk. Of course, the damn deputy was there. So I begin to address my comments to the desk clerk. He, of course, chimes in. I want to say I am talking ABOUT you, not TO you. But I restrain myself. The deputy and I end up having a tense exchange. He tells me I have no grounds to be offended--because apparently he also a member of the emotion police!--and insinuates that if I don't like it, you guessed it! Well, I am fuming. I ask him if, in fact, he is suggesting that because I refuse to submit to his 'curfew'--did I forget to mention that on my way to the front office I walked past 5! white guests who apparently were free to come and go as they pleased--that if I would not be confined to my room that I should leave. He concedes that is what he means. I asked him when did I agree to a curfew, I didn't see one when I paid. That I was a GUEST, a paying guest...not an inmate. This cracker---sorry, gotta tell the truth---asks me how was he supposed to know who I was. I asked him as a law enforcement officer whether he was trained to discern between suspicious people and suspicious activity. Then I turned on my heel and told the front desk clerk that I hoped this was not going to become an unpleasant place to stay and I hoped it was possible for guests to be safe and comfortable.
So, those who wish to believe that race is irrelevant can dismiss mine as an isolated anecdote...that's how it usually works. And those who are open to the possibility that there is something awry with all this can draw withever conclusion they wish as well.
Tomorrow I'll remember to type my post before I log on--smile.

Katrina Thoughts

OK-- This post will be brief. First, thanks for the phone calls. Apparently, the nice people at Sprint are not so ready to handle this mess. My cell phone has been useless for the past two days. It actually got worse a day or two after the storm. I haven't been able to retrieve my voicemail since Wednesday. But some of you managed to reach me at the motel. Which leads to the second thing, Tonya sagely suggested we get a post office box. We have. The address is P.O. Box 987, Port Allen, LA, 70767. Great idea. ........OK. So everybody is fighting about why the response has been so underwhelming and whether race and/or class plays a part. I do think there is a lot that needs be investigated about this 'response effort.' Somes of the comments have been particularly cruel, suggesting that people who didn't evacuate somehow deserve their fate. I will take some time and write more about that later. What I don't understand is why efforts are not being taken to control the flooding at the Tennessee Street breach in the levee system. The 17th Street breach they keep mentioning on the news and taking such care with, empties into a part of town that is largely populated by whites and is full of commercial interests. The Tennessee Street breach is the one that as most likely devasted my grandmother's neighborhood and perhaps added to flooding in the suburb where I live New Orleans East. The lower ninth ward is predominantly poor and lower working class African Americans and it gives way to a suburb--Chalmette-- of poor and lower working class whites. I had just finished reading Rising Tide by John Barry about the 1927 Mississippi River flood. Apparently that part of town has been sacrificed before. As for New Orleans East, I have long complained of the consumer racism in the city. Our suburb is shockingly underdeveloped. A shopping mall has wanted for tenants and capable developers for nearly a decade. Despite the presence of a stable middle-class population, commercial interests have not seen fit to attend to our area in the way they have Metairie, Jefferson, Kenner and the western end of the municipality. But I'm sure there are sound engineering reasons why the 17th Street breach is being attended to and not the other...Perhaps someone will tell me what they are. Next time I will tell you all about the life of a Katrina victim...I've registered with FEMA and for food stamps. Next week, I'll file for unemployment and who knows what else...This is definitely a new ball game.

Katrina Update

Ok- My family and I are displaced because of Katrina. Saturday night/Sunday morning I made the decision to evacuate. At 12:30AM I threw on about three t-shirts and six pairs of panties in a bag, loaded my grandmother into the passenger side of the Mazda and drove out. We ended up in a Motel 6 in Port Allen, LA where we've been ever since. After a lot of cussing and fussing, my parents caught up to us the following afternoon. So we've been holed up together through the storm.
From what I can gather on the news and radio, it's pretty good odds my grandmother has lost everything. Her house is about three blocks from Tennessee Street--though I don't know where the levee breach was. I see all these houses in the Lower Ninth Ward...well, I see their rooftops. Eventually, I let her see the news reports. She hasn't asked any details or commented, so we haven't pressed it. I didn't want her to be shocked though, so we stopped trying to shield her from the coverage.
As for our house...who knows? We live in New Orleans East and took a very hard hit. I have no idea what the scene is. If you hear anything about my neighborhood, please post a comment. We live in zip code 70127 and right off Morrison Avenue between Crowder and Read.
My cell phone is unreliable at best, so I haven't been able to call people. But thanks for your messages. Every once in while I can retrieve my voice mail.
I forwarded all my email to my yahoo account, so I should get those eventually.
It may take awhile for me to post again because I don't have a reliable Internet connection/access. But I wanted to let everyone know that we have our lives and our health and each other.

rth

Haven

Haven
I know I said the hardest thing about following the diet was going to be eating separate meals. I was so wrong. The hardest thing has been eating six frigging meals a day. I am stuffed with leaves at this point.
It is the end of day two. I did not eat dinner and my late night snack. Instead of dinner I had a fiber bar. I simply cannot eat another bite. This is my second day of drinking a gallon of water. That is going much better since I started adding lemon juice to it. I'm thinking of just switching to the lemonade cleanse sans maple syrup. I didn't gain any weight, I am after just stuffed with leaves and brown rice. But it's just sitting there, so I look fatter than when I started.
I won't be gross. But something is wrong with me for sure. There is no good reason why I should be able to hold this much food. After I decided to skip the last two meals, which the diet book absolutely says not to do I just observed how I felt. I literally feel full. I don't want to throw up, but I feel that full like if I had another meal it would just get stuck in my stomach or esophagus. After drinking two gallons of water, a whole bag of salad greens, a third of a pound of pea pods, and a whole cup of brown rice I should not be full of anything. And even though it was eight ozs total-- less than I could chow back at a fine steakhouse-- after four, two oz servings I literally felt stuffed with fish. So I was not looking forward to an additional four ounces of chicken. Perhaps this diet makes metabolic sense, but I cannot eat this much food.I am going to pop!
It was wrong, I know. But I took two little pink pills. If that doesn't help I don't think this diet is going to get past day three...

Pain is back...

The pain is back. This time in my hips and across my lower back. I can't be scientific about it, but I think it may be due to all the sugar and processed food I've eaten the past five days. I've had many pieces of chocolate brithday cake, sausages, and the kicker, lots of spaghetti and macaroni. Eliminating sugar, processed meat and refined flour seems drastic, but I must at least reduce my intake of it. The excuse for all this poor eating has been special events. Had to eat Mom's birthday cake, had to eat at my cousin's baby shower. But as soon as I did I felt like trash.
A deal's a deal, so I got up bright and early for my long-abandoned walk. I went about four miles. When I got back I was a soggy, sweaty mess. I started out at 7AM. The sun didn't start beating down on my until I turned around. If I leave at 6:30, I think I'll be fine. I'm trying to psyche myself up for this 6-Day diet. It cautions you can't follow it for more than ten. The food isn't the problem, the biggest issue will be eating separately from everyone else in the house. It's true about food and meals being social. Maybe I should spend the six days naked, that would remind me not to cheat.

Dooced

I just read the blog of the nanny Tessy at subvic.blogspot.com --Very interesting. It seems the New York Times writer Olen is quite spiteful and off in her critique and analysis. I think the whole issue of firing employees over the content of their blogs is quite provocative. Of course, it hits close to home as an "ass-monkey" at my former job tried to get me in trouble for blogging. I steadfastly refused to concede any wrongdoing, invited my supervisor to read my blog and continued on about my merry may. It seems quite an erosion of our First Amendment protection to demand, even coerce a person to squelch their free expression. In the case of Tessy, the imbalance of power is even more striking. Ms. Olen-- an established writer-- used her position at the NYTimes to write a distorted piece that arguably damages the reputation and character of Tessy--and she has a right to do so as a journalist. She fired Tessy for blogging--a task she arguably knew she was engaged in, not because it affected her work, but because she didn't like what it said. How high-handed and unjust is that. A writer firing another writer for her expression. I'm going to think more about this. I really don't understand why a blogger can't on their own time write what they will about themselves and their lives, why this isn't protected expression...

Blogger fired

So another blogger bites the dust...this time some beauty editor in New York got the shaft from a new employer when an old employer got wind of her blog. I just read her stuff, pretty harmless. I don't understand this whole employer paranoia. Most of the stuff people write on their blogs is just harmless fluff and going to the extreme of firing people just seems, well, extreme andto validate that they have some bombshell to conceal. This chick didn't complain about her boss, reveal secrets about her employers, or reveal anything more than an arrogant disdain for the PR people she had to interact with daily. I guess that her demeanor could be sited as a relevant issue, but the posts were anonymous they didn't identify any publication in particular. But now, everyone knows the deal, the women at Ladies Home Journal aren't always very pleasant to deal with....so what. It's not like the identity of a CIA operative was revealed. That guy gets to keep his job until after he's convicted of a crime...

Great lengths

Sometimes you travel a great distance to discover what is right in front of you. This week's excuse for not posting sooner is that I went to New York. My number one reason, Uncle Sam, was to have an informational interview for job leads and guidance. That went well. But I also got to see some friends. That went well too.
I am left with the observation that there are any number of places I could be and any number of things I could be doing. At the informational interview I got the heartening report that my relative lack of experience was not an insurmountable barrier to getting into producing. My concerns about laboring in relative poverty were only vaugely addressed. And it appears I may or may not be able to focus my efforts to a specific geographical area.
So since zip code is important and I am no longer willing to live a lifestyle that is held captive to the whims of my employer/vocation, I began contemplating--even in the midst of my informational interview--shifting some of my energies to other paths.
What does it mean to stand at the juncture of many roads without a clear preference for one or another? Last week I wrote that life was a series of days. Today I realize it is also a collection of experiences, all potentially enlightening and fulfilling. Why privilege one path over another a priori?
So I am low on reserves again. I am resting and thinking......

Life is

...just a series of days sometimes. My mother was offering me some unsolicited advice and the observation that she thinks I often too idealistic. Rather than be defensive, I remained quiet. I can't say honestly that I was truly listening, only that I indeed heard what she was saying. I think it will take some time for me to really understand and process what she was conveying. Today she came in and good naturedly shared some of the angst she's experiencing...

In so many ways my life is not turning out the way I expected it would. I mean that in the existential sense. Try as I might, I could not even muster the energy for my usual pity party. Maybe I'm further gone than I realize, but I'm not depressed. Mom and I rather darkly exchanged an inventory of people who were worse off than both of us. In the scheme of things, I know that things for me aren't that bad. I am--to be euphemistic-- unencumbered. And in many ways that means I am open for any possibility, there is nothing I cannot pursue. But there is nothing that I passionately want to pursue. By that I mean, I could apply myself and do well at any number of things, commit to any number of worthy causes or endeavors. But at the end, I am afraid that all we are left with is ourselves and it seems a rather long walk to take to arrive at exactly the same spot.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I continue to search for gainful and hopefully meaningful employment. There are certain material obligations to which I must attend. But I am motivated by neither money nor ambition. I have developed a healthy respect for the reality that there will always be more things that I do not know than I can master. That there is always someone more than I-- smarter, hungrier, clever--and I am not envious or more determined for it. And I think that hard work at any station is as noble as another.

I am mostly happy with my own company. In the midst of one of my occasional, tongue-in-cheek tirades that I would become a cat-loving spinster, I realized I already was one. That gave me great amusement. Paradoxically, I am instantly repelled by men who are not taken with me. So rejection wears off quickly, especially when I realize that I will not have to suffer the quirks of another. Having spent all this time on my own, the idea that I'd continue as such seems reasonable and not at all unpleasant, if not occasionally predictable.

My health continues to float. My mother is annoyed that I have in her words 'claimed lupus.' In fact, I have not. I do not have a definitive diagnosis. But my aches persist and sleeping remains a pleasure unparalleled. My top priority is monitoring my physical, mental and spiritual well-being. It has also had the unforeseen benefit of tempering my anxiety about other matters. When, like today, my armpits ache--who knew they could hurt-- and my hip throbs, I could care less about the minor dust-up or major misunderstanding I may have had with whoever. I must sheepishly confess that I do not relish going on in this manner or worse into an unforeseen future. But Idon't know or care to explore what that means, so I figure I'll just take it as it comes. And as much as I can, without falling into self-indulgence I'll honor whatever emotions surface--even self-pity and then promptly move on to the next thing when I start inevitably annoying myself with self-awareness.

When my body hurts or my life falls short, I retreat to my mind. Not necessarily my thoughts. I have almost adamantly been avoiding any of the deep introspection or close analysis that usually wracks my brain. Instead I have been going on flights of fancy, distracting tangents, and so on. Not productive, but hardly a waste of time. While rummaging in my brain, I thought idly, I had the rather jarring observation that my life has hardly turned out as I expected. By now I thought I would have attained some, if not all of the trappings of so called success or progress. I have not. In fact, I question whether I actually want them or ever did. Maybe I was just pursuing them in lieu of admitting that I would rather meander.

So life has become, for now, a series of days. Perhaps a new passion will emerge, perhaps not. But either way life continues inevitably, so perhaps it doesn't matter either way.

Lil Kim

So Lil Kim got a year and one day. I hardly see the justice in that. Martha "M Diddy" Stewart served five months in jail and five months probation for insider trading--which I still do not understand to be a crime, but I digress. I harldy see how Lil Kim's trangression was more serious. I do not condone lying. Lying is bad. It usually comes to no good end. But let the punishment fit the crime. On another note, if she's telling the truth about her age, Lil Kim's prosecution adds fuel to my theory that being 30 sucks. My 30th year was as Queen Elizabeth quipped 'annus horribilis.' I know other women who report having equally crappy thirtieth years. So Ms. Jones, you're in good company. Keep your nose clean, I'll buy your album when you get out!

Cindy...

was a beast. We lost power last night and didn't regain it until about eleven this morning. Just in time to find out we're probably in line for Dennis, which may be a hurricane by then. Ah, love those tropical summers!
There were branches and leaves all over the yard and little Robi got sick all over the kitchen floor. My mother is vowing to find a hotel room for next time, which I've never heard before. Usually I have to beg them just to get batteries. Even a tropical storm is nothing to sneeze at--though I did sleep through most of it, by design-- you can never tell how things will go. In some neighborhoods power cables and poles blew over. Luckily, my grandmother has power.
Meanwhile, I am back on my imaginary diet. I imagine I am losing weight. I thought about going for a walk and surveying the damage but then blew it off.
During the Essence Festival, I got a cute free do at a Carol's Daughter promotion. Now I'm thinking I need to wash and style my hair more often, not look like such a scruff. In fact, i think I'll go lather up now...

Celebreality

Why is the programming on VH1 so damn good? On the one hand, VH1 has become MTV--there are more 'shows' than music. Where are the video hits? On the other hand, the shows are hilarious.
Currently I am TiVo'ing Best Show Ever (genius) and when it comes back I'll get my doses of Surreal Life and Celebrity Fit Club. I accidentally started watching Kept and Strip Search too. I love all the special top 100 countdowns. In short, I'm addicted!
Maybe I should be worried. My certain amusement at these shows must signal some decline in brain cell activity. But who can't laugh at guys who are competing to become strippers or Jerry Hall's man-whore? Weekly sendups of the most ridiculous goings-on in pop culture have completed skimmed the limelight off what used to be Talk Soup--now just The Soup and a shadow of its former hilarity.
They've got Wendy Brings the Heat, I Love the (decade), Ego Trip's Race-O-Rama...There isnt' enough time in the day for me to watch all this!
Maybe my brain is turning to mush...But I like it.

Not Guilty

So I was asked if I thought Michael Jackson was guilty and if celebrities 'get off' becuase they are rich and famous. Today I heard more scuttlebutt around the shampoo bowl. I'll share what I had to say about the whole matter; luckily I had a chance to think all this through for the unfinished diss of mine.
I actually think rather than getting a different standard of treatment in the courts, celebrities are able to purchase the illusory construct the average defendant cannot "innocent until proven guilty." The average person--accused, arrested and charged by the state--would be hard pressed to field 12 people who could honestly set aside all their presuppositions about their guilt. In my experience, most people think if a person has been arrested or charged with an offense, they probably did it--the old where there's smoke there's fire. Since most people feel a sense of false familiarity with celebrities, they are more likely to see a famous defendant and think "Hmm, I'm not sure I think this guy would do that." And that is exactly what they are supposed to think. Setting race aside, the state-- in the Simpson, Bryant, and now Jackson case--put forth some flawed presentations. And the respective jurors were underwhelmed. For some unknown, I would hope juries are as stubbornly divorced of their presumptions of the accused innocence as they are with celebs.
Do I think MJ is a sexual predator? I waffle. I think he's looney tunes and definitely has an unhealthy preoccupation with 'boyhood.' But my opinion is not evidence, is not grounds for conviction. Is it possible he's a manipulative deviant who has perfected the pursuit of his prey--isolating the least credible, least sympathetic victims ever? It is possible. My friend wondered why the state didn't have any experts testify about how predators choose their victims. That would have been helpful. No. The state paraded a bunch of famewhores to the stand-- the accuser's mother being the ringleader-- and said there, convict him. The jury-- who apparently has stated they don't believe MJ has never assaulted a child-- said sorry, not today.
So the story continues to unravel. It is clearly tragic. The headlines today: no more sleepovers. Well, it's about time. I hope someone of conscience has convinced this man to get some help. But cynically, in due time I think he'll be at it again.
Additionally, despite the press' ostensible standard of objectivity-- I actually heard Bryan Williams go on NBC forever about what a freak MJ was. I mean, that's hardly journalistic. That's opinion. We don't even pretend that we don't give people a fair shake. They are guilty even if acquitted. I won't even bother with Nancy Grace--I think she has some sort of psychological problem.
I would never ever allow MJ to watch my kids. But I wouldn't let any grown male stranger do that. I also believe that I have no right to judge a person that I only know from tv and pop culture. Maybe he's weird--that's not a crime. Maybe he is a sexual predator. Maybe is not grounds for my condemnation. Twelve people were selected to make a decision, They did. I think the reasonwhy these spectacles are so interesting, especially related to race, is that the reveal that we never suspend our prejudices and presuppositions...until perhaps we asked under oath to do so.
This case is closed.

Cookie Puss Requiem

We had to put our family cat Sugar to sleep this past Saturday. She was around 18 or so. She was my Cookie Puss. I took some pictures of her a few months ago and I thought it would be a fitting tribute to put her face on my blog. She enjoyed having people compliment her face anyway. Over the past few weeks, she lost a great deal of weight and almost all her energy. In her heyday, Sugar was a bitch on wheels. She bit people, scratched too and was generally cranky. But she was well-loved and had a great capacity for affection when it suited her. When we first got her, Sugar would climb into bed with me and she was quite heartbroken when I left for college. When I'd return for breaks, she'd give me a piece of her mind so I'd know how displeased she was. When I introduced first Nairobi, then Sam into her life, Sugar was hardly gracious. She let them know she was not interested in making new friends. In fact, she let them know everyday, screaming kitty expletives, demanding they move aside. In short, she loved having them around. They loved her too. Robi has been looking in corners for her for days. And Sam is absolutely heartbroken. He knows that Sugar is neither inside nor out. He spent the last few weeks, quietly following Sugar around making sure she was OK. Though she doesn't go outdoors, I think Robi knows Sugar is gone for good too. There haven't been any canned meals for her to finish. The vet says they'll get over it soon. I'm not sure if we will. My mother had bought a few weeks worth of canned food for Sugar even though she had stopped eating. every morning Sugar would stand at the pantry screaming and cursing until my mother came and fed her. She'd do the same at lunch and dinner. She'd find me to open doors for her, check her face, lift her onto the couch. She'd bother my dad for his dinner and bask in his baby talk. We're all bereft. It's good that Sam and Robi are here, but we all miss Sugar. Goodbye Cookie Puss, I miss your cute face!

Sugar's last close-up!

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Patience

The cliche goes...patience is a virtue. That and other crap I have gullibly believed. Long I thought patience fell down upon us like grace, like sweet little raindrops. That, in fact, may be the case for others. For me, patience is a tortuous ordeal. I thought it was some charactersitic, like height and weight. I felt inadequate because like diabetics and insulin, I apparently lacked an adequate supply. I fake patience. I sit with my hands folded nicely, but inside I scream like a willful two-year old. NOW! I want what I want right now. I want to know the answers. I want dessert. I want to ride up front. I want to go first. I want to go again. I want to open the box. I want my cookie. I want, I want, I want. At least that's not broken. For a long time I couldn't muster a want for anything. Now I want...not specifically, just diffuse. But soon, I hope, I'll gain control of my powers and focus with laser precision on something or other.
I wonder how many other people pretend to be patient. Maybe it's fake it until you make it. I am tired on sitting on my hands. I want to just scream! Gimme! Tell me! Let me! Show me! ME! ME! ME!

So it begins

I woke up this morning and felt pretty good. I have a little discomfort but my spirits are high. My plan was to begin daily five mile walks today, but I just wasn't up for it. Instead I remained still and just tried to observe myself objectively. This past weekend it rained continuously and today was overcast and grey. I do feel relieved that I have more knowledge about what's going on with my body, but this journey is only just beginning. Now I have to master my mind and thoughts.
Tomorrow my mother and I are driving my father to Convent, LA for a retreat. That should be interesting.
In national news, the infamous Deep Throat's identity has been revealed. I was hoping it was the Supreme Court justice. Instead it turns out to be W. Mark Felt who may or may not have had an axe to grind with the Nixon admininstration and ended up getting in hot water himself for doing a little breaking and entering. An interesting historical development nonetheless. I think the man, regardless of his political or personal motives, did the country a great favor. We must always remain critically engaged with our government and administrators. Nixon relied in part on the nation trusting the infallibility and virtue of the office of president and falling short of questioning the person in that position. In recent years, we've swung back toward that position. The "you're with us or against us" variety of unscrutinized patriotism is used to suppress, distort, or stifle debate and critique. It is still the case that absolute power corrupts absolutely; hopefully the case of Deep Throat will continue to remind us that government should be for the people...

Whoooooo Hooooooo

So only two more days until bilssful unemployment. That's right, boys and girls! In defiance of every economic indicator the Bush administration could muster my way, I boldly, intrepidly, and optimistically insisted on quitting my job. Because I can do better! So there. Already I have a range of options:

1) I may, in fact, sleep the entire month of June. Not likely, but possible. My lack of adequate health insurance coverage has left me with an undiagnosed medical condition whose major symptom is fatigue. Simply put I'm tired and I'm gonna get some rest!

2) I will definitely post more often to my blog. Now that the little office ass-monkey who complained about my posts is gone, I will spend my waking hours composing coherent and hopefully compelling daily missives.

3) I will get in touch with my inner documinatrix. I have a few ideas for projects to shoot and nothing but sweet time to do them. I may even spring for a firewire so I can figure out how to edit my rough footage.

4) I will travel. I've put out a mooch alert warning friends in NYC and DC that their couches are good enough for me. Look out Mid-Atlantic! I'm back.

5) I may work. The laws of dating apply to work. As soon as word was out I had had quit my job, I was offered more work. I'll write about that when it happens.

In other news, Michael Jackson's defense has rested. There's a joke there, but I'm not up for it. I'm only relaying the information for consistency's sake.

This weekend I'm off for R&R.

Wrung out

I have no clue why it's so difficult for me to keep my postings up at a regular pace. I apologize. This is no way to run a railroad.
In general, I am just feeling more reflective and less expressive. I am three weeks away from being professionally unfettered, that's making me feel a little jittery. I am trying to maintain my exercise schedule, with mixed results. I am generally trying to organize my thoughts and figure of a plan for living that I can abide with for awhile.
So the blogging has gone wayward.
It's bit gross, but yesterday a cut a huge gash in the back of my foot. I was trying to drain a blister, but I went too deep and before I knew it I had gone too far. There's no blood, but I'm afraid to wear a closed shoe and worried about dirt getting into the open cut. As soon as I did it, I wondered if I were sabotaging myself. I mean there was no good reason for me too cut across the blister like I did. Maybe I was trying to derail my walking schedule subconsciously. I wonder how often I sabotage myself and in what kind of ways.
I am also having those comatose sleeps I made famous in high school. This time sans doughnuts. Today I was absolutely out of commission for almost two hours. I don't know if this is simply fatigue but it has been cutting into the productivity of my weekends. I burn a lot of daylight with these naps. I have to remember to ask about them when I go to the doctor Tuesday...as well as the leg numbness. Tuesday may be my last rip to the doctor for a while. I'll be out of insurance while I search for my new thing.
Since it was Mother's Day my grandmother came over for the afternoon. We had a very pleasant meal.
So now it's 11PM and since I slept this afternoon, I'm still awake. I'm going to give it a shot though. I need to get up early.

If everything were possible...

"You have not because you ask not..."
These words have been resonating in my head for days. Someone said them to me and I've been thinking about them ever since. What if everything I want is just for the asking? A thrilling, humbling, somewhat frightening prospect.
I've been grappling with my difficulties with asking for help but I also need to deal with my disavowal of desire. A simple question. What do you want. I have hardly a reply. I can't even remember when I stopped wanting or why. On one level not wanting is a means of control...of self and even others. If you do not want, other people cannot affect you. Their inconsistencies and shortcomings cannot knock you off course. It all really ties back to the help issue. The almost irrational need to be self-contained, self-sufficient. To connect with others one must ask for help, must be able then to articulate what one wants, needs, and expects of others. Then one must be prepared for inevitable dissapointment, but as I left out of the equation blissful satisfaction.
You have not because you ask not...
Its time for me to start asking.

Law and Order

After all that hand-wringing I did about Martha Stewart and Lil Kim, who figured I'd be throwing myself at the mercy of the court...
Last month I ended up with a ticket after a surly NOPD officer pulled me over one morning. I was just about to push the send button at the city website electronic payment page, when I decided to go to court and state my case. In fact, I was not speeding--that's what they all say, I surely used my turn indicator, and I definitely did not have an expired registration. So I figured, what the heck. The worse that could happen is that I would have to pay the $372 fine but just maybe Justice would lift her blindfold and smile on me. So instead of the payment page, I swung over to the page where you make court appointments.
This morning was the day. I showed up an hour early and had stuffed two long books in my bag so I'd be prepared for a long morning. I turned in my summons and tried to take my mind off things by reading...
Well, just when things were starting to get boring in walked an angel. The daughter of my grandmother's former neighbor, and now an attorney. She looked at my ticket and volunteered to help me out. And I didn't even know I needed helping. When my name was called she came with me into the judge's chambers, they exchanged muffled words and before I knew what happened, I was back in the main courtroom. My paperwork now said I had not been wearing my seatbelt. My rigid, black-white logic center started to protest, "I was too wearing my seatbelt!" But I took a deep breath instead, and then smiled as I overheard the clerk telling ***** that my fine was $27. I'll take that!***** waved off my profuse thanks and left me standing at the cashier's window.
I am just light and giddy. As I've always believed--but sometimes forgotten-- whenever we take a step forward on faith, God rushes forward to meet us. I told ***** about my career moves and she gave me an encouraging smile. You don't have to know what will happen next, just that you will move forward. And I am moving ahead. Help and grace will meet you right where you are. This is a good day!

watch this space

Oh world...these past few weeks I have been terrbily silent. I apologize. I have, as my friend says, made moves. Some I will not describe at this time, but suffice it to say, I will soon have lots more time to write on my blog. I will also be able to elevate my subject matter from musings about my waistline and whatnot to more sublime subject matter, I hope.
I feel as if I have come to some sort of watershed moment. Like maybe my quarterlife crisis may really be over. For the past few days, in conversations with friends I have been receiving all kinds of new information that I was simply not able to hear before. I also realize that I have embraced my fears and anxieties. By embrace I mean rather than fighting or denying them, I am moving forward with them. I feel pretty damn good.
On more mundane fronts, perhaps because of my newly relaxed countenance, I am getting hit on by high school students. Que horrible! Perhaps the young man I encountered on the street was merely practicing so as to be prepared for his peers. But maybe this Demi-Ashton thing has shifted the zeitgeist in ways I do not fully appreciate. Perhaps Mary Kay Letourneau has been transformed into some sort of belwether for the future of male-female relationships. I mean if fifty is the new thirty and forty is the old thirty, then I would be around fifteen. Maybe high school boys should be hitting on me after all. And if we can find a place to hang out where I can have a cocktail that wraps up in time for them to make their curfew, maybe I'll give the next young whippersnapper the chance to make an indecent proposal.
And I almost forgot to complain about my taxes. Probably because there's really no point in doing so. I owe, I owe, so what can I do? I mailed in the installment payment form and I'll keep my fingers crossed. It makes no sense that I earn HALF as much as I did and end up paying more. Thats's the fate of an unsheltered, undependented spinster I guess.

Different day, same sh....

Michael Jackson: f..... up in court again today.
What words could describe?

Martha Libre!

So I've been taken to task for not actually mentioning Lil Kim last time out. I love hecklers!
Even though it's morally suspect on my part I have a huge problem with the government prosecuting either Lil Kim or Martha Stewart.
In fact, I had an ongoing dialogue going with a member of the bar about the whole Martha Stewart situation. I feel sorry for her. She's a mean-spirited, obsessive-compulsive, tart baking dingbat. When I was in grad school I'd sit in my shabby apartment reading that glossy rag of hers wondering why couldn't I find just the right shade of fondant for my homemade pastries. It is OK to care about the details, dammit.
So she catches a case--as the kids say. And what is she charged with? Insider trading. Excuse my french, but what the fuck...I mean I think it is totally appropriate to use that charge for corporate executives and high level employees. But I'll tell you if my broker calls me and tells me I could lose my tank top on a deal, I'm selling. I can't see how that could possibly be considered a crime in a free market economy. Martha was an investor--a pretty minor one at that-- not a principal. And though she knew the bio-tech guy--dated her daughter, ewww--by all accounts she got her info from her broker, Bogdanovich. Good broker. If I heard after the fact that my broker could have prevented me from losing my tank top...clutch the pearls!
So Martha sold her stocks. The feds couldn't get her on that so they took her down for lying to the government and ostensibly obstructing justice. Now the lying to the government thing rested on different colored ink notes on the broker's files...I have three different pens on my desk right now. Just because the notes were written in different colored ink doesn't mean the notes were doctored is a foregone conclusion.
And in fact, the government could not make a compelling, iron-tight case on the insider trading so they charge her with lying. Again WTF! I know it is morally wrong to lie. I avoid doing it as much as possible. But really. Lying? Don't you have a Fifth amendment right against self-incrimination? And if the feds can get you on lying to them to stay out of trouble, aren't they going to need a whole lot of jail cells?
Imagine you're Martha...Ms. Stewart, did you commit a federal offense by falsifying the chronology of events that led up to your stock exchange? Ms. Stewart's reply: "Um, no."
Of course she lied. Who's gonna tell the feds they're guilty? I watch L&O. First, you get lawyered up then you deny, deny, deny. That's the American way, baby.
Meanwhile across town..."No I did not kill my wife. I was fishing that night." OK, maybe that isn't a good example. How about this. "No I did not kill my wife. I went back to the restaurant to get my gun and when I came back she had already been shot." Ok, yeah, that one will work.
So Martha ends up wearing a commissary-knit poncho and an ankle bracelet cause she lawyered up and denied? That seems like a waste of my tax dollars.
And what the hell does that have to do with Lil Kim. She raised her right hand and swore she didn't know those gun-toting knuckleheads who shot up Hot 97. And the government pulled out photographs, letters and DNA to prove she lied. So fuckin' what.
Every person in America has denied someone they know out of embarassment at some point. "Hey Chuckie, your mom's outside in rollers and hot pants..." Chuckie: "Nah-uh...that's not my mom." Get the cuffs, Danno. What would you expect Kim to say. Yeah, I know those mofos...they my homies. Get real. Another waste of my tax dollars.
Meanwhile, the government can't find the money I put into Social Security and I don't have enough money for lunch and gasoline. Gimme a break.
You know who should be prosecuted?...Justin Timberlake. I didn't know Janet's breast was gonna come out. My ass, he didn't. The stiffest penalty he's gotten is a revocation of his temporary ghetto pass. Now he's ass out in Cameron Diaz's house. That's crime people. That's crime.
I have to go on without Lil Kim's fashion debacles and inappropriate rhymes...That's like a day without sunshine. The government is out to get us.

Dial-up Sux

Yes...It's true. Dial up is the bane of technological progress. It's like taking your fancy convertible down an unpaved dirt path. But dial-up is what I have and dial-up is what I must use.
I am most excited to have a 'new' computer. And as soon as I figure out how to install the new driver, I should be able to edit video footage from my camcorder and create all kinds of havoc. Whoo-hoo.
So maybe I'll put my picture up later. Kisses!

Free Lil Kim

I’m in one of the moods where I might say or do anything. A funky mood. A positive influence might inspire jokes and a little unexpected fun. A cross word and it’s on and cracking.
Yeah, baby. I’m walking the line. I’m edgy. And I like it. It’s the time of year where every time you leave the house you risk being dressed inappropriately for the weather. My choice this morning is just all wrong. In the mornings I loathe feeling the cold, so I overcompensated by putting on a heavy sweater. Just in case that wasn’t bad enough, I put on my leather car coat. Now I’m sweating and fighting to keep my eyelids propped open.
As much I as I am enjoying how I’m feeling, it’s probably best I lay low. I mean it really could go either way. And it’s like my little secret. I’m feeling all Sade inside—you know what I mean—but nobody knows.
I don’t even know what going on in the world that I could comment on. Baretta got off, Peterson didn’t. Michael Jackson’s still wearing his pajamas to court. When I first heard about these things, I had strong opinions. Now I could give a rat’s ass. Baretta probably wanted his wife dead; Peterson had no business fishing on Xmas eve and telling he was at the Eiffel Tower while he was attending a candlelight vigil. Both of them are off their marks. But I guess insofar as Baretta only was a threat to the dearly departed, I’m not worried about him walking the streets. On the other hand, Scott Peterson is a crazy mofo and solitary might be just the trick to curtail his comings and goings.
I see Michael Jackson like I see Bush on the WTC- he hit before, he probably will hit again so how can you plausibly claim you couldn’t see it coming? How can you claim this fool is completely innocent when he’s been ‘under a cloud of suspicion’ since Kriss Kross were kids. On the other hand, I’m not saying it justifies MJ’s actions, but who sends their kids to sleepovers at the kid-friendly compound of a wacky, 47-year old, drug addled, wig and pancake makeup wearing…dude. Even weirder he’s a former pop star. Now that he’s wearing his pajama pants and a jacket to court, I find it hard to believe he’s been containing the crazy in other contexts. What could probably be the motive for a woman to send her kids to hang out with that ninny? And on the opposite side of my WTC imagery, what the hell was MJ thinking? It’s beautiful to share your bed? He’s craaaaaazzzzy! And I say that with all the residual affection I ever had for Michael Jackson intact. Off the Wall was my jam—as they say. I even had a Michael Jackson poster …until I discovered Prince and Mike started getting those nose jobs, then it was a wrap. I turned in my MJ fan interest at the Wiz….But he’s talented. He’s weird for anybody to see, but that in and of itself is not a crime. While I suspect otherwise, let’s say for argument’s sake that MJ is telling the truth and he didn’t lay a hand on those boys. OK…well what’s with the porn parties and Jesus juice. That’s the goofiest shit I ever heard.
I have trouble understanding the porn stash right off the bat. Why was MJ stockpiling porn magazines like they were government bonds? Why not just go to Scores? Heck, Luke would probably make him king of Club Rolexx every night of the week. Why drink wine out of soda can? He can swig his from the bottle or a brown paper bag. Nobody would raise an eyebrow.
Unless it did have something to do with isolating little boys from their families…If that happened, MJ gets no love from me. And if it did, he’s craftier than a set of Lego’s because he was dastardly enough to victimize the child of a wholly unsympathetic, amoral mother who by credible account has been trying to pimp this boy for years. It would not surprise me if MJ moonwalks right out the courtroom. You can accuse a man of molesting you in one breath and concede you lied under oath in court on previous occasions. It’s called reasonable doubt. If he does get off, I hope for everyone involved’s sake someone checks MJ into some sort of treatment facility. He is a menace to himself and others. He looks high everyday in court and the whole situation is a five alarm cry. If MJ is innocent, he has got to be the craziest mofo on the planet for getting himself into this situation.

Swaddled--continued

She breezed right into work. The tension crackled in the air. When she got to her seat, there was a note in it. I hate it when people put notes on your damn chair, she thought. Next thing she knew she was in her boss' office. Drone, drone, drone. All of sudden a voice that sounded like hers spoke up. She heard it say that today was her last day. Her boss rose to protest. But as her mind processed the words, she felt her hand gesture him to stop. Today was her last day. Notice, schotice. If she hurried, she could be sipping cafe au lait within the hour...

Author's break: I don't know how this is going to work without a workplace. I had all these Hawthorne-like references to Bartleby the Scrivener in mind. But now, no little nitwit can make the case that I'm writing about work. Satisfied?

Reality Check

Let me state the obvious. First, my name is on the blog address. So anyone who knows who I am or wants to know who I am can figure out additional information about me. I used my name in the address because I want people to know I am writing again...all kinds of writing. Which gets to the second point. "Swaddled" is fiction. Like many stories some elements paralled things about me. But it is entirely fiction. Some dim bulb at my job is complaining that I am posting things about where I work on my blog. Remember 'dooced?' I am not posting things about my job or where I work. Check if you don't believe me. I said some things about me--which I will continue to do--but nothing about where I work.
I was pretty pissed to get this report, but it makes no sense to defend the indefensible. I will say this, especially for the benefit of the little coward at my job who reports that I spend 'all my time' at the computer. There is a computer at my desk. If you are looking over my shoulder looking for something to complain about, it definitely looks like I spend 'all my time' at the computer. Many people here have a computer at their desk, and it looks like they spend 'all their time' at the computer too. It was pretty obvious from the time stamps when I posted. All the time it took to cut, paste, and post to the blog was done at my job. I am a bad person. From now on, I will do all my cutting, pasting, and posting somewhere else. That means it will be even longer between blogs. Which gets to my next gripe, posts every week= all the time? Whatever!
My last point is that whoever reported that I spend "all my time" at the computer and some of it on this blog apparently spends a lot of their time watching me. Way to be productive. So now I know what you did and you can wonder if I know who you are and what I reported about you...
For my friends, whom I invited to read my blog..."Swaddled" will continue. If you know me, you can already tell that the narrator is not me. You can also tell what overlaps and what doesn't with me-the author. I really want to explore fictive writing and I won't be stopped by someone who is too dim-witted to tell the difference between expository writing and fiction. Too bad. I will also continue--when I have time- to write and post esoteric essays. I won't bother to label which is which, because for those whom these posts are directed it neither makes a difference nor is hard to distinguish.
I really hate it when some gremlin tries to squeeze the joy out of my party orange, so I'm not having it... I will post again.