Can't Stop the Sun -- Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers & Circus -- Britney Spears

There once was a girl who was sick,

of everyone's bullshit. 

She is me.

So I have been laughing about this shit all afternoon. I literally doubled over at one point and just had to take a second to laugh fully. I'm so sick of this bullshit that it has become comical to me. "All eyes on me in the center of the ring just like a circus. When I crack that whip everybody gon' trip just don't stand there watching me follow me and show me what you can do." No, really. 

So I heard some comment today about someone definitely being able to read. Thank God! Here, read this:

I'm pretty sure it's the outfits that make her look like a cigarette in shoes. Someone should gift her a red hat--maybe a beret--for maximum effect. It's possibly that her attitude toward life, work, small challenges, is what makes her so...lugubrious. I can't think of a more perfect word for it.

Today it started with this bitch telling her buddy that she felt like slapping someone and indicating that she would come smack her friend. All "jokes" I'm sure. Although it's not really a joke if no one is actually, genuinely amused by your antics. You'd think someone of your age would have, by now, picked up a few pointers about manners, etiquette, and how to behave in a professional setting. Apparently not, given your continued behavior. It's sad, really. I once had to tell a seventy-year-old employee that she couldn't couldn't yell at the clients. You'd think she would have known better. When she started to yell at me in the same tone of voice I just stopped her and said, "Look, I know that you can control the volume, tenor, and tone of your voice, so just take a second and bring it down several notches, because if you were speaking to the clients like you're addressing me now, then I can see why I got the calls and emails that I received today." It was when I was delivering formal discipline that she told me that she didn't think that I liked her too much. I didn't reply to that statement, because it was--and still is irrelevant. I continued to read the letter of reprimand that I had been instructed to write and deliver by my superiors. I hadn't ever been in that situation before but I like to think that I handled it like a professional. 

So, today, after I had had some food at lunch time and was in a much better physical condition--and also because they have finally given me one more round of medicine to help stop the ongoing reaction from the allergy shots--all I could do was laugh at how ridiculous the whole situation had become--how did you end up like this? What the fuck happened to you? Did your Mother not teach you better? I'm sure mine saw you for what you are and didn't even bother trying to get you to change. As I just laughed and laughed, I hoped that wherever Mom's spirit is, that she could feel just how much I appreciate the things that she taught me while she was here. I am so thankful for her and grateful for this life! I couldn't help but truly feel that part of Mom's spirit was with me today, even if she's already been reincarnated. 

How ridiculous you are to behave the way that you do towards others! If I had a friend at work I would never threaten to hit them, even in a joking manner. I don't typically joke about hitting people. I tried to make a joke about starting a fight club but being too old for that. I am still not sure if it was as funny to the other person as it was to me, so I crossed that one off the list of things to do during my stand-up routine. Oh well, sometimes I'm funny, and sometimes I'm not. Can't stop, won't stop trying to lighten the mood (even if it's just for myself)! But this bitch!?! No, I don't get evil vibes. But I get the vibe that her growth as a human is stagnant. She's never going to learn to be a better person because she's spent far too long being the way she is and not being called out about it. When people get away with being shitty, trying to make it into a joke constantly, it just looks like, from my perspective, that you can't change. To me, it even appears that you don't actually want to change either. Which is the sad part, for me. I feel sorry for people who can't change their minds about anything. Who can't reflect on their own behavior and decide, you know, 'maybe I should try something different for a change and possibly, maybe, attempt to look for a silver lining instead of always harping on the negative'? I will never quite understand it. I guess I don't have to understand. I just have to tolerate your existence. 

For anyone who may be wondering--I'm not going to be letting other people shit all over me and my happy existence any longer. You can try. But know this: if you fuck around, you'll soon find out that I will come here as much as I want and write all about it and your shitty behaviors. And there's not a goddamn thing you can do about it. Want to know why? Because it's not illegal to tell people how shitty you are if it's the truth! Want to know how I know that? Communication 411, Communication Law, which was maybe my favorite class in all of my time studying in college. Isn't it wonderful to know that I can only report that you're being a shitty person because you actually are being a terrible shit!?!? I don't know how you feel but I am reveling. REVELING! (also so so glad that you can read!)

Which brings me to my next point: I feel really good when I call people out for being shitty humans to their faces. It's pretty fucking amazing, really. I have never had a huge problem with confrontation. Most people do I guess. Whatever, man, get over it! Get out there and start calling out these awful people in public to their faces for their behavior!

I even went to the trouble to do it quite recently. Our little town was in the local news because a high school Spanish teacher was fired from his job for having a relationship with a student. There's a lot more to it, as it wasn't his first offense with the same type of behavior. Unfortunately, I have a child around the same age as the people who are involved in this fiasco--the fifty-something-year-old guy who likes to fuck teenagers has a teenage daughter the same age as the kid he was messing around with--gross! Can't you look at an 18-year-old child and recognize that they're still children? I know I can because I've got some kids myself. 

The week that it came out in the newspaper, we were at the doctor's office and the girls behind the reception desk were talking about the situation. I was minding my own business for a minute, playing endless word games on my phone, when I became aware of what they were talking about. I didn't think anything about it, really, except that it was unprofessional, until one said to the other about the guy and the child he was "having an affair with" as it had been phrased, that the whole situation was gross and "they should just kill them both." And then I stopped being able to concentrate on the game in my hands. That crossed a line. Should I say something? The kid in question was, in a roundabout way, a friend of their dad's side of the family, the ex and the family of this kid are friends, this poor kid in question had been suffering--I knew, because she was being ostracized by her once-friends. This is a child! was all I could think. Something told me to just keep my fucking mouth shut for a minute because something was coming. I didn't know what but after that comment, things had gotten really quiet, like the other girl involved in the conversation was reluctant to even continue after what the other had said. 

A few minutes later, my own child appeared in the doorway, ready to go, and around the same time as she was coming though, the girl that had made the comment about killing both of them came out sobbing and telling the other girl that she just got fired. (Good!) She kept crying and repeating it as she gathered her things. She was about to come out the same door that my kid had emerged from when she was--I assume--stopped by the boss and sent out the back door. Me and my kid made our escape and were in the car driving away from the girl in the lot still crying in her car before I explained, in much detail, what had happened. My kid had told me, and now I can't recall whether it was before or after this happened--but it hardly matters now--anyway, she proceeded to tell me the Wife of said kid-diddling Spanish teacher had caught the girl--the one who was in the very unfortunate position of being groomed by this man--at McDonald's before school one morning that week, I think, or maybe the previous one, and blocked her car in the parking lot so she couldn't just leave, and then, in front of her own young children, proceeded to cuss this child out about "having an affair" with her husband. BITCH, WHAT? Also, just for--reasons--we are going to call this bitch Leather Shoe Face, as she had been previously dubbed. And also because everyone knows who I am talking about--and if you don't, you're not missing much, I'll just tell you. Leather Shoe Face is having a really shitty time, I can empathize with that--family tragedy on top of a sex scandal is not easy on anyone. BUT the dude cannot abide. I couldn't abide. I didn't want to just sit by and do nothing, say nothing. 

So I waited for the perfect opportunity to present itself. It happened one morning after we had both dropped off kids in the car rider line and were on the return trip, sans children, when it just so happened that I was at the stop light and she pulled right up beside me. So I rolled my window down and started saying, hell I can't even remember my exact words but it was something like, I heard you caught a child at McDonald's the other morning and blocked her in and cussed her out? Leather Shoe Face's response still puzzles me to this day. She said to me, "That's not true, I don't cuss!" Bitch, maybe you should cuss out your dirtbag of a husband! I said something like, and every other word was fuck or fucking or some such similar derivative--cause we ALL KNOW that I have no qualms about cussing. None. Anyway I proceed to tell her that she was wrong to do that to a child. That's a child, I insisted. "Did you know she was sleeping with my husband?" I remember what I said, emphatically, to that, "Everyone knows!"  I can't clearly recall if she had said something else, it hardly mattered. "Maybe it wouldn't be a problem if your husband wasn't touching and fucking kids!" People behind us were honking, the light had changed, but I will never forget the look on her Leather Shoe face. She was so mad at me! Rolling up her window and being really mad. I drove away and I felt like I had successfully done a task that I hadn't even been sure that I would be able to complete. The stars aligned for that shit. 

I am not sorry for speaking out. I guess my only regret in that whole situation was making the mistake of relating what had happened that morning to the manager here of the apartments. Turns out she's probably Leather Shoe Face's best buddy and now she doesn't like me at all, I think. That's not my problem, though, because I don't care if you like me or not. What I do care about is the fact that when I put my rent check in the box on the 1st, it still hasn't been deposited over a week later and all the residents got really weird letters detailing strange scenarios regarding the complexities of the lease we all signed. At the top of the list was about paying rent on time and what constituted late, and what the late fees would be when it was late. I read the whole letter, down to the request to have someone--a resident--apply for a position helping them out cleaning apartments, grounds, et cetera, for 25 hours a month for $200 dollars that 'wouldn't affect your rent." I think at least six of the units are open now. When she told me last month that my rent would go up because my kid had turned 18, I just said, if we can't afford it we'll just move. It's fine. There was some 'mistake' on her part because the kid is still in school. Apparently they can't increase the rent that substantially until after she graduates. Ok, I'm sure it was a mistake. I ended up calling to find out if we would incur late fees if the rent was turned in on time but not deposited on time? The message that I received while I had no service said that we should not incur late fees. I have photographs of the check with the date, taken right before placing it in the envelope and taking it to the box, as has been a habit of mine since Steven and I lived together. I have evidence of the day and time that the mission was accomplished. But what about their end? The message said that for whatever reason the payment couldn't be deposited from here so it was sent to a corporate/regional office for deposit or some shit. All I know is that it's still hanging out there in limbo and I am still waiting and wondering if this is a ploy on this woman's part to just get us evicted/kicked out of here? If they want me to leave, all they have to do is just ask. I'm already packing my shit up to move again anyway, as soon as possible, because who wants to deal with this kind of shit? This woman called other tenants 'useless' in conversation with me, called the maintenance guy 'pretty but not too smart,' and bemoaned having to deal with the various tenants and their rather unfortunate circumstances. If she's saying this kind of shit to me, what's she saying about me? First of all, I don't care to know, and secondly it's probably not good--if her prior behavior is any indication. Oh fucking well--if all it takes is me defending a child to bring about this kind of reaction from other people I MUST BE DOING SOMETHING RIGHT! 

If you're out there reading this and just getting really mad at me--that's okay! Be mad! Stay mad! I don't care, just stop being a shitty fucking human being. And if you really can't or won't bother with trying not to be shitty, well, all I have to say to that is: YOU FUCKING SUCK AND I DON'T WANT TO ASSOCIATE WITH YOU! Someone I respect a lot told me that I would be better off tolerating the person who was unkind to me and she was right. I am better off tolerating you all. I've just been doing it for over 41 years at this point and I guess what I'm really feeling is DISAPPOINTED IN ALL OF YOU SHITTY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD! I can tolerate you but can you handle it when I call your bitch-asses out to your faces? Hell no, you can't! Every time I do it you either look shocked, angry, or pretend that I didn't say anything at all. Like the Post Office Bitch. Her name is Lindsay. She told me when I first moved back here and was (briefly) working at the Shell station--that's a whole other story on how you can incense people without even fucking anyone in the process, but that will have to come later--anyway this bitch came in to buy something, I don't even remember what or what else was said but she said to me, "I thought you would have done something more with your life." Bitch for about twenty fucking years I didn't think about you at all! Do you know what I expected out of your life? NOTHING! Want to know why? Because I don't care what job you have as long as you're happy and healthy! Does that matter to you--my health and happiness??? APPARENTLY NOT! Because if it truly did, you'd be proud of me for showing up every day to continue to participate in this life. There was a time that I was fighting--literally--tooth and nail, just to WANT TO CONTINUE TO LIVE! And I came back from that! All of you people out there with weirdly high expectations of me and my life, here's a message just for you:

FUCK OFF! Take those expectations of me, and of everyone else, and throw that shit down on the ground.  Stop projecting what you think someone else's life ought to be onto others! How dare you act as if you didn't have every opportunity to do whatever you wanted in this wonderful life and you chose to work the same job since high school and never leave our home town! FFFFFUUUUCCCCCKKKK YOU! And furthermore, not that I owe anyone any sort of explanation, but for the record, just to set things straight and get it out of me, here's the deal: I have only ever wanted to do this--writing--as an occupation. At every turn in my life, I have let other people tell me what they thought I ought to be doing with my life and for some fucked up reason I listened!?!? I WAS AN IDIOT, I GUESS (Mom, you were right). I wasn't strong enough before to do all this by myself, to come to these conclusions, to decide what I really wanted in life and go for it. I didn't want to be a doctor, or surgeon specifically, because the thought of making a mistake that could cost someone else their own life was devastating to me! I don't want to hurt or kill anyone just by making an error! I didn't want to be an astronaut because the thought of going into outer space was very unappealing to me after reading Hawking and Sagan at 9 and 10 years old. I have only ever wanted to communicate my message to the world and learn as many languages as possible along the way so that I could do it! That's what I have felt my purpose in this life has been since I came screaming into it! I have known this. And I have never made much money at this. It doesn't feel right to me just yet to try to profit from my one true gift. So there it is. That's my truth. My purpose here was decided before anyone else had the chance to weigh in--and it never changed. It just became the thing that I do in the time that I have when I'm not working for money just to make it in our society. It doesn't necessarily matter to me what the job is, as long as I am not hurting others by performing it and I'm not miserable while I'm there. I think I have finally found a place that offers both things and an opportunity for me to not be so exhausted afterward that I can do all these other things that I seek to do--writing, skateboarding, spending time with family, traveling, and enjoying this world while it's still possible. 

I guess I said all this to say: I wanted to tell this bitch to her face, for years, that I don't like her--and I DID. That was the beginning of all of this for me, of growing strong enough to face shitty people and be prepared to call them on it. It happened at the grocery store, I was leaving the check out and this bitch was lingering near the customer service area, staring openly at me until I saw her, looked into her eyes, and she started to turn, to flee! So I mustered my voice and said as loudly as I could without shouting, "I don't like you, you know!" I have a feeling that she had an inkling that I didn't like her--why else would she turn away and not greet me as a cheerful friend? Why does this bitch ask after me and my siblings to my Dad? Here's something else I would like to say to you but I'm not sure the opportunity will present itself: Stop asking about me, any of us, as if you are our friend. You're not. I don't like you, and I am pretty sure all my siblings could give two shits about you, especially after I have told them how you spoke to me. We used to like, hang out, me, you and Jennifer sun-tanning in your front yard? Was I so awful a person to you that you should seek me out to put me down? 

The only other conclusion that I can come to is this: you were always better friends with the guy who is my ex-husband than you were to me. And you must have come to some sort of conclusion about me using information from him. So let's all clear the air on this shit right now:

I know that he had people at Cracker Barrel fuck with me when I worked there. That was the beginning of the stalking and harassment. We had just split up and 'our' friend Danette worked there and he was sure that she could help me get on there. So I went. Then people started stealing my things, putting napkins in my coffee cup in the break room, letting the air out of my tires in the parking lot. I should have known better that to think that this man ever cared about me. After all, didn't he verbally, emotionally, financially, sexually, and, eventually, physically abuse me while being a raging alcoholic? Yup, he sure did. And you know what!?! I think it was Gisele Pelicot and her strength and perseverance that inspired me to not be ashamed of this shit anymore. So here goes. I have been gathering evidence for years now of all the people that this man has had stalking and harassing me. It never ends. It may not end after he drinks himself to death, but, I can only hope and wait for the day when he finally decides that it wasn't me that ruined his life, it was him! I think he married me because he thought that it was his ticket to whatever property or money (ha!) that I may ever inherit. I was his get-outta-jail free card and he just can't stand it that I didn't want to be with him anymore. It might have worked out if he had just grown the fuck up like I eventually did. But, alas, I could take no more of his shit, told him I didn't want to be married to him anymore and then, rather stupidly, had a fling with an old boyfriend just so I could tell him that it was truly over--because he had always said that that would be the only way he would ever let me go. Well, buddy, I got news for you, too. You're gonna have to move on with your life. Stop having your merry band of meth head friends, relatives, and people you 'know' stalk and harass me! This is a polite request. I don't really expect it to work, but good luck finding all the evidence that I have of all of this shit. Because if something bad, something suspicious, ever happens to me, it won't matter. We will all know who did it. 

I had a date with one of the seven dwarves--I didn't realize, until later, that it was Dopey, the former meth head who knew my ex. The dots connected. Suddenly the mix up with my meal made sense. The former dude that I had fucked briefly--those dots connected long ago, too, buddy and I gotta say: you're not very creative, smart, or good at keeping your fucking mouth shut. Good luck trying to get at me some more, I welcome the challenges. I can't wait to see what weirdo crack head approaches me next to be like, "Omg I bet you don't remember me, do you?" Buddy, I remember nearly everything in startling clarity, and I just don't care to know you anymore. It's just that I had tried turning a leaf and being polite and nice to people while I'm out--at the encouragement of my sister. Bless that woman, she's stronger than I ever thought about being--but I can't do it anymore. I told her as much as she doubled over with laughter, "Look, I really tried being nice to people but IM SICK OF IT! SICK OF IT!" I had been deep in the uncomfortable throes of an allergic reaction for weeks on end. It had helped turn the leaf back over to the other side; being a bitch was all I wanted to do--especially to those people who had chosen to be weirdly shitty to me, sometimes without even knowing me. All I have to say to all those participating in this situation: 

1) You suck, and I hope you know that. If you don't, you'd better start understanding it, it will make things make more sense for you if you realize that there are consequences to your actions. Karma might catch up with you when you least expect it. Or I might see you out and tell you that you suck myself. 

2) Bring it, bitch, because I'm just waiting. I'm ready now. Just don't dish it out if you can't take it.

3) Life has a way of dealing you the hand that you deserve, so try to consider that, at every point in your life. 

4) If you think that I'm going to just sit and take endless shit from a bunch of assholes without saying anything about it, I can assure you that you're wrong. 

I think that's it for now. Apparently, the assholes can read, and I hope that they use this skill to comprehend what I've said here. 

FIN.

Cruel to Be Kind -- Spacehog

Okay, guise, bear with me while I purposely regress for a moment in time, just because the path is not always straight, sometimes it curves and loops back on itself so that you can see the same lesson coming that you thought you had once faced and learned. Well, here it is: I can be a fucking bitch and I am owning it, fully, now. It's not that I have been hiding it, I have just been trying to be a kinder, more polite person, especially to people who don't know me. Well, after a few weeks of struggling with allergy shots, reactions, steroids, and all the associated bullshit, I GIVE THE FUCK UP! You want me to do something unkind? Make me. Be yourself so that I can tell you, to your face, that you suck. 

The woman who smacked my shoulder "playfully" at work-- I think I know her name now, but to me she will always just be a cigarette in shoes. Because I know she's probably not a great person. Maybe not completely evil, but certainly a shitty person. That's okay. You can be shitty, just stay the hell away from me. At work one day she was at the machine beside me and asked how I liked it there. To which I said, "As long as nobody puts their hands on me again, I think it will be just fine!" I was deadpan serious. She acted appalled and quickly asked who had put their hands on me. "You did." and when she couldn't hear me, I said it even louder, "You did. When I first started on this side you were coming in from break and saying something about wanting to smack someone and then smacked my shoulder, to which I said, 'What did I do? I'm literally just existing here!'" And her response was to stumble over her own words to say, "oh well, we just play around like that." And my response was curt, "I don't" and the cigarette in shoes said, "Oh well, I guess we'll keep it professional." I wanted to reply that yeah we should keep it professional because we're at work, but I said nothing. 

So today when she had to work beside me again she made a point to not even respond to me when I told her that if any of the things I had given her needed repaired just to let me know. I only just figured out, much later, that she was intentionally not talking to me. Bitch, that's the best fucking thing that you could ever do for the both of us! I don't actually want to talk to you. I don't care where you live, where you went to school, or if you have any hobbies. Good for you for having something to live for--just leave me the fuck out of it. Also, pretty sure this bitch probably went to school with my Mom, or at least knew of her if she didn't know her. And, I just gotta tell you, I think Mom probably didn't like your ass either. A lot of the people who have been openly hostile to me for no real reason that is apparent to me might just be shitty fucking people, and it has nothing to do with me at all whatsoever or my Mother. In fact, I would be willing to bet that if Mom hadn't already been reincarnated, she'd be haunting all your asses for me. You should question those creepy feelings you get in the dark alone and ask yourself who or what is lurking in those gathering shadows? It just might be a ghost from your past sneaking up to remind you that you're just a fucking cigarette in shoes. Or maybe it's the demon who is sucking on your life force, encouraging you at every turn to make more and more bad decisions for your life. Think about it. Or not, whatever.

When I was leaving the doctor's office today, who did I see? It was Paula! That fucking cunt can't seem to get enough of me pretending she doesn't even exist at work, now she has to show up for some more! Only, this time, I was too busy to bother to yell, "You suck!" as I drove away, but I thought about it for a split second before deciding that it wasn't worth my time or energy.

And, truly, none of these fucking assholes are worth my time or the energy I would expend in seeking them out to tell them to their faces that they suck. They probably already know that, they're just afraid to admit it to themselves, let alone anyone else. And that's just gonna have to be ok. 

So, I'm just gonna lean into it from now on, be even more myself. I am not ashamed of who I am, the bitch that I can be, the kind person I know that I can also, equally, be, all that matters is that I am satisfied with who I am. The only opinion about me that matters is my own. The rest of you fucking assholes in the world can just fuck right off. Or not. Whatever. 

If me being like this is enough to incense a few feeble-minded bitches, then who am I to argue. Be a cunt, own that shit, but don't act surprised when I tell you that I think you suck and that I don't like your behavior! 

Also, ex-dudes out there in the world, fuck you, too! Don't send me any friend requests, because you're not my fucking friends! My only regret in this world is that a boy that I had a very weird relationship with didn't get the meanest version of me--Nicholas, buddy, if you're out there, I just gotta say this: You suck and I laughed and laughed and laughed when I heard that you finally received some consequences to your own actions. I'm sorry that you were too stupid to understand that what I "did" to you (by 'talking to you too much') was the very thing that you were doing to others! It came full circle, bud, and guess what!? My only regret is that I wasn't mean enough. And, while I'm on a roll, I want you to take a look around at everything that happens, and wonder, won't you, are these the consequences of my own decisions? You just might be surprised by the answer, assuming you're clever enough to figure it out!

Thanks for coming to my BethSquawk. Time for fun, now! 

Your Song -- Ellie Goulding

"Looks like one just left the nest," Steven seemed to sum it up pretty perfectly. I had just gotten home Sunday evening, was pulling my shoes off. I had told him that I felt...something strange. I had big, new feelings that I'd never had before. We had just seen them off that evening, or was it afternoon? I had been up so long, running running running...It was all worth it, though, to see their beautiful faces as they each came up the aisle. Married.  

It seemed like only yesterday the kid was dyeing Easter eggs with her siblings at the table on the back porch. Monster eggs with silly googly eyes and bright colors. What a whirlwind of a weekend! What an amazing life we all have! And what a gift to be able to share it with one another in such happy times!

I might come back here occasionally to beat the hell out of a dead fucking horse, so to say, but what I truly live for is the here and now. I want to experience each moment of the remainder of my life fully. Be present fully, especially when these huge life events seem to be coming faster and faster as I go along. 

I remember what it was like as a child and thinking that time seemed to just drag by so slowly, especially when you were waiting for something you were excited about, as children often do. I also remember people telling me to enjoy it while I could. I wish I had listened, understood, and done a better job of being present all these years. I can't change the past, but I can be present for now and in the future. 

I have a feeling that this isn't the last time that I will experience some new feelings and I am happy to say that I am excited to see what else life brings. There will be many more gatherings of family in the future, many more times that I will be able to look around at the room and see everyone happy and loved. 

I don't know that I will ever have another moment where I am scrambling around the kitchen, cooking for a crowd, and then look up to see my Dad, my guy, and the ex-husband chilling at the same table. I even came out of the kitchen and over to the table to witness it up close. It was true and, though I had been too busy to notice at first, they seemed to be having a decent time. 

Sometimes life really does surprise you when you least expect it. 

Who Will Save Your Soul -- Jewel

I have a feeling that you keep checking here to see if I will write again. Well, like I said before, I never stopped writing, I just stopped sharing it all. 

Have you ever met a truly evil person? Unfortunately, I have met a few. 

One, in particular, that I have to work with again. That's right, folks, the person who used to harass me at a job I had a few years ago is at it again! The box-makin'-bitch is back! Only now she doesn't make boxes. Only, this time around, I refuse to tolerate any unwanted and unnecessary contact with this person. I don't believe that she can understand that. Something is wrong with her.

I have a very strong instinct for people and this one is a bad person. I hesitate to call her 'e-vil as in the fru-its of the dev-il'n (like on The 'Burbs movie, when they're reading up on 'the occult'), because I feel like calling the demons out to their faces just makes them frustrated they can't shed their human skin suits and eat you right there, like a light snack--and I would definitely be unappetizing, as Dad has suggested that I'm just full of piss and vinegar. I didn't really understand that saying but I'm guessing it means that I can be a mean little shit of a person if you cross me. That much is true. I love to call people out to their faces for being huge pieces of shit. I've spent the last three years working on how to tell them to their faces AND THEN DOING IT. I don't think I will be allowing anyone to harass me anymore, either. 

The reason that I don't want to interact with this negatively-charged person is that I am incapable of faking niceties to someone who doesn't deserve the kindness that I had shown before. And they will not have an opportunity to redeem themselves to me, because I don't care to know them at all now. I would prefer if you took it up with God for redemption. You might want to pray about it--a lot. And consider what Jesus would do. Some say he would turn the other cheek. Well, I'm turning my cheek but if you even try to fucking slap me, I will probably hit back. I'm a fan of the Jesus who flipped tables and drug the rich evil bastards out of the Church because they weren't aligning with the spirit of God in a good way. I can't be doin' all that, I know. So I just silently cheer people on when I see them doing good. But I can't be silent when I see people doing bad things. I won't. 

Except for Thursday at work. Some older lady that I don't know at all, I hate to admit that I haven't memorized her name yet, but I am still new and learning everyone's names. That's ok. She seemed like a decent person who is just struggling with how to navigate around a new person in her space. I was seated at my table, on the other side of the building now, learning something new to do, when, after break and the other employees who went outside to enjoy their break had come streaming back in the doors. This lady was mumbling something about feeling like slapping someone as she walked up behind me and gave me a light smack on the back of my left shoulder when she walked by, so I said, loudly enough to get attention from everyone around, who both saw and heard the incident, "What did I do? I am literally just existing over here, ya know?" And we all kinda laughed an shrugged it off because it seemed like she was attempting to make some sort of joke that I didn't quite understand. Everyone was frustrated that day because an error had allowed some products to skip an important step in the process that could not be undone without a lot of extra effort. It was unfortunate because there is a production deadline, but, like one lady said, "Shit happens."

I let this whole incident slide because I kinda felt like the person behind it isn't evil. She might be a not-very-nice person sometimes, but I don't know her well enough to know for sure. But I know enough about how her presence feels to be convinced that she's not evil. I suppose, when I think of people as 'evil' I am most likely spotting someone with very strong dark-triad traits, even if they aren't an actual demon or possessed by one. I can feel their intentions and I know that those intentions are bad. I can just feel it. I don't need to interact with them further to know it for sure. 

I used to believe that people could be redeemed in their lifetimes. Now I know that most people have to go through life several times to actually, successfully, learn all the lessons it takes to not go through hell on earth--again. It's not my fuckin job to help you with that. I am not responsible for walking your path, nor are you responsible for walking mine. I am attempting to walk the Eightfold Path and some of you will never even learn what that is. And, that's ok. It's not my place to force you to learn it or try it. The only thing that I can do is just sit back and watch and wait for you to understand that you're doing this all wrong. It likely won't happen in this lifetime. 

So, if the bitch is reading this, assuming she can seek things out to read on her own anyway, without being led here by another evil person keeping tabs on me, I'll say what I am "not supposed to" say to you in person, at work, so here goes:

Dear Paula B.,

You suck. I think that you are a bad person. I don't want to interact with you. I'm sorry that you have had a hard life and that it's probably only going to continue to get more difficult and unhappy for you. I see that you are the class clown and the cut-up, making jokes to everyone and making a lot of people laugh. I love that for you and for them. I am glad that you can find people everywhere you go that will tolerate your insipid bullshit. I, however, am not one of those people. I have no desire to interact with you further because I know that you lack the capability to learn and grow as a person from the things that you do so consistently. I have heard the stories from others about the same behavior you and your friends have perpetuated at other work places. What happened to all those jobs? Why did you lose your job delivering Amazon packages? I cancelled the Prime service completely after you delivered a package to my place before I moved. I wrote about it here, I think, but if I didn't, let me just say this about it: That day you were at my rental, delivering a package, I meant every fucking word that I said to you. I don't fucking like you and I want you to stay the fuck away from me. I am not allowed to say this to you to your face while I am at work. It is all that I desire to tell you, so I will repeat it: You are a bad person. I don't care to speak with you at all. That's as nicely as I can say it, so, again, I choose not to interact with you at all because I don't think I can be nice to you. You don't deserve any kindness from me at all and the least I can do is stay away from you altogether. I can keep to myself. Can you? Not likely. But you could make a better effort to stay the fuck away from me. 

Why do you wait for me to arrive and get out of my car before you exit yours? Why do you linger near the front door at the beginning of the day? What are you expecting from me? You'll not be getting a cheery greeting from me anytime soon. Are you trying to force an interaction? I know that I am not supposed to be mean to you, so I choose to avoid you altogether. I know this because I feel like dragging this out further and further with unkind words will only make things worse. I believe that you must not understand that you are a bad person. You probably believe that all the little things that you do to others will never result in negative consequences for you. I believe that you are already experiencing them, but that you are too stupid to understand the lessons being presented to you every day of your unfortunate life. It's not my job to point out to you, daily, that you should strive to be a better person. My boss would say to pray about it. In fact, she did. And I prayed a lot about it. And the answer was surprising. I am suppose to forgive you. So I do. You're forgiven but never forgotten. I will remember the way you treated me until the day, probably many incarnations from now, that you learn the lesson for real. Because I will be there to greet you on the other side, as I always do. I know that you are incapable of understanding that. We all return to the source. I wish everyone would understand that but, then again, I can't force a lesson that you aren't yet capable of learning. 

I hope this letter finds you as well as you'll ever be in this life, and that you will continue to improve your life. I still have hope and faith in God. Maybe I don't have any hope that you'll actually change, Paula, but I believe that if you really wanted to, you could. I don't think you really want to, though. I don't believe that you're capable at this point, in this lifetime, of being who you are supposed to be--for whatever reason, you can't shake that devil from your shoulder who's always calling on you to say and do the things that I find abhorrent. So, go ahead, live your life however you want. You're not welcome in mine. I will tolerate your presence like I tolerate everyone else like you, from an observable distance when you're around. I don't need to talk to you to know that you haven't yet changed and that you are most likely not capable of it either right now, or in the immediate future.

I feel sorry for you. I feel sorry for any person who feels so lowly of themselves as to make targets of other people with their hatred and their pain. I've heard a lot of jokes in my day at other's expense, including my own, and I don't really care for it. I believe that if you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all. I don't always succeed in that, but I have a personal goal of not engaging in so much negative talk about other people to people that I don't even really know. That is reserved for times and spaces that I deem safe to vent my frustrations. Work is not one of those places and the people there, although very kind and helpful, are neither my friends nor my family, with whom I might seek to share a moment of commiseration or to whom I may wish to vent any frustrations with life. I choose not to share that stuff with people that I don't know very well and I definitely choose not to share any conversation at all with you, Paula. So I will end with this: I don't like you. I don't want to speak unkind words to you at work. So I choose to actively avoid you. You can continue to follow me around, go to the bathroom when I'm there, come and go when I do at work to try to force an interaction. I've said here all I have to say to you. You suck and you don't deserve any amount of attention from me. You've already received enough. This is the last you'll hear from me unless you decide to physically confront me yourself. I don't want to confront you at work because it is unnecessary. Leave me alone. 

Sincerely,

Laura R.

I used to believe that people are capable of changing. Now I know better. After so many times of letting people, like my ex-husband, and Andy, and all those other 'friends' treat me like complete and utter shit just because I was afraid to lose a relationship, well here's a little message for the rest of you that might be asking yourself why I don't want to talk to you anymore: it's probably one of two things--either I'm busy living my life or maybe I just don't fuckin like you. YOU DECIDE!!! If you are puzzled and I haven't spoken to you in a while, don't take it personally, I really am busy and have changed phones and numbers so many times that I probably just don't have the ability outside of Facebook or Insta or some such. It's okay, I hope you know I love you all. I would say that I love all people. I tried that. I tried to mirror the love that I have received in this life, even toward others who probably didn't deserve any crumbs of it from me. I am not embarrassed to say that I have told many people in this life that I love them even when it seemed to shock them and they were incapable of understanding that I meant it unconditionally, as God wishes we all did love one another. That is how I love. Unconditionally. I can do it much better from afar if I don't like how you live your life. That's why I choose to stay away from some specific people, like Paula B. at work. It's because she has to realize, all by herself, that the things that she does are wrong and that God wants you to try every day to be better than you were the day before.  

Now I also know that people don't always deserve my time, attention, and affection. My family and true friends do. And they will receive it when we interact and even when we don't. My love for them is always there. Unfortunately, I cannot hold back all the love in the world from the people I don't feel deserve mine. They still deserve the endless love that believing in God or another higher power brings, whichever anyone chooses to believe, even if they're not always very nice people, they deserve God's love. Yes, even all you hateful people, you still deserve God's love. You should work harder at feeling as though you deserve this wonderful life and God's love and guard your thoughts, your words, and your actions accordingly. I don't know what else to tell you other than that I'm done with evil people and can't be bothered to try to make them understand that they are choosing to suck at life and feeding the evils of harsh words, harsh thoughts, and harsh actions only makes those things fester and grow until there's no room for anything else. I choose not to do that anymore. I choose the other path. You get to choose yours. I don't have to like you or interact with you, and God's love is there for you if you choose to seek it out and accept it. But I don't have to be the one to show you the way. That is your work. But keep in mind that the path you are on can be changed at any time. It's always been up to you. 

So, stay the fuck over there or walk this path. It matters not to me. I will not mourn your loss from my life one bit. I just wish you could take a very obvious hint that I don't want either the opportunity to speak to you in person or the opportunity for you to try to redeem yourself to me. It cannot be done. Once I know how bad you are, it can't be undone. The only thing that can change that is between you and God, because the other side is where we will most likely meet again, and I have a feeling that you won't be happy to see me coming then, either.  I wish you all Peace, Love and Light, whether you think you deserve it or not. But only from a good safe distance. If I have to tell you to your face, I'm gonna tell you that you suck, but only if it's in the appropriate public environment. 

Born Again -- Saint Motel & The Writer -- Ellie Goulding

When my Grandma Roark passed, we went to Cincinnati. I still vividly remember being curled up in the chair at the funeral home and watching people come and go for what felt like hours. It probably was hours. I still have the velvet dress I wore, it has dragons on it. Mom had told me that Grandma Roark had helped a lot of people over her long life and they had all come out to pay their respects. As it turns out, I've been to a lot of funerals over the years. Some were far more difficult to bear than others. I was reading over the old blog posts and my memories of some things are more clear than what I wrote about some of the dreams I had back then. That's okay, though, I was trying to get the words out. I suppose, when I would be writing, my goal was always to try to paint a picture, convey an image, that I have in my mind, to the audience. It's sometimes difficult to put images into words in just the right way, no matter how hard I try. 

I have finally decided that, sometimes, what I want to convey is the air of a David Lynch movie that has sometimes developed in the past, in my dreams. I would be dreaming along, everything pretty typical, dream world, dream scenario, and then...awareness. I would know that I was dreaming, and then the world would shift, like suddenly it's blue everywhere and things are flooding. I had a lot of nightmares back then. I'm pretty sure that it had something to do with how depressed I was after Mom died. Fighting my own demons was what it took to be able to rest well--I wish I was exaggerating. I had to overcome so many things to be able to be here and writing this today.

Sometimes this is the only gift that I have to offer the world--my words. I hope it's enough.

Homer was kinda like our direct conduit to God. That's why it hurts so much that he's gone. When he preached, you could feel the light shine through him and it truly did feel like he was the Disney Princess of Preachers. I can't recall a time when I attended church that I wasn't moved by his words--that his message didn't touch upon something with which I had also struggled. And, it seemed like he was a natural at conveying the message of unconditional love, of being able to interpret the passages of the Bible and apply them to the struggles of our modern lives. I imagine he and Mom are in heaven arguing about the Bible again. Maybe they just do it for fun now because they have all the answers there?

There's a picture at Dad's house, in a silver frame, a candid of Homer and Bill, in which Homer is happily exclaiming, mouth open in a jubilant hoot of laughter, with Bill right next to him, close enough to throw an arm round his shoulder. I picture them together in heaven, having a grand discussion seated at the largest kitchen table ever, where even God is laughing uproariously. I like to picture them like that because they were so happy. I picture their heaven as all the happy moments of their lives stretching on forever. There are no words that can accurately convey how deep this loss is for not only his family, but also his friends, and our community. So I comfort myself by picturing all our loved ones in heaven together with Jesus at the big table, having an endless last supper with no Judas to betray them. It works for me.

I remember coming to the office in the middle of the day to visit Mom and Dad at work, and Homer being there and they were having a discussion about Community Ministries business, repairing or replacing some siding on someone's house or something, I think. Anyway, after quite a lengthy conversation that only had a little to do with Community Ministries and a lot more to do with their opinions on various world events and news, after Homer had left, I had asked Mom all about Community Ministries and what it was and what they did. I guess, as a teenager and younger child, I hadn't really realized that certain things happening were because good people in the community got together and tried to make things better for others. Every time there was commodities distribution, my Grandparents would always go and Homer was always there, among many others in our community who helped to hand out the commodities. Bill would make two different giant pots of soup beans, he would make a vegan pot so that Homer could have some beans, and one with ham hocks. I don't know what I thought was going on but, when I finally was old enough to pay attention, I discovered that it wasn't just them going and having a soup bean dinner together on a consistent schedule--they were actually prepared in an effort to offer a hot meal to anyone who showed up to distribute the commodities every month.

Mom's desk had been full of papers, snippets of interesting articles, various important paperwork, and, of course little notes about amusing things, an incredibly vague note about her and Homer agreeing about something on a specific date, I think something about the Bible, but who can know? When I went through Billie's office stuff I found that she had kept a binder of all of the copies of Homer's sermons that had come in the mail. Also in the desk, I found a trophy of recognition from Bill's time in Mt. Healthy serving that community. Here I was surrounded by such good people all this time and what the hell have I been doing? Surviving, recovering, and growing as a person? There's something missing here, I think, and I haven't quite figured it out yet, but I'm working on it.  

This loss enhances all the others. I suppose that's why I'm having the morbs about it. It reinforces the uncomfortable reality that the community that we once lived in isn't ever going to be the same again. Yeah, you can still go over and scan some kinda card, pick up commodities, and are on your way again. I'm glad that someone's still doing the commodities distribution, although I wonder if anyone will take it upon themselves to buy the huge bags of beans for the soup every month? Do they do that anymore? (I'm sure it's fine.) 

I guess I could figure out how to take up the mantle, I suppose, somehow, try to fill the bean void? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Should I cook large vats of beans? Is that what I'm supposed to do? Is that my purpose in life? To cook the beans? (I know, I know, I'm just being silly, trying to ease the pain a bit with a little laughter.) But we legitimately found the huge bean-cooking-vats, so I'm ready now! I could cook the beans!

I know I can't completely ease another's suffering--that I don't have the right to do so--but it doesn't make it any easier when someone you care about passes from this world to the next. I know everything is going to be alright, that we all will someday pass from our time here on earth in these vessels. And we will be reunited with all those who have gone before us when we do. I have faith. 

This is what I see when I close my eyes and picture him: Homer in the pulpit, Bible and sermon pages open before him, and he looks to the book and reads a line, and he smiles, head tilting forward as he looks around the room, and then he says the thing that just...ties it all together and the anecdote that he began with has suddenly come full circle and he pauses, lets the silence stretch for a moment, and then hits you with some shit Jesus probably said verbatim (in Aramaic) back in the day, and suddenly you're dabbing your eyes and thinking to yourself that's exactly what I needed to hear today, how is that possible? And that was Homer--he had a way with words, too. And we're all going to miss him.

Heart of Glass & Queen of Scars -- Toadies & Heaven Beside You -- Alice In Chains

Ram Dass answered me this time! 

I know, I know, you'll just say that he's dead and how could he possibly answer me!?!

It's the algorithm, I'm sure of it, but at least it is feeding me Ram Dass content, even if he's been dead for a while. And, just because you're dead, doesn't mean that what you said while you were alive doesn't have an impact. People like to ask why God won't answer directly when you pray. I think God does answer, but you have to be open to receiving the answer from the most unexpected people, places, and even just things encountered in your everyday life. 

Yesterday I posted that I wished I could ease the suffering of those who are enduring it. And then almost immediately after posting to the blog, I saw the Ram Dass quote where he said that he didn't have any right to take away anyone else's suffering. It's theirs. It is for them to endure, change, and learn. Of course he put it very eloquently, whereas I, like always, just came here to write this down before I forget and the words just kinda spill out. Maybe it worked that way for him too, I'm not sure because I never met him. I think what he meant by not having the right to take away another's suffering, is that it is interrupting another's lesson, and I believe that suffering is often a lesson we need to learn about ourselves and our own nature as individual human beings. As good as our intentions may be, sometimes what others need is our presence when they are suffering. For you to sit with them and say, I hear you. Hold space for others. To listen to them and not be dragged into their drama. 

I can't ease your suffering but I can hold space for you when you are suffering!! That's the answer!

I don't have to fix all the problems, I never had to! 

I just have to be present and hold space for those that I love. 

I may not be able to understand your suffering--I may not be able to see inside those dark thoughts in your mind, but I can very much hold space for you! I can give you the freedom to figure it out and still offer you the same love and support that I have always offered!

Sometimes, you get the answer. Just be careful what you're asking for, because you'll receive the lesson you're meant to have and not necessarily everything you've ever fantasized about having in life.