Honoring a Tidbit from a Police Officer

Today I am thankful for the wisdom of a police officer. 

I called her in 2012,  after the election, concerned about the stalking.  I told her as much as I could; the office break-ins, my billing clerk being hassled, my being watched during meetings and lunches by people I didn't know who resembled my ex, the phone calls....

I didn't get through it all - she interrupted me with

"I know who your stalker is."

"It is your husband."

She wanted me to stop talking about it.  She is with the local police department and in talking to other officers she specializes in domestic violence.

She doesn't return calls.  The officers don't take reports.

She left me with one tidbit that still sticks out - "when something feels wrong, pay attention."

The energy doesn't just feel wrong.  The warning signals aren't just buzzing.

They're blaring.

I'm going to record it in the hopes that I'm just paranoid.

I don't think I am.

Something seems strange.

*****
My ex husband has been reaching out more in the past ten days than before.

The last verbal conversation I had with him was the day before Father's Day.  He wanted me to drop what I was doing and drag the kids to a theater and wait for him to see a movie with them.

I had to drive them.  I had to be there just in case the visit didn't last very long (last time....I had to pay someone to come get the kiddos because he ended the visit early.  I had planned on an eye exam.  The visit ended before my hour long appointment was over).

I had an intensive post-graduate class that Sunday.  He had only given me twelve hours notice.  There was no time to switch every one's schedules.  These classes are only offered a few times per year.  They are mandated by the State of Colorado.  If I want to go back to work as a counselor, I need these classes.  I can make more money working as a counselor which will help keep my ex's child support ridiculously low.

Yet again, I asked him to tell me what he wanted and invited him to go to mediation with me and work out a more realistic and stable visitation schedule.

He told me to set everything up.  He needs to take a bit of ownership here.  I've tried to do that before, he doesn't cooperate.  He needs to make the effort this time.

This is not the first time I've made that request.  I asked last year and was told to do whatever I wanted to do.

I am now interviewing lawyers and stressing about how I'm going to come up with the $5,000 retainer.

Sigh....

The contacts this week seem harmless enough - until one realizes the frequency of them.

It started with a text he sent while I was visiting a doctor who was deciding whether or not I needed to go the hospital for a kidney infection.

The text offered to pay for school yearbooks for the kids.  I was more concerned about who was going to care for them if I were hospitalized, so I didn't answer.

I came home and found that he sent an email asking me to read the text.  Again, I didn't answer right away because I was in horrid pain and trying to get better.

When I finally answered, I mentioned that there were more pressing needs: medical issues, braces, senior portrait fees, marching band school fees (didn't tell him I couldn't send the kiddo to Washington with her school band due to lack of funds), college entry costs and senior exam fees.

He wrote back complaining that he only netted $500 per check.  That's more than I get,...gross.  I'm not the one under-employing myself.

He continued to write.  At least one email each day wanting the cell phone numbers for the kiddos.

Because they're either at or nearing the age of majority and I still want them to talk to me after they move out, I asked permission to share their numbers with him.

They told me NO!

Now, I've spent a pretty penny keeping their phone service going so they have the same numbers.  He didn't like it when I told him to try the numbers he already has....sigh....technically, I didn't give the numbers to him.  He already has them!

Besides, they have the landline in their bedrooms.  The answering machine in the eldest kiddo's room so I don't get to hear the messages.  I reminded him of this.

Well, he hasn't really seen them.  They're telling me that he wasn't been very nice those times when I worked and he squatted in the house.  I'd like to get all of them into therapy, however, because he has 50% custody, I cannot do that without his consent until they are fifteen (the age of psychotherapeutic consent with a licensed practitioner in Colorado).

This is part of the reason I'm looking for another lawyer.  My last lawyer's paralegal told me not to worry about it because he wouldn't get to keep his visitation and custody arrangement.  She did not want to get anything in writing.

My view is that if it is NOT on paper, it's not legal.  I have to go back to court to clarify things.

Things are expensive when one's ex is not cooperative.

I have received six or so emails in the past few days from my ex about the yearbooks, receipts for the yearbooks, the children's phone numbers and so on. Actually it's far more than six.

I just got one telling me that it's up to the kids to contact him.  Hello?? They're teenagers!!  Um.....

sigh.....I just don't know.....

It is to the point I dread checking my email.

I do have a concern here, this guy recently accused me of stalking and harassing him.  This is the reason that he gives for not honoring the divorce decree and sharing information about his whereabouts and his employment.

Yeah....he's writing two very distinct addresses in the signatures of the emails: one is to a homeless shelter, the other within a local condo development.

There is a chance he lying about something.

I can't afford a lawyer.  My car is dying.  A kid needs braces.  I may need surgery.

On the other hand, I cannot afford to be without a lawyer.

It seems like he's spending more time trying to contact me.  There seems to be an element of projection here - I don't stalk him.  He stalks me.

People who have a Cluster B diagnosis (anti-social, narcissistic, borderline, and/or histrionic) tend to project their behavior on to others.  Projection is often a good clue as to what they are up to doing.  For instance, the narcissistic guy who claims you are cheating is cheating on you.  If he claims you're stealing the retirement funds, check the account balance.

Those are hard learned lessons.

This is contributing to a small amount of my unease.  He went from silence for 16 months to nearly daily contact with me.

******

The above is just a side note.

Yesterday there were was an issue that scared the holy heck out of my twenty-year old daughter.  She refused to call the police.

Yeah....the local police department has been shooting innocent people for awhile.  They killed two civilians in the past week; one of whom was an innocent homeowner who utilized Colorado's Make My Day laws to protect his family.

I'm actually getting emails from constituents about that.  It has been SEVEN  years since I ran for office.  Really?  Do our current city council members refuse to listen?  Why are people reaching out to me?

I don't mind.  I'm probably the person with the least amount of power here.

I'm pondering what I can do.  I'll pray.  The last time I lit a candle and prayed I was invited to join a political race by one of my opponents.

Sigh.....

No organization is 100% bad or 100% good.  The officer that gave me the advice works with the department.

This is scaring people to the point they are afraid to call the police.

If no one believes me, I actually had this conversation with someone across town yesterday.  Someone threatened him with a note.  I told him to take the note to the police and he refused by citing the police shootings.

I never thought the news would keep my kiddos from calling our PAR officer.

So.....here is what happened:

The kids claimed they saw a pizza delivery driver go up and down our block twice.  He spent a few minutes in his car in our driveway before moving on.

He came back about an hour later and spent more time in front of the house.

It seemed innocent enough - until they told me that he continued to come and go throughout the day.  He would stop in front the houses of our neighbors and linger for several minutes.

They didn't recognize the car. It was small.  It was silver.  They didn't get a plate number.  They got the name of the pizza company.

They didn't recognize the driver.

My security camera had run out of batteries....ugh!!!

Their concern is that he may have been casing the neighborhood.

When Michael's family was following me, it wasn't uncommon to find them in my driveway blocking the exit from the house.  They often parked in front of my house, too.

These were people I didn't recognize until my ex started sharing their pictures with me.  He knew who they were.

The officer was right.

******

I don't know.  I may ask the kids to reach out to the PAR officer.  I'll drive the block a few times today to see if I can find someone with a silver car that fits the description.

This is frightening only because of what we've been through.

I have no idea if any of these things are connected at all.

I am uncomfortable enough to jot it down.

I have the day off.

It's lawyer interviewing day!

Please stay safe out there.

I'm realizing I need to stop praying for all the peace officers I drive past in traffic.  I think I need to start praying for the occupants in every home in the city.

Perhaps I should pray that the officers not kill or beat anyone that day.

Maybe next time, I'll write about my theory as to why police officers are shooting more people.

Okay....I'll tell you know.

Most police forces hire people who were recently discharged from the military.  While the military does a good job of traumatizing service members, it does an absolutely horrible job treating PTSD.  I think this is why many well meaning officers are little too quick on the trigger.  We need to offer better mental health services to our veterans.

Our police force needs to do a better job policing their own and offering mental health services to prevent this kind of thing.  Seriously....we're not doing them any favors if we don't get them help prior to their shooting an innocent.  If you care about your officers, you don't want to risk any of them living with that kind of guilt....would you?

The police woman that arrested the sexual assault victim for saying the word "cunt" was former military.  This came right after women who were raped in the military were vilified and blamed.  I saw this event as a result of our government's neglect of victimized women in the force.

We are not doing enough to make our veterans whole after we traumatize them in needless wars.

Yeah...I could write a book on the problem with mental health training and licensure.  The mental health system does a good job of further victimizing people.  I wonder if people in pain just give up.

As human beings, our lives are interconnected.  Neglecting one person will often have a ricochet effect in that multiple other people will be impacted.

Not helping a vet who becomes a police officer 

could cause him or her to accidentally harm or kill another person 

which, in turn, can cause other people to refrain from asking for needed help

and cause these other people to become victims themselves. 

I thought I made this clear to local leadership in 2011.  I must've failed in my communication. 

The lesson seems lost on those in power.  

May the universe guide the premise to someone who can do something about it.  

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  I am watching the video of a county sheriff candidate beating the hell out of an acquaintance of mine who stood in a doorway of a court house with a camera.

He is insecure as hell!  His body language betrays his lack of confidence.

Then I saw a video of the current sheriff arresting her for trying to deliver a CORA request.

In this video, the current sheriff looks sad and worried. It's obvious he doesn't want to set my friend up.

I'm realizing that something is off in this particular county.

I wonder who is pushing the insecure guy who beats women into the Sheriff's seat.

I wonder if the current Sheriff is sad because he had to give up his job or behave in illegal ways to make this person happy.

I think it's time to investigate the political structure of Morgan County.  If this happens to her, I'm sure it happens to other people.

Sigh....

The candidate will probably be the first person I paint for my Black n' Blue Baton Collection because he inspired the project.

I always thought the only Martin I'd paint would have six strings.

Sigh....

I'm going to paint one a few strings short of a coherent melody.

Even if one is lacking a couple strings, with enough time and education, he can learn to play the most beautiful melodies on just a few strings just by changing his position and the way he uses his hands.

I'm wondering if this guy is a veteran.

If you want to see the video, Morgan County put out a heavily redacted version which cuts from moments of truth making the officer look frustrated but still unjustified (you don't beat a woman up because you don't like what she says).  Another bystander put up a much longer recording of the event.  This where we see the officer wringing his hands before the encounter and acting like a jackass after he throws this woman to the ground.

Gosh...we need to do more for the people who serve us.  If we can't stop the stupid wars, the least we can do is stop traumatizing people and refusing to help them.

If we don't, we will all pay the price.

A Warning About Getting Older

Today I am thankful that I work with nurses. 

A few weeks ago, my ex-husband stated that he didn't want to cooperate with the divorce decree by sharing information because he claimed I would use the information to stalk him.

I responded by saying that stalking is time intensive.  Between my job, trying to reboot my small business and going back and retaking my post-graduate classes, I don't even have time to pee let alone harass anyone.

I'm trying to make time to share videos of lawbreaking police officers with their department heads.

There are more important people to harass.

Well...

here is my lesson of the week:

Always take time to pee. 

Oh, and lay off of the soda. 

So.....

Over the past week, I thought I'd hit menopause early because I really wasn't feeling well.

I started feeling feverish and I'd break out into a cold sweat.  I thought they were hot flashes.

My lower back hurt.  That comes with being old, right?

My girl stuff hurt and I figured that it was falling out from lack of use (laugh it up.....I read it could happen....somewhere....probably on a website written by a perverted guy using any excuse he could to get laid).

I paid out of pocket to visit a doctor to help me find a diet I can cope with (I'm allergic to just about everything).  I was told that my blood pressure was 150/100.  It was 123/80 during my last visit two weeks ago.

She chalked it up to a defective blood pressure cuff.

I thought I was okay.....just old.

I didn't mention the pain I was in because I thought it was....well...old age.

I proceeded to go about my day.

The kiddos needed socks.  I wanted to visit my favorite instrument repair shop because my daughter tried to play her father's abandoned trumpet and it fell apart in her hands.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  The other kids borrow my art supplies.  She borrows the musical instruments.  I love it when the bass comes back perfectly tuned.

After my doctor's visit, I grabbed the kiddos and headed out towards my favorite shopping center in my home town.

I had to pull over because I was feeling a little bit weird.

Must be menopause, I thought.

I had to stop at Walmart.  I had the thought that I could be dehydrated.  Maybe if I bought some water, I'd be just fine. 

The water made it worse.  The kids thought I was hungry.  

There was tiny sub shop there.  Someone expressed concern about my appearance and suggested I sit down.  The lady working there made me a spinach salad.  I bought an early dinner for the kids.

I still felt like crap.

Then.... I found myself with the urge to dispel the spinach salad from my gastro-intestinal tract.

Menopause must suck!

There was no way I was sick.

I am just old!

Prior to this I thought that menopause was a process that took years -but- in my case it seemed to hit in a matter of days.

I went to work the next day.

I work for my absolute favorite health care company.  I visit with the nurses in the hallway, in the parking lot and in the bathroom.  We talk about dresses and addiction counseling and trying to cheer up people who are down.

The nurses are awesome.  Two weeks ago, I was told I saved someone's life. Someone called and just said things that made no sense.  I grabbed a nurse who sent her to the ER.

I didn't save anyone's life.  The nurse and the ER staff did.  I just answered the phone, sensed something was wrong and grabbed a nurse.  The nurse wanted to tell everyone that I did a great job.

It wasn't me. I didn't do anything except trust my gut.

The nurses I work with do so much and don't take credit.

It would be nice if they could only see themselves through the eyes of others.

I didn't think their kindness would turn towards me again.

Last week, I found myself walking down the hall way pounding on my back to try to ease the pain.

One of the nurses followed me out of the ladies room and suggested that I visit my doctor.

I hesitated.  She insisted and told me to tell her if I was okay after I saw the doctor.

I mentioned this to my boss and she told me to take the day off (unpaid) and come back with a note from the doctor saying I can work.

I did as I was instructed.

Guess what.....

it is not menopause. 

I have my very first ever kidney infection!  Thankfully, it was mild so I could treat it at home.

I'd been saving that kidney, too.  I thought that someday I'd probably wind up donating it because it's probably the only thing I had that could actually help someone!

Maybe not.....no one is going to want my stale old kidney now!

It hurt like hell!

I still went to work.  I went to class.  I haven't missed a beat.  I should have followed the doctor's orders and stayed in bed.  There is just far too much to do!

The worst bit is that the medication gives me horrible headaches and muscular cramps, everything hurts, my neck, my arms, my legs and my feet.  Ugh......  It also gives me restless legs.

The medication is almost as bad as the disease!

Ugh....how do people put up with that?

Only five more days to go...…

I learned something.

Listen to nurses.

Don't discount your symptoms.

Here is a word to the wise:

never assume that your symptoms are related to aging, especially if they come on suddenly.

Nurses can smell trouble.

Seriously...…

I was told that they could smell blood in urine.  Yeah....I'm pretty dumb.  I didn't think that was blood. I thought it was dehydration.

Pee isn't supposed to be dark orange.

Sigh.....

I'm stupid.

I'm also incredibly thankful that I avoided a hospital stay!

So, now I'm off to ponder how to thank a nurse I barely know.

She may have saved my kidney.

I wonder if I can bring the nurse some flowers or something?

I'll ask.

With my luck, someone in the office will be allergic to flowers.

Maybe a simple "thank you" will suffice.

If your health changes quickly seek medication attention, don't make dumb excuses like I did!

Geesh!

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  And trade in your soda for water.  I'd been so busy my diet has mostly consisted of Diet Dr. Pepper.  I credit that for the issue.

I'm actually happier now that I'm not wincing in pain.  I have to stop myself from flirting too much now.  I have a tendency to get complete strangers to talk to me.  I don't realize what is happening until they start asking me out on dates.

I'd consider dating if only I could find the time.

 

The Lesson

Today I am thankful for my crazy habit of writing down my dreams. 

Over the past few weeks, I've been cleaning out the house to prepare for an upcoming remodel.

I've whined so much about the break-ins,

that I'm getting security doors and windows.

The problem with cleaning out clutter is that one can unearth things that were long forgotten

-or buried-

-or lost.

I found an old dream diary I kept over a decade ago.  In it I recorded nightmares about an old friend from high school.

The dreams were horrific.

They showed bodily injuries via accidents, domestic assaults, and one dream even had him on fire, being shot with hundreds of flaming Cupid's arrows while being pecked to death by hawks.

The worst parts of that dream were the black dogs that were biting me so I couldn't smother the flames out. If one is in pain, I'd do my best to help.

I'm thinking that last dream probably embodies what happens to any poor man who gets too close to me. I'm pretty stupid in relationships.  

There were dreams of me speaking to spirit animals and guides telling me that love is never a perversion unless we wield it in immoral ways.

I've always felt guilty for caring for this person.  I mean, he married someone else.  I married someone else: it's sad that the man I married wasn't the staring man in my dreams.

Well....perhaps I should count my blessings that my ex-husband was never the staring man in my nightmares.

They were harsh.

After awhile, I felt ashamed about caring for people I didn't truly know.  In fact, throughout my marriage, my in-laws would complain that I "cared too much" for everyone.

I'm not sure why I'd listen to their bullshit.  To be honest, the fact that I care is why some people actually listen to me in the first place!

I used to listen to my heart more.  I think I let it drive me crazy.

I've been an emotional mess.

I've been sad since I found the diary.

I also found a break-up note circa May 1987, it tore my heart out.  It basically stated that the boy who was leaving me never wanted to be without my friendship.

Friendship was basically all we had.

Well....it was friendship set on fire.  Luckily, we were too young to do much with it.  We didn't wind up ruining our lives or scorching ourselves.

Losing my friend did hurt like hell.

He left me so I could take a music scholarship.  I would known that at the time if I had read the note. 

I was told he had prettier toke buddies (could be gossip, I don't know).  I didn't indulge so I felt that I wasn't any "fun."  When he left, I thought it would give him a chance to get to know the other girls better.

I didn't fight it at all.  Perhaps I should have.

He seemed to think I'd be happier at college.  I thought he'd be happier meeting other girls (those who didn't conflict with his religious lifestyle back in the day).

I think we cared so much for the other that we sacrificed what we wanted thinking it would make the other person happier.  For many years, I blissfully believed I was right.  I was told he married a beautiful woman and was happy.  My in-laws lived a couple of blocks away from his family.  My cousin-in-law dated his next door neighbor.

I thought everything turned out perfectly for him.

No one told me about his divorce.  I didn't really tell anyone too much about the stalking, harassment and frightening things going on in my life.

I think he guessed that I was unhappy.  I don't know if he saw it in my face, could decipher it in one of my blogs or if.....maybe....word got out about public embarrassment I endured in my home town.  Yeah....one day my ex-husband had a rage attack in my home town on the way to a high school reunion. Since that day, several of my childhood friends have tried to help me get away.

I thought my old friend was okay.  I mean....really....the dreams made me worry enough to write them down and to pray.  I honestly thought that the dreams were not about him at all.  I believed they were indicative of the hell I was going through.

It didn't strike home how bad things were until I saw him.

One day, twenty-one years later, I would snap a photo of him trying to hide his sadness.

That picture breaks my heart.

That picture reminds me that I'm an idiot who hides behind the way she wants things to be rather than what they truly are.

I stayed away thinking I was doing right by him.

Could I have been wrong?

I don't know.

I'd say I miss his friendship but, truth be told, I don't know if we can talk to each other any more.  He misunderstands me.  In a belittling fashion, on Facebook,  he publicly equated me with Ayn Rand (.ugh...yeah....um.....that's a tad bit hurtful...she's not someone I'd aspire to be.).  He doesn't know me at all.  I prefer the objectivist philosophy of Nathanial Braden.  I used to buy his books and keep them in my office for clients who wanted them.  In fact, I just donated several of his books to make room for the remodel.

I'm not sure I can understand my old friend.  It has to be hard to live in such judgmental skin.  I bet he's harsher on himself than he could ever be towards any one else.

I probably should be more understanding of his lack of understanding of philosophy.  I aspired towards a doctorate of philosophy.  He's in IT.  If I critique his understanding of objectivism, he could easily find all the design flaws in the websites I've built for my business and my friends' political campaigns.

I'd best just chalk it up to us being two incredibly different people.  That doesn't mean that I don't care.

There are days when I miss that type of friendship.  Two people always have a unique alchemical reaction together: we will never have that same feeling we had together with anyone else.  This is true of each and every relationship we ever enter into.

I did learn an important lesson from him.

Friendship is exactly what I want in an intimate relationship.  It's hard to tell my nosey match-making friends that I want a friend first.

I'm not sure they understand.

Yeah, on the way to a doctor's appointment this morning, I was stopped in the middle of the road by a neighbor who claims to have found me a suitor.

I don't need a suitor.

I need to figure out how to juggle all of the crazy things going on in my life.  I need to find myself again.  I need to be secure in the person I'm supposed to be before bringing another soul into my life.

Aren't I?

Sigh...

I'm still cleaning out the tsunami of crap.  I hope that by giving up the things that no longer serve me, I can bring newer things into my life.

I have three huge boxes of shoes to sort through, clean and donate.

I have an absolutely huge wardrobe.

I never printed out the pictures I've taken over the past fifteen years with my digital camera.  I'm looking into online resources to help with that.

That sad thing is that I can't seem to find a way to open up the old Kodak picture files.

I'll figure it out.

I wonder how many of those old photos are of my old friend.

I'd better brace myself for another hurricane of emotions.

*****
In the past few weeks, I've been pondering the dreams of my old friend.

I've wondered why I felt connected to him.

I wondered why he came back thrice.

I thought about the gossip that was spread back then, curious to know if there was any truth to it and then realizing that it truly didn't matter if I cared for him.

Then it struck me that there was gossip about me, too.  I had wondered if he'd heard it.  If so, I hoped he didn't believe it.

The note broke my heart.  It was especially hard when I recollected the three times I saw him in the past decade and the sad aura he projected during those hours.

If I had tried to be a friend to him, would it have made a difference in his life?

I thought staying away was best.

Perhaps I was wrong.

I wanted to know what my lesson is supposed to be.

This had to happen to teach me something.

If I could only learn the lesson, I could move on.

******

I started to re-read the diary.

On the last reading, I found a folded up piece of paper that looked like it was torn out of a notebook.  It recounted a dream from September 8, 2008.

It said that "Love is the lesson - unconditional love." This dream was of an Eagle spirit guide who showed me the beauty and importance of allowing others to spread their wings and fly free.

I fell asleep to the flickering lights of Aphrodite's candles that refused to extinguish no matter how many times I tried to snuff them out.

I don't remember my dreams last night.

I awoke to the feeling of complete and utter peace.

Everything will be okay.

My friend is okay.

I am okay.

Things happened the way the were supposed to happen.

I should never wish to change a thing.

Nothing is lost so long as lessons are learned.

Surprisingly when I awoke to snuff out the candles on the altar, they all went out effortlessly.

That must have been my lesson from Aphrodite.

Love....just love.

Love without agenda.

Love without limits.

When one loves, judgment is suspended.

When one loves, control is suspended.

When one truly loves, one lets go and allows the other to fly free.

That is what my old friend did for me.  Despite all the nightmares, this is what I must continue to do for him even if it is just on a spiritual level. .

Let him fly free.  Next time....if there is a next time....when he appears sadder than all get out, I will do a little more probing to see if I can help.

If he doesn't talk, I will understand completely.  I don't like to discuss the issues in my life.

I will just continue to light the little white candles and hope whatever is keeping him from soaring towards a sunnier plain dissipates. I'll know when I can stop lighting them: The nightmares will stop.

There is no loss when there is unconditional love.

The ability to love unconditionally is a gift.

Love ya lots.....

hoping you fly free.....

(oh....I also hope you are understood by the people you love and if not, I hope their judgments don't bother you at all.)

S.

Seeing Sadness in the Reflection

When I had my first break-up, I played this cassette over and over daily until it wore out.  Then I bought the album.  I had always intended to learn how to play this song on my own but, somehow, I never did.

Today I am thankful for reflection.

There is a realization that too much reflection with too few facts can lead to a negative emotional state.

Since I found my dream diary and that note that I thought was long gone, I've been sad.

I finished reading the entire dream diary last night.

Sigh....

The last entry was from 2009.  In this dream, my old friend talks about alcoholism being a slow suicide.

I don't know why that made me sad.

I don't know him to indulge in drink.  Really....our relationship was too innocent for us to see that sort of thing in each other.

I don't know if that was my fear for him - or - if those dreams reflected the drug and alcohol certification classes I'd just finished at the time the dream occurred.

In fact, I'm retaking those courses now.  In 2011, the Colorado board of licensure changed the names of many of the courses, which mandated I retake them.

I'd just spent $7,000 getting the training.  Drug and alcohol counseling really doesn't pay all that well.  I had no intention of becoming a substance abuse counselor.  I just wanted to understand the issue so I could identify people that needed referred. I'll spare you my rant about licensure laws and problems they cause. 

Last night, while wiping the tears away from my face, I closed the book and noticed the cover.

The cover gave me comfort.

Here is a picture:

On some level, when I bought the diary, I must have believed that examining the dreams would help me move forward.

It didn't.

Sigh.....I find myself torn between saving the book or using it for fireplace kindling.

Maybe there was a purpose to this seemingly pointless exercise.

The entire relationship and thirty one years that have passed have made me sad for the extremely poor communication Tom and I had during the break.

My feelings were hurt.  I basically hid.

I can't speak to what he did.  There were rumors - ugly rumors.  I don't have the guts to ask if those things happened.  I'd probably cry more than I do now if I found out those things were true.  

I can say that in the years that passed, I have been afraid to tell this person what has happened in my life even when he sat just a foot away from me. 

The last time I met, I tried to tell him why I engaged in politics.  The current city leadership was corrupt.  They stole money from my family.  I would learn in just a few months that they stole money from other families, too.

My old friend couldn't understand it.  I saw a comment he left on Facebook equating me to Ayn Rand.  Rand wouldn't approve of my politics.

I did what I felt had to be done.  The mayor sitting in that chair was corrupt as hell.  I didn't realize how bad it was until he pushed me into a door jamb.  Normal people don't do that.

The things that followed were the comedy of nightmares.  I've blogged it.  I have notebooks of testimony regarding it in my basement, too.  It was a mess.  Other local politicos tried to help so it brought out good things as well as bad things.  

On the bright side, I liked the mayor that wound up winning the election as a person.  He cared.  Even if we didn't agree, he cared about doing the right thing for the community.

I have an incredible amount of respect for the man who succeeded him.  There were times when I would say some crazy things in front of an audience.  The man who would up sitting in the big chair....well...he would take the time to educate everyone in the room about how the city is run.

I don't think I lost anything.  Every single thing I wanted to accomplish happened swiftly.  It happened between the time I tossed my hat in the ring and election day.

I just think the information needed to reach the right ears.

What probably happened was that I prayed so much about it that the Divine pushed me into that place so I could help, on some small level, to fix the problems.

Perhaps that is what life is about, following our gut to answer prayers - whether they are our own or someone else's.

Oh....and our new mayor...well....he's looking into racism at the police department.  I may not have to say a word.  I'm going to have to let my retired cop buddy know. 

Maybe I can move away now.  Things seem to be moving in a better direction. 

I don't know what to think about the dream journal.

I'm still searching for the lessons.

There is a possibility that there isn't one.

Life is life.

Things happen in such random fashion that we may not be able to make sense of it.

******

There is one thing....

One of my adult daughters has a best friend who puts me in mind of my first boyfriend.

He's a geek.

He's super-smart.

He loves animals.  In fact, he was the one who pointed out our neighbor kicking the cat that we wound up adopting.  This young man was livid (and that would be an understatement).

He's got a little hipster vibe going on - complete with the hipster beard.

It's funny (not his beard)…I mean it's a funny situation because he even looks like my old friend.

He tends to date very beautiful, popular girls.  They tend to break his heart.

When that happens, he runs to my daughter.  The last time, he was so hurt that he dropped out of college and nearly ran off to the military.

My daughter was sad at the thought of losing her friend.

You know....I told her about my first love.  I told her that I NEVER had the guts to be honest with myself or anyone else about my feelings.  Other people had to tell me what was going on.

That was unfair.

I kept the story G-rated.  I didn't talk about the bizarre stuff.  I just told her about the scholarship and that the very next day he stated that he was leaving me.  He gave me a note I didn't read for twenty years and when I finally found it and read it, it stated that he wanted to be with me but feared it would keep me from doing the things I wanted to do in life. 

I also told her it was heartbreaking to meet with him decades later and find that his life was not as happy and carefree as I had wished for him.   

My daughter told me that the story was really very sad.  It hurt her heart to think that two people could misunderstand each other so much that they unintentionally hurt each other.

Now, I don't know if his life would have been better if there were more honest.  If I were in his life, he may never have done some of the awesome things he has done.  I probably wouldn't have met the fun people I've met.

Who knows?  After seeing how insane my last real relationship became, I wonder if my saliva makes people crazy.  I think I have a tendency to make men feel insecure which probably led to the hitting and stalking.  

I'm terrified of getting into another relationship.

Maybe I'd have driven him batshit crazy, too.

It seems that the story helped my daughter and her friend on some level.  They've been spending more time together.  He's decided to think things through before running off and joining the army.

I'd hate to think that my kiddos repeat my lessons.

Maybe....I got what I needed.

Perhaps I can retire that dream journal and letter.

I'm feeling depressed.

Depression is just a feeling of stagnation.  

So, I'll start a new journal in which I'll record some things I'd like to accomplish before I return to the ether.

Perhaps that will help. 

I've already chosen three nasty cops I'd love to paint.  

Love ya,

S.

The Hardest Candle to Extinguish

If I am with someone long gone, it will only be in spirit.  After the stalking I endured, I am terribly afraid to reach out to people for fear of sparking problems for them no matter how many nightmares I have about them.  

Today I am thankful for lessons of faith.

This week was incredibly interesting.

I'll begin by discussing my faith.

I light a candle every day.....

Saturday to Saturn....sometimes to Oshun (African love Goddess)
Sunday to the Gods of the Sun: Apollo and his son Asclepsius
Monday to the moon Goddesses: Artemis/Diana and Isis  - sometimes Lilith
Tuesday to the God of War: Ares/Mars
Wednesdays to the God of Communication and Travel: Hermes/Mercury
Thursdays to the Gods/Goddesses of Success: typically Pheme /Fama
Fridays to the Gods/Goddesses of Passion (love and otherwise): always to Dionysus and Aphrodite...sometimes Eros/Cupid

I'm always burning candles and incense.

If there is ever a power outage, come over to my house. I'll hook you up with the good stuff (unless you prefer candles on the darker side.....I even have black non-reversible figural candles....don't know why I'd have those....they're used to curse people permanently).

I had no idea how many candles I actually owned until I cleaned out my house pending an inspection. I have two very large bookcases.  My religious candles take two entire shelves, one briefcase and one 3'x5' tote.

I probably should donate some candles to charity.

In fact, I've been donating quite a bit of things to charity.  I had four car loads that I've driven to the local ARC. There will probably be several more.

The kids and I are in the process of having our home repaired and renovated.  I'm getting help from the very entity that I blame for putting me in this mess in the first place.  This is the local governmental entity that turned the other way when the obnoxious abuse and stalking became frightening by fining us (and stealing from my divorce fund) and refusing to investigate/take reports of the harassment.

They're helping me secure a home repair loan which I must repay within the next five years (when I'm court mandated to refinance the house).  Not refinancing the house won't impact my ex, he bankrupted on it seven years ago.

A promise is a promise.

I do my best to keep my promises.

So....in order to get new carpet, I figure I have get rid of the things I don't need.

After nearly twenty years in the same house, there is quite a bit of stuff!

I estimate that I have about 200 pairs of shoes.  They are barely worn.  I've donated some of the nice ones with 5" heels.  I'm probably getting a little too old to run around in them all of the time.

I haven't donated any of my thigh high boots.  Those are going to be hard to part with.

Who has so many shoes?

Wow....and I don't want to donate them until I inspect them and insure they are cleaned up and polished.

The only thing I can imagine is that I bought them so that I could feel pretty.  I stopped dressing up in 2012 after some guy ejaculated on my leg while I was wearing my favorite Hawaiian dress.

That must have hurt me on some level.  Since that day, I've had a tendency to dress down.  I've put my heels away.  It's as if I don't want to draw attention to myself.

As strange as it is, people still recognize me even when I'm wearing ratty jeans and t-shirts.

I don't feel like me.

Maybe it is more that I don't know who I am.

*****
While cleaning out my home, I found numerous items I forgot about.

I found a couple of objects sent to me that were believed to be haunted - they're not.

I found my old grad school research, there was a lot of it.  It would have taken up an entire bookshelf.  I destroyed it.

I found the equivalent of four bookshelves of research about the antics of the entity helping with the loan.  My kiddos organized it and put it in notebooks.  I have disks of the information in a safe deposit box elsewhere.  For some reason, I like the paper copies.   I can't get rid of it until I know they've stopped abusing their employees.

I found 7 old computers.  I took them in for recycling.

Then....I found things that made me very contemplative...

Things that broke my heart.

Things that I thought I destroyed when the stalking was at it's height...

Things I wanted to be rid of as to not spark further jealousy.

I found a dream journal that I kept in the early 2000's.  These recounted the nightmares I had of an old friend from high school.  The dreams were about a guy that I was in denial about dating back in the day; it was a relationship that an elderly math teacher had to describe to me.  He used as an example of a married couple saving for their retirement.

That old teacher was very smart.  He saw what I refused to see.

Eventually I cut through the denial.  We dated.  My life soon fell apart; my grandmother died, my aunt died, my step-father died and my grandfather was diagnosed with cancer all in the span of six months.

This followed the murder of my mother 18 months prior.

I was depressed.  I was young.  I was deluded in thinking that if I passed away, I could be with my family again.

My friend stuck by my side until I was offered a music scholarship in a town several hours away.  The day after I told him about the scholarship, he handed me a note and said that he "was leaving me."

I remember that moment with incredible clarity.

I was sitting in psychology class next to my friend Andy.  Andy and I still talk - well, I usually talk to Andy's wife.  She's connected to one of my jobs.

It's a small world.

I put the note in a book.  It would be twenty years before I'd read it.

I forgot about it and set to work processing my grief.

*****
Fast forward to 2007, I was married.  The marriage was in trouble because of harassment from my then husband's family.  We slept apart and had separate bedrooms.

Things from high school started turning up around the house.  My yearbooks wound up in my ex-husband's bedroom.  My ex-husband seemed excited to have found the note.  Reading it broke my heart: It would seem my old friend never wanted to leave.  He equated life without me as a form of death and basically stated that he left me so I could "do the things I want to do in life."

Oh....he left me so I could study music. I wish he would have just told me that.  Sigh....I thought he left me to hang out with prettier girls.  The note addressed that, too.  He said he wasn't interested in "those kind of girls."

Maybe I should have read the note.  It hurt too much to think about.

The problem is that reading that note twenty years later didn't help me very much.  At the time I was plagued by nightmares of my old friend.  Prior to 2004, the nightmares were sporadic.  I had several between 1987-1989.  I had a roommate who would tell me what I would scream in the middle of the night.

I was told I screamed out "Oh, no! Tom!!"

By 2004, I'd learn that I'd scream "Oh, no!  Not again!!!  Tom!!!"  When I'd wake up after catching  myself doing that I'd break out into a horrible, flat, off key rendition of Rush's Tom Sawyer.  It became a running joke in my household.  

I remember having one dreadful feeling in November of 1991 but it was more of an uncertain feeling than an actual nightmare.  I was worried about this guy for a few days but it eventually passed.

Until about 2000, the dreams went silent.  It was nice.  I avoided my home town.  My in-laws lived a few blocks from this guy's mother.  I'd hold my head down while driving down the block his mother resided.

I didn't want to see the house.  It brought back too many memories.  The worst memory was an actual threat that this guy (Tom) made stating that he planed to overdose on drugs.  Little miss goody-two shoes (me) left school early and convinced a bus driver to take me to Tom's home.  We agreed on a signal to give should he need to call an ambulance.  My friend was fine.  I signaled to the driver and he left.

I won't elaborate about the other things my diary states transpired on that day.  I was very upset with him for scaring the hell out of me.

That fear.....the fear of that first October day in '86 still stays with me.  I think that fear is what inspires the nightmares....all these years later.

Remember....my parents were addicts.  Their addiction indirectly caused their deaths.  Back then, those threats meant something to me.

They still do.

Getting back to the dairy, in the event that the dreams came to pass, I would document  them in the diary.  There were entries from 2008 contrasting the dreams about this guy to events that occurred in real life.

I never got around to documenting that the dreams I had in 2005 about him breaking his leg actually came to pass five years later.

I hope the ones about him telling me about his wife and kiddo come true. In the dream, he seems so happy.  His kiddo is born around Christmas.  Last time I saw him, he was unmarried and childless.

The dream diary wasn't all that I found.




Sigh....I got rid of all of his pictures because of the stalking.  I sent them to him after I met him in 2008.  I didn't want to throw them away (bad luck in my religion).  I didn't want to burn them (in my religion, that's a cruel lust spell)…..so I sent them all to him.

I thought his mother may want them.

I thought I destroyed the letter that it took me twenty years to read.

Apparently I didn't.  It was hidden away - tucked into yet another psychology book.

It is now in an envelope on my altar, encircled by white and blue candles and burning Native American herbs (sage and sweetgrass).

The candles have been burning for two weeks now!

This ritual is intended to rid him of any memories or negative energy pertaining to our relationship.

I've done everything else I can think of.

I've done psychic cord cuttings - nothing.

I've broken sticks because I was told by a Native American relative that this activity breaks connections with people - nada.

In 2008, I even showed him the collection of broken sticks I placed by the trees in our hometown  - he asked if it worked.

I told him the truth.

If it worked, he wouldn't have sought me out and offered to meet with me.

Sigh.....

So.....I don't know.

I'm confused.

I'm lost.

Despite the tears, I'm still reading that dream diary.

There was a dream in September 2008 where I'm talking to a spirit guide and describing my feelings for this guy (Tom) as "evil" because they could take him away from his destiny.  The spirit replies that pure love can never be evil and that it is okay for me to pray for happiness because he's always needed it.  The dream spirit told me I'd see my friend again and that I would err because I wouldn't tell him the truth about what was going on in my life (to be fair, I'm still trying to figure that stalking mess out...how can I talk about what I fail to understand?)

I forgot about that dream.  My subconscious must remember because to this very day, I still light those candles for him.

The candles always burn slowly.  They always leave at least 1" of left over wax.  When that happens, it is a sign and a signal that the ritual needs repeated.  It signifies left over issues that must be dealt with.

Fortunately, I have a lot of white and reversible blue candles.

His name always shows up in the residue - his name also shows up in the residue of candles I light for other purposes.

It's gotten to the point, I'll ask third parties what they see because I doubt my perceptions too much.

There are other dreams that break my heart to read about now.  There is one from 2005 in which I'm dreaming of Tom at 58 telling me that the years apart from me were painful. He was afraid to talk to me because he knew I wasn't telling him everything about the things happening in my life and my reasons for avoiding him.  

I stayed away from a lot of people because of the stalking.  I'm starting to face the blowback from that now.

In that dream, I wrote about other things he told me.  Things about my life that actually came to pass. That's a little freaky.

I should throw out the diary.  I think I'll keep it for now.

*******

I had a neighbor approach me last night because he saw a guy looking at the house and was afraid that it was one of my ex-husband's relatives.  After he described him to me, I immediately recognized him as the city home inspector.

Then my neighbor accused me of flirting with the home inspector.

I'm asexual.

I don't flirt.

I'm just nice.

We were quickly met with another neighbor who stated she hadn't seen me in years.  Yeah....I used to drop off Christmas gifts every year just to spread some cheer.  I stopped that when the stalking started to freak me out.

Apparently, my neighbors are trying to find me a "honey" because they're concerned that I'm lonely.

They noted that men don't come around my house.

Um.....

I think I need to close up some aspects of my past before I can find another love.  I need to understand the lessons of the first relationship.  I also need to process the hell of the three relationships that followed.

Besides, I'd like to get some cosmetic surgery first.  I left that last relationship feeling very ugly and undesirable.  I think....I need to make myself worthy of someone before embarking down that path.



Rhiannon is the Welsh goddess of forgiveness: perhaps....I should light a candle for her and get over my guilt for not reading the note and being there for my friend (there were rumors about his difficulties after our break that I dare not share).  Aphrodite is said to be insulted by people who refuse to partake in her gifts.  I've....well.....I've spent most of my life pushing away interested parties.  I must offend her often due to my fear of moving forward. 

I lit my Friday candles.

I asked Dionysus for the passion and talent to paint pictures of injustice and to dedicate them in his honor (he's also Liber - the God of Freedom).

I asked Aphrodite for the gifts of beauty and confidence so that I don't do anything to inadvertently turn off or harm the man she sends for me.

I fell asleep.

I'm still trying to process the dreams.

They are strange.

In a dream this morning, there is a man from my past who comes to visit me.  He comes in through my garage (perhaps symbolizing movement rather than stillness - things in garages are still - leaving the garage means activity).

He tries to give me money.  I refuse it.  He calls it alimony and I tell him that we were never married.

He kisses me.

He is in a hurry to define the relationship and meet the kids.  I'm hesitant.  The dream ends with this horrible feeling of trying to slow down the life that is moving too fast around me.

I never see his face.  I see his hair (it's dark).

I hear his name.

It's a name from my past.

I feel his energy.

It's familiar.  The problem is that the dark hair in the dream doesn't match the true to life features of the man from my past.

The dream is metaphorical.  Perhaps I'm afraid that I'll hurt someone else because I'm not over the people from the past.  I really don't want to date someone and project any previous relationships on to him.  I truly need to work on my stuff first.

Or....I need to forget the whole thing.

Two jobs and school are not enough to wipe the memory from me.

Hypnosis doesn't work.

Perhaps painting asshole cops will help keep me too busy to feel.

Yes....I've been talking to retired African American cops.  They understand what I'm saying...oh my....things are incredibly unfair. Perhaps I'll write about those discussions later.  I am of the opinion that white old ladies cannot advocate for people of color.  We can stand behind them but, ultimately, we need to listen to their voices (not our own).

*****

I'd like to circle back to the beginning of the post and talk about ending the rituals.

I find it easy to extinguish most of the ritual candles.

Apollo and Asclepius allow their candles to extinguish quickly.

Isis, Artemis/Diana also let the flame go and allow the smell of the essential oils to linger.

Ares...well....if I forget to extinguish his candle before falling asleep, I'll dream of him asking if I need anything.

Mercury....he's awesome...it's as if he's in a hurry.  The moment I end the ritual, the candle goes out on its own.

I never had an issue with Pheme.  She doesn't seem to mind me letting the candles burn for days on end.  Sometimes she'll give me dreams of the clouds in the skies parting and the sun shining through.

Aphrodite's candles are different.  I can try to extinguish them, the flame may go out for a few moments before it begins to flicker again.  I find it incredibly hard to snuff out her candles.  They typically remain lit until I pray to her explaining that I actually have to go out of the house to work.

They are usually lit the entire weekend.

I find this to be an interesting metaphorical lesson.

Perhaps real love doesn't truly die: We can try to snuff it out but the flame always keeps returning.

That will be the thought I ponder today.

May all your good dreams come true.

May all your nightmares only occur in dreams.

Love ya,

S.

Art Therapy

Movies are a good barometer of cultural opinion.  The line that signifies the distrust many people feel towards law enforcement is "If I lie, you lie....we're cops.  We stick together....we have honor."  
This is playing out in Colorado right now (as I'm sure it plays out across the nation).  

Disgusting. 

Today I am thankful for art therapy. 

Now, I just need to find a priest to talk to.

Some idiotic public servants curse women by calling them Bitches.

Some witches curse idiotic public servants in different ways.

I hate profanity.

There are more effective ways of scaring someone.

*****

I don't buy in to that whole Romans chapter in the Bible being the word of God.  I always thought that government officials threatened religious leaders into putting that in the Bible to control the herd.

I betcha it was the Romans.

Hence the name of the chapter.

Yeah....I don't tend to bend and sway to the desires of government.

I trust my Gods more than I trust man.

Today I find myself upset.

So.....as a form of stress relief:

I'm debating using this.....

The cop is bald...so...this seems the most fitting. 

and this....

to curse an undersheriff in Colorado who beat up a friend of mine for having a cell phone on public property.....  That's her story.  His story is that she didn't move over when he wanted to help another family standing behind her

So he left her black and blue (this is absolutely serious...the cursing thing is a play on words...but the story about the cop was in the paper).

The DA had the audacity to cook up four charges against her after she rightfully complained about the physical assault.

The charges against her will be dropped. They have to be.

Still....the cop's behavior is putting taxpayer dollars at risk.

He or his boss are probably trying to intimidate her into dropping the complaint.

Part of me wonders if the cop is a domestic abuser.

The bruises are insane.

There is absolutely no call for that.

Some police officers believe they are above the law.  Corrupt officers create problems for peace officers who actually do their jobs without the steroid induced rage.

I can't stand officials who violate the laws they have sworn to uphold.  I certainly cannot stand public servants who make a mockery of our justice system.

I'm angry.

You know....usually, when I'm angrier than Hades, I just light white candles and pray that the jerk finds a job that suits his lack of intelligence and inability to control himself better.

That tends to help alleviate my stress.

I've seen that prayer manifest time and time again.

This guy lost my positive prayers when the threats his buddies made against my friend hit my Facebook feed.

Of course, the word Bitch rhymes with witch - which reminds me that I've got a reputation to uphold.

My idea of cursing is a heck of a lot different than most cops.

*****

Today, after seeing my friend's bruises....

I feel triggered.

I feel angry.

I wonder how many women endure that crap?

I doubt he beats up men.

One of his cop buddies wrote a comment akin to "shut up, woman."

Sexist much?

Geesh!

These are the actions of a coward.

You know what?

My inner demons have felt a little bit lonely

-so-

I made them a dolly....

It doesn't look anything like the one in the picture.

I'm thinking about drilling a hole in a silver dollar to use as a belt.  According to lore, it will cause the department's funding to sieve away like water.

Yeah.....I love cultural mythology.

*****

I may be messing with you

or I may be delusional

but if a country bumpkin sheriff's department has a sudden departure of an under sheriff

you can consider blaming this crazy lady's collection of pin cushions

or not.

****

To tell the truth.....

Doll making is a way to relieve stress by reminding myself how to sew.  It's a family occupation.

My mom died over thirty years ago.  When my sister and I take her dolls to the businesses who repair them, they immediately know my mother's work.

It breaks my heart when they ask me how she is doing.

And yes.....

I play up the belief that I am a witch.

Some people think it's scary.

The scary stuff is the other more civically minded activities that people like myself are prone to doing.

You know, the stuff that makes me a bitch.

I wish this guy a heck of a lot of luck.

The last time a woman was brought up on fake charges to shut her up -

I ran for the highest office in the jurisdiction.  Luckily, I ran against a man who gave a shit.

That put a stop to the bullshit.

This department ought to pray I don't do anything more serious than mock my own religion.

In thinking about it,

this may actually be fodder for the battered women activists.

Perhaps I can put a little birdie in their ears.

Play fair -

Women are watching.

We tend to be an obnoxious bunch once we get riled up.

Doubt me?

If you're married to a woman, ask yourself - how often do you win fights with your wife?  

Love ya,

S.

Edit sometime later: I had a teeny tiny meditation:

A serious, yet powerful, activity could be to simply find a way to immortalize the bad cops.  Maybe I should paint a scene from the video of him pummeling my friend and name it after the cop.  Everyone deserves to be famous.

Maybe this guy needs his 15 minutes.

I used to be a portrait artist.  I haven't done a portrait since 2006 so the first one ought to be as ugly as the situation!

It's not slander if it's true.

I could even ask permission to embed some of the nasty comments my friend had been receiving from the department into the painting.

Or I can just start copying the threatening comments from the Sheriff Department's page.  Perhaps I should use anagrams of the posters true names in the portraits.

I'd have fun with that.

Making him known for being a dolt who can't control his tempter would ruin his job and future prospects; political or not.

That would be worse than threatening to curse cops who like to curse at people.

Can't someone enroll them into a vocabulary course?

Please.....

I've never read or heard such profanity in my life!

I had four kids!!!

I lived with street kids!!

Wow....just....wow....

Besides....

One cannot arrest me for oil pastels.  If the department sued me to change the title of a portrait, I'd go after them for the incredible waste of tax dollars.

I'd have a heck of a lot of fun with that.  

I could call the project

the Bad Baton Collection

-or-

the Corrupt Cop Collection

-or-

Maybe Phuck'd Up Popo….

-or-

The Blue Wall of Shame

I'm boring so I'd probably call it -

Constitutional Violation # 4 (or whatever number best reflects the article being infringed upon): Cop's Rank and full name.

It would be a rather big collection.  I would have no end of inspiration so long as we give military grade toys to our police departments!

I saw crap yesterday in Aurora that would blow your mind.  Ugh.... At least the Aurora PD didn't beat anyone up.  They just detained all of the black men walking down the street.

I mean ALL of the black men! 

I was in old Aurora - we have a large population of minorities in this area!

Hmmmm…….

I'm just an old white Irish witch bitch.

The worst I get is pulled over for driving like an old lady - going the speed limit on a Friday night.  They usually ask if I feel okay.  They're usually the same age as my kids and I act all mommy-ish on them.

I probably offend the lot of them.

As a translucent white woman, I don't know what it would feel like being afraid to walk down the street for fear of being detained.  Do people of color have to allot extra time for transportation just in case a cop gets a burr up his britches?

Wow.....

I know women have to worry about rape and beatings.  Those who report it have to worry about corrupt cops attacking them and threatening rape and beatings.

It happened to me in 1987.  That is why I am triggered.

Perhaps my second painting will be of Denver's infamous Sergeants James and Miller.   No one bothered to take my report.

That's okay.  They were demoted into bicycle cops.

The Gods listened to my prayers.

Nah, I think the second painting should be an image from the video of the Jefferson County Sherriff refusing to move his car from a handicap parking spot at the court house.  If I can zoom in on his name tag, I'll give his portrait a name.

Yeah....his boss only called me two weeks after I let them know about the video.  That was the day after I contacted a disability coalition that is suing them and cc'd them in the message.

I don't think they would have called me before I did that.

I didn't bother calling them back because they obviously don't care.  What are they going to do?  I'll tell you what they're going to do - they are going to continue to ignore me until I raise the stakes enough that they have to pay attention.

It would seem that people are okay with cops hogging all the disability parking at the court house.

That's sad.

If I don't have a voice the traditional way - perhaps I can use art.

So.....

Let me Meditate to Dionysus.

Maybe this is what I was born to do.

I'll call my hobby Bitch Painting!

I could do that.

Awesome!

I'll meditate to Fama on Thursday - perhaps she can give these guys her blessing.

Don't mess with women.

Don't upset libertarians by making up reasons to waste taxpayer dollars.

Certainly.....never.....upset an artist!

Let me stock up on supplies.

I wonder if I could sell the paintings?

I'm very good at internet marketing.  These guys will be all over the net!

I'll start talking to the gallery owners I know.

I'll let ya know!

I do like making dolls and pincushions, too.

Maybe I should do something a tad bit more real.

Hugs!

My other love is psycho-social research.  I am tempted to share some research for the head of the department correlating cursing (profanity), threatening to beat up women and other unprofessional behavior with high payouts with regard to lawsuits against police departments.

If this guy doesn't know that yet, he shouldn't have the job.

Cheerio!

P.S.S.  Here's a gift to one Crone from another.

The case law here is pretty clear.  Don't let an officer beat up someone with a camera in a door way.  This is probably going to end a career (maybe two given the nutty charges the DA came up with).

I don't have to curse anyone.  The idiots have brought it on themselves.  Besides, if I had super magickal mojo, I wouldn't drive a 'car that is three decades old. 

Sigh....




You're welcome.

P.S.S: This is how the Westboro Baptist Church makes money.  They say a bunch of offensive stuff and cops arrest them.  Don't fall for the crap.

Don't beat up people either.  That is how you offend regular people like me.