Today I am thankful for stories; they are often the easiest teaching tool.
The other day I had an interesting conversation with a social worker. She complained that one of her patients was stuck at a certain year -
let's say...
2008.
This man talks about 2008 constantly. He shares photos of 2008 and letters of 2008.
I asked her, what happened that year?
Well, three members of his family died. His best friend died in front of his eyes. His spouse died. He lost his home.
The man was wealthy.
Sadly, the evil eye is real. Covetousness is real. The U.S. justice system enables abusive lawyers to swoop in and take control of the wealth of well-to-do elders. There were fights over his assets**.
The lawyers threw him out of his numerous homes.
The man was then homeless while everything went through probate and the relatives fought over the estate.
His wealth started to drain away.
He rarely has food.
Sadly, this is something I've seen numerous times through the years. The worst case was one in which the conservators didn't take the guns. The man shot himself in the head and passed away. Taking control of his life was his final act.
Trauma......
Trauma changes our concept of time.
We get stuck in the year of trauma. We go back to revisit it. We want to understand why. We want to fix it internally. We want to understand that which is confusing. We want to understand what is incomprehensible at first, while we are still dealing with the raw emotions.
Sadly, we rarely understand the incomprehensible. Instead, we have to grow to accept it.
The goal is to help the individual process the events and change the time in which he exists.
That is the nature of trauma. We get stuck in it.
I'm sad that no one realizes that this man was traumatized.
Right now, I'm stuck on the question of which cracker-jack box the social worker got her master's degree.
Sigh -
Trauma changes us.
Be kind to each other. For each of us is fighting a hard battle that few people see.
**It's weird...I don't get out as much as I used to because of Covid. I'm still meeting numerous people whose parents are caught in the trap of conservatorship with so-called "agencies" which steal the families' wealth. I've met two individuals stuck in this mess where the involvement of a conservator is questionable at best.
I'm not so stupid to think I can do something to control the problem. I can, however, educate lawmakers.
Maybe.....I should run for office?
Divinity must want me to do something. If I meet one more soul in this mess within the next year, I'll have to do something.
My aunt visits once a week to use the washer and dryer.
My new dryer broke just a few days out of warranty so we dried her clothes outside.
While standing outside, she took me aside an said "I don't want to alarm you, but....."
then she got silent.
I pointed at the shed.
"Are you worried about all the stuff pulled out of the shed?", I asked.
"Yes.", she replied.
"That happens all the time!"
She advised me to chain the door. I've done that. The thief just tears the roof off.
It's easier just to keep crap in it I don't care about so the thief can rummage and take what he or she wants.
Again, I was advised to consider moving, especially after finding a full gas can in the mess.
My aunt is afraid my ex-husband is going to kill me. I've been court-ordered to live here for another two years.
Sigh....
I'm sure a judge would allow me to move if I asked.
At least I know where I will be buried....
maybe....
I may just change my mind.
Let me explain.
****
The fall solstice is a Pagan Holiday. It's our harvest holiday. We decorate our homes in fall colors and prepare to reap the rewards bestowed upon us by the Gods.
It is also my uncle's birthday.
My uncle died in December of last year. In fact, last year I lost my aunt Barbara, my aunt Judy and my uncle Roger in the span of nine months.
They are all buried at the Arvada Cemetary. They are one row behind notable members of the family (e.g. Clark Ringling) and several rows behind an old friend's parents.
Today I loaded my car up with flowers and set them around the graveyard.
The first grave on my route belongs to my old friend's parents. There was a huge crack in the plot in front of the headstone. I set the flowers down and laughed asking if they were trying to escape.
Grass over a coffin is a sign of a life well-lived.
Then I thanked them for treating me like a human being during a time in my life when I was horribly abused and asked them to watch over their son and keep him away from me for his own good.
Truth be told, I'm sure they are in some type of paradise and aren't even giving a thought of coming back into this limbo world.
Then I went to my family patch of graves and left some flowers.
Witches have a superstition that grass does not grow over the final resting place of an evil person.
Um.....
yeah.....
So......
My uncle and one of the aunts had custody of me after my parents died. They abandoned me. It's all good. I learned to survive very at a very young age and I probably wouldn't be the heathen I am today if not for them.
My aunt....well...let's just say she acted out of her trauma.
She's the one I am worried about. In fact, I went to her grave on All Saint's Day last year praying for her soul.
I guess I'll come back on All Saint's Day to pray for her soul again.
Well, maybe not.
Look at that picture! There are huge cracks on this plot. It appears that someone is trying to escape that grave, too.
I think I'll just buy a plot at the graveyard in Cherry Hills Village where my grandparents are resting unless I wind up moving to Timbuktu.
I don't want to join the Zombie rebellion! When I ditch this popsicle stand, I have no plans on returning unless I'm a wraith fighting abusive politicians. It is said that witches return to this world as wraiths.
Okay....okay...the truth is that I'd rather be somewhere where they care for the lawn.
It's Friday but I'm in school so there is no such thing as a weekend.
I think I'm suffering from a broken heart -
or I'm gonna have a heart attack.
This week sucked.
It started on my birthday. I took the day off of work to clean up the house because workplace birthdays are AWKWARD.
They'll ask how old I am -and- I'll relate the memory of dirt being created.
Not fun...
So I decided to stay home and clean.
Much of the mess belonged to one of my adult daughters.
It was irritating. When she got home, I wanted to buy dinner for everyone. We discussed Chinese Food as a birthday dinner. No one wanted to go to a restaurant so I offered to take everyone's orders and drive to pick it up.
No one...not one of the three kids living here wanted to tell me what they wanted or help me pick it up.
My feelings were hurt. It was my birthday but it was the same old thing. I was to do everything, even manage to bring dinner home on my own.
I became upset and frustrated. Left to my own devices, I started to think about the time just a few months ago when the messy kiddo told everyone my ankle wasn't broken so they refused to help around the house and let me languish on the garage floor for several hours until I could crawl up the step and into the house. I remembered some of the other bullshit she pulled,, lying to me about being in college so she could live here rent-free, constantly bitching that I didn't throw out her dad sooner, and claiming that I'm lying about being stalked. I'm also to blame because she was diagnosed with an anxiety disorder and she claims her sisters each have one, too.
I basically told the adult kids that if they didn't want to be part of the family, they could move out. None of them are paying rent or really helping with chores.
So - maybe it had to happen.
You know what? One of them moved out and took the cat that night.
She left a mess for me.
Now, I have to clean out her room. There are a lot of scummy dishes all over the place. It is a pigstye.
I also have to hire an electrician to fix the mess she made of the electrical. Apparently, she jerry-rigged a light fixture on the ceiling...
I still have to hire a plumber to fix the mess left in the kitchen as the new faucet and some of the pipes the contractors replaced broke. My daughter wanted to sue them - but- it's probably easier to just fix it.
Maybe I should post a picture of the 2' hole they left in my upstairs bathroom. They leaned a mirror up against it to hide the hole from the inspectors.
Ugh -
sigh...
So now I'm taking out a home loan. The smallest loan I can get is $35,000.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with $35,000. I only need $17,000 to fix the mess the contractors left.
I guess I'll just pay it back. There is no origination fee...so, that's good. I'll get the check and put it back.
Whatever -
It's still depressing. I get to hear about how much I suck from the other kids.
Perhaps, I'll get to downsize sooner than I realize. :)
*****
It's fall.
Things are beginning to die.
The leaves on the trees are dying.
My country is dying.
There is no such thing as free speech.
Our freedoms are being eroded.
Driving around town,
I get the sense that the politicos are trying to normalize homelessness.
Now, I am seeing a new batch of senior citizens sleeping in tents.
There are so many people now -
I'm not sure what to do.
It's wrecking my faith.
Why would Divinity let this happen?
It's not right.
*****
I'm having chest pains and taking several aspirins per day.
This is probably a psycho-somatic broken heart.
My heart is broken.
My country is broken.
My family is broken (but I do need to get the adult cowpokes to mosey on out of here because I'm too busy to clean up after them - the house looks a lot better now)...
This must be what depression feels like.
The only solution I can think of is to stop listening to Country Music because it is souring my mood.
On the bright side,
I can let go of the guilt of working a second job. The kids don't want me at home, so I can do my thing without the guilt of leaving kids at home. After my ex-husband ripped me off, I need to save for my retirement.
If that can be done, given the state of the economy. Banks are making it harder to get credit. This isn't going to bode well for small business owners - you know, the people who offer the bulk of the jobs in the nation.
My daughters complain that I have a well-stocked pantry. I grew up in the Mormon faith where I was taught to have one year's worth of food on hand.
That's what I do.
Maybe I won't have to hear about that anymore either. My kids made fun of me for that (but we made it through the Covid shortages pretty well last year). Have you seen the shelves at the supermarket lately? I'm glad I'm stocked up.
I didn't realize how much my feelings were hurt at home until I had a moment's peace to reflect. It's nice not worrying that someone is going to complain because I brought a plant home.
Yeah, that was a problem, too. Now, I can go back to hydroponics in the basement now without getting bitched at.
There was a lot of bitching.
There is a lot less of it now.
***** Maybe I am thankful for lessons.
There is a lesson in the madness -
Please grasp the little moments of joy that you can. Those little moments are what life is all about.
The dreams are either of him dying gruesome deaths
or ruining our lives.
The dreams creep me out to the point I scream his name.
The screaming the name makes it hard for me to be in an intimate relationship.
So -
I have a huge house to myself
and a whole slew of lies I tell if someone is here and happens to hear me scream out that infernal name.
My favorite line is:
"I dreamt I was Getty Lee singing...."
Modern Day Warrior,
mean,
mean,
stride...
No one buys the lie, ever.
I thought it would be okay if I fell in love with a guy with that name.
It's never happened.
There is a beautiful man named Tim, though.
We had so very much in common; we both studied music, played numerous instruments, loved helping the homeless, we had a penchant for being in the public eye -
but he is a legalistic Christian.
We are both very prayerful and faithful people.
We just don't pray the same way.
It took five years of prayers -but- he finally got married last year.
Yeah, he married during Covid so I got to cry while watching him and his gorgeous bride tie the knot from my cold phone.
I love it when my prayers are answered.
****
In the past, the only thing that stopped the dreams of that blast from the past was being too busy to sleep.
It wasn't a problem when I was in college and working full time.
When I went to graduate school, they hit with full force.
So -
I choose to be alone.
Common knowledge promises that time will heal all wounds, all pain, and help people move on.
Common knowledge is lacking.
****
In July of last year, the dreams got ultra-creepy.
I've been doing rituals "to give [dude] that which he needs the most."
and for me "to only act appropriately** if our paths cross again."
In some of the dreams -
I'm not myself.
The rituals are awkward. It was really weird last week. A relative went into my room and stared at the white candles. She probably thinks I'm up to something disgusting. She knew the verbally obnoxious bullshit this person used to say to me.
No, I don't want him back. I'm just trying to protect him and finally get some sleep.
Once in a while, someone will ask about him. Why did I let him go?
Well....we want different things in life.
I have no clue what he wants; maybe to behave like a toxic man making women look small for his ego. He did that to me when I was in the papers. He made fun of my politics on Facebook, in front of the reporters who connected to me on that infernal website.
I can't have a man like that around me.
What do I want? I want to end the political bullshit that limits our freedoms and hurts those among us with the least*.
Let's just say we are very different people.
*****
Enter vodka....
The problem with alcohol is that it messes with our sleep cycles so that I sleep around three hours before waking up and go about my day.
No REM sleep = No dreams.
I'm exhausted but my heart isn't hurting anymore.
Alcohol messes with blood sugar and leads to weight gain.
I also find myself eating too much to stay awake.
The older one gets, the harder extra weight is on the joints.
In other words, I can't do this forever.
Besides, it doesn't stop all of the dreams.
****
Once in a while, the Chango dream leaks through -
It won't be long before I meet the one who will help me with the homeless. Chango shows me how I'll meet him.
He also shows me that the majority of people living in the streets are there because of racism. I had a recurring dream of an older man of color praying beside a green trash can.
Yes, people pray for help.
If time could heal all wounds, there is a huge wound that needs healing.
It's a shame people in power do more to keep the wound from healing than to help it heal.
Good thing I don't listen to the liberal white asshats trying to teach bullshit theories based on race that make people of color out to be weak and Caucasian people to be heartless and stupid.
With all the help I get from Oschun and Chango, I must have some African blood in my DNA. Or maybe it is due to my family history of fighting to end slavery.
I wonder if those white professors know what happened to the freed slaves in the south who hadn't won the protection of whites in power?
I doubt it. Few people seem to know about the mass graves.
Disgusting, race-baiting theories are only going to slow down the healing of a messed-up society.
****
Perhaps the dreams are to remind me to love EVERYONE and to work on keeping everyone safe and free.
****
I took about a decade off to raise the kids my ex refuses to help and a couple of kids whose parents abandoned them for their sexual orientation.
The last one is about to graduate from high school.
It feels like all of the fights I let go of are staring me right in the face now.
The loss of our civil rights,
abusive conservatorship,
tax hikes said to help the poor but the money never goes where promised,
so many things.
The Divine is shoving these things in my face until they are solved.
My prediction was right, however, the new transplants to Aurora fixed the murderous pit bull government.
There must be more people in this city to help with the other issues.
If I keep putting off the war, I will meet more people suffering the same issues.
I know what I have to do.
There is a meeting a couple of weeks from now to determine if I'll have the backing of a group of people.
We'll see.
*****
I had a relative stop by yesterday to survey the damage to my garage.
It terrified her. We spoke of a plan.
She advised me to move out of the country because of my ex-husband and his creepy family. She's seen this too much over the past thirty years and is afraid he's going to murder me.
I'm going to take out yet another home improvement loan and secure my home with thicker doors.
My house will be a fortress.
I wish my heart were one.
Love ya,
S. -*
** not speaking Latin, not falling for any emotional dishonesty, not worrying about him if he claims (again) that it wasn't his idea to get into a certain place (move in or marry someone described as toxic) or any excuse he offers up for some of the weird shit he's done in the past.
Let's see;
- he's ridiculed me publicly, writing that I thought myself to be "Ann Rand" only proves he has no clue who I am,
- years ago, he forgot about breaking up with me and followed me to my apartment several months later and waited for me outside of my window. It is said that he allegedly tried to beat up my roommate in a convenience store. Luckily, for him, tough guys don't engage in small fights.
Talk about toxic masculinity! As they say, toxic folks attract toxicity so I'm not shocked about the stories.
To be quite honest, I don't know why this man came back three times. There are other men I've known since childhood who come back to visit. None have incited violence and none have ridiculed me in a public forum.
Maybe the dreams are a dress rehearsal warning me to behave myself (no cursing, no glaring, and no falling for sappy shit that'll just break my heart again).
I have no clue. It's almost as if I have to remember the bs because running into him at some point is inevitable.
Today I am thankful for the reminder that we are responsible for our own safety.
So...
I had to take a kiddo to a doctor's appointment.
Sadly, I have a tendency to get lost
(so don't ask me for directions or you'll accidentally discover new places, too)
I wound up driving past Micro Center.
My kiddo was thirsty. I pull over into the 7-11 to get her a Slurpee, myself a coffee, and a fancy coffee for Hermes.
It's Wednesday after all. I need to be better about honoring my deities as I'm pretty sure I irritated him a couple of months ago.*
We get our loot, hop back into the car, and hit the road. The moment I hit Quincy, I saw a fire in the middle of the road.
Seriously.....someone had dumped a bunch of hot coals near a bunch of overgrown, dried grass in the median. By the time I made it near the fire, it grew a little larger.
I asked my kiddo to dial 911.
THEY HAD AN AUTOMATED SYSTEM WHICH PUT HER ON HOLD!
She was on hold for a couple of minutes before I asked her to hang up, Google the fire department and call them. So, doing as she was instructed, she called the fire department and was rerouted back to 911.
I asked her to hang up and I'd try.
By this time, we had hit I-225. I call and get Aurora dispatch.
She reroutes me to Denver where
(wait for it.....)
I'm put on hold.
(you probably guessed that, huh?)
When I get to a stopping point, I try to dial the fire department myself and find myself on perma-hold.
I gave up.
Twenty-two minutes later, I realized that someone probably put out the fire or people just died cause the fire grew.
There was no point trying any further.
This, dear Democrat gun-control nutzos, is why we need guns.
When in an emergency situation, there is absolutely no guarantee the authorities will answer your call, let alone save you.
I am realizing I need to carry a few dozen fire towels in my trunk so if this crap ever happens again, I can pull over and smother out the flames.
I wonder if they make fire blankets?
It looks like I've got some research to do.
When I get brave, I'll turn on the news and make sure MicroCenter is still standing.
The best insurance is preparation.
Love ya,
S.
I have a copy of this statue on my altar with one exception. There is a leaf hiding Herme's private bits (wouldn't you guess that would exist in an asexual person's house - lol? I could never find another statue like it or I'd replace mine.)
*So....there is a story to my broken ankle.
Ten minutes before I fell...
I was cleaning out my bedroom and knocked over a statue of Hermes.
His left ankle broke off the statue.
I glued it back on....crooked...
You can tell the ankle was broken and reglued.
After I glued the ankle, the young adults living here complained they were hungry.
I promised them burgers so I ran out to the garage to hop in my car,
my right knee (which I injured at work) gave out
and
I fell on the floor unable to move.
I broke my left ankle in the exact same spot as the statue of Hermes.
What's worse?
My insurance sucked so bad, the ER doc they referred me to refused to see me. My insurance ended shortly after that so I went without treatment.
It healed poorly and I'm still in pain.
Turns out...
I resemble that statue now.
To be quite honest about it, I'm not really sure if I should laugh, or step up my worship game.
