When the Comments Section Isn't Enough: Final Thoughts

Oh cute and colorful Ana Gazawi, your comment about "big girl panties" was very entertaining. In case you're still snooping, I'd like you to know that I actually never leave home without them. I was thinking that perhaps I could put em' on a postcard for you, that way, my ass would always be readily available for you to kiss it.

Moving right along in no particular order...

1. The last I checked, this --->here<--- was "my" personal space, which means by default, I get to say, state, share, mention, etc whatever the fuck I want, whether it be a minute by minute account or a recollection from 20 years ago.

2. This blog is not commercial or here to attract a following or writing for an audience or focused on making the blogosphere happy or changing the world or any of that shit. In other words, I'm not writing for you or even to you, I'm writing for myself, because its therapeutic (ie. if I wanna purge within my own space, you can read it, however, don't feel the need to tell me I shouldn't be doing it). MY thoughts, MY feelings. Now, if you so happen to read what I've written and it doesn't sit well with you , either poke your own eyes out or, as my great-grandmother use to say, scratch your ass and get glad. Your choice. Or, if you don't feel like making a lot of effort, you can just make a note to self not to come back by here. See, problem solved.

3. For the folks who were having a hard time understanding why I chose the words I did and why I delivered them the way that I did, aside from what has already been stated in #1, the post in question did have "continued" in the title, which means that there was a post preceding it. Its ok if you hadn't noticed, really it is. Anyhoo... post in question was the ass end of bitchassness that was much more current than that of the asshole collective.

4. Let's talk even more about blog posts. I think they're awesome. We all have a voice and we all get to use it how we see fit. You'll get no arguement from me there. In fact, I don't think we should even ever censor our writing, just let the true YOU shine through, whoever that may be. Its just better that way isn't it? I have no issue with differing views and opinions in blog posts. I, as all of us do, have the choice not to read/participate in them if I don't want to. However, when you have placed a badge/button in support of a cause all up and through your site, without informing those whom it may be offensive to who are also a part of the site, the element of choice is eliminated. A member does not get to choose whether or not they are in support because the decision has already been made and displayed. But, who gives a fuck, right?

5. To date, I have never been released, asked to leave, denied access to anything MOH related (sorry Ana and company). I simply made the decision not to move forward with them because I was no longer comfortable doing so, which included not signing on with the We of Hue network when invited.

Did I miss anything? If so, let me know.

Categorizing, Universalizing and Labeling Continued

A month before becoming invested in the latest babbling bus load of bullshit, I was emotionally invested in trying to figure out why the fuck the folks behind the No Wedding No Womb campaign, and their followers, were so invested in “putting the padlock on our panties.” Why was it so hard for any of them to admit that the language heading their campaign was flawed and disrespectful? Why was it so hard for any of them to recognize why single mothers by circumstance and by choice were so upset and turned off by the launch of their attack? Why was it so hard for married supporters of the campaign to realize that not all married mothers were supporters of the campaign? Hello. And finally, why and HOW did the launching of this campaign get some single mothers to drink the Kool Aid and start viewing themselves as bad mothers for having a failed marriage, or choosing to become single mothers, or never seeking marriage to begin with, or being o-damn-k with the term “baby mama” because they have realized that it is actually a term that is free to be appropriated?

I am still fuzzy on why the campaign took up the term “baby mama” in the first place as a way to address single parenthood as a whole and/or unplanned pregnancy. I am fuzzy on how and why a campaign would take up entertainment (ie Maury Povich) as the driving reasoning behind the campaign and just why the hell these folks feel the need to “save the children of single mothers from single mothers." And if we really want to break the term “baby mama” down, and see the words for what they literally mean, then that would make every woman who has ever mothered a baby’s mother. My name is Barbara Henry, and as my sister Traci stated in her beautiful letter to her son, “I” am Emma’s mother and there is NOTHING about the state of my mothering that is wrong or should be undone or rethought. If I had it to do over again, I’d do it the same way. She continues to grow into an amazing person because of the start in life that "I" have given her, the unique dynamic that has shaped our lives. Emma was conceived in love and is being raised in love. Point. Blank. Period.

I was in complete shock when I went over to Moms of Hue to find the site in full support of the campaign against single motherhood. And yes, the campaign is a full on attack. I was thinking, “how could the site be in full support when there are members of the team who are not in support of the campaign at all?” It was hurtful to read what some of the people that I had been comfortable sharing my life and lifestyle with really thought about women who have had kids out of wedlock. When it comes to Moms of Hue, why wasn’t the team notified of this kind of considered endorsement? We'd always been notified of everything else. Why weren’t team members who were clearly offended contacted by leadership? And where in the fuck is my apology? For these reasons, and insensitive commentary from the site’s founder, I had to end my relationship with the “movement”, and I am publicly apologizing to all of my single mama friends that I even sent over there. Why stay on after it was made crystal clear that my status was not valued. If my status was not valued, why the fuck would my experiences be? Uh huh… BABBLING BUS LOAD OF BULLSHIT.

A Word on Categorization, Universalizing and Labeling

Photo Credit

I’ve been told a time or two that I don’t play well with others. I don’t quite see it that way. I just simply have a low tolerance for generalizations, ignorance and elitism. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the need for some to state opinion and personal preference as fact; to stereotype and give tropes power by holding them over the heads of individuals just because they’ve been labeled statistics.

It makes me sad really, to be subjected to the hateful ideologies of others. So then I get too emotionally invested in the topic of discussion, throwing out my counterarguments, only to be met with 10 more motherfuckers backing the one. It’s exhausting.

The latest babbling bus load of bullshit is about welfare recipients and what they should and should not be able to buy with their benefits. More policing of the poor on the grounds that if you are poor, then you should ONLY be spending your government issued dollars on shelter, and since said government issued dollars are not even enough for shelter, then you shouldn’t be spending them elsewhere anyway. In other words, if you are on welfare, you do not have the right to spend your benefits on the same kinds of shit that folks who aren’t sucking society dry spend their hard earned cash on. Yeah, a BABBLING BUS LOAD OF BULLSHIT! Of course it isn't really the article itself that has my ass on fire, but reactions to it by a few Facebookers. I cannot tell you how tired I am of reading and hearing people unleash about tax payers and tax dollars. Why is it so hard to view the tax dollars that the welfare recipient spends as the tax dollars that s/he has already paid into the system? Why is the welfare recipient still being viewed as the scum of the earth, the one who is too lazy to work, and every other negative attribute imaginable?

I recently encountered a student-parent who is worrying herself to death about how she will combine a part time job with being a full time student and mother, because being viewed in the negative light of the welfare queen is so much worse to her than trading in time with her son for time spent in a position that wont even supplement her household’s income, which was cut in half by the recession. She has paid her hard earned money into a system that she is now afraid to utilize, and for what? Because people who are working from what they’ve heard, and a few things they’ve read, hold ill feelings toward people who are trying to survive in this fucked up society, and in addition to surviving, add a little normalcy into their everyday by stimulating the economy? Yeah, a BUS LOAD OF BULLSHIT!

Confessions of a Connectoholic

Photo Credit

Our new place is great and all, but the lack of wireless accessibility is driving me insane! I've been recently spoiled. Being able to sit up, 'til the wee hours of the morning, typing away the day's frustrations/joyful moments. And now? I'm reduced to a computer center where I have to work across two different computers because one has a timer and Facebook access has been blocked from the other! WiFi is available, but my location within the building makes for a shitty signal. How on earth am I supposed to stay on top of things working under these conditions? Geez.

I've missed spilling my guts on a daily basis. Just basically being able to say what I have to say virtually at the exact moment that it pops into my head. You know, the exact moment when I wanna go to bed and my housemate is blasting her damn radio through the floor, or when we are trying to have a nice dinner or breakfast and this one staff person feels the need to run down every single thing about the organization to us, as if its our first time in the dining area, oh, and how about the moment when said staff person comes back with a second bowl of pasta because she noticed that I had finished mine? She really does mean well, but uh, I seriously think that nobody is home upstairs, if you know what I mean.

Anyhoo... if you're reading now, don't stop here. I've been waiting to unload my chest, so this is like, the third post I've done in an hour, lol. Happy reading.

I'm Doin' Me!

Life is too damn short to live unhappily!

Now Taking Applications for the Mental Breakdown Club

Photo Credit

Maybe it'll be a win-win, because, you know, most of the greats were/are mentally disturbed in some form or another...

I've always said that, if I could have chosen my mental illness, I would have chosen to be either bi-polar or schizophrenic. No, really. Once you're able to recognize your manic states and decipher the who's who of the voices in your head and the friends in your circle, productivity and creativity take the forefront. Very few productive or creative moments are bore from depression, and those that are aren't necessarily arrived at organically, but rather dug from deep within. Deep rooted expressions of pain are painfully beautiful. Unfortunately, mental breakdowns are not.

Pet Peeves

I guess sports are to men as soap operas are to women.

I don't think I'll ever understand the logic behind amplifying the television in order to quiet the voices of children. Noise only begets noise, it sure as hell doesn't silence it. And I'll tell you what else it does, it beckons migraines. My head is much happier with just the sounds of intense play. I'm quite crazy with the bellowing sounds of baseball coming from the idiot box. I can't tell you how much I despise sports. Not just baseball, and not just any one sport in particular. All sports. I don't get excited for playoffs and superbowls. I don't huddle around the television with snacks and team spirit. I'd rather just be excluded all together. Every single day, since His return, the television has blasted sports in some form or another. During a time when I'd rather unwind, process the events of my day, and prepare my mind for what lies ahead, I am instead trying to drown out the sounds of static noise, and plot my move. The exact moment when I will snatch all the pillows off the couch, put our pajamas on and "go to bed" - because that is the only indicator that we are ready to settle in for the night. The time on the clock doesn't mean shit.

I was waking up every couple of hours last night as a result of one loud month or another. 2am - 3am - 4am - 4:50am - 5:20am, eyes peeking open at 6:29am, and alarm ringing at 6:30am. I yawned through my training at work today.

I asked if there would be headache-free days ahead, and was told yes. I sure hope so.

The Time Is Now!

She had had another unexpected inspection that day. She hates when they just pop up without notice, or give a same-day notice that an inspection is imminent. No time to clean (read: no time to hide shit behind other shit), just a forced reaction to authority figures and their clipboards. She's always angry after they leave. Mad that they've seen all that there is to see around here, even though their notes are for the purposes of making things better around here. Embarrassed by a cramped space, again, reactive, throwing things out over there, pointing and yelling about things over here. And when she almost knocked over a glass collector's plate she had been given as a gift, catching it in her hand, and attempting to put it back in its place, she completely lost it. "DAMMIT! You can't get to ANYTHING around here". Apparently, my things were in the way. She snatched a bag of crochet supplies from a larger tote when she grabbed for the tote. With both bags in hand, she slammed them back down to the floor, repositioning them. I thought I was gonna have a panic attack. I couldn't stop the tears.

Then I got caught. My effort to disguise my sniffles, took away from my efforts to wipe away the tears before they fell. Emma noticed my glassy eyes and asked me if I was crying. I told her no. I lied. The anxiety swelled up in my body, and radiated through my left hand like an electrical current. The left side. I am so unkind to the right side of my brain. I took my episode to the shower, were I could cry without being made.

Today, I went out in search of something healthier. I collected some resources on transitional housing, mental health services, and homeless shelters. I printed some affordable housing applications. I fantasized about having a place to think clearly, without the sounds of screaming, fussing, bickering and frustration hammering away at my sanity. I want to be content. I have a job that I enjoy, am excited that Emma is excited about her new school year, I am trying very hard to be happy. Happiness shouldn't have to be this hard to hold on to. Its time to move on.

Life

I wonder what it feels like to want to live...

A Place Where Nobody Knows My Name

I'm so irritated right now that I can't even organize my thoughts. I'm 100% sure that I'm not cut out for co-habitation. I often wonder if I'm even cut out for co-existence. There is nothing I hate more than being subjected to other people's lifestyles. I can't survive for too long in a space that belongs to someone else. Having to be a part of their routines, their house guests, their retarded ass kids - all with no retreat. Point blank, I'm not a people lover, especially when I have to deal with them day in and day out. Too much time with the same people and I'm bound to go fucking nuts! Factor in irritating habits or shit talking and I'm bound to go the fuck off. I like to stay to myself and socialize when I deem its appropriate, not when someone else deems its time to be all up in my space. These are the moments when I need rapid progression. These are the moments that make me crazy. These are new moments that will forever be ingrained in my memory.

I'd have a house out in the country if I could. Where I could breath in fresh air and where interpersonal relationships would require driving into town. If you can't tell, I get burnt out really quickly. This is such a torturous time for me. I absolutely HATE living in an environment in which I'm extremely uncomfortable. I'm gonna try to save as quickly as possible so I can get the fuck away from here as quickly as possible!

It Must Be the Full Moon

I am very grateful that I can now say that I have a job. I don't care that its through a temp agency. If I play my cards right the only thing temp about this job will be its origin. With any luck, I will set up a shop that wont have to be dismantled any time soon. That is the game plan because the goal is to be able to lay my head under my own damn roof. Being stuck up in a space that belongs to someone else is NOT the business, in fact, it can be pure torture! Today has been rather torturous, but I survived. A bit of good news this evening reiterated the fact that all of these challenges are just the building blocks of a better situation. I've been worried about before and after school care ever since the end of the school year. Our care has been subsidized for the last 2 years, and due to the state's budget (everything is due to the damn state's budget!) subsidized spots are scheduled to be cut. The district has been rallying and fighting and planning, and as a result, are able to offer only 50 families subsidized spots this year. I had to reapply, and wait. The wait is now over. We're in! We're gonna be subsidized. I can go to work without worrying about who will pick my child up from school or who will take her.

So, so far I have a job that will allow me to get some income coming in, be available to take my baby to school, pick her up, and allow time for me to volunteer in her classroom, plus, before and after school care is paid for! This is awesome!! I hope that things only keep getting better and better.

Being Expendable

I wonder what all of this means. What does it all really mean?

Another rejection. It would be nice if the rejection could at least come after the interview. I've never even made it to the interview stage. They don't have to see me in person to know that they don't want me working with their establishment. No matter how much I try to prove myself on paper, its just not enough. How can I be what these people want when I'm not even sure what they are looking for? I illustrate all the ways that I can meet their needs, all the ways that my skills can be beneficial to them, the ways in which I can do the job, and their response is that they went with someone whose skills better fit their needs. Why can't someone just give me a chance? With each rejection I fade more into the background. With each week/month/year that passes, my resume becomes less desirable, less relevant.

Was I really supposed to be working in an office - gaining experience, while going to school full time, raising my daughter on my own, dealing with death consecutively, never making a full recovery from being raped, in and out of depression, already not getting the most out of the education that I was getting? Did others around me do it because they were "only" raising children while doing school and work? Or because they had a boyfriend or husband living at home, bringing in the money, leaving them to focus more on family and academics? Did I not try hard enough? I did try! I did more than just try. I went to work. Sometimes forfeiting my classes and school work to be in the office longer, so I could see more money on my paycheck, to feel like it all was worth it. I felt like I had finally found my "place" when I was in that office. I felt like a contributor. Like I made a difference and was needed. I had made friends, was a part of the pack, or so I thought.

A year passed, and still, I was thinking ahead, about how I could be of service to the company. I was nearing graduation, so then I would be available full time. I was looking at housing closer to work for when it was time to relocate, I was even thinking about how my first love of journalism and my interest in photography could benefit the company. Since "I" was already the Marketing Department, I wanted to apply myself more during showroom travel. Photographing the showroom for the company website, making a suggestion to the CEO and COO that we should become a completely electronic based office where documents were concerned. I never got the chance to make it known that I saw myself as a permanent part of the company. I had started sensing that there was something not quite right with my scheduling. I had tried making myself more available, and would be told that I wasn't needed for the number of hours that I was available, when months earlier, my availability was welcomed. Then the day came. I was asked into the CEO's office, he gave me a speech about no longer being able to afford to keep me (due to the economy), told me I had two weeks, and if I needed a letter for my next job he'd be happy to write me one. There was no farewell party for me, like there had been for a coworker who had left the office. No one said anything. No one emailed me when I didn't return. It was as if I had never even been a part of the company. As if I had never shared anything with the people in that office. It was such a hurtful ending. I'm obviously still affected by it.

And now, as I search for a comfortable, fulfilling office assistant job, I find that companies are looking for people who have all of this experience. Asking a minimum of 2 years, which isn't much to someone who actually has worked for 2 years. My last experience was the longest that I have ever been at any one job. One year and 5 months. I feel like, in every aspect of life, I always come up short. Like, no matter what I do, how hard I may work or fight, I come up short. After everything that I sacrificed to be available for my company, my ass got kicked to the curb, and my time there isn't paying off for me in the way of experience, I still come up short. I'm reminded of that every time I open a new job ad or apply to one.

For anyone who reads this, I already know what you're probably gonna say. "Its the economy." Yeah, I know all about the economy. I'm sick to death of the fucking economy, and being told repeatedly that its the economy. Its worst than being told, its not you, its me. Which brings me to a random thought: What the fuck is Arnold doing making an appearance in a movie? With the state of California, his ass should NOT be on any big screen unless he is gonna be putting the money from the film into the pockets of Californians! AND, its not essentially just the economy. People are getting jobs. I know this because I am friends with some of the people who are getting jobs. So, what the fuck am "I" doing wrong? Perhaps you will suggest that I do more, such as take another class, take a different kind of job - anything that's available, go to a temp agency. Simply put, I'm really doing all that I have the capacity to do. I just really need for things to change. I deserve for things to change. Nobody deserves to invest so much of their time and money into a University, believing that in doing so they have insured a future free of poverty, only to end up homeless, with no possible leads to employment. So many that I know chose to go to grad school because of this very reality. They didn't want to face it. I chose to face it head on, because I desired to work. I needed to work - a change in my routine, a new direction in my life. I've been in a classroom for 21 years straight, I'm fucking tired of that lifestyle! I believed that I would find something.

So what now?

Continue applying for jobs, hoping to be chosen.

Try to think of ways to be more creative in my approach to employers.

Navigate the trap of being over qualified and/or under qualified.

Sharpen my computer skills through online program training.

All while functioning at half capacity, and being extremely depressed.

Money Doesn't Only Talk, It Walks!

Since when does 200 minus 32 equal 3?

That's what I was asking myself today, as I handed over 7 bucks to the girl working the drive-thru window. Yesterday, there was $176 in my wallet, left over from my two weekend purchases. After lunch, I was left with $3. I was absolutely livid! I pulled over, dumped my purse, went through my wallet, and nothing. No hidden 20s, just 3 lonely ass 1 dollar bills. I had plans for that little bit of change. Important plans. Plans that will not be carried out because of someone else's plans. I didn't want to think in terms of living amongst a theif, but it would be stupid of me not to, given the fact that the monies of others have a tendency to come up missing on a regular basis. I always try to keep careful watch over my possessions, especially my purse, but alas, I got a little too comfortable. Seems, at grandma's house, you have to store your shit behind lock and key if you plan on enjoying it yourself. The slightest slip up will have you parked at an intersection, nose turned up at fast food getting cold, crying into an empty wallet.

Because I have a suspect, I headed back to grandma's, packed a couple days worth of things for myself and Emma, and decided to come down to a friend's house. I can't close my eyes in the same house with her daughter tonight, and shit, she shouldn't close her eyes in the same house with me! All the thoughts that entered my mind were evil. All I could see was my fist connecting with her damn throat. As hard as the cash that I have is to come by, to have someone go into my purse and take it, and not take some - but all, is the ultimate disrespect. It would have been easy for me to forget that she's 16 years old. I wanted to be on that ass like white on rice, and still might!

After calling my grandma to inform her, she said she'd ask her about it. I'd feel a little better if she said she'd make her empty her pockets when she came home. I will surely never see that money again. When my grandma does ask her about it, she will deny it, as always. She's been denying shit from an early age - like when my digital recorder came up missing, and she swore that she was not guilty of taking it. Surprisingly, it was her guilty little voice all over it when I found it months later, hidden under my grandma's bathroom sink. Oddly enough, that is where I found my white clutch last month!

I wonder what else of mine does her ass try on when no one else is looking.