Dear manager of the taco bell in the pilot at hubastadt, in.,
You are part of what is wrong with the way people view minimum wage jobs. Yes I was irate. Consider the fact that I had already been made to wait. Then your employees failed to put my items in my bag. So I came back in and asked them to fix this. I was not even raising my voice the first time I returned to the counter. I merely said that there was a problem. The fact that I was causing my trucker to wait was something that should have been noticed. Still I went back to the truck to find they still failed to give me all that I had ordered. By this point it was pouring rain. So I came back in… nearly falling due to the rain. So yes I was yelling. But to tell me that they are only fifteen year old kids and then say that if I thought I could do that job better… well I have. I have worked fast food. I was expected to do my job. Excusing them from doing what they are being paid for is why people think that only teenagers work fast food. If your kids can’t handle doing the job then they have two choices, either get a different job or deal with the consequences of doing it wrong.
Sincerely,
The bitch you were being patronizing to
Category: struggle
Personal safety
In a time of such marvelous inventions coming out, I am appalled by how many are designed to protect women from assault. Now don’t misunderstand. I am not saying women should be raped. I am not saying that the inventions are bad. I merely am appalled by the need for such items. I am a survivor. So I taught my children personal space and responsibility. I taught my son to respect women. I taught my daughter that her body is hers, and no one has the right to touch her without her permission. Yet, I know that there are people out there who would anyway. It kills me to know that someday she will not be safe. I am allowed the sadness that the world is not a safe place. I asked her what she would do if someone tried to grab her, tried to force her to do things against her will, and my beautiful twelve year old girl said ” I will kick him in the leg, then the nuts and I will scream! ” While crass, it feels good to know she won’t be a easy target. She doesn’t separate. If it’s someone she knows who tries to force her to do things or a stranger. Her body is hers. And I have made sure she knew it. I cannot help wondering if more children of both genders were taught that concept how the statistics of sexual assault and abuse would be? After all abusers seduce. They convince the child that even though the child is not comfortable with what is being done, that it is something the abuser is allowed to do. I mourn the need for the devices to “prevent ” sexual assault because I believe that if as children we are taught not to do or allow certain behavior… well as adults it wouldn’t happen. At least not as often. The ones who did at that point would be seen as deviants. They would then be treated as the criminals that they are.
Poetry normality
I am a poet. My children to my pride have shown themselves capable of great pieces. Now I should mention that I have not always felt good about my poetry. I have so often been told how depressing it was that I took it to heart. However, I wrote because it was how I healed. As an abuse survivor, I learned that I needed an outlet for the poison that was forced into my soul. Or I would not ever be whole. So I wrote to heal. I wrote for the love of poetry. So I would never be as good as Emily Dickinson or Edgar Allen Poe. I wrote because it was part of me. I did not force anyone to read what I had written. So if it was depressing…. that was fine. I could accept that. Then I was talking to a social worker. I mentioned that my poetry was considered depressing. Though I think she was being sarcastic, she said something that got me thinking. She asked “Isn’t all poetry?” There are various types of poetry that express different emotions. Discounting sad poetry is basically like saying that feeling sad is unacceptable. Poetry should be able to have a nice range of emotions. It is after all an expression of the poets heart in word form. Then someone else I care about said that his beautiful poetry was so sad. My response “Poetry is often sad. I’m told mine are depressing. Just because they are sad doesn’t have to deny their beauty.” Not every poet can write greeting card poetry or love poems. And abusing the poets whose writing causes other emotions is not acceptable either.
Personal faith in self
Each creative person goes through it. The crippling self doubt. One often expects encouragement from those in the life of said person. And it really doesn’t always happen. I’m not alone there. For me it’s just a baffling thing. I am seven time published. Four volumes of poetry, two children’s books and a novella. Still there are days when I wonder if my writing is any good. And since my family doesn’t seem to be proud of me and what I have done… it seems to wear on my confidence in what I do.
Then my bestie, my sister I chose, who is also a writer asked for my help. It doesn’t seem like much to a outsider I am sure… but for me this was huge. It felt like validation of my writing. My writing is such a big part of who I am… this felt like I was being accepted. So it got me thinking. Why does my family, my blood, not accept what I do? Really the only thing I can think of is that to them, since I have always been a writer, it is simply nothing new. So perhaps I am going to have to accept the idea that those who are not showing pride in me aren’t doing it in cruelty. Perhaps it is in ignorance.
So perhaps I should not expect the world to have faith in me, and be thankful when it does. Instead I should have faith in me.
Discipline
Nary a thought
to organization,
Not one to abide
Micro managing
My time.
As long as I do
Does it matter when?
Or can it be late
When my mind refuses
To quiet at all?
Or early morning
As I watch the dawn?
Discipline in my work
Is not the same as
For another.
For me know that I
am doing.
And it is enough.
Posted earlier on my personal Facebook
It really is the little things that hurt…and heal. Seeing affection and pride felt by those whom you wish were proud of you. Or who paid enough attention to see who you really were. So I end up feeling the little green eyed monster creep in. And then I self recriminate because I see myself as better than that. I don’t do my writing or my crafts or my art for the recognition. I really don’t. I do all of it for me. However, the primal urge for recognition exists in everyone. Then along with the self doubt, a few someone’s stood up for me. It heals the little cracks in my soul.
Day nineteen
1. Claustrophobia – I have been afraid of closed in spaces for a very long time.
2. Helplessness – I can not handle being helpless. I have been a survivor… so I don’t do being helpless well.
3. Heights – although I think it is more a fear of falling.
4. Being alone – the huge fear of loss.
5. Tbh — only thing four above.
Day sixteen
Today this has been a day….
°6am woke up and got my angel up.
°7am got her off to school
°till 830 spent writing
°went back to bed until 1130
°1130 checked social media
°12pm ran vacuum, cleaned bathroom, picked up living room
°1 did articles for my sister’s faeries
°230 Ate hot dogs
°345 greeted my baby and listened to her day
°5 laid down for a nap as my back had been in pain all day.
° 7 got up made dinner
° 8 took a shower
°9 family television time
°10 angel bedtime
°10 till 12 more writing time (and some social media too.)
°12-130 goofing off / me time
°130 me bedtime
Some difference each day but this is generally my day. What’s yours?
Emotional secrets
Here recently I accused someone I love of having secrets from me. It caused a fight. I wasn’t saying in a cheating sort of way, and I was right. He was hiding his misery. Each of us do this. We tell only part of our lives because we don’t want to be seen as weak or wanting. We all want to be strong, if nothing else as an illusion to ourselves. It is truly in human nature. We expect those around us to see what is bothering us, and are often disappointed when no one does.
Our minds are mazes that we even occasionally have trouble navigating. Add in the mental mazes that exist in those we love, And that is where confusion lies. What makes relationships work, all sorts of relationships, is a truly open line of communication. Trust and honesty make for strong and lasting relationships.
So next time you feel doubt as to what someone feels or may be hiding, Ask… Don’t accuse. It may make all the difference.
Nightmares
I have had them for as long as I can remember. I have looked into the idea of controlling my dreams. However once they dream starts, I am helpless. I know that some who have never been in my place would suggest that I just “shake it off.” Waking from a nightmare for me isn’t logical. The fear and helplessness follows me. I wake confused about where I am. I wake with my heart racing and my breathing uneven. Depending on how long I was in it, I even sometimes awaken to bloody places where I have scratched myself or been hitting the wall.
Add to that the fact that I rarely get back to sleep after, doing so is very often a herculean effort. So if I tell you I am tired. Or say I am having trouble sleeping…. please don’t feel the need to suggest I cut down on my coffee. Most weeks I have less than a cup a day. Please understand, if i tell you I am tired, it is merely me explaining that I am not at my best. Even with nightmares, I am not stopping… Don’t ask me to tell you what is so scary. Most of the time all i remember is the fear. The feeling of being helpless. No details other could I give you.
This nightmares are not a sign of weakness. They are the a sign that I am mentally unstable. They are merely another reminder of my survival. I made it through a lot of things. I have lived an interesting life. How my mind handles some of it, well, it could be worse.
Pattimouse 