Another One Bites the Dust

We are never fully staffed at work. We're always 1 or 2 people down. The last 2 people hired both left. One worked a week and then quit. The newest one worked 2 weeks and then ghosted.

We're never told. It's like working for a serial killer. He brings the victims in and they slowly disappear, never heard from again. You wonder what happened. You whisper. You hypothesize. But you never really know.

The people who stay are solid. Not always solid in work ethic or effort but they show up generally. You learn to work around them and are thankful that at least there's a body in the seat. 

But the ones who are there and working, the ones who still put in the effort because the work is important and some of those patients are really good people... those are the employees who have the haggard expressions. They have tricks to get through the day. They learn how to face a serial killer and emerge mostly okay. 

But it wears on you. And then the conversations around you start to change. Suddenly more and more women like you are talking about the serial killers in their lives. You start to recognize that your weariness is life long. Your exhaustion started when you were a child and you had a serial killer in your house. And he was raising a serial killer.

You start to count the serial killers in your life and as you do so, you realize that your limbs have been missing for a long time. Your killers had chopped off pieces of you and you thought those phantom limbs were real.

And the one at work: you depend on him to provide you a means to live. But depending on a killer is terrible choice. 

The life you've been living is unbearable. But you don't know if it's too late to change it. Or if you've been locked in the serial killer's basement your entire lifetime and now realize there was never an escape. 

Who Are We?

 Sometimes I'm just astounded by people. Completely baffled. 

I shouldn't watch as many videos as I do. I watch videos on You Tube, on TikTok, on Instagram. I watch progressive news and I watch funny people and I watch feminist content. And I watch videos of Trump supporters and conspiracy theorists and brief moments of misogyny (I can't watch open hate, I just can't). 

I watch people twist themselves into pretzels to justify nonsense. I watch people hate others for existing. I watch people support others having their rights stripped because they don't believe in the same God, or the same president or just because they exist in a body that someone else doesn't like.

I don't understand how these people exist. Trans kids are being killed, literally murdered, because why? What the fuck? They're just existing. Muslims, Jews, women, Palestinians. Black people always and forever. For just existing.

How do people hate enough to extinguish a life for existing beyond a line you have in your head? I really don't understand. I hate Trump with every cell of my being but I don't wish him dead. I don't wish death on anyone. Even those who have destroyed me.

I'm a Jew who bleeds for the Palestinians and also for Jews. I believe Israel is committing genocide and I'm breathless with outrage and sorrow. I don't even wish Hamas dead. I can't. Life is the only precious thing we have. I wish them to stop. I wish them to become outlaws and outcasts. But I don't wish them dead.

I absolutely hate. I wish I didn't but I do. Still the idea of taking a gun and ending someone is nonsense. Could I kill? I could kill to save my daughter's life. That's it. I don't know if I could kill to save myself. 

I just don't understand any of it anymore. Men hate women so deeply. A certain segment of Americans wish for a civil war to kill other Americans. And children are murdered for existing in their skin. People are killed for living their truth.

Who are Americans? Who have we become? 

Cloudy

 Isn't she pretty? 

She's so pretty.

She will never be mine. I have to accept that. I am sad. At least I'll get my money back. I'm done trying. She's probably too big for my space anyway.

But oh. Oh. We would have been best friends.

The Mama Bear Trap

 AztecLady has a book review on her page  Maybe She Will where there's mention of the main character, a Mother, having to go to school to advocate for her child. And Az mentioned having to advocate for her child. And it reminded me of this story:

When Mollie was in middle school in Seattle, there was a substitute teacher Mr. Green whom Mollie really liked. She would mention him occasionally and say they joked about being relatives because they had the same last name. Then one day Mollie told me that Mr. Green gave her some candy and asked her not to tell anyone because he didn't want to get in trouble for playing favorites.

I was at school the very next day. I met with the principal and explained that a teacher having a "secret" with a student is the first step in grooming. The principal did the 'oh not Mr. Green, he's a great guy, he would never...'. Anyway, I told the principal to let Mr. Green know about our conversation and to stay away from my daughter.

And I did tell Mollie. I explained how grooming works. I told her that Mr. Green might be a great guy and never harm a fly but I would never take a chance. Not with my daughter. And she understood.

Being a Mom is hell. We know what the world does to people and we need to help our kids through. Nobody has a perfect life but if we're lucky, our kids can have a safe life.

And once again, if my daughter was in the woods and there was a bear or a man: I'd rather she deal with the bear.

Bears vs. Man

Here's the new TikTok viral-on-my-page moments:

Would you (a woman) rather find a bear or a man in the forest?

How many bear attacks per year?

The 750,000 black bears of North America kill less than one person per year on the average, while men ages 18-24 are 167 times more likely to kill someone than a black bear. Most attacks by black bears are defensive reactions to a person who is too close, which is an easy situation to avoid.

Oh my, how men dislike that answer. But the numbers, in this instance, are very much not lying. Men are more dangerous. And as many women have pointed out in response, a bear will kill you but a man will do much worse. And a bear doesn't want to hurt you. The bear is reacting for its own safety. Men do want to hurt you.

Another viral moment is women dancing to messages on their phones left by an ex. There's something so satisfying to see a woman moving her body freely and with joy as man after man says 'you're crazy', 'this is why no one will ever love you', 'you're a ho and I hate you and why won't you talk to me?'

Then, on top of all this, we have The Tortured Poet's Department, the double album release by Taylor Swift. I do not consider myself a Swiftie but I think this woman is a talented songwriter and I love intelligent writing. Her album is so good. 31 songs makes it hard to listen to often but there's always another lyrical moment that happens and makes you stop. Stop and feel.

One of the things I sincerely believe about TS is that she really is exactly who she says she is. She's easily hurt, she's soft hearted and she never forgets a slight. She's 100% real. So while the crazies in the red hats try to vilify her, she's a relatable human woman that we can all get behind.

By the way: there's a women's day of protest on June 22. All female labor should cease on that day. It's another pink, pussy hat day. I feel like something like this will make those who protest feel empowered for a day but there will be no significant change. The protest needs to be bigger, last longer and have more involvement. 

Anyway, I have an hour left of work. I think I'm going to make myself a Caprese sandwich. I got the tomatoes and the mozz.

Stay safe out there ladies. And don't worry about the bears.

No More Boxes

 There are no more boxes in my home. All the furniture covers are washed and on the furniture. There is no more else to buy and my spending is now coming to a close and we are back to no buy.

I have a few more "chores" to do. Art needs to be back up but I'm having a problem deciding where I want it. And my kitchen needs a little more organization. I have a few things that have no place to go but I want to keep them.

Interesting tidbit: for the last 2 years I've been living in pajama pants and t-shirts. So comfortable. And since I work from home, it just makes sense. But recently I've been eschewing the pajama pants and wearing real pants again.

I don't know why.

Another tidbit: my cat Wednesday Addams (who is a biter) is slowly transitioning to cuddling. She sleeps against me and I've started giving her kisses and she's tolerating them. I doubt she'll ever stop biting but it's nice to see sweetness from her.

I sent 7 boxes of girl scout cookies to my office with a note and only one coworker said thank you. Kind of done doing that.

I'm trying to train my brain to not linger on family issues. When I start to ruminate, I'm trying to distract myself. This old dog is going to learn new tricks.

And Mollie and I are watching Avatar; the Airbender, the original cartoon and it's awesome. I'm completely invested. Team Zuko all the way.

Labour (2)

 As the conversations circle: the women saying they are no longer willing to do the 'silent labor' in marriage anymore and the men getting into their feels and lashing out with insults, there are still so many conversations we aren't having. So many layers to the work women do and the complete disdain for it.

Last night in the darkness of my bedroom, I was thinking about my recent estrangement from my siblings and was having a hard time making it all make sense. I had headphones on and had my favorite playlist going, I call it Ladies and it's about 90 minutes of women inspiring, raging, being okay alone. And then the song Labour played (check it out on the post previous to this one) and I cried. Because that's where it began between us all.

My mother was a troubled woman. And she didn't have healthy boundaries so there was a lot of drama with her. She liked having the emotional power to make her kids cry, to make us ask forgiveness. Most likely it was due to her lack of power in everything in her life but it was a fucked up way to raise children. And as adults, my siblings stepped away from her.

I was the only one there when she got sick. I was the only one taking her to appointments, picking her up when she fell. She totaled my car, she went to the ER almost on the daily and finally she went into care and she died. And I was the one who took care of it all.

I had a 4 year old child at the time, a full time job, a mortgage and childcare payments (I had adopted Mollie knowing my mother would provide childcare until she was school age). I was fucked. And both my siblings were fine. They were financially stable, in stable relationships, no children in home. 

I did the labor of caring for my mother. And caring for my child. Then when we moved to Hawaii, I shared the labor with my sister-in-law of caring for her husband, her mother with dementia and even caring for her (when she went through her cancer journey, when she was bedridden from a fall). 

And I finally understood how much work I've been doing all my life. How much my family has used my labor and never shown appreciation. How, when I needed them, they never provided.

I think of the labor of being an abused child. It isn't on the abuser to shoulder the blame and guilt given to the child. In my case, having a pedophile father means that other girls (you know, friends of mine and my sister) were in the sphere of my father's grasp. And yes, I carry the guilt of what he did to those other girls. It isn't mine to carry but there was no one else to take the load.

The labor of a lifetime to carry the emotional burdens of both my parents. To shoulder blame and responsibility for them. To be judged for my struggles and yet not acknowledged for how my struggling benefit my siblings.

My shoulders are so fucking heavy. I feel it in every part of me. 

LABOUR

LABOUR by Paris Paloma

Why are you hanging on so tight
To the rope that I'm hanging from?
Off this island, this was an escape plan (this was an escape plan)
Carefully timed it, so let me go
And dive into the waves below

Who tends the orchards? Who fixes up the gables?
Emotional torture from the head of your high table
Who fetches the water from the rocky mountain spring?
And walk back down again to feel your words and their sharp sting
And I'm getting fucking tired

The capillaries in my eyes are bursting
If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
For somebody I thought was my saviour
You sure make me do a whole lot of labour

The calloused skin on my hands is cracking
If our love ended, would that be a bad thing?
And the silence haunts our bed chamber
You make me do too much labour
You make me do too much labour

Apologies from my tongue, and never yours
Busy lapping from flowing cup and stabbing with your fork
I know you're a smart man (I know you're a smart man), and weaponise
The false incompetence, it's dominance under a guise

If we had a daughter, I'd watch and could not save her
The emotional torture, from the head of your high table
She'd do what you taught her, she'd meet the same cruel fate
So now I've gotta run, so I can undo this mistake
At least I've gotta try

Nymph then a virgin, nurse then a servant
Just an appendage, live to attend him
So that he never lifts a finger
24∕7, baby machine
So he can live out his picket fence dreams
It's not an act of love if you make her
You make me do too much labour

All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid
Nymph then virgin, nurse and a servant
Just an appendage, live to attend him
So that he never lifts a finger
24∕7, baby machine
So he can live out his picket fence dreams
It's not an act of love if you make her
You make me do too much labour

The capillaries in my eyes (all day, every day)
Are bursting (therapist, mother, maid)
If our love died (nymph then virgin)
Would that be the worst thing? (Nurse then a servant)
For somebody (just an appendage)
I thought was my saviour (live to attend him)
You sure make me do (so that)
A whole lot of labour (he never lifts a finger)

The calloused skin on my hands (24∕7)
Is cracking (baby machine)
If our love ends (so he can live out)
Would that be a bad thing? (His picket fence dreams)
And the silence (it's not an act of love)
Haunts our bed chamber (if you make her)
You make me do too much labour

Sunday Bed Rotting

 

This is the cloud coffee table. It's trendy. Very trendy. Expensive (mostly). It made me go 😍 the first time I saw it. And the second time and all the rest of the times. I don't know why but I love it in ways I've never loved a piece of furniture before.

It's not inexpensive so I've longed from afar and saved a few pennies. When the apartment move didn't happen I took the money I had put aside for the movers to buy the table. I have ordered it twice. The first time they refunded the money right after I ordered and said it was out of stock. Then they placed it back for sale but $100 more. Yesterday I found it on Walmart. $150 less than the first one I attempted to buy. So let's see what happens.

This is my No-Buy 2024, remember? I've honestly done well not buying things. But after the-move-that-wasn't I sat with myself and asked what was it about moving that had me so excited? More than laundry access and parking right outside my door. And the answer was: the fantasy of perfection. 

Every time I imagined the new apartment I saw a kitchen that had what I needed. I saw matching curtains in the living room and the art was thoughtfully laid out. I had a specific space for my witch things and it was light and happy.

I hope I'm aware enough to understand that perfection is not a plan. But taking all the pictures down and really curating the space can be. So I gave myself permission to buy what I really felt I needed that's been lacking in my space. Kitchen knives, a spice shelf, towels. It hasn't been a lot but it's been a joy.

In other news: work is a walking disaster area. Doc is still hiring people without vetting them at all and then watching them leave after a moment or two. They're not curating the time off schedule so we have an entire week of patients not getting their weekly wound appointments because the only people able to do it are off on the same week.

My drug abusing neighbor is starting to make a routine of knocking on my door early Saturday morning to ask for drugs (I have pain pills for my knees which I take as directed: I don't have any other drugs and I told her my pills are for my pain, not for anyone's recreational purposes.) Anyway, I don't answer my door when I'm still in bed and I don't intend to play with her drama so it's going to come down to it soon. (Story time: after I had gone to the ER after my fall, she showed up to ask what pain meds they gave me. I told her none because I'm on a pain contract and I don't do drugs, I do pain control. All she heard was that I had Norco and she wanted it. Funny thing: my dosage is really small. She's also on pain med drugs and her dosage is much higher than mine. My drugs won't give her a buzz at all.)

Today is Sunday and there are still a few projects to do but I'm doing nothing today. I've been getting things done and last night was so achy and done in that I decided even if I had all the energy in the world, this body of mine is getting a break. 

Willa if you read this: where did you go for vacation? Do you still have a blog? Please share the link.

65 Years Old and Done

 It's strange to say (and strange to accept) but I'm looking for a new job. I'm done with working in toxic environments, I'm tired of working for toxic people and I'm tired of being tired. 

I'm not financially stable enough to retire completely but I am financially stable enough to work part time and just supplement my social security. But since this will be the last job of my life: it needs to be a safe environment, a friendly environment and it must be drama free. 

I'm not expecting to find something easily or quickly but that's okay. I do believe that I will find something. 

I have tickets purchased for my big trip in December. Believe it or not: Mollie and I are going to Asheville, North Carolina to see my father (let's not even try to explain, it's complicated). We arrive on the 14th, stay in a hotel, and leave at like 5am on the 18th and together fly to Japan. I'll stay with her to January 3 and then come home. 

I dream of ramen.

So anyway, today was nothing but ticket purchasing for the Japan part of the trip, dealing with work trauma and drama and cuddling cats because my cats are getting cuddlier as time goes by.

Remember: the country is falling to pieces around us. Hating women is a sport. Stay safe out there. 

Just saying

 Trump on Abortion

My brother believes it. I'm not joking, my brother believes that doctors are murdering babies post delivery and calling it abortion.

There are no humans more gullible that MAGAs. Or as venal. 

Monday Monday

 

The first time I saw this I was agog. I felt like so much of my life was explained right there. Functional freeze. How much time have I spent sitting on my couch or bed, in emotional freeze. Hours can go by and I'm stuck. 

I've experienced a lot of that recently also. Boxes surrounding me, a dirty apartment and my brain stuck in a loop of wanting to do something and unable to move.

This weekend I busted through it. Saturday morning I set a goal to just get garbage out and go to the dump. I had so many boxes, a destroyed cat tree; I needed too get it gone. Sometimes one of the hesitations is knowing that my body is going to hurt from doing certain things. Huge pieces of garbage dragged around was going to cause some pain. 

But I got my car packed. I headed for the dump. And I ran into the annual Merrie Monarch parade which closed off all the major streets and left me turned around and befuddled. I ended up getting back home and tossing the smelly garbage away and leaving the non-smelly stuff for later this week for the dump.

Then yesterday my energy was high and I started moving furniture. I'm redoing the entire apartment. It wasn't my intent to change everything but once I started I couldn't stop. 

Today I've been doing some stuff also. I seem to have found some of that energy I lost. My brain is sparking. I want to get things done. So off I go.

The thing is: it's all temporary. The brain is a funny thing and it's going to say no at some point and that will be the end of it. The energy will wane. I'll sit on my couch locked into a state of functional freeze because that's what I do. But now I know what it is. And I know it's temporary. 

Anyway, I'm going to move a chair. And then send a fax. We keep going because there are no other viable options. 

I just love understanding what's happening. It doesn't mean it ends but it does make it easier when it happens to know why.

The Sexy Millionaire's Secret Republican Endorsement

 So Dwayne "the Rock" Johnson appeared on Fox News and said he wasn't endorsing Joe Biden again for 2024. He said he's keeping his politics 'private'. He said that on Fox News. That uh, well, it kinda smells of something interesting Mr. Rock. It smells of  cheap cologne, fake tan and dirty diapers.

There's some interesting stuff happening lately. Not so much with politics (which is always interesting stuff but also exhausting, frustrating and horrific stuff) but with celebrity culture. There's some backlash coming and it's really interesting.

When the billionaires imploded in the tuna can going down to see The Titanic, there was no sorrow online. The absolute disdain of people towards millionaires was almost joyful. And have you seen the vitriol aimed at J-Lo recently? Her little vanity project This Is Me... Now is not just a $20 million dollar self-funded flop but the internet's hate of Jenny from the Block (in Bel-Air) is epic. Nobody likes Jennifer Lopez and for great, good reason.

When I read that Jeff Bezos could solve world hunger and it would cost him nothing:

According to UN officials, "$30 billion per year is needed to end world hunger". There are 795 million undernourished people in the world today. That means one in nine people do not get enough food to lead an active and healthy life. Jeff Bezos could even end world hunger twice a year.

 It wouldn't affect him at all. At all.

His ex-wife, on the other hand:

Scott has given away $16.5 billion from the fortune she came into after divorcing Amazon founder Jeff Bezos. Initially, she publicized the gifts in online blog posts, sometimes naming the organizations and sometimes not. She launched a database of her giving in December 2022, under the name Yield Giving.

By the way, McKenzie Scott still has billions. Because when you have billions of dollars (in real money, not Trump Bucks) you are never going to be poor. Your money makes money which makes money which doesn't stop making money.

Anyway, this post is going all over the place. But ... we've been taught that billionaires and celebrities and other entitled people have earned their entitlement. And in the past we treated them as though that was true. But not anymore. When the greatest acts of charity are performed so often by those who are humble, it makes the Rocks and J-Lo's look like the big entitled babies they are. 

The Rock might be fine or he might discover that women don't feel kindly about a man who has announced he'll vote to strip their rights away. Jeff Bezos can continue his Lex Luthor cosplay but people are going to cheer at his death. 

We often look at the changes around us and feel sad about the evolution (and de-evolution) of society. The change in tenor towards entitlement makes me feel enthusiastic. And it makes me feel like I want to start being more of the change in this world. Maybe the Rock will inspire more of us to get involved. Maybe the billionaires will be a catalyst for change because of how we're seeing them for what they really are.

 

The All New, Totally Valid, No It's Not Internet It's the 4G Movement

 Is there anything better than men centering themselves in everything? Yeah... so now a group of stable geniuses on the internet have started the 4G movement to counteract or counter balance the 4B movement.

The 4B movement, which started in South Korea which had/has alarming numbers of femicide and SA against women, a movement started because the patriarchy there makes ours look like child's play: the movement created because women didn't want to die at the hands of men, is now a guy thing.

And what is the 4G plan? No sex with women. No sperm given to women. No providing for women. No dating women.

And I am here for it. I want to cheer my brothers from the sidelines. KEEP THOSE ZIPPERS ZIPPED, BOYS! Make women suffer. Stop engaging with women on the streets and in elevators or on public transport. Show women you don't care by not trying to shoot your shot since they don't deserve you anyway. No woman deserves a man as fine as you.

Make the women beg for you first. If she isn't on her knees pleading then she's part of the 4B movement most likely and we know those women are just not to be trusted. TRUST NO WOMAN! Zippers always in the upright position. You got this, guys.

The women in South Korea have dropped the birthrate in their country to the lowest (I think) in the world. More people die than are born. Which strikes me as a really green, environment friendly thing to do.

Can Western Women do the same? I doubt it. White women dislike being inconvenienced and I don't believe they'll touch the same impact that the Korean women have. I do think some women will embrace it. But more for Western women, it's about shaking up the status quo of marriage or partnerships. As long as it benefits white women, they're right there. When it gets hard, they're uh ... not there any more.

And this is me speaking as a white woman. I want the patriarchy destroyed as much as the next woman. But ... we are not often very good allies. 

Anyways... I'm rambling. I embrace 4B and 4G. This benefits everyone. Even though 4G is stupid as shit, I hope men embrace it. More men learning to leave women alone can only be a good thing.

Mahalo Means Thank You

 Mahalo ladies for being there. 

Yesterday was a hard day. My boss started off first thing in the morning by slamming me in various emails (the new RN quit after 2 weeks and I'm his usual target in those situations). Then right after that I saw the apartment I was not moving into and then a neighbor asked me for a ride and she ran over an hour late and I had laundry to do and my knees hurt...

Yesterday sucked in all sorts of small ways.

Today is starting to look a little better. I'm trying to see the opportunity in this as a chance to keep doing what I was doing and continue to clean everything out and rearrange the entire apartment. Plus there are things about this apartment I hate to give up: 2 excellent views (one of the ocean) as well as a delightful cross breeze. And my amazing neighbors. 

Anyway, there's always something positive to find and even though I want to crawl into bed and sob awhile, I think this is okay.

Changes

So guess who isn't moving? 

I finally saw the apartment and it's so much smaller than mine. The kitchen is literally half the size and it's awful. I canceled the move and I'm shook. My apartment is in boxes and my excitement is gone. On the other hand, Carolyn told me to think of this as spring cleaning and she's right so I'm going to keep going and pretend I'm moving and clean everything out.

But this is... a lot.