never blog when angry

Good Lord, save me from myself.

I haven't written in a while for many reasons. I am one angry woman. I want to control things that are not mine to control. I want this blog space to appear spotless, but not without thought. The problem is that reflection is slowed when one is battening down the hatches against the wind, finding shelter in the midst of storm after storm. Maybe that is why running is so good for a body. It might bring time of reflection without being immobilized, paralyzed by rage...or sadness...or any of the other common human conditions.

The collage of people pictures is of Barbette, my sister, and her significant other. He has been quick learning the outdoor chores and he provides a new perspective. One picture is of Mia, his daughter. I didn't have one of Grant, Nathan's son, but we sure like having them here. Nate is very funny and between Barb and Nate the two of them can get laughter going easily. Both Barb and Nate are working long hours so we will see them much less. We will have to make dates to play indoor board games. I wish for them the happiness they deserve.

I want professionals, like the specialist we saw for Donna, to never, ever show the kind of homophobia he did, and I never again want to be immobilized with shock as she was treated so badly. I have to forgive myself for not intervening...but there was so little time for me to act. He spent 8 minutes with us, after a 40 minute wait. He roughly examined her, so roughly I should have slapped him, truly, and I have not smacked anyone since my sister and I wrestled over clothes and games and car seat space. With false authority this "doctor" pronounced that she should "get on with her life, this is stress and you just need to stop taking medication for your pain and discomfort..." I didn't necessarily need to intervene. Donna can take care of herself very well, better than ever, and she has soldiered on, in spite of not feeling well since April of this year. Whither thou goest I shall go. I want my love to feel better, and I want us to have found the answer months ago.

I want my aunt, who has been a role model for me my entire life, to be cancer-free.

I want my partner's father to be safe and warm and happy. I want to help and I can not.

I want none of us to be allergic to anything.

I want to forget the savage crime I survived 13 years ago. I want to be able to face these final physical repairs without fear, eyes wide open.

I want to erase the shame I feel when I am forced to share the truths of my body's uneases. I want to be tough and rugged and unstoppable. I rage at the possibility that I may have to surrender more of my freedom. I want to be lifted above the endless, endless exhaustion. I want to be like all the other kids on the playground. I want to be the sturdy oak, not the fragile orchid.

I want nicotine to be not addictive.

I want world peace, and I want to be naive enough to believe anything harmed can be reversed in the next four years, no matter who leads us.

I want to be calm and joyful and only use this space to show the light side, to show the art work I have been blessed with.

I want to never feel self-pity, and to never blame anyone else for my shortcomings.

I have never been good at the powerless thing. Surrender is not an option. So I will wait as this anger transforms, I will use it as fuel, I will remember it but not forget all I have to be grateful for.

Although, I may have to make some anonymous blog somewhere for the darkest of the dark thoughts, a place to hide the sarcasm and cruel ironies, a bucket to hide revenge in. I may need a place to hide the thoughts of revenge; the messy addled mind of a woman who has endured plenty and knows that many others endure far more.