Rage, Hurt and Healing

I just participated in the #WhenIWas hashtag on Twitter. In case you all don’t know what that is, this link and this link should explain it in more detail.

 

I have to say, it was very cathartic getting these events written down outside of my private writings. There were so many instances that I had to stop writing for my sanity’s sake. Like many others, I paused before tweeting and considered deleting my tweets several times before letting them stand. Then, I thought about it. Why, after all these years, should these people have power over me to write or not write a tweet confronting the disgusting truth of what was done?

 

I have never understood the mentality of pushing the victimized person in the corner and blaming them for the horrors they’ve suffered. Yet, I’m seeing it and have seen it over and over in my day to day life. Where is all the outrage for the person doing the victimizing?

 

This stuff is unacceptable. No one should have to go through these things.

There’s Gold In That Thar Water!

Today’s prompt was to find the third article down and include the headline in my post. Here goes…

 

Fugitive US treasure hunter Thompson pleads guilty

 

Considering everything that has come to light today and I’m meant to write about this. Oh well.

 

Apparently, this guy was wanted for evading a civil case against him brought on by his creditors. He and his accomplice had been hiding out in Boca Raton, Florida for two years under assumed names while doing everything possible to evade the authorities. To pay for stuff in cash, they had to have a lot of money. Man, I barely have bus fare. Disappointed smile

 

A plea bargain has been made and this guy will spend no more than two years in jail for skipping out with the creditor’s money. He’s also got to turn over the  $425,380 (£286,000) that was initially seized from his bank account. Considering he’s potentially sitting on top of all that largess, wow.

 

He’s going to be sitting pretty a few years from now.

 

The End. Rolling on the floor laughingRed heartRainbow

Safe Journey Back To Stardust, Leonard Nimoy

 

Leonard Simon Nimoy – March 26, 1931 – February 27, 2015

Sudden Hypersomnia

I went from not sleeping to sleeping too much. I don’t know how long this will last, but this sudden bout of hypersomnia sure is annoying. I can’t seem to get anything done. I’ll be in the middle of a project (like now!) and I’ll start yawning. Before I get to the end of it, my head is drooping towards the desk. This is completely insane. This is interfering in my talking with my friends, my work and even my eating schedule. There has to be a Happy Medium between Insomnia and Hypersomnia for me. There just has to be. Sad smile

 

Due to the above mentioned, I am no further along on the project I’ve been working on. The gloves are still at five rounds and judging by my yawning right now, there doesn’t look to be a change anytime today. I’m going to go to sleep one more time and try again in a few hours. If this fails to but an end to my sleepy spells, I’m just going to watch movies for the rest of today while I wait for tomorrow to come around. Perhaps a forced waking cycle will jumpstart my sleep patterns to act right. I don’t like it when things interfere with my work. Sad smile

 

As if oversleeping weren’t bad enough, I’ve been having nightmares about my former neighborhood again. PTSD worthy nightmares. I just can’t seem to shake the place from my system and it’s been more than eleven years since I’ve lived there. It’s got its claws in me pretty deep. I still can’t conceive how people are able to sleep comfortably at night while their fellow human beings are forced to live in such terrible circumstances like the ones I grew up in. Are people really that devoid of compassion? That’s mighty troubling if they are. Crying face

 

Well, I’m at the end of my wake time. Again. I’ll probably post again tonight if I get any further along on the gloves or tomorrow if I have to brute force my wakefulness. Later. 

Not My Clowns, Not My Circus…and Crocheting Too

This whole situation regarding the Cosby allegations has certainly been triggering over the past few weeks. Last night, I donned the asbestos body suit and dived into the comments of one of the Facebook article links. In that unhappy land, were a bunch of apologists, making brash assumptions about exactly what and how a person victimized by Rape should do and act. If it weren’t so pathetically sad, it would have been laughable. Most of the people tapping their fingers and flapping their gums have no experience being victimized and yet they felt honor bound to not only call the accusers every conceivable derrogatory name in existence, but to actually have the audacity to dictate, in their view, how someone who has dealt with such a trauma should behave. Madness.

Really, spare me such ridiculous nonsense.

None of these self appointed guardians of Cosby’s virtue were in the presence of accusers and accused at the time of the incidents, so how could anyone stand there and so vehemently declare his unblemished innocence?

I don’t know either Bill Cosby or his accusers. Nor do most people taking sides in this dogfight.

In all honesty, I don’t like him and never have. I think he’s an arrogant shithead who uses people for his own ends and castigates when he hasn’t got an ethical leg to stand on. Yet, you don’t see me screaming from the rooftops that he’s either innocent or guilty in this situation because I wasn’t there. I would hope that, when the full bevy of facts come to light, everything will fall into place on one side or the other. Sadly, I know from experience that cases like these often go unsatisfied because of gullible people who become staunch defenders even in the face of overwhelming evidence.

The whole thing just sickens me. Not my clowns, not my circus.

In brighter news, if I can ever get from under this somnolent haze I’ve been under these past few days, I am almost finished Ari’s scarf. I’m going to work on it tonight, provided I don’t pass out again and sleep for twelve hours.

Here’s the most recent picture of the scarf.

Everyone, and I do mean everyone, loves the pattern and the colorway of the yarn. The pattern is called the Noro Windowpane Scarf by Adrienne Lash and the yarn details are Knit Picks Chroma Fingering weight yarn in the colorway Prism. I honestly don’t know if Knit Picks will ever sell this colorway again but it’s worth a try petitioning them.

Now onto my craziness. I have been doing a lot of updates with regard to my online accounts recently. I’ve updated this blog’s appearance a bit, got a few new accounts that I’m looking forward to playing with and I’ve even updated my public Facebook page. I’ve also updated my OK Cupid page again, expanding on my interests on my profile. Hopefully, this will all aid me in meeting people I actually want to meet (OK Cupid), aid in my production of fresh new online content (everything else) and over all just save me from the headache of keeping up with multiple accounts of differing names.

Last but not least, I’ve been eating grapefruit. Ye gads, it’s disgusting! Being a completely unobservant silly person, I saw citrus-y fruit in the spot marks “Oranges” at the market and picked up a bag. Little did I know that what I picked up was, in point of fact, the most foul thing to evolve from the citrus line. Grapefruit. Ruby red grapefruit. I didn’t notice it was grapefruit until the Maternal Parental and I had gotten home and couldn’t return it since it’s a perishable. So, there I was, stuck with grapefruit that neither I nor the Maternal Parental could eat owing to medication interactions.

I tried to give it away but no one who was close enough to take it would come and get it. (glaring at Joel and Mike) So, after initially trying one grapefruit and swearing them off for all eternity, I began to eat the rest of them. Mike, in his infinite wisdom and goodness, explained how to eat them with a minimum about of bitterness. Apparently, you have to peel the membrane from the flesh of the grapefruit for it to be palatable.

Why do we eat this again?

I did this and was met with a bitter but not impossible to eat fruit. Then, I started getting dizzy and thought it better that I suspend taking my medications until after this little lesson in paying attention at the supermarket was over with. From a maximum of ten, I have two left after almost a week of eating them.

Of course, the downside is that I’m more dizzy than I’ve ever been before in my life. Somewhere at the intersection of medication still in my system and grapefruit consumption, I am having some nasty side effects. Oh well, it’s one more day or less if I eat these last two grapefruit tonight. Then, it’s three days to clear the grapefruit enzyme out of my system before I can go back, blissfully, to taking my meds.

All because I didn’t want food to go to waste. I’ve got a pathological issue with this that really should be addressed. I know what it comes from: brutally starving as a kid and as a young adult but there’s no reason for me to make myself suffer like this anymore. Yeeesh. 😦

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to work on the scarf and other projects. Later. 🙂

The Hair Saga – Relaxers AKA The Nightmare of My Youth

Last night, I took a picture and uploaded it to Facebook. Not the above picture, I just included it because I like it.

I had just washed my hair and hadn’t yet combed it out into a style yet. I liked the look of it so much, that I contemplated wearing it out in an Afro when the weather got warm again. A number of friends of mine “Liked” the picture and one even commented on it positively. As it usually does when the subject is women’s hair, the conversation turned to chemical/mechanical manipulation. I then bemoaned women’s reluctance to wear their hair in its natural state. As it usually does, this brought back memories of my own experiences with chemical and mechanical hair manipulation and the dire after effects of said treatments.

When I was very young, my female relatives and a few select hair dressers used to do what is called “Pressing hair”. A hot comb, made of metal, is heated to a medium temperature and combed through dry, greased hair until it straightened the strands temporarily. It’s really not a fun process to endure. I recall frequently squirming in my seat, hoping to avoid the ritual but, to the minds of the community around me, nothing could be worse than my own unprocessed natural hair. Apparently.

This went on for several years until the hue, cry and clarion call in the surrounding community became one of getting a relaxer in my hair as soon as possible. In particular, one teacher took special interest in commenting on my usually unprocessed hair by making derogatory remarks whenever she could. This was usually laughed at by other adults and students, so there was no hope of rescue from my eventual fate.

When I was ten years old, this teacher pressured the Maternal Parental into getting the first of several relaxers applied to my hair. It was arranged that, a local woman who knew how to apply the chemicals necessary would put it in my hair. So, one Sunday afternoon, we walked up from where we lived to the next block north of us and found the lady’s house. At the time, her daughter was battling leukemia and I guess it was a feeling of empathy and extreme sadness for her situation that kept me from fighting more against the whole endeavor. So, I submitted to this experiment.

I had been asked specifically if I had recently dug in my scalp using my fingernails. I replied that I had. This is an important factor when getting a relaxer. You see, the chemicals used are of such a high pH, that, any purchase it can get will cause scabbing. The Dark & Lovely Permanent Relaxer was applied to my hair and, initially, had a cool, almost icy feeling to it. It was cool in the house and I felt chills all over my body from the rapid application of the chemical mixture. I was slightly uncomfortable but that comparatively blissful cool feeling didn’t last long.

I began feeling a searing, flaming, burning pain all over my scalp. If the Sun had landed on my head, I don’t think it would have been as painful. For those in the know, this was two minutes into the process and I have very thick, tightly curled hair. I hadn’t even gone the full eight to fifteen minutes for my hair to straighten. For those not in the know, depending on your hair’s thickness and curl pattern, you have to leave the relaxer on for a set amount of time according to the recommendations on the box. In my case, it’s a full eight minutes or longer. So, to have blinding pain at two minutes in was not fun. Not fun at all.

Proudly Tomboy ten year old me started crying like a newborn baby. I screamed and screamed for them to take it out. Yet, the process was nowhere near complete and, because it was costing the criticizing teacher money, I had to wait. It was torture. It was beyond torture. So, I sat there, crying and learned a whole new level of what it meant to tolerate pain. Even my precociously procured period pain was nothing compared with this plasma fire sitting on top of my head.

Finally, the preset timer in the kitchen went off at the eight minute mark. The lady rushed me into the kitchen, sat me down in the chair, and put my head in the depression of the hairwashing cradle she’d set up in her sink. I closed my eyes, cried, and prayed for death. It was that bad. I got admonishments from the lady that I must be “tenderheaded” not to be able to take a relaxer. Right….

Quickly, the neutralizing shampoo was applied and rinsed through my hair. It’s pretty self explanatory. It’s a shampoo that neutralizes the chemical in the relaxer to keep it from reacting any further. The initial stream of water felt like fire on top of fire but it was only lukewarm water coming out of the tap. Eventually, the searing, burning pain subsided to a dull ache. Apparently, I had scabs in my head from the relaxer’s burn.

When I’d opened my eyes finally, I must have had a look of pure hatred on my face because the lady jumped back a bit. Wrapping a clean towel around my head, she ushered me into the diningroom of her home and began combing my hair out to dry it properly. Much to my shock, the comb went right through my hair. I sneaked a peak at my head and my beautiful mane was replaced by a wavy mass of shiny long locks. I was in shock, I didn’t know what to think. Apparently, the relaxer didn’t fully take but it was good enough for a first time, according to her.

She then styled my hair into a single cornrow, coming up the back of my head to terminate in a series of Shirley Temple curls at the front. My hair was pretty long back then. I was then informed that I’d have to come back in about six weeks to get a touch up to the relaxer. I was given a dire warning not to wash my hair the week prior or to dig in my scalp at all or the same burning pain would happen again. She didn’t need to tell me twice. Since this was going to be a regular occurance in my life, I committed that little factoid to memory.

The next day at school was heartbreaking. I was not well liked by most students and was frequently made fun of. I was used to that. I’d come to accept that as a part of my daily existance. What really hurt me was the school’s collective reaction to my new hairstyle. I had come in late that morning, and had gone directly to my fifth grade classroom to sit while I waited for everyone else to come back so the learning could begin. I think they were all in Physical Education at the time. When they came back to class, I was sitting in my usual seat and, after first doing a collective doubletake, they all started applauding.

All I could give was a wry smile at the time but, man, that really hurt to have that reaction. Even at that age, I knew that I was more than the sum of my parts. To be judged and found wanted based on something as trivial as my hair texture was painful. From there, the fake nice “false friends” started coming out of the woodwork to compliment me on my hair. Even the teacher had something backhanded to say. Ah, you just can’t win.

The relaxing of my hair became an almost regular ritual until I was thirteen years old. I was so sick of getting relaxers and the effects they caused by that point that I cut my own hair short in protest and to save myself the embarassment of the chemical fade I had. You see, the relaxer damages the hair follicle so that it eventually breaks off. My hair had gotten to the point where most of the permed hair had fallen out, but for a small amount at the top of my head. To save my sanity, I cut it all off. Surprisingly, the world didn’t end when I did.

This fractured bit of dysfunction was brought to you by the letters P and O and by the number 9. :-p

Okay, just messing with you. Thanks for reading a slice of my history. For more information on natural hair journeys, please check out Naptural85 and CurlyNikki for more information.

Dresses? What?!

Big shock, I am getting dresses in January or February. Thanks to the wonderful recommendation of my friend, I am going to OneStopPlus to get said dresses once I get paid for a commission.

I’m sure it’s crossed your mind, as it has mine, what a Tomboy like me would want with dresses? The best I can reckon is that, in my old age, I’m growing some femininity. This is a most reluctant, embarassing and painful process, I can assure you. Nevertheless, this femininity is asserting itself in my life in sneaky ways. Just a few months ago, I bought…perfume. It’s called Alien. I’ve also been drifting mentally to the idea of buying nail polish for the first time in almost twenty years. What’s next? Make up? Ew. O_O

I don’t know what’s happening with me. Maybe it’s some sort of pre-midlife crisis or something? In truth, I don’t even know where to begin with this type of clothing. I mean, I know that I don’t want anything too ostentatious or revealing. Beyond that, I’m stuck.

Here are some of my favorites:

  1. Double V Maxi Dress
  2. Dress with crinkle pleats in A-line w/convertible 3/4 sleeves
  3. Dress in maxi length with crochet trim
  4. Knit button front dress has floral embroidery
  5. Deep Blues Tie-Dye Maxi Dress
  6. Thermal Knit A-line dress
  7. Smocked Sweater Dress
  8. Mockneck Dress
  9. Denim sleeveless A-line Dress
  10. Corduroy sleeveless A-line dress

I probably like more things on that portal but I only went to page six of the dresses page. This femininity thing is weird. o_O

Anyone have any experience with this? Suddenly mentally bursting out in a different direction with regards to fashion and style choices?