Sunday, May 31, 2009

Sorry Works!

We live in a society where no one accepts responsibility for their mistakes, no one is held accountable for their actions, and no one, EVER says they are sorry.

Let me you a small glimpse inside the day in the of un/underemployed where I spend day after day after may doing the same thing without any result: I can only offer you a glimpse into day in the life because there is no room left sit in my car, and I believe my apartment may actually be a fire hazard... This was my daily update posted at 7:30am:


I have done everything humanly possible to clean up the slack; however, I feel I have no other choice than to file a formal complaint so that my entire case is reviewed. The number of mistakes is so overwhelming that I simply don't have enough time to documents each and every one within their respective agencies.

I will try to be more specific later without going into too much detail, but unfortunately, that level of detail is required to file the necessary appeals. Ironic huh? This apartment is like my own little cage, and I am just pathetic enough to run around in circles, hoping to find the much like a hamster wheel, rodent chasing in circles hoping to found my way out my way out before I run out air. If only I had finished my damn PhD, I would do my own case study or reality show on how far we'll go to have nothing at all...

I have taken care of the subrogation claim, however, that does not minimize my level of frustration because I am DROWNING in paperwork. I have contacted several agencies for assistance such as the Disability Law and Advocacy Center; however, I do not have the resources necessary to provide them with a timely response and additional documentation they would lead to do a thorough investigation. There is a very small window of time permitted to file a Request Reconsideration, or file administrative appeal.

This is not new information to anyone who has been reading this message-- and if it is, then the agency involved is in much worse shape than I believed. I WANT A RESPONSE~ I WANT AN EXPLANATION- and oddly enough, I WANT AN APOLOGY!

The simple fact that the only time I received a response from MH was when the "fraud" was entered into the conversation. Yet I was not the one who introduced it into the dialogue. It is very unfortunate that my advocate from the DLAC retired just days before we were scheduled to review my case. That was three years ago, and not a single person who sat in on that meeting has acknowledged that it even took place. So here we are, three years later, and I am asking for the exact same things: assistance filing a social security appeal, vocational rehabilitation, and to be treated with a shred of common courtesy. I cannot believe I have to spell that out for you. For anyone. Professional or otherwise. Has no one read my file? Because anyone who has would understand why I find it to be beyond comprehension that trained mental health professionals would do this to any human being, obsessive compulsive or not. Since I first moved to Nashville, I worked very hard to improve community services and de-stigmatize mental illness, yet here I am having to say this AGAIN, OUTLOUD.

I guess none of remember that I same almost the same person I was when I first moved down here. Actually, that not true. I am FAR WORSE, and feel as though I have been stripped of my dignity, professionalism, and any hope I once had to go back to work and be integrated into the world of the living.

I do not even feel comfortable in attending the very came community activities that I used to helps plan. I am so completely baffled and just plain horrified that I actually have to say these things outloud.

There is local attorney I have known or many years. He recently made some very serious, very public and very embarrassing mistakes. Prior to that event, he worked on legislation capping damages in medical malpractice claims. He had an expression that he would use quite often and that was, "Sorry Works!" He was right. "Sorry" does work, yet still haven't heard it being said. Ultimately, those two little words became the driving force behind his political legacy and the force at the core of his being when he went in to recovery. The last interview he did on TV, he told the reporter that he does not wish to be remembered for the mistakes, but how went about correcting them. People, listen up, "SORRY WORKS!"

I also want to be clear that every time I have to call Social Security or DHS, it only compounds my cost of living expenses (40 cents per minute on the telephone -- a bill which is not even considered to be a justifiable expense) Most agencies do not include self-addressed stamped envelopes, and I cannot afford the postage required to mail out all of the requested documentation (e.g., utility bills, medical bills, pay stubs, etc.) So when one your employees tells me that he has removed himself from my case, I should not have to spend 29 minutes on old with the Social Security Administration just to learn that he was trying to intimidate me by threatening to have my funds frozen immediately. I think I should be reimbursed for that phone call. I think he should have to pay out out of his own pocket.

That statement was made not only to me, but also in front if other employees at your agency. It is not only irresponsible and unprofessional, but it also probably illegal, and justifies the complaint I will be filing against him in order to re-cap dome the damages. It is called breach of fiduciary duty, although I expect you probably already know that, but if you don't, you should look it up along with subrogation, since I'm pretty sure that one falls should the scope of services you were contracted to provide for at that time.

Fortunately, a number of agencies will take online complaints. Unfortunately, my internet was interrupted for non-payment for several weeks and there is no funding resource or community agency that provides subsidized Internet access or free printer ink. Transportation costs are ridiculous so going to the library is not an option. Neither is returning to work right now, since it would cost too much to get to the interview or provide official (expensive) copies of my graduate school transcripts necessary to update my teaching credentials, were oh, such a good investment!

Set aside, I am not the most user friendly person right about now, so I have found it difficult to put on a happy face so I can work at McDonald's which pays more than Metro anyway.

The subrogation claim has been resolved but I just learned that my breast biopsy was not pre-authorized and I was told by my INSURANCE CSR (the person who answers the phone!) that I should not have the surgery that has already been scheduled at the Women's Hospital for 8/21/2008. AmeriChoice (United HealthCare) did they did not authorize the biopsy last month, and have not, as of yet, received a request prior authorization for the surgery next week...

This was a lovely 54 minute conversation because he would not mail me copies of my EOBs or confirm that what, if any, requests have been submitted for payment since my last inquiry and change of address. He finally told me to call the state (Tennessee) which I have already done several times, and they told me to call Social Security but it was already past business hours and I am not authorized to make changes to my file anyway.

I'll be in touch when I can. Unfortunately, each agency has different deadlines, and it takes a lot of energy and time to scan in, copy, or respond to each inquiry in writing, so I find myself running out of time since I can't seem to get anything done unless I just do nothing at all.

And even though my life is a living hell, I have almost learned how to enjoy the sheer irony of it all... for someone with OCD and posttraumatic stress, this is truly a ridiculous little experiment.

I am becoming increasingly inspired to just burn every last document I own, throw away my keys and my cell phone and take Spotty some place where we can live off the land and ignore the fact that society has me chained to a computer screen that screen that does provide the basic necessities I need to live in this .

I have come this far, and I am becoming rather skilled and at expressing myself without needing an audience or the obsessive need to check every fact, throw, and typo for capitalization and perfection.

So for now... I write.

Maybe later, I'll read, but if there is any justice left in this world, someday, I'll actually live.

Good-bye for now. I need a break.

With love,

Blame It On The Rain

ed phoning home ouch
~fl)L~Yl8, 2003

After being rejected from a job that pays $18,000 / year at the women’s prison, a job that pays $21,000 teaching Head Start, getting fired from Red Lobster (because apparently, I am just not quite Red Lobster “material .”

I went down to the Tennessee Career Center to take advantage of their high-speed internet, free printer ink, paper, and maybe, just maybe a little perspective on the sad state of affairs in the American job market today.

My loyal readers know that my job expectations salary requirements have steadily declined along with my feelings of self-worth and esteem. I am almost willing to take back what I said try to get a job at Burger King if they would have me.

My career aspirations have dropped with each passing year. I make no excuses. Why bother.

I got hooked up with a career counselor two master’s -- one in Educational & Career Counseling; a second in Counseling Psychology. This is the guidance counselor I have been asking for since... well... since... I was old enough to realize that my mind worked just a little bit differently...

I was never in any one school long enough to have a guidance counselor.

Other than Professor Mark back in college, Bob Crain, my saving grace through the toughest times in my life, no one told me I was wasting my time and money…

Most of all I was wasting my window of opportunity… a moment in time when I almost had a world of opportunity. Without any real place to go after college, I felt I had no other choice than to become a professional student of sorts—you know, the ones who stay in school forever to take advantage of cheap housing, health insurance, and student loans.

Well, that was my first mistake.

Unfortunately, I wandered aimlessly through the system acquiring useless knowledge and letters after my name that do not mean jack in the real world.

I was never there long enough to either test my “aptitude” or implement any course of study. See—it is not my fault, you ignorant fuktards!

Ha! How do you like that?

… Blame it on my parents

… Blame it on me

… Blame it on the rain…




…Blame it on the “acting-advisor”

…The “acting-director of financial aid

...The “acting Dean”


None-the-less, the fact remains that I am apparently completely unemployable, and I would I simply refuse to take any more of those tests. Even the local mall does a background check and administers some type of personality test that I clearly cannot pass!

Listen up, you dumb fucks, I would not have bad credit if I were a thief.
I would not need a job if I had enough money to pay my bills. And when it comes to that “personality assessment” I am sorry to say that I do in fact think there is a big difference between someone who steals food to feed his family and Winona Rider.

When I saw Susan Cowden in the Tennessean this week, I was somewhat dumbfounded to see that she is the person in charge of giving people jobs.

Although I am quite certain she has no recollection of who I am, I can tell you for certain I remember her!


Not really an issue any more, since they clearly do not fit into my budget anyway! Nope. I will not take ‘em for Vanderbilt, and I will not take ‘em for law school. Not for Harvard, not for Tennessee, and I most definitely will not take ‘em for Dave Cordray (and yes, Dave, you are still in fact, such an asshole!)

Who gives a shit anymore? If you told me a fat bearded lady at the circus could decide my fate and tell me what direction I should choose next-- I would take it! I would even throw in a fat tip just for being smart enough to know that any answer-- no matter how grim is far better than just wandering aimlessly through life looking back on what might have been-- at THIRTY! AT THIRTY?

I wish I could say that after all this time I developed other ego strengths and finally felt okay with whom I am, you know.... “Just being me.” but I am sad to report that my “condition” (diagnosis) was amazingly accurate and predictable. Just like all the doctors said! I wonder if they derive joy out of being right— if they crack open a bottle of aged liquor in my father’s office and say, “see, we told you so. We told you there was nothing you could do. And so nothing they did. By doing nothing and I do mean nothing-- the illness take will its course, and I am now, in fact, nothing.

Nothing costs nothing (at least to him) and daddy made another fine investment, on the other hand, nothing has drained every hope, fear, security—chance-- every last breath from my body. I might have believed in me. And I know I’m alive because a tear just rolled down the side of my cheek. I am home.

I am the exact same 5 year old who needed to win the spelling bee. In college, I was the one to set the curve, not just make it, break the rules, and, break [them] I did. There is no glory in being second best. Second smartest, second brightest, or second anything.

But I still have not learned, for some reason with all of my failures, I am reminded of in so many ways. Me, myself watch them play out every time I shut my eyes or open them. Yes- blink, sometimes I ask myself, how did I get here? How did this happen? What happened to all of the plans I made for myself~ where did they go? Where did I go?

Constantly replayed over and over and over again in my mind. I must be FUCK1NG CRAZY! But at this moment, here, even as I say the words, I am not truly insane. 1 am merely in pain, what a tragedy that those two words rhyme-- they ruin what could have been a very profound misnomer of the human condition and the labels we hold so dear.

And so my search for mediocrity continues, and I wait for it each and every day; hoping it will find me beaten and worn from the storm… from all of the storms.

But dammit, it is still there.
I still have questions.
Those damn “elyssa” questions that made my professors so proud.
Damn ideas, damn thoughts, damn hope.

My mother still calls me everyday to see if I went down to get food stamps to feed myself. Fuck her and her fucking things. Fuck diamonds, couture, and fuck that life.

I was here mom, the whole time. Just not pretty enough with out any surgery.
Not pretty at all with all those scars.

I am the exact same 5 year old who needed to ace the Spelling Bee.
Set the curve, not just make it.
Break the rules; and break them I did.

There is no glory in being second best,
Second smartest,
Second brightest,
or second anything.

Being second sucks.
It sucks every goddamned second of the day.

Goodnight my dear friends, lets all try to have sweet dreams. Pepe awaits, as does Alanis and a pack of smokes that I can already taste. I hope you all still love me. I do actually believe that I deserve love and kindness despite the obvious fact that I am a royal pain in the ass. I refuse to work in Burger King.

What could have been, what should have been-- what might have been if you let me be…

m.e.



When in Chinese, the word Crisis is composed of two characters: One represents danger and the other represents opportunity...

JFK

Read Between The Lines









































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I AM SOOOOO EMBARRASED!










Sorry for the disconnect... phone battery went dead. There is some good news (finally) Judge -- will be in the bench tomorrow...

Thank f'ing G-d! Because he is only person I can think of might actually take a look at the FACTS rather than the rumors. How many times do I have to call TennCare, Social Security, or the Mental Health Coop to tell to fix their own mistakes?


Ironically (and yes, I do think it is okay to cry, but also think it okay to laugh at your own problems too ("Lean to laugh at your problems, everyone else will.” When I told my rep payee to take good records, I let him know that even IF he things I'm pout my mind with paranoia, It would be so much easier to just do that than it would be to deal with me.

Legal Aid won't represent me because they said they limited resources-- well guess what? SO DO I!!!!

I went back the pharmacy and THEY DELETED scripts from my record.

Legal Aid & Pro-bono said they cannot recommend anyone to take my case for free since my father and sister are both attorneys they told me that they would have to either (1) come to Nashville (from Austria and Philadelphia to represent me or (2) make them pay for attorney fees.

Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t that a little fuKt up? I spoke to someone at the PHD program because they read 64044: Medical Alert.

My sister is furious with me blames me for ruining my mothers wedding in Las Vegas, oh yeah... but she IS a "LAWYER." Whatever...

I drove 30+ miles again today to get my medical records, only to learn once again, they cannot find them.





I am so glad that there are at least a few people out there who remember me from when I was a kid people, and a few people who can identify without three blood tests to be transferred to a medical facility.




Yes, I ASKED to be committed. I called for help. I said it every single way I knew how, without asking people who were most able to give it.




I never forget a slight, and I am extremely grateful to people who didn't ask questions or doubt my intentions. I will hold themin my my thoughts, and can safely peomise that I will never agai call upon you for help.




There is something to be said for paying it forward. So to people who actually took the time to phsyically see if I was okay, and to two very specuial ladies who brought me vclothing after everything I had in my possession ws taken away from me... and to the photographer who actually observed my injuries, thank you. I canhonestly say that I took one for the team. For the tweeters and twackers who let me know I was alone in my journey.. you're right I wasn't. You can tweet for peeps without bering certifiably nuts. That's not to say I am not certifiably nuts, but I thinks it rather pretentious for y'all to think that you know my mind better than I do after after 36 years. I want to believe that this feel connected to a world filled with hatred, bigotry and violence.... I made it through. And I already paid it forward.




It is pretty clear what I need, and I so tired of people asking why I can't find one. Have you seen the news? What I need is hot water. What I need is a safe place to go. What I need is the idiot who fucked up my computer to fix the damn thing. I wouldn't having a safe place for Spotty, and a little bit of acceptance. So out of respect for people that I once held in high regard, I chose to take the proper channels. I fed them information without claiming ownership... I sold a news story for $1.00. Kool... I made a dollar last year. That will pay the bills.


There were people I respected and admired, and now see as shallow and insincere. People who are afraid to be associated with someone "like" me? What exactly does that mean anyway? Aren't you impressed that I'm a Harvard Lagacy? Am I not one of the "Chosen People?"


Do you think I am living on a tiotal income of $615.00/month because it is fun?


If you can do better, pleeeeeze let me know...
If I can see somebody else doing it, then maybe I could figure out how to do it myself. I am willing to learn from anyone. Just think of all the valuabnle lessons Hitler taught us??? Yes, people are sheep.
I learned even your mistakes, so is there nothing of value that I can bring to this community???




Would you like to try going on welfare for three months or so? I think yo would enjoy the application process. After all there is nothing quite like it in the world.




So, I was "ordered" not to vvolunteer, not to call the police if I hear gun shots, because only crazy people call 911 several times in one day. Only thing is, "crazy" people exagerate the situation, so clearly if I have lived for three years, then I can certainly wait another few months. Really?
I am only allowed to use than 100 words or less in my written correspondence. Thank God for Twitter, it is good training.
BTW (by the way ;-) The Gettysburg Address was only 267 words. Less than two tweets. Granted, I am no Lincoln, but every once in a while, I do say something important.
There is something to be said for brevity, but their is also something to be said about honesty, isolation, and the value of technology for people with disabilities. So let this be my project for "Save The Internet" because Legal Aid thought it was kinda funny when I told them that my Internet was scheduled to be diconnected.


Who needs the internet anyway? Who needs information, access, a forum, a voice??? And even if some tweets make me laugh, is that so bad?? Maybe even a small diversion from reality? Am I not worthy?


I foolishly believed that by volunteering in the community, I would come accross a real job with real wages and real benefits. Yeah, that was a great idea.


Don't worry.. I learned my lesson. I will volunteer no more. After all, why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?


Let it be known I'm a pretty quick study. I am cursed with a exceptionally vivid memory. My cortisol levels have been running low since '95. You figure it out. (Robert Sapolsky: Why Zebra's Don't Get Ulcers)





I am truly offended by the events that led people to call my family half way around the world and the country, when all they really needed to fdo was ask me. Not all "kids" are lost... some don't want to be found.


I was told to "go home." Well guess what, people? I am home.


Who thought it was a good idea to call my mommy and daddy to tell them how I am "embarrassing myself?"


Really??? Do You think they care? KUDOS TO YOU!



www.youtube.com/v/xumsvSi8qz0&hl=en&fs=1&color1=0x3a3a3a&color2=0x999999&border=1">



Yes, I am reckless, I am loud, I am always right, and I am "out of my mind fucking nuts" also known as "OTWFN: Off The Wall Fucking Nuts" and that is the presumption. Don't forget, I am very much father's daughter, and am very much my mother's alibi. So thanks. Points!


All the better for them because the crazier I am, the less embarrassed they feel. How about some extra credit for their excellent parenting skills.
Crazy? Loud? Different?
Guilty, as charged. I am sooo embarrassed... how dare I post crazy shit like this online? Don't I know how bazzaar that seems? Don't you? Because let's face it... there are two possibilities:


(1) I'm telling the truth, and it's serious,
~or~




(2) I'm NOT telling the truth, and it's serious.







So for everyone who told me to go home... did you actually think my parents would rush in to rescue me? You have my parents would rush in to rescus me... sorry, but no. Now I'm stuck here.




And for the record, even suggesting that there is "home" to go to... well than YOU haven't been paying attention.




Don't you realize I am home?




I find it so hard to believe that after all this time people find it easier to speak around me and actrually think that is in my best interests? Sorry, but no.




And, you need not worry-- I don't need to be told twice where I'm not welcome.




I am less than 20 miles from several people who called Philadelphia, only to find that they don't want me either. Why would they possibly want to have me in their pristine, well-decorated homes when you paint such a lovely picture.







Guess what-- I' have never even seen my father's home... nor do I expect an invitation to Thanksgiving or Christmas.




So to all the people who "phoned home" to complain about e.d., job well done, you're stuck with me now.




And since I can't get a get a job, anmd I can't really afford the gas to go anywhere, I donb't think you need to call in a crisis team. I am perfectly happy sitting here by myself listening to my favorite youtube videos and thinking about everyone else tucjed safe and snug in their Ethan Allen beds. Good night to you all... you don't need to read this, and of course, you can ALWAYS hit delete.



That makes me sick. I never was really was a child, and it is really odd that people would start treating like one now. That is such bullshit, because child support was terminated on August 15, 1988. No other provisions were made, and I earned more money at 14 than I did in the last 10 years out together.



I miss the Barge. I think it is ridiculous that people would complain that I am "embarrassing myself.” At least I'm willing to take ownership of that one... was it less embarrassing to find out my mother contacted my professors and withdrew from classes because I was "too ill" to go to school.



Is any less embarrassing then being left at the airport on Thanksgiving Day? Or told that you do not deserve to go the dentist, that you can't sleep in the guest room if you have nightmares because you I might ruin the furnituDo think I actually give a shit about embarrassing myself? Do you think for a second they are counting on it? Did you think for one moment that there might, just, may be a reason I do not want to go home.



Is it less embarrassing than having your mother finds you "housing" at a long-term state psychiatric hospital, or being told that you might not have a fill on your soda because it cost $1.00? Is it any less embarrassing than finding out you have a new two months after he was born?


Yeah, I am embarrassed. Send me to Canada PLEEEZE!!!


Yes, I can act crazy. Yes, I may be crazy, and I sure a sh-t wish I was because there might be a possibility that created all of this "in my head.” It is not normal to have 43 addresses on file. It is not normal to care more about a cat than any single human alive. So, no, I am not normal, but does that make me bad? Does it make me dangerous? Does it want being told to "leave town" or take my own my own life so that society is not burdened by caring for me financially? Well, guess what-- I do not really care anymore, and there been many times in my life where I would rather not be alive, I refuse to let "them" Not like that.



So for so many people who have silenced me before, keep in mind I am NOT psychotic. And I am definitely mot "normal"



I am done. I so "over it" by now that if your embarrassed by my actions than you are giving me way too much power. I can own behavior, and I can accept my feelings. If you.



But I will not live in fear for the rest the of my life. And if I do get evicted tomorrow, so be it. It won't be the first time. And if your really lucky, there will some great new books donated to the public library. Yes, I AM ANGRY. Anger is a very strong emotion that is key to motivational theory. So yes, I am angry AND I am motivated.



According to my mother, lovely little creature that she is, I was evicted form childhood homes in Cherry Hill, Lawrence, Great Neck (North and South) and yes, of course, that was somebody else’s fault too.



Apparently was all my stepmother's fault. Nice. At least their mother would not allow them to be thrown away with each new boyfriend, tummy tuck, Jaguar or diamond ring.



So aren’t you guys glad you called my parents because now your stuck with me, my medical bills, and student debt. Isn't that special? I came here to WORK. I came here to be a part of something. I came here to lave the past behind me. I filled my long nights volunteering at the Family Shelter. I spent my dads sleeping in four-hour shifts, and hoping that my oh-so-vivid dreams might actually be pleasant for just one night.



So if and when I do leave, you can trust that I might just have to look back and think... about my death benefit of $543 dollars and the mound of debt I acquired because think I'm capable enough to work.




Why do I know that? Because I'm paying attention to the rules and I'm payoing attention to the news. It is not so random, and it not so crazy.



So here's your challenge: Blue vs. Blue; Curtis v. Klein, and Pennsylvania Act 62. But don't worry, I'm am NOT a lawyer. And I have never fioled a single lawsuit in my entire life. Yes I have filed appeals, but that'd getting old since no one bothers to follow up. What the ~ is wrong with THAT picture??????








All I can say is this, I tried. I tried damn hard. But ya know, crazy is, crazy does.



Aren't you guys lucky to have me? This is my home. This WAS my home. Thanks for making me feel so welcome. e.d. over and out.


Writing at Will: Read at Your Own Risk

No time to edit- so don't bitch to me if there are typos-- I don't care right now. If your cool with a few gramatical errors for now, then so am I. THAT is progress... so read at your own risk. I've got hundreds of these memos and I don't feel like going through them all... Twanks May 31, 2009

Many things in the financial world do not make sense. Such as having my tax return rejected from the IRS because someone had filed a tax return using my social security number.

Countless calls to the IRS, and although they were able to identify the person who had used my number fraudulently, they would not release that information to me so I could file a police report for identity theft (as I was instructed to do by regulatory authorities.) It took the IRS 9 months to send my refund, something that most people receive in less than 2 weeks.

Therefore, after about a decade of this situation, and going through the motions year after year, to provide alternative forms of Income verification, I think I am well within my rights to be a little agitated.

This year I will be fling for an extension, as other related issues are currently under investigation.

Now I do not have much money, in fact, I do not have any, but I find white-collar crime despicable and repulsive.

When taken into account the substantial cost to society, not to mention the havoc it wreaked on my life, I respectfully think that maybe you should not assume that someone is making false claims just because you do not think it sounds "right."

Many things do not "sound right" however, that does not mean they are not true. Gotta go now, I have a date with eBay too auction my social security card to the highest bidder. Clearly, it is not worth anything to me so long as the authorities fail to do their part in ENFORCING the laws associated with Identity theft. Sure, it is easy to blame the victim as being irresponsible or somehow negligent in these situations, however I will refer you to some fascinating research that has been done on the emotional consequences of Identity theft. The cost is far more than just an issue of financial discomfort; it is something that can ultimately leave you questioning your own identity.

It should be noted that Identity Theft is a criminal matter, so whatever costs associated with such events, the victim is not reimbursed for any of the monies that they have lost in as a result. Sure I could file a civil suit, but the IRS does not tell you who is using your Soc even when they find out.

It would be nice to be reimbursed for the costs of having your life hijacked for 14 years out of 36. To have your world stop and completely disrupted by something that is ultimately completely beyond your control.


I do NOT have an external locus of control by nature, however for those who believe you are the master of your own domain, let me assure you that shit happens. Seligman, learbed helplessness, like a rat in a cage, or pecking away on an intermittent reimbursement schedule just hoping to find a pellet.

It happens more often than you think, and it is a complicated, intricate, and time intensive to resolve such crimes. It is like trying to unravel multiple sets Christmas lights only to find that after you have put the time in, the damn things don't even work; and 2. Having to test each and every mini bulb in the chain to find the weakest link.

Now I don't fuck with Christmas lights, one I'm a Jew, 2. I think they're tacky as hell, and 3. I have OCD OCD OCD- with fear of fire at the top of the list!

I once waited two years after moving in to along the one. They don't work the details only to find yourself in more complicated... To be continued...

Edd, Ed.M.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

My Worst Nightmare Revisited

I am standing in a sea of unfamiliar faces. There is violence everywhere. Red. Broken. Bleeding.

I am holding Pepe, and he is broken. Bleeding. Clinging to me, clinging to life. I rush through the crowd looking for safety. There is no way out. Just angry faces in a sea of violence.

In the distance, I see two police officers. I run to them believing they will help me find a way out of the madness. Believing they will bring me to safety. A safe haven. Shelter from the storm. Free from the madness. Free from the violence. Free from this sea of unfamiliar faces so I can get my bleeding, broken, suffering friend the help he needs to make him well. The help we need to be whole again.

When I reach the podium, the men were facing the crowd. They were standing there, backs to me; they just stood there to face to the crowd banging their black, wooden nightsticks while on just standing there Beating their nightsticks against their palms. I call out but no one listens. No one can hear me above the roar of the crowd. So I tap them on the shoulder, holding Pepe close to my heart— hoping they will instinctively see the love and fear in his yellow gold eyes. Of course, they would rescue us. Yes, they would rescue us and bring us to safety. Free from the violence, free from the madness. Free from this hell and take us somewhere safe. Somewhere far, far away from here. And then they turn. In unison, they turn around to face me, and I look at them. I am horrified. I am horrified because these are not police officers at all. They are clowns. Literally, figuratively, in every way they are simply clowns. Clowns in uniform. In unison. In unanimity. Inhumanity. My worst nightmare. The cops were clowns.

Pepe was “only” a cat, but I made him a promise that I intended to keep. I would give him everything I longed for: keep him safe, keep him fed, make him well, I would give him love. Lots and lots of love. Unconditional love. Always. Until the day my perfect little angel would return to heaven. And I did. And he did. And we did. Alone, together, Pepe gave me strength when I was too weak to care for myself. He could not talk, but he sure tried!

After seventeen years, Pepe died the other day, and my worst nightmare did not come true. I loved him until the very end. Even then he gave me the most perfect and fitting gift. He gave me freedom. He gave me comfort. He gave me hope and he gave me peace.

I know that I can love. I am capable of complete, total, unconditional love. He was like a child. Pure, innocent and completely, totally, unconditionally loved. Yes, I am capable of love. I am capable of complete, total, and unconditional love. Pepe, my precious angel, may you rest in peace… There is a better place for you now. There always was.