Doubts

Dear Dr. W,

You don't know me well. You don't know I've continued working on no sleep, while I was horribly sick, or after burning myself on the steamers.

You don't know that I'm a damn hard worker who would never take advantage of the system for employees who get injured on the job.

Nor do you feel what I feel.

So do not tell me when you touch my tender neck and I jump I shouldn't feel that. How exactly would I time it?

Do not ask me why I'm not better. You're the doctor, you tell me.

Do not tell me what it should be, and why it should be better.

You don't know this but I have one vanity in life. My hair.

So when I come to the Doctor's office with bedhead it means today my arm hurt too much when I tried to brush it.

You don't know that getting dressed caused me discomfort and pain. That I am underdressed for New England weather because I struggled with my jacket and gave up.

Your dismissive nature and tone, the disbelief in my symptoms.

You know I am on Zoloft.

You know thats for anxiety and depression.

And you have the gall to demand of me why I'm not better, like I am preventing my own recovery?

You have failed your hipppcratic oath. You very nearly sent me into a depression episode with your doubt and disbelief.

You don't know me. No one has diagnosed me. I cannot drive until I understand what my injury is. I long for the independence I now lack.

So, Doctor W, I hope we never face each other again.

Or else it will get awkward when I refuse to talk to you. Because I do not trust you.

I have given you no reason to doubt. Me. The opposite cannot be said.

One Year Later: A Drabble

It was another surprise. Tobias covered Wren's eyes as he led her outside the house. There now stood a cobblestone archway with an oak wooden door without handle but a single keyhole. Carefully he produced a key and pressed it to into his wife's hand.

"Okay." He uncovered her eyes and gestured, "Open."

When she opened the door, an amazing garden would become visible even though the stone archway was free standing. There was a crystal clear spring. On one side, shallow enough for Jonas to play in if observed. From a pale barked tree hung a wooden seat swing, held by fine rope. That same tree boasted silver apples and a ladder, leading to a tree house with a slide that wound around the tree.

"I thought given the lives we live... A sanctuary for you and Jonas, protected by magic could be helpful." Tobias smiled bashfully. 

#FreeTheNipple

ets talk about breasts.

Lets talk about nipples.

Lets talk about how there is nothing inherently sexual about them.

A homosapien female breast's evolutionary purpose is to feed her young.

Just like you would use a spoon to give a child apple sauce. A breast is a biological spoon used to deliver milk to a new born

Men have nipples to.

Because in the womb they started as female.

A male's nipples were once female but he doesn't need to cover then up.

Why?

Because women are more prone to lactation? What exactly about feeding our young is so obscene?

Nothing.

The reason there is so much shame about a woman's breasts in American Society root back to when women were chattle. It was not their body to expose. There was a time where exposing one's ankle could put a man in a frenzy. Not because it was sexy persay but because it was normally forbidden.

That is how in America a breast has become such a scandal. We make such a big deal about hypersexualizing a woman's body, we have created a double standard.

We are prudes if we show nothing.

Asking for it if we show anything.

And Shameful if we show it all.

No more.

Men can lay out on the beach and expose their generally non functional nipple. On a man they serve no purpose. But a man can still leave them bear at a public pool.

A woman can be arrested for the same. A woman can be shamed and shunned for exposing her nipple for its evolutionary purpose. Many new mothers do not know their rights. They don't realize it.

This is a sexist double standard.

And not even in any way that makes sense beyond women are prizes and we shouldn't flash our treasures.

We are not prizes. Women are equal to men.

Nipple equality is a symbol. It represents the pay gap between sexes, the double standards, the color coded toy shelves at the store. Nipples represent being told we'd be prettier if we smiled. How "don't be such a girl" is an insult. A bare female nipple represents how when an all male cast lined up to hunt ghosts no one blinked but when an all woman team assembled the Internet declared it would suck as a result. The bare nipple points out that, as Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg pointed out: "[W]hen I’m sometimes asked when will there be enough [women on the supreme court]? And I say ‘When there are nine.’ People are shocked. But there’d been nine men, and nobody’s ever raised a question about that." The bare nipple represents the oppression of victims of rape and domestic abuse of both genders. The nipple represents the fact that if a girl wants to dress as Spiderman she's directed to a costume in pink and or with a skirt. The bare nipple represents the hidden camera show when all the parents tried to tell the boy he couldn't dress as Belle. The bare nipple represents the idea that if a boy shows interest in dolls, fashion, of emotion he is feminine and it is negative. The bare nipple controversy exemplifies our sexist gender roles.

If a woman does not have the right to lay out with bare nipples beside a man on the beach, why does it shock anyone we haven't had a woman president yet?

Human bodies are beautiful. Every shade of skin, from albino to pitch black. Short, tall, slim, curvy, even skinny and overweight. Even at a humans worst their body is an amazing testament of engineering and biology and for half a moment you could perceive the idea of intelligent design. How our limbs fit into our torsos. How our bodies twist and bend. Ten toes some of us can use to pick up stuff. Ten fingers that can be used to create novels, artworks, music, and other masterpieces. Two eyes to see the beautiful world, two ears to hear it. Two nipples to feed our young.

There are exactly three external parts of the body inherently sexual. Testacles, penises, and vaginas.

Breasts, butts, legs, ears, shoulders, and every other part of the human body are not. They serve other purpose. Certain people might be attracted or aroused by them in the right situations. But thats Okay.

Its about letting women breast feed and sun bathe topless the same as their male equals without scandal or shame.

Not letting their lover nicely nibble at their nipple. See the difference?

#FreeTheNipple

The Mask

The Champion. This was who I was from ages 12 to 23, when I finally had a nervous breakdown that forced me to evaluate my self image.

The Champion. The Chosen One. The Girl Who Lived. The Hero.

I was bullied in grade school. I had difficulties that turned out to stem from learning disabilities. Finally in sixth-grade I was outplaced from district into a much more attentive and nurturing school.

In six months I corrected a learning gap of eighteen months. It became clear not only did I have my learning disabilities (Dyspraxia and Dysgraphia), but I was crazy talented. I became this amazing success story and received so much praise.

Reminder this came to me after four years of mostly C's and a handful of D's and B's. My previous attention was negative which caused me to run and hide.

Instead I was number one. I became an amazing student not because I loved to learn but because people paid attention to my successes. Because I was a champion of my oppressed classmates with learning disabilities.

I do love to learn. But today's classroom in modern America is not about learning. It is about memorizing facts for tests you'll forget two days later. Its about acing standardized tests and covering all the content in not enough time. Its not immersive. Its not interesting. And it doesn't focus on helping students find their talents.

I wasn't athletic. I wasn't graceful. But I had a competitive streak. So Spryte, the curious geek girl who loved video games, pretend, and learning, fell to the side. Instead I began to wear the mask of the Risen Phoenix, who strived to achieve the best scores.

The blazing bird who had to keep flying no matter what fell to tje wayside. When my father's undiagnosed ptsd was at its worst and he began to demand more and more attention at home, I took to doing my homework after bed or on the bus. Homework was easier then, quick review to see if we got the lessons down. These were terrible study habits I developed under pressure.

But they worked. My grades stayed supreme. My horrible habits were encouraged. I made honor roll. Went on all the special trips. Got cash rewards. Joined the National Honor Society.

College was not as easy. As the American Education system loves to rinse and repeat I was able to bullishit my way through a lot of it, reciting facts engraved since kindergarten. College classes were the epitome of what is wrong with US education: Memorize for the midterm and finals, and forget.

Except no matter what your teacher says you won't guess exactly what details of the reading will be on the test unless you have photographic memory you have to memorize hundreds of pages of facts IF you were able to keep up with the notes {you weren't}.

Thats for one class.
No one had one class.
They had five classes demanding this, if they were lucky some of the content might crossocee.

Or worse they had 4 classes and a job.

My Brit Lit Surveys were a Nashcar Crash Course. I vaguely remember Beowulf, Chaucer, Shakespeare,  Gwaine and the Green Knight, and Faustus. Across both semesters. Oh and the Rhyme of the ancient Mariner she tried to get us all to promise to put in our high school curriculum.

I promise you we had at least 60 assigned readings-2 a week, 15 weeks, 2 semesters.

And the ones I mentioned I only remembered because:

I did a project on Wishbone Beowulf in Grade School
I adore Paul Bettany as Chaucer in Knights Tale
I also had a Shakespeare course and Shakespeare is rad
I realized Faustus inspired Pinky and the Brain
Serenity and Firefly talk about the Mariner and the Albatross.

You want to ask me what I, and English major, actually learned from all of my literature courses in college?

I need to find the grave of Herman Melville and defile it. His became a name I hated.

Otherwise a lot of it was information I already had in my mind palace from when I learned to learn.

My second to last semester I got tendinitis in my primary hand. Long story short I failed two classes, dropped out of a third, and got a pity B- and C in the other two.

Reminder I was 23 then.
I had not seen a grade below a B since I was 11 years old.
Since I was surrounded by enemies demanding to know why I couldn't make it from Chem Lab thay ran late to French on Time when I had to run back across the building to get my textbooks for the next two periods.

Since the title Cootie Queen had followed me from grade school and wheen my peers had to collect my papers they always made a habit not to touch them.

When I was called stupid for getting the right answer but not writing down my work because it would take me too long.

Because I was in an environment where a friend born the same weekend as I had blown me off to be popular.

The blazing Phoenix I had become was suddenly doused. The embers lasted through the summer.

In the fall when my life long undiagnosed anxiety disorder made a new friend of a depression episode my mask finally broke. So much of who I had been for a decade of my life, practically half of it, had been tied into academic success. I wasn't her.

I had failed.
Academic Probation.

Of course I say this now looking back. I've been to two outpatient partial hospitalizations and two therapists and a shit ton of soul searching to put it together.

Back then? I got a terrible cold one week. And the funk that came with it never went away. I stopped. I just stopped everything. Tumblr, gaming. Because I convinced myself if I had time for that I should be working. So I stared at computer screens and screamed and cried and felt guilt.

I stopped cooking. I barely ate. It was too much effort.

Getting dressed in the morning became a challenge. Twice I made it to the school lot and just... Stopped moving on the way to class. My homework wasn't done. I was late. Why bother?

A month later when my academics were once again out of control I learned my grandfather was dying.

What little fragments of hold I had broke. The mask shattered and for the first time in over a decade the real me was exposed to light, air, and life. I fell apart.

The thing is I was at rock bottom broken to pieces. I couldn't go further. My mother helped me up and took me to the ER where they got me on the right path.

I've begun to sort through the broken pieces and find myself.

The problem is all the life goals I set in college were based on a mask. An alter ego. A false identity. A messiah complex.

I (She) was going to be a teacher. I (She) wanted to give back and help students as she had been. I (she) never stopped to wonder if she actually wanted to teach.

For some reason it wasn't until my penultimate semester the actual reality of being a teacher was presented.

Until then she (I) had flown by. A lot of the classes blurred together. Classroom methods were outdated. Every student should have an individual learning plan. Standardized tests and the grading system are the devil. Harm none.

It should have been the other way.
We should have been tested on the technical aspects first.
Instead I discovered all the passion in the world could only go so far.

Maybe if I could have retaking the one course on plan building. But I couldn't. It was only offered in the spring and the time I took it the usual teacher was on sabbatical or something.

The usual teacher had been my academic advisor. Every time I left her office I had no idea what I was doing with my life and I was in tears.

The point is.

There was a girl.
She was a bright champion of her people. A Moses.
Moses was going to graduate and teach. After five years she was going to go to law school. Then she would become an education lobbyist. She would advocate for students of all wakes, but especially her people. She would expose all the flaws.

The  she would become president.

Seems like an an amazing plan. A good solid plan.

But I'm not Moses.
I can't be Moses. Trying to be Moses nearly destroyed me.

I'm just me.
I am still passionate.
I still want to help troubled kids and students.
But I don't want to teach.
I'm not built to teach.

Mom... I tried to tell her. She didn't like it. She looked betrayed. It became about well what else would I do.

I haven't brought it up since. I continued to apply at schools-in support positions.

Dad...
Dad doesn't even acknowledge my anxiety and depression are just at long lasting as his diabetes. Telling him all the time effort and finances that sent me to college may be for naught?

Not gonna help.

They bring up teaching as an issue because Texas doesn't accept Massachusetts licensure. And I haven't been able to tell them why it doesn't bother me.

I don't blame them. All the practical is on their side. And they're so used to her, to Moses...

They don't realize anymore then I did she was a lie.

Right, Blog

Ummmm
I got nothing today
Head is blank
Made some gif sets
And my writing prompt book is mia. So good night

A Tiny Purple Dragon

When I was in middle school I came by a small Dragon beanie baby-Legend. He was purple with a yellow belly and wings.  Being me I brought him to school to play with at lunch during action figure roleplay starring a love triangle around Prince Legolas between Storm and Xena. We worked with the figures I had.

In high school Legend went in a side pocket of my backpack. I once returned from the bathroom to see my best friend having words. He stayed there through college.

Legend had a character, like many of my Beanies. [Princess loved Teddy because he was modest. Valentino wanted Princess until Valentina. Waddles thought he could fly. Pinky ate anything thay wasn't food]

Legend was afraid. Of most things. Including flying and breathing fire. But he liked french fries.

In my final semester of community college, the weekend I went to see the University I'd continue at, I introduced Legend to another Beanie Baby Dragon: Magic. She was white with Iradescent wings

They Became smitten fast and suddenly Legend was flying without realizing it. Two nights before I left for college I held a lovely wedding for the two, including Storm and Legolas as guests. There are photos on my Facebook. Mom made cupcakes. They have been happily married since and recently adopted a hatchling.

I tell this story because I took the family to a playground today <3

Epic Fantasy Saga

You know what you should do?

Do you have access to a PSP, PS Vita,  PS1,  pS2, or Ps3? Possibly ps4.

Do you enjoy epic tales of heroics, medevial conspiracy, wars, adventures, magic, and a dash of romance?

Do you enjoy battle systems that splice rpg and action elements?

Do you like bad ass Dragon Armor?

Then you should rush to Amazon or PSN and find the classic game The Legend of Dragoon. It is still to this day the best RPG I have ever played and one of the best damn video games.

It truly is an epic fantasy saga that spanned four whole ps1 discs. Not just three and the fourth existed so you could beat the final boss like some RPGs (Looking at you Final Fantasy VII) but a whole fourth chapter.

There are parallel narratives that weave together in the end and it is very much a worth while investment. If I can figure out how to do a lets play video ever it will be for this game.