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Pro Ugly

April 19, 2014 by

soapboxpileThe announcement by Chelsea Clinton of her impending motherhood later this year brought out the hate, we should have known it would. As I read some of the twits tweeting, I thought to myself, is there nothing, nothing at all off-limits or out of bounds. My other thought was, ‘God people are mean-spirited and ugly’.

How did we get this way?

The argument surrounding abortion is a nasty one. Full of spite, religious rhetoric, name-calling, slut shaming and vitriol.  There is no one, not a single person I know who is Pro-Abortion, only those who are pro-choice; thinking human beings, mature adults who have found the wherewithal to understand there are reasons, sometimes emotional and other times physical a woman may choose to end a pregnancy.

I told my own very personal abortion story in three parts:

Part I is No Bastards No Choice

Part II is Never Again, I Will Hate You

Part III is History isn’t Mutable, But We Are

It isn’t a pretty story, no hearts and flowers there is no happy ending. My personal story doesn’t put a positive spin on choice. It does however; reinforce the need for choice to exist for every woman in this nation, no matter her age, socio-economic or marital status.

This fight, it truly isn’t over ‘babies’, were it over ‘babies’ we would not see children living on the streets, living in cars without enough to eat, without enough to wear in the winter, without clean water. Were this truly about the ‘babies’ we would not be fighting to keep intact programs to provide for born children, for healthcare, education and their overall welfare and well-being.

No this is not about ‘babies’ or children. This fight is about slut shaming and it is about religious imposition. This fight is about smashing a great big red A or S depending on which you prefer on the breast of every woman who demands a life of her own, including the freedom to choose how, when and with whom she will have sex.

A and S extended

The fight over abortion has been ugly; it is about more than abortion though and none of us should ever forget this salient truth. It is about access to healthcare for women and children, as well as, access to birth control for all women and young men too. This fight has extended well beyond the fight over access to safe abortion, it is about whether women have the right to control their lives, not just their reproductive lives, their entire lives including economic, educational and even whom they choose as partners. This fight is about our future as women in this nation, thus it is also about the future of men.

I will not get into the science of when a pregnancy represents a viable human life, we honestly could argue this issue day in and day out and it would break down into name calling and ideology within no more than five comments. I tend to believe what those who have studied human development, embryology and medical science tell me, for a view of the entire process I quite like Visible Embryo I think this site does a superior job of showing and telling the story.

We use conventions to identify the sides of this battle over women, their bodies and their choices. Naming the one side Pro Life is inaccurate and poorly defines them. I do not want to spend time defining the contradiction of the Pro-Life platform with some of their other ideologies, suffice to say it is impossible to align them, at least for me.

This isn’t to say all those who are ‘Pro-Life’ fall into the vehement and ugly ideologies some are truly well meaning with sincerely held beliefs. Arguing with these folks regarding ensoulment is a waste of breath. My preference is simply to accept their beliefs and explain gently I have a different belief and am entitled to it, Constitutionally. I then ask, if you are truly Pro-Life do you support the following and if so how do you align that support:

  • Reduction of SNAP
  • Reduction of Education programs, for adults and children
  • Reduction in funding for after school programs and Head Start
  • Reduction in funding for Free Lunch programs
  • Reduction in WIC
  • Reduction to programs to help disadvantaged neighborhoods and youth
  • Reduction to Planned Parenthood funding, which is sometimes the only source of healthcare for women
  • Reduced access to Birth Control for women
  • Abstinence only education

I have likely missed several programs; these were the ones I could think of off the top of my head that directly affected women and children already born, in this world and needing our help every day.

Getting back to what spurred this entire rant though, poor Chelsea. She no sooner announces the happy and momentous news that she will be delivering her first child later this year the ugly begins. What is it with the The Ninth Annual CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund Awards - Inside Arrivalsopposition; nothing can simply be a happy announcement of a new stage of a young woman’s life. This nation is all turned in and upside down when Kim Kardashian delivers a child or when the royal family has another prince. For these events, we spend hours of bandwidth. But for the daughter of a President, we have nothing but scorn?

All I can say at this point, there is no one I know who is Pro-Abortion. Many I know who are Pro-Choice, without qualification or question. Should there be limitations in the later stages of pregnancy, yes of course, however these are well known and accepted by all right thinking human beings. The ugliness of this argument and how it leaks into everything, even the happy announcement of a young women who is not in the public eye except infrequently is simply another indication of how very ugly this nation has become. It makes me sad.

A good read (short).

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rabbi-aaron-alexander/stop-calling-it-a-pro-life-movement_b_3577440.html

Filed Under: Series: The Soapbox Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,

Rubber Fat and Training

May 4, 2013 by

Each morning that I show up for a training session, I find myself staring at this lovely pair of rubber fat and muscle reproductions. I suspect someone somewhere thought used properly these would inspire me to work harder. Not at all, in fact these do nothing but inspire me to create X-rated pictures. Great globules of fake fat are not inspiring rubber muscle does not enthuse.

These are toys they leave us to play with after our workout, which is something to look forward to though. As we stand there, sweating glistening we can poke at the deep pocked (gad they even gave it cellulite) rubber fat dreaming of the day we will no longer have so much of it. We can stroke lovingly the deep red dense fake muscle and pretend someday we will have some, or even that we have some underneath our fat. I think the trainers at my gym leave these out not as demonstration models but rather so their clients can de-stress after workouts, so we can bounce, poke, prod and even tear a little. The result of my imaginative poking is this.

fatone_2

That piece of paper is my days workout.

I have a fantastic trainer, though I often picture her in leather thigh high boots, a bustier with whip in hand (no this isn’t a twisted fantasy you have not discovered my dark secrets). My trainer has a great understanding of my limitations and works with me to find balance between my great desire not to re-injure and my need to get healthy. She is also a fantastic listener, I get a twofer with her, “move your ass” and girl-talk. Joellen (what a great joellen_2name, right) understands when I say, “I can’t do that”; I am not whining I am actually saying something within my injured body is not going to allow me to do what she is asking. I love this about her!

My trainer is like me, not quite normal on the social spectrum. She isn’t what you expect; her hair is like mine all spikey and unanticipated. She wears unmatched shoes, everyday it isn’t an accident. She isn’t bouncy; she doesn’t wear make-up to the gym (thank you). She has a brain between her ears (not saying this is like me only mentioning it). She doesn’t take herself too seriously but she has a very serious side and focus on a future beyond what she is doing today, right now. She is health conscious, diet conscious and can discuss with great insight and knowledge how our bodies work. I really appreciate this about her, it makes me trust her. What I like most, honestly and I hope if she reads this she isn’t offended, she is imperfect. In her imperfection, with her injuries that she has had to recover from she gives me and I am certain her other clients hope.

Right now I can get myself to the gym at least two mornings a week because (1) I pay her to make certain I move my muscles the right way and (2) I look forward to talking to her. We have agreed I don’t do squats (this is what you do in the woods when there are no public restrooms available) I do Plié or even Grand Plié, but I do not squat.

joellen3_2

I suspect she thinks the things that sometimes come out of my mouth are a bit odd; she just goes with it this is another thing I like about her. My guess is she knows I don’t like facing mirrors, ever. I find the entire sweating glistening, weight lifting, Plié and other for health reasons things we do at the gym quite undignified. There is nothing attractive about it. There is especially nothing attractive if you are zaftig.

I know I need to do more, I feel the difference she is helping me make in my health. Despite pornographic rubber fat at the trainer’s desk and the honest truth I find nothing wonderful in sweating I know I have to do this for me. Thankfully I have help along the way!

Filed Under: Personal Notes Tagged With: , , , , , ,

Cameras in the Locker Room

February 6, 2013 by

redhatI have finally gone back to the gym. Everyone said I was ready and with support and a good trainer to help, I could do this. I agreed and so off I trotted. I like my trainer, she and I have worked together before, she isn’t body perfect and she has had some injuries, she understands.

What does she understand you ask, rightly. She understands if I say I can’t do that I am not being a whiny itchy baby, I am saying my injuries won’t let me do that particular movement. When I say that she modifies the movement and we work through it. That is why I like my trainer. We are working to rebuild me, from the ground up. We are working to rebuild my balance, my strength and my confidence. She isn’t asking me to step on a scale, she isn’t measuring my waist, my ass or my thighs. She gets I feel miserable in the layers of fat I am wearing today and don’t need reminders. She talks to me about food, nutrition and other programs my gym offers and we look for things that might work for me.

I like my trainer. I usually like my gym, but this is a Red Hat, so you know there is something that must have stuck in my craw, something that has me sideways.

I meet my trainer in the morning on the way to work, specifically I work out at 7am. This means I must change at the gym. I must shower and dress at the gym, this already grosses me out. I must use their facilities, their locker room. When you walk into their locker room there is a great big sign, you can’t miss it unless you are blind it:

nocell

Obviously not the actual sign, but a close

facsimileDespite this very obvious sign you cannot miss unless you are blind, women are casually carrying on extended conversations on their smart phones. Listening to music on their smart phones. Playing games or something on their smart phones.

Unless I am mistaken, all of these phones have cameras in them. I am fairly certain, I am not mistaken.

What I am most annoyed with is many of these women have walked directly by the locker room attendant with their phones plugged directly into their ears, nothing was said. Then there are the women who are sitting on the benches casually chatting on their phones, carrying on conversations as the attendant walks through the locker room without saying a word.

What the hell? Which one of them can’t read the sign? The member or the attendant, this is the question I want answered.

Yesterday, my patience finally reached a boiling point. Maybe it is me but the locker room at the gym is not a tearoom or a bar, especially first thing in the morning. I don’t want to navigate around body perfects standing in the middle of the aisles discussing last night with each other or the person on the other end of their smart phones. I don’t want to try to dress while other women are sitting on the benches with their phones to their ears carrying on complete conversations. I certainly do not give to tinkers damn, who they did or in what position they did them.

Can I just say…..You are not that important!!

It is unlikely there is anything going on in your life that is so important it cannot wait for the one hour it takes you to work out. Leave your phone in the car. I do.

If you want to work out to music, buy a $49 IPod. Yes, I am well aware your smart phone does everything today. Tough, it isn’t allowed in the locker room and it makes others very uncomfortable. It makes me uncomfortable.

In fact, it makes me so uncomfortable I thought about it all day. I stopped at the gym on my way home and talked to the Operations Manager about it, he wasn’t there yesterday morning. I told him about my experience of the morning, including his own staff not doing anything. He is apparently new to this gym.

He promised to talk to the staff.

He suggested I say something to offenders first. I explained, it isn’t my job to enforce gym rules but that I would be happy to do so politely once. The problem with this is I would be doing so to ¾ of the women in the locker room and I really didn’t have time to police the locker room. It was the job of his staff to prevent members from entering with their smart phones.

I suggested his staff do their jobs at the front end, at the door of the locker room instead and that if I had to do it for them it would only be polite once. We talked about the maliciousness of humans, women in particular. I reminded him of the pictures we have all seen on the Internet from time to time, those terrible pictures we all laugh at of Wal-Mart customers, Fat Girls and others. I asked him where he thought they came from, did he really believe people posed for them.

My next work out is Thursday morning. I will give him an opportunity. If things aren’t better, I will politely say to other members their phones aren’t allowed in the locker room, point them to the sign at the entrance and ask the attendant to deal with it if necessary.likemycamera

If things aren’t better, next Tuesday I will pack my 35mm film camera (without film) into my gym bag and when I am dressing, I will put that empty camera on the bench next to me. What do you think, might the important ladies of smart phones cadre be a tad discomforted by my camera?

Filed Under: Series: Red Hat Moments Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

What I think in Retrospect

January 1, 2013 by

Today is New Year’s Day 2013; we survived the Mayan Apocalypse as we have so many other predictions of the end of the world. I kept asking people to send me their valuables for safekeeping, just in case mind you. It was a no go, I got not a thing except a few giggles, my friends are all so smart.

Yesterday I thought about all the things this past year brought, good and bad, bright and dark. Yesterday I also slept a great amount of the day away; I have been doing that a great deal lately with the assistance of my broad-spectrum painkillers (thanks doc).

This is in no way an attempt to make New Year’s Resolutions; I don’t do those anymore they simply add to my feelings of inadequacy when I systematically ED TV Ads Viagra Ad fail to achieve them. Do not mistake me, I do not feel inadequate on a regular basis only sometimes, like any normal person even if we don’t admit it at least aloud and in public. I don’t think there is Viagra for the heart and mind, well
there is actually but you can’t take it based on ‘periodic feelings of inadequacy’ versus ‘all the time’.

Did I just compare my now and then feelings of not measuring up to Erectile Dysfunction? Gad

Well, back to the main thrust of my ruminations yesterday, what did I learn as I pondered the last 365 days?

I am still capable of passion. It is in fact a core of my being too long ignored, too long tapped down so others are more comfortable with me. Even here, in my writing I have worked hard to be balanced, fair, pragmatic and inoffensive knowing those who I have great respect and love for might turn away from me should I let my passions fly.

Though I have exposed much of my history on these pages, I remain very much a private person holding myself within the four walls of my soul. This dichotomy has caused me to withdraw from friends, from those who wanted to draw me in, even from self at times. The more I drew back the curtains of the past the more I retreated.

I lie, yes, I said it I lie. I lie to myself every now and then but I lie to others also. I say I don’t care what others think but that isn’t really true at all; of course I care, I am after all human. My investment in caring is long-standing; it is part of who I have always been. Caring what others thought kept me in miserable marriages long past the time I should have exited. Caring what others thought kept me standing and laughing with my bullies in school when I should have demanded justice. Caring what others think now keeps me from standing up sometimes and saying, “No, I will not be quite, accept your judgment or your bad behavior”, simply because I need the connection.fourwalls

I say yes when I should say no. This is true in every aspect of my life. I allow others to dictate my direction based on their need and desire without consideration of what I might need or want. My narrow shoulders carry a huge burden yet I don’t seem able to say NO. The only thing I seem able to do is crawl under the covers and allow ‘sad’ and ‘pain’ to dictate my response to ‘no more’. This reaction is new this year. As I have debrided the past it seems I have also found new ways to hide from others and myself. For a year, I have lived in chaos, emotional and environmental chaos. The ability to say either HELP ME or NO has escaped me and thus I have lived chaotically all year.

I am fooling myself, not really but yes, I am fooling myself. I have spent the last year in pain. I tell others I have a high pain threshold and thus living like this is simply ‘what it is’. That answer is frankly Bullshit. That answer is destroying my life, my marriage and my future. I do have a high pain threshold, which should not matter a whit. This year has seen me go from working with a trainer in 2011, walking fairly regularly and actually losing weight to being nearly sedentary in 2012. My body hurts, I have gained weight again, I look and feel like warmed over…..well you know. I cannot live this way. Not only is it unhealthy, I do not feel good about myself.

 There are still things I want to accomplish in this life! There are still things undone.

That is the greatest conclusion I have come to. There are still things undone. Still lessons to learn, people to meet, love to give, passions to explore, waves to ride.

I admit it, I spent yesterday beating myself up a little bit. I felt as if I had let some people down over the past year. I hadn’t always lived up to my end of the bargain in our relationships, whether marriage, friendship or business. I always knew when I failed, when I fell down; what I failed so often to do is say to them, “I am sorry, I couldn’t do what I promised”.

I have to get better at only promising what I am able to deliver. I have to get better at judging my own capabilities and capacity. That is one resolution I plan on actually working on, just trying to be a better friend, wife and business partner.

I have to get better at taking care of myself. No, not working through the pain that is only for the fools who enjoy abuse and I am long past that. I am going to find a way to reduce the pain, go back to my trainer and do something to get off my azz this year. I simply cannot live this way.

I am going to find a dream or two to follow, chase like mad even. I have them, really. I have had them for a very long time. It is past time for me to put myself on the front burner, stop saying yes to every damn-body else and say yes to me.

I am going to continue to evolve the relationships I started this past year with long lost family members, including siblings and my first mother. They require nurturing; I am going to work on that garden.

momandI

So there you have it, my non-Resolutions based on my thoughts of this past year. How was your New Years?

Filed Under: Personal Notes, Random Thoughts Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Red Hat: Doctors Pride

December 30, 2012 by

redhatTwenty years ago, someone hurt me, we have been all through this and I am not going to bore you with the details. Twenty years ago, my body suffered a significant amount of damage that has cascaded into more damage over the years. Twenty years ago I had surgery to repair some of the most egregious of that damage and provide me with some relief, my spine from T2 to T5 were fused, we used human material, my choice. At the time, I thought the doctor was a miracle worker and the surgery a true miracle, my pain went from a nine on a scale of 1-10 to an average of three immediately, I was in heaven on earth.

That was twenty years ago, this is today.

I have been pondering my reaction to recent events with my doctor and his referral to ‘the best neurosurgeon’ in Dallas. Really, this clinic and this surgeon treats members of the Cowboys!

Let me tell you why this is my Red Hat of the year, my friends.

This has been a hard year for me pain wise. Last year it started to escalate. I know what is wrong; my regular doctors know what is wrong too. We have all been down this road for a very long time now. This time though everyone said, ‘no more injections it is too much and too far-gone, time for something else, time for an expert to take a look at the damage and determine next steps.’

Not really what I wanted to hear, but I didn’t disagree. My last MRI’s were 14 months ago, so when the new clinic called to make the appointment they said, ‘no the DOCTOR will want new film, don’t bother to bring what you have.’ I thought this was odd, but I did what they said and I didn’t throw all of my Cervical and Lumbar MRI film into my purse. On the phone, I asked did my doctor explain the referral was for both my Cervical and Lumbar; the nice young lady happily responded in the affirmative and explained I should set aside enough time for x-rays, MRI and a consultation.

I did just that, I took the entire day off to make certain I had the time blocked. Well that isn’t quite what happened, indeed that is nowhere near what happened.……..

There are eighteen doctors at The Clinic. They are apparently very proud of themselves, very proud of the fact they treat professional athletes and others of wealth and influence. Their clinic is a model of efficiency when it comes to your sign-in, making certain they have all your financial information that is.

This was not my Doctor, dammit

This was not my Doctor, dammit

Perhaps those with a great deal of money, or those who wear professional football jerseys don’t care how they are treated by their medical providers. Perhaps, they accept a lack of courtesy as part of the game.

On the other hand, I have a standard, even for professionals considered to be at the top of their field. Part of this standard is do not under any circumstance treat me as if I am stupid, unaware, beneath your contempt or not worthy of your time. Despite your years of education, the accolades of your peers and the worship of those professional athletes you have treated I am still paying you! Between me and my insurance cold hard cash is leaving our pockets and entering yours.

I am not a charity case; you aren’t climbing down off your effing ego mountain, wading through the muck to treat me. Indeed not, I drove to your clinic after spending the better part of an hour filling out reams of paperwork, providing you not only with my insurance information but also with my personal financial information and then waiting for you for 45 minutes after my appointment time because your time is clearly more valuable than mine is. After all that, you Herr Doktor had the unmitigated gall to act as if I wasn’t well enough informed, smart enough or perhaps interesting enough to be sitting in your treatment room.

First, you had not bothered to read the Referral sent over by the doctor who has been treating me for eight years.

Then you callously observed my throat and arms had been sliced open and demand an explanation. Frankly, Doctor, none of your business but since you must know my ex-husband tied me to a bed and took a straight razor to me.

When you finally got around to looking at the x-ray you couldn’t figure out what those strange ‘pathways’ in my neck and into my spine were. Had you read the referral you would have known they were bullet entrance and exit wounds, but you couldn’t be bothered so I had to explain it. Your comment to this, oh yeah; “I healed up nicely.”

pain

This was the first ten minutes; we spent another five exercising my right arm, which is periodically numb, periodically paralyzed, and periodically so painful I wish I could cut it off. You my good doctor, your diagnosis? I have arthritis in my shoulder and need a better painkiller and some physical therapy. When I explained I try to avoid painkillers so I can live a full life, you suggested I simply take more Motrin and handed me a ‘prescription’ for physical therapy, told me to go wherever I wanted and come back to see you in March. Are you even aware the damage 2400 milligrams of Motrin will do taken daily?

Mind you, I have never had arthritis. There is not a damned thing wrong with my shoulder and never has been, movement hurts because my cervical spine hurts and I have nerve damage you numbnut. Did I fail to mention, he didn’t have time in the first consult to deal with both the Cervical and the Lumbar, I would have needed to make two appointments for that. He didn’t order MRI’s. What he did say to me as he left the room…..

“You win for the best story of 2012.”Kickm

Well, Dr. Andrew Dossett of The Carrell Clinic wins for the worst bedside manner, least compassionate, worst listener and most egotistic medical provider it has been my experience to run into in many years.

Was this a bit incoherent? My apologies. I am between terribly peeved and in pain, have been for weeks now. I am also between a rock and a hard spot, so is my regular doctor, we will work it out but in the meantime I am stuck with how do I get through the day.

I don’t often call out names in my Red Hats, but in this case well I just thought it was worthy. How does a Doctor, a person who takes an oath to ‘do no harm’ act in such a callous and uncaring manner. Wasn’t I in a big enough puddle on the floor? Did I not show enough abject misery?

Sorry Doctor, it isn’t my way to weep and gnash my teeth. But it should be your way to show compassion and treat the patient in front of you not your effing assumptions.

Filed Under: Series: Red Hat Moments Tagged With: , , , , , , ,

Our Body Our Self id

October 6, 2012 by

I have been thinking lately about how I see myself and it causes me some angst, this has been on my mind a weight on my heart even. I know, it shouldn’t I am a tough old broad, generally not given to inner flights of fancy or brooding about what cannot be changed. My fifty-fifth birthday has come and gone now, I am past middle age and heading towards, well something else entirely.

Why am I noodling this? What am I really talking about; I am talking about Me, Myself, I, Id, Ego; all the things that make me ME. More importantly, I am talking about what I see in the mirror of my mind versus how others judge me when they see me on the street or meet me for the first time. Perhaps even more hurtful it is how those close to me offer up their helpful suggestions and thoughts on my ‘health’ and appearance.

I wonder does it never cross their minds to ask, “How do you feel today?”

Can it be that even those closest to me have decided I made a personal choice and it was to be fat? Do the people who claim they love me honestly think (this is a stretch, the thinking part) this is the look I chose? That I enjoy being laughed at on the street, dismissed as lazy and worse stupid. Do those who profess their care for me truly believe I don’t see myself, know my ass enters the room approximately thirty-two seconds after my boobs? Do they think this doesn’t bother me?

Of course it does you bunch of insensitive social incompetents!

There was a time in my life I wanted to be a Ballerina, I wanted to float across the floor in beautiful flowing costumes en pointe’ making art with my body. Then my body betrayed me, my ballet teacher smacked my breasts emerging like angry beehives from my chest and explained in her thick Russian accent, “No prima ballerina has breasts like a peasant!”

Ten years of grinding practice only to be told my peasant breasts were not the stuff of ballerinas. Nevertheless, I continued to dance, because I loved it. I also took gymnastics, rode horses, skied, ran, played soccer and did many other things all because I loved them. After all, with prima ballerina off the table everything else was on! There were times I brutalized my body, it didn’t matter I just kept going. I tore my knees up; I would walk again long before they healed properly.

I learned many forms of dance from ballet to belly; dance was my favorite form of expression and art. Dance was my heart.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

100 pounds.

That is how much I gained in the first two years after I was shot. Sometimes I lose some of it. Then I have another setback, another surgery or another round of partial paralysis. The reality is I don’t think I will ever lose it, not ever. Before I was shot I had already gained weight, I was in a miserable marriage and I was unhappy, I wasn’t fat but I was no longer thin and perfect either.

I wonder I look at those words and I wonder no longer thin and perfect. What does that mean, perfect in what respect and perfect according to what measurement. Who or what am I measuring myself against?

Now at fifty-five I use wonderful words to describe myself, words like Zaftig, which is one of my favorites. I laugh along with others at the shallowness of a society that would dare to judge me on my dress size without taking the time to value my intellect, my capabilities or my accomplishments. The reality is their judgment hurts. My own judgment hurts truthfully I am diminished by both.

Don’t you want to lose weight?

I am asked this question quite frequently. The answer is always the same, of course I do you nitwits. I also want to live without pain, wake up every morning leap out of bed without any numb spots anywhere on my body. Given a choice, I will take pain free over thin any day of the week. I won’t achieve that one in my lifetime either.

Would I like to lose weight?

Certainly, I would love to lose weight. I would love to shop in stores that didn’t specialize for ‘fat girls’. I would love to go to the gym and not feel ashamed; in fact, I would love to not be afraid to go to the gym.

I would like to go to the gym and take a yoga class where not everyone looked like they just stepped off the pages of Cosmopolitan. Why isn’t there ever a beginner’s class for fat people?

I would like to go to the gym and not feel like an alien, not be stared at as if I belonged somewhere else, anywhere else but there.

I would like for people to see me and not judge me. I would like to look in the mirror and not judge myself.

Why in the hell do gyms have so many damned mirrors anyway?

Kirstie Alley before and after at least she still looks like a woman

I would like to not be asked by those who profess to love me why I don’t lose weight. I would love, just once for someone, anyone who loves me to ask me how I feel today.

I have read so many great blogs recently on the subject of our bodies and social judgment; one stands out in part because as a woman it hit home I hope you will go read Sweet Mother http://sweetmotherlover.wordpress.com/2012/10/03/dear-fat-dudes/

I previously wrote this, a lighter look at the subject. https://valentinelogar.com/category/personal-notes/

The truth  is, this might just be my reality. I can eat the best I can. I can walk on the days I am not hurting so badly it is all I can do to crawl out of bed. I can try to overcome my fear of the gym, but I suspect that one is harder than anyone can imagine. My truth is, I live within the body I have and it doesn’t love me. I don’t fit the world and I don’t have the fight left to force the issue. We are so shallow we are willing to diminish anyone that doesn’t fit our narrow vision of beauty forgetting there is a whole person inside the body we judge not good enough. So today I will cheer for those women like Jennifer Livingston who was brave enough to address the man who berated her for her ‘choice’ to be obese. I wish more of us were willing to stand up to those who are so socially inept, cruel and frankly stupid.

Filed Under: Personal Notes, Random Thoughts Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

TB and Rick Scott in Perdition

July 9, 2012 by

Beware cold blooded slide of Florida Cottonmouth

Yet another example of malfeasance by Florida Gov. Rick Scott and the rest of the motley crew. Of course, at this stage of the game who of us aren’t surprised, it seems corruption and misconduct is the name of the game in the Sunshine State. The venality of Gov. Rick Scott is only exceeded by his on-going thumbing of his nose for federal law and the safety of others. Honestly, as a Texan I thought no Governor could be worse than the that other Rick, yes I do mean Rick Perry. However, Rick Scott truly has my own Rick beaten hands-down, in fact Rick Scott could beat Rick Perry for downright snake in the grass mean, crooked and degenerate with one hand tied behind his back.

What am I going on about you ask? Is this the Voter Suppression Rick Scott has pursued with such glee? Or the suppression of Doctors by the NRA in the infamous ‘Docs vs. Glocks’ case? Maybe it was the grab for power in his sidelined attempt to dictate Foreign Policy; with the misguided piece of legislation, he signed in May and struck down by U.S. District Judge K. Michael Moore. Or perhaps it is his on-going fight with the EPA and his denial of their authority over Clean Water and greenhouse gas emissions.

No, it is none of these things, although all of the above show his complete unsuitability to serve as a Governor of a State within the United States of America.

The latest sampling of this egotistical maniac’s complete disregard for public safety and more importantly human life is far worse. It is especially worse when you consider the primary victims of his latest decision do not look like him, are not in the same economic stratosphere and are highly likely not part of his primary in his voting bloc. So what is the Great Terrible that Gov. Rick Scott has done?

Wouldn’t want to step in it. Vile and clings long afterward.

The CDC report went out in April, but as early as February 2011, it was already known Florida was struggling with the worst outbreak of Tuberculosis in the past sixty (60) years. What did that bastion of compassion for the weak and downtrodden do about the potential threat to public health do you ask; absolutely nothing other than hide the facts, sweep those nasty’s  under the carpet of Sawgrass and Alligator shit (pardon me).

The facts as they are known:

Three thousand (3,000) people potentially have been exposed to a possibly deadly and drug resistant strain of Tuberculosis. Of these only 253 have been found and one third have tested positive for exposure.

Ninety-nine (99) people are infected. Of these six (6) of them are children. Most of those infected are poor, many are Black men. Many have not been treated in time to stop the disease from progressing and have or are wasting away.

Thirteen (13) thus far are dead.

I suppose the thinking by Rick Scott and his cronies is those that have been exposed, those that have thus far died or will die; well, they are simply ‘NOT LIKE ME’. As one of the articles so eloquently put it;

“Believing the outbreak affected only their underclass, the health officials made a conscious decision not to not tell the public, repeating a decision they had made in 2008, when the same strain had appeared in an assisted living home for people with schizophrenia.”

Since most of those infected appear to have been exposed to the killer disease in the states jails, soup kitchens and homeless shelters it is apparent they have indeed made the same heartless decision. The same NOT LIKE ME decision. Why waste time and energy, certainly why waste money that could be better spent on LIKE ME people and programs that LIKE ME people support.

I am stunned by the callousness, the heartlessness of Governor Rick Scott. He is one of many GOP state leaders intent on destroying the very heart of our nation. He though is the poster child for the GOP and their march to perdition.

The heat isn’t Global Warming Rick.

My suggestion, stay the Hell away from Florida!

http://www.rawstory.com/rs/2012/07/08/florida-accused-of-concealing-worst-tuberculosis-outbreak-in-20-years/

http://articles.orlandosentinel.com/2012-07-08/health/os-ap-fl–tuberculosis-report-20120708_1_tuberculosis-outbreak-tuberculosis-cases-health-agency

http://www.tampabay.com/opinion/editorials/scott-has-more-strikeouts-than-hits/1239081

Filed Under: Politics Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

History isn’t Mutable, But we are

June 4, 2012 by

Roe v. Wade, 410 U.S. 113, 22 January 1973

It is an important date, the reason this is date is important? It was nearly a one year after I lay on that cold table begging a doctor and two nurses not to perform an Instillation Abortion, while my mother waited impatiently in the waiting room. They did not have my agreement or permission, they apparently did not need it, they had what they needed, hers.

Forty years, that is how long it has been, forty years and some months. Until this weekend, I haven’t really thought about the reality that I had an illegal abortion. I guess in the back of my mind I have always known, always had in one of the boxes I kept safe from examination, but until Friday when I first started writing this trilogy in Broken Chains, I hadn’t really put the pieces together. I had always wondered why even when I begged them to stop, they didn’t; I knew the law yet they didn’t stop. I had always wondered why, what amounted to induced labor and then a D&C was performed well past my first trimester, I knew the law even in the early days of Roe v. Wade, this wasn’t the norm. I sometimes wondered how this happened, why my pediatrician the doctor who had cared for me my entire life did this to me with only my mother’s signature and why that little hospital allowed it, never reported it just turned a blind eye.

By the time I returned to and thought to ask, my doctor was dead. His practice had been taken over by two other doctors, two young and enthusiastic doctors and all new nurses who were more than willing to answer my questions. I asked for my files, they weren’t so happy to hand those over, this was 1979 and there was nothing to force their compliance with my requests. I explained my request though, what I was looking for and why I was looking. I just wanted answers; I wanted my mother’s signature and the explanation. I would have done anything, begged, crawled across fire, walked on glass, offered my body as a sex slave for those answers. I was so raw and I believed I deserved to understand why two people who should have cared for me brutalized me so terribly. Finally, one of those young doctors took pity after listening to my story, he told me I could read the file in his office but I couldn’t have copies and I couldn’t take anything with me.

There was nothing there!

Oh, there was a positive pregnancy test and a sad note, because he had known me all my life. The next entry was the night I was admitted to the hospital, February 11, 1972, it said I spontaneously aborted (this means I miscarried) a Male Fetus, there were measurements in the file, I don’t remember them anymore precisely; he was nearly 5 inches and nearly 3 ounces. I never knew, actually I always imagined, but I didn’t know they documented this information or even cared, now I had another nightmare, did he draw one breath?

Next I went to the hospital, I asked for the records. They told me the same thing, they didn’t exist I was never there for an abortion. I was never there. I gave up. I had an illegal abortion but there was no proof, only that I had spontaneously miscarried, that was all it would ever say. Perhaps only I would know the truth. No one else, only me.

Choice is being able to say NO

Over the years I had hardened my heart against the empty place in my homes, my marriages and my life called childlessness. At some point I became a misopedist; putting it out convincingly I did not want children and was not unhappy with the turn of my life. This was not the truth, not my inner truth but it was the only truth I had that would stop people from handing me their children.

I have been told many times, we are never given more than we can bear, never more than we can survive. I suspect this might be true, I even suspect there are reasons why some are forged in much hotter fires. What we do with the wreckage determines who we become and how we will live our lives. It is rare that anyone has an epiphany changes direction and turns their life around entirely. Letting go of every injury, releasing every painful memory and creating a new person to stand in the place of the old one, victim to survivor is much slower and harder.

There are many vigils we sit as we mourn our lost innocence, lost childhoods and then finally kicking in the doors protecting memories. I write these as trilogies to show clear paths not just of terror, pain, suffering or horror; but of growth, recovering and even sometimes joy (I promise). I will get there, I will write them. This was the worst of it, the hardest to write the hardest to remember. This short interval, just over 1 year of my life set my feet on a path towards so many other life choices I all too often look back at this single year and ask;

What if?

The truth of what happened, it created in me some beliefs and truths that to this day I believe, they have never changed they are immutable.

‘Forgiveness isn’t free, I don’t owe it.’

‘Choice isn’t just about Yes, it is also about No.’

‘I will never do to anyone what was done to me, that is a choice that I have.’

‘Survival is not for those without compassion, you can never live entirely inside yourself or for yourself.’

I built strong walls and I was fortunate to have a good mind. I was able to escape behind the persona I built without much challenge. Much of that person was the true me; strong, smart, hardworking, driven even and sometimes funny. Unfortunately, that person was also guarded, stubborn, quick to cut a person out of my life, quick to walk away, unforgiving even. There are many things I grew to like about myself over the years; many things though remained hidden even from my friends, there were also many things I never loved, things I believed did not deserve to be loved. Now, as I explore my history I am learning that just maybe I was wrong in my judgment.

So now I am walking down the hallways of my mind, shaking the locks and rattling the doors. I didn’t get here all alone I know that. It wasn’t all bad, it couldn’t have been. These are just those pivotal moments, those points of darkness that I decided to finally shine light into. With that I leave trilogy II in Broken Chains with this quote which I think is apt:

‘Our life is always deeper than we know, is always more divine than it seems, and hence we are able to survive degradations and despairs which otherwise must engulf us.’

William James (1842 – 1910),  pioneering American psychologist and philosopher

Trilogy II – Broken Chains

Part I – No Bastards No Choice

Part II – Never Again, I will hate you

Broken Chains – Start at Part I

Filed Under: Series: Broken Chains Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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