Winter's End Means No More S.A.D.ness For Me!

Yes, I'm back! S.A.D.(seasonal affective disorder) has been defeated and I'm on that manic high that people with bipolar disorder don't want to give up and will often refuse to take medication for because they are willing to risk suicidal depression just to experience this...I don't know if you are familiar with stream of consciousness, but you are about to experience one long train of thought...before I continue, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, here's a definition: read it and get ready for a roller coaster ride (those of you who are prone to nausea, light-headedness, or who fear heights might want to skip this email and read those I send you after I come down weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!) -

"The term “stream of consciousness” was first used in psychology, to convey what was taken to be the flow of conscious experience, of what William James called “mind stuff”, in the brain. The term was introduced in James’s The Principles of Psychology (1890) to denote the continuous flow of thoughts, feelings and impressions which, he believed, is what makes up our inner lives. James was aware of the complexity of this “stream”. It does not consist of a single stream of consecutive items; many items may coexist" (John Mepham, Kingston University).

I realize I'm probably borderline bi-polar - either that or I really am as crazy as I sometime think I am - because since I've been an adult, I have had this mania from time to time in which I was so "high" mentally, spiritually, and emotionally that I literally went through life at warp speed for a time, writing like crazy, drinking copious amounts of wine in my mispent youth, and engaging in sexual promiscuity during my late twenties (briefly before being celibate for nearly eleven years) and early forties ( for two-and-a-half years! I attribute these sexcapades to my confused hormones that didn't seem to be aware that I am unable to have children and were on a mission to give me every chance to become a mother); and when I look back, these manic periods usually followed winters and the ensuing S.A.D. and the illness that resulted at the end of February or the first of March: well, I didn't get ill and probably would have been on this "high" a week ago when my friend Lori's prayer was answered and she emailed me the 'cure' that was revealed to her for what ailed me (which I immediately accepted and initiated - taking Vitamin D, getting out in the sunshine and fresh air, and finding a way in my sorry state to praise God by going to my favorite Psalms and, as Rolita directed, repeating the two verses I most cherish from the 91st Psalms, 1&2, twelve times) and it would have worked but I was attacked - and I do mean attacked - by allergies that caused my nose to run constantly and my head to throb, then went into my chest causing me to cough up vile, yellow mucuous, and, finally, resulted in me having red, puss-filled sores under my nose from blowing it so much; but when I had a similar attack last fall, I ended up with a giant sinus infection that sent me weak-kneed and nearly crawling to my doctor because I had a hard time standing up (I was that sick) and taking antibiotics for a week...now, I probably sound like a crazy Christian, but I believe all these little germs, bacteria, and viruses that attack us are demons - how else would thousands of angels fit on the head of a pin unless they were microscopic and, remember, demons were once angels...all that's evil, that makes us sick or causes us grief and pain comes from Satan, I believe...the good bacteria that's in all our bodies are the angels God sends to fight those demons!...look, I know this sounds bizarre coming from someone who has a minor in biology and social sciences, but I believe God is the supreme scientist, something I was taught by this wonderful woman named Sylvia Pennington, who is now deceased and who I only heard once at OSU when she came there to discuss biblical interpretations and posited that God not only has an all-knowing mind, but a logical one, as well...that makes sense to me seeing the science that is involved in the mechanizations of the universe...the only reason many scientists don't believe in God (some do, particularly many astronomers who have seen the far reaches of the universe), but rather science, I believe, is because science hasn't caught up to God yet...when it does, if it ever does, I think science will be practiced in churches, synagogues, buddhist temples, and mosques and scientists will be the new priests, summoning us all to worship at the altar and lifting up praises to the First Scientist...I addressed this email to God because I wanted to make a point about talking to God...looking up God's email address, I shunned the ones given by those who took themselves a little too seriously (especially one in Westerville, Ohio, the area where I lived when I was in Columbus) and decided to use the one given out by someone with a little sense of humor, albeit, slightly irreverent, because I think God accepts irreverence, understanding that humans use it as a defense mechanism...O.K., so what do I do with this manic energy...I already went to the hotel lobby, two steps from my room, made a waffle and ate it and two "sausage?" patties from one of those microwave sausage biscuit duos and had a cup of coffee and was back in my room in 19 minutes with a cup of coffee...walked from the door across the room to the computer table in six strides, pausing long enough to get the three French Vanilla creamers I've been hoarding and a packet of Splenda and dropping the napkin and box of Mini Frosted Shredded Wheat cereal with one hand in one swift motion while carrying a hot cup of coffe with the other hand (when not manic, had I not put down the cup of coffee and done each of the other tasks carefully, I'd have spilled the coffee because my borderline dyslexia makes me do the opposite of what I intend to do unless I'm focused, so I would have tried to pick up the creamer and Splenda with the hand I had the coffee in had I not focused); then back across the room to get tissue for my nose with the red, puss-filled patch underneath, and back to the computer...I usually keep my hotel room uncharacteristically neat (I'm a terrible housekeeper, one of the many reasons I don't want to get married) not because I want to but because I have to so I can keep my belongings organized and make packing up to leave easier; however, since I've been in the S.A.D. mode, I've noticed each time I come here, my hotel room has taken on the more familiar persona of my house: books, papers, clothes everywhere, everything in disarray... a real mess, but I know when I get off the computer, I'll be cleaning this room up and it will be as neat as a pin in about ten minutes (unfortunately, this doesn't always happen at home when I'm manic, instead of cleaning, I write)...I've already been writing like a maniac (maniac comes from the word 'mania' so I guess I am as crazy as I think I am!) since I stopped working fulltime last year, so if mania affects my writing, I may finish a novel by morning!...seriously, I do have an outline for another curriculum guide and I could write it this weekend, but I received "word" in prayer to hold off on writing it because it gives too much information about my new "revolutionary" day hab model and I don't want to publish that information just yet - first, I have to get the day hab up and running before I share this concept...so, I could write a novel or an epic poem or a play or a book of short stories or re-write the one act plays I lost when my other laptop crashed or a musical or another curriculum guide with activities that I outlined yesterday or I could...do almost anything right now...mania is not just a "high," I think it's a spiritual state those with bi-polar go into temporarily because Satan is so twisted, he sends those he seeks to destroy by their own hand soaring before bringing them down to that place where death is the only out...I lived in that place as a teenager, there were no highs...it wasn't a sad place, necessarily, just a dark place...I would be a "goth" today if I were a teen because I was fascinated by death and the "undead" (vampires) then, reading Bram Stoker's Dracula over and over until I knew every plot twist, character, and much of the dialog from memory and convincingly told my younger siblings that I was a vampire...later, studying adolescent psychology, I learned that teens actually lose their minds due to hormonal changes, which explained a lot...so, as an adult, I thought everything would be o.k. because I no longer was deeply depressed and suicidal, but I would get these episodes of mania that resulted in me talking at light speed, doing fifty things at once (I actually worked eight hours a day, then volunteered another eight at night and on the weekends in a theatre for nearly two years) until I burned out like a candle...I left my teaching career after two years of teaching all day and doing theatre all night...my life was pretty much the same way last year when I worked seven days a week, which I'd done for six years, since The Sojourner's Truth was first published (and six years before that when I was doing theatrical productions with Da Coloured Gurlz and six years before that when I was singing with SPECTRUM - for a couple of years, I was singing and acting and working fulltime- whew!)), but last year was different because I worked a lot harder as a supervisor than I ever did as a behavior specialist, SBH teacher, or a habilitation specialist; so leaving both jobs was really a matter of survival for me...mania can kill you!... actually, the only time I actually enjoyed being manic was in my early forties when my alter ego "LOVEhandles" was in charge of my life (I'm also borderline Multiple Personality Disorder or whatever they're calling it these days!) - as LOVEhandles, I placed a provocative ad in The Detroit News seeking male companionship and got nearly 500 responses, including two from vice cops who thought I was a 'pro' since my ad seemed to promise sex; it didn't really, it just talked about fulfilling men's fantasies of being with a large women (I guess that was promising sex, now that I think about it - what can I say: I was named after my father's mother who was a 'pro' and who my father despised, yet named me for, then would never call me by my first name!)...a lot of men in the Detroit area had that fantasy and I met about twenty men of nearly every ethnicity (no Asians, but Hispanic, German, Arab, Polish, Russian, French, Irish, English, India, Pakistani, Jewish, and, of course, African-American), age (from early 20s to mid-60s), profession (doctors, lawyers, scientists, teachers, computer experts, students, construction workers, an EMT, accountants, bankers, a process server, dentists, you name it), and interest (including heterosexual cross-dressers)...most were just first dates and didn't go any farther, but I did have 'affairs' with three of the guys I met: one German-Polish engineer, one Jewish process server, and one 27 year old black stud muffin...although I am reallly a one-man woman and have never had much luck juggling two or more men, I did it for almost a year, then my young stud insisted I give up the other two who were getting on my nerves because they were so clingy (my engineer was even making hints about settling down), so I kicked them to the curb and let youngblood show his true colors; turns out his best friend was dating an older woman who'd turned him into a gigolo, showering him with gifts and money and he expected the same from me...that ended that relationship because, as I told the vice cops, I don't charge for sex - and I don't get charged for it either (I actually met an incredibly handsome Hindu from India who has a Ph.D. in Computer Science and had a contract with a well-known Toledo company who made me a proposition that didn't involve sex - well, not actual sex because he had a fiancee he'd been promised to in an arranged marriage contract in India and he could not have sex until he married her - when he decided to move to San Francisco where he started his own company: he wanted to buy me a row house where he'd set up a state-of-the-art computer system for me to write if I'd let him come over once a week and performed duties as a dominatrix (no sex, just dressing provocatively and barking orders at him - I know, weird); I told him there are people who get paid to things like that and I'm not one of them (I used to fear I was destined to become my father's mother and turn into 'a whore for hire' because he'd given me her name, and I have endeavored not to realize that fear); oddly, I was not seuxally active until I was 23, when I had my first 'affair,' while I working on my master's at Wichita State; I was an 'intern' teacher, meaning I went to school several days during the week and actually worked in schools the rest of the time, as well as did "community service"...I was on campus one day (our professors came out to our base school the other days) and would have lunch with a professor from the Black Studies Department, a beautiful young woman a few years older than me who complained about her filandering husband, swearing she'd never marry another black man...meanwhile, having never had consentual sex (I was the victim of acquaintance rape when I was sixteen while out of my grandmother's sight one summer when I lived and worked with my uncle in Houston who was the supervisor of housekeeping in a medical building where I cleaned office and was dumb enough to sneak a 23year-old guy who buffed the floors into the locked medical offices I cleaned so we could 'make out'...of course, he tried to go farther and I always said 'no,' but one time he didn't stop and I got the shock of my life because I had no idea that sex involved penetration...a voodoo woman who kept putting hexes on my uncle that he laughed at so me leave the office and told my uncle that 'something happened to me,' but I would not admit it because I knew my grandmother would make a federal case of it due to what happened a few years earlier when I was in eighth grade...I had a huge crush on one of my classmate's older brothers and was always smiling at him when he would walk by with his friends...well, one of them thought I was smiling at him...he lived across the street from the school and my grandmother and I were always half an hour early - she'd go to her sixth grade classroom and I'd go to the junior high building to my homeroom...one day, this guy "BeBe" (not his real nickname) came in and attempted to rape me, but stopped when one of my classmates, a girl named Sylvia I'd thrown into a wall in the girl's restroom when we were in fifth grade because she kept picking on me came in and saw what was happening and ran and got my grandmother...of course, BeBe left and went to his own homeroom, but my grandmother went and got him and dragged him to the principal's office in front of the whole school where he was beaten with a board and screamed so loudly everyone could hear him...after that, people would tease me by calling me BeBe, especially a boy in my class named Louis, who I beat up one day, knocking him down and banging his head on the sidewalk...so, not wanting to go through that again, I never said anything, although my grandmother 'knew' and I wasn't allowed to go back to Houston to work again, but I had residual effects and in the 'date rape culture' that persisted in both Texas and Oklahoma, the two states where I did my undergraduate studies, I beat the crap out of every college student, G.I., or any other many who tried to rape me (I'm going to write about those guys one day - I gave one a concusssion!)...anyway, I finally consented to having sex with this handsome older guy who a former roommate fixed me up with when I moved out of our apartment into a duplex near the school (all of the interns were supposed to live in the community, but only two of us did)...she was white and, although she dated men of different nationalities, she didn't date black men and like me, she was a big, beautiful woman, which this guy was attracted to, it turned out...so, we got together and it was lust at first sight...he told me his name was 'Ted' and after a few encounters asked me if I knew the Black History professor I had lunch with every week...I was suspicious, so I asked her about him and she said his name sounded familiar...now, the chair of her department was a good friend of mind and directed the theatre company, One People, I was in...I kind of had a crush on him, but he was married, so off limits...anyway, our 'affair' ended after about six months since it was just about sex a little more, but he did tell me he had not been totally honest with me and told me where he actually worked, for the Post Office (not really, but I don't want to say where he really works in case his wife should see this on my blog some day)...anyway, I was having lunch with my professor friend and she mentioned that her husband worked at the Post Office...I asked her to describe him, then she told me his name was 'Tad'...it was the same guy!...I'd had an affair with a married man...I was really angry and hoped I'd see him again and have a chance to tell him what I thought of him, but I never did...I did see her on an infomercial after I moved to Ohio that she was hosting...my friends all marveled that he had the nerve to get involved with someone who knew his wife, but I think that was a turn-on for that snake...later, having done the unthinkable, having an affair with a married man, I knowingly had a very brief affair with an Ethiopian grad student whose wife was still in Africa, but it was unsatisfying in every since of the word, mostly I think because I could never resolve myself to sleeping with someone else's husband...I have a friend whose husband made passes at me a while back and I refused to 'bite' and I'm so glad i did because I can look her in the eye without any guilt...I've never understood how women can betray other women this way and not seem to be bothered by it...there are many married men I find attractive and would love to date if they were single, but even if I don't know their wives, I respect them and refuse to disrespect another woman's marriage again...I was talked into getting involved with someone who was married once who told me the marriage was 'open' and it was, but the 'openness,' as usally happens I found out in 'open' marriages was one-sided: the husband was the only one allowed to have affairs, although the wife was allowed to in 'theory,' when she actually had one, they ended up getting a divorce...my twenties were full of sexual drama, so I took a break from sex in my thirties and hung out with gay men, then that hormonal surge took over in my early forties and I turned into LOVEhandles and was a very bad girl!- well, for a couple of years, anyway...no drama, no complications, just fun and games...however, my sexcapades ended when my best friend, who was the co-chair of the Toledo AIDS Task Force, asked me to be on the task force, along with a gay male friend, then when we showed up, she introduced him as the representative of the black, gay male population and me as representative of the black at-risk female population...at risk? for what? AIDS....whoa!...talk about facing reality...that plus starting peri-menopause (you guys don't want to know the details, believe me, all the women over forty know and those of you who don't, you soon will and for all that they say about menopause, peri-menopause is MUCH worse; it's just not something you can talk about publicly as easily as you can mention a hot flash or irritable mood...if men went through this, the retirement age would be moved up to forty; if men and women's body functions were reversed, I also believe they'd have a week off each month, a three-year maternity leave, and the government would pay homemakers for serving their country!)...I hate sexism as much as I do racism...did anyone see the picture of the White House with a watermelon patch in the front yard that some mayor of a city in California was using as a screen saver claiming he didn't know this was a racial stereotypes?...yet, people got upset about Eric Holder saying we are a nation of cowards when it comes to talking about race...why else woud Klan members wear hoods, people like Imus, that New York Post cartoonist, and the California mayor not own up to their racism if they're not cowards?...one of the reasons I'm so open about my past experiences (well, most of them, anyway; believe it or not, I do have a couple of things I keep secret, not because I want to - they are just things I haven't resolved quite yet, therefore, cannot share) is because I have to be honest and open up in order to write and to act...when one is not authentic, it shows up onstage and on paper; my role model for this kind of bare-it-all honesty is my brother, James, who's first play, "Our Young Black Men Are Dying and Nobody Seems to Care" started out as a suicide note; in the play, James exposes himself, completely, giving all the raw emotions and deep abiding pain that he's suffered voice...I love my siblings, every single one of them, including the one whose calls I've blocked from my phone...Ruth, who is scheming and conniving to try to come to Columbus to live with my mother, who lives with my sister DE'brar, who Ruth has hated since the day she was born and took Ruth's place as the baby girl, at least she's always acted as if she's hated our baby sister...I have finallly forgiven Ruth for her email rantings sent to many of you when I was asking for your prayers of support for James...I was incensed, not because of what she said, as evil and untrue as most of it was, but because of her motive: to divert attention from James who was in the fight of his life, to her...so, she came up with a story that was supposed to get the kind of sympathy James was getting...remember when I told you she moved out of her rent-controlled apartment due to the neighbors putting wires in the wall and sending rays to drive her crazy, none of which was mentioned in the email she sent out to my email lists, which is why I now "BCC" my lists, then she told my mother who she calls sometimes half a dozen times a day, that she was living in her van and that men would rape her while she was asleep (translation, she was having consentual sex with men which in her warped mind is always rape) and even went to the doctor to make sure she wasn't pregnant, and occasionally lived with a friend who she'd fall out with, then moved to a shelter after she claimed she called the police because she had nowhere to go and Mom told her to go to a shelter; there, she said everyone was talking about her...anyway, turns out she never left her apartment...all of this was a ploy to get my mother to make DE'brar let Ruth live in her house, which is where my mother lives...this can't happen for two reasons: number one, Ruth has no respect for DE'brar and would not respect her in her own home and number two, my mother is at peace and lives in a state of constant joy and contentment and none of us wants that to change, except maybe Ruth...she can't help it, if she came to Columubus, it would be like the serpent in the Garden because she would disrupt the lives of all four of my family members that live there, create havoc in their friends' lives, have everyone in Columbus wanting her to leave after a few months and be ready to move to Toledo to do the same thing here: I will stop her in Findlay if she tries to come this way because the last time I let Ruth come stay with me, my roommate at the time, Dana, who was a nursing student at Wichita State and the German fiance of my Hispanic friend, Joe, was ready to move out of our apartment after Ruth was there for a week; I had to ask her to leave, not knowing she was pregnant and had run away from home because our parents had always been clear about us not getting pregnant while in school (she was a senior and only six weeks away from graduation and later returned and took two tests to graduate, only missing one question - she's really a genius); while in Wichita, she went to the Lutheran Social Services and made arrangements to have an abortion...I personally refuse to take a stand on this issue since I can't have children, but I don't think I would have an aboriton, although I don't know since I've never faced that particular circumstance; however, I thank God that Ruth never had a child...I didn't want to have children because I'm afraid I'd mimick the child-rearing style I was exposed to most, my grandmother's, and never wanted to inflict that kind of verbal abuse on anyone else plus I'm just not maternal...I did consider adopting some children and homeschooling, but I was looking at the whole thing from an educational perspective, not as a parent...however, I do love children; Ruth hates them - the only partner she was ever with for any length of time was a beautiful Jewish woman (in spirit, I never met her in person, but she had to be a saint to live with Ruth!) who artificially inseminated herself with the sperm of a black male so she and Ruth could have a bi-racial child...they broke up because Ruth was jealous of the attention her partner gave the baby: the woman is the most narcissistic person I have ever known and I've known a lot of narcissists because I've worked with actors for over thirty years plus I have borderline Narcisssistic Behavior Disorder (many artists do because we are so self-absorbed with our craft and with our thoughts and constant self-examination)...so, my sister, who really is losing it, has started to unravel and forgets occasionally that she told Mom she's homeless and mentions her landlord or something about her apartment, then in the next conversation, she'll talk about living in the shelter...she's also tried to enlist Joseph and James to help her get DE'brar to let her live in her house, but the one person in Columbus she hasn't talked to directly is DE'brar; she's left her long, rambling voice mails, but she won't talk to her...I love Ruth, I love the beautiful music she's written and the way she plays instruments, but I can truly say without any reservation, if I never see my sister again, I will be o.k....I pray for her and I will continue to try to understand the mental illness that has gripped her mind and turned her into someone so contemptuous of those who love her most, but I don't want to be around her for any reason...I do want to be around the rest of my siblings, not that we don't all have our issues, but we all have one thing in common: our love for our mother and our family...I miss John, so I hope he gets to visit us this year like he wants to and that I get to go to California before "the big one" (earthquake) takes it off the map in September 2010 (the latest prophecy from a number of religious prophets)...the rest of that prophecy is that when the country becomes vulnerable, Russia will attack the east coast and China will attack the west coast of the United States; people have actually had visions of Americans being transported to concentration camps in boxcars and people being shot down in the street for resisting...supposedly the safe places to go are in the middle of the country to Missouri and Kansas (the state I moved from when I came to Ohio 25 years ago!); then another prophet had a vision of Wichita being hit with a nuclear bomb - I had a similar 'feeling' years ago that Wichita was going to be destroyed, prompting me to order extra copies of my transcript from Wichita State...however, the thing I believe about prophecies and visions and predictions is that they show 'possibilities' and 'probabilities,' not 'actualities' and inevitabilities'...meaning, this can all be changed...and how can it be changed?...through prayer, of course....actually, not just prayer: fasting and praying...these are the two most powerful weapons we have on earth, which practiced while reading scripture arms us for any battle with evil...maybe that's what I'll do while I'm riding high...I have actually been on the verge of this high since I left fulltime employment last year because I would just stop at times and realize that I was happy and that joy was a state I was living in for the first time in a long time...then winter came and brought S.A.D. and my joy diminished (it didn't completely go away, I just lost touch with it because had I not had a little joy in my life, I'd have a fierce upper respiratory infection right now that would end up as bronchitis, what I used to get at the end of winter from 1993)...but even in the midst of despair, sometimes there's hope...I'll never forget 16 years ago, the first week of March when I was sick after going through a particularly bad case of S.A.D., I became so ill, I had a fever that made me delirious and bed-ridden for a week...during the worst part of that week, when my fever was up to about 103 degrees, I had a vision...now, I NEVER see things or hear things; whatever powers I have are all through my feelings - I felt the presence of the demons that possessed my friend, Russell's brother, who later told Russell that the reason he kept standing by me was because the demons were quiet in my presence (God and I had a long talk about that one and I was disturbed about it until I remembered that when my mother visited John and he took her to a friend's house where they were channeling spirits, he was asked to take her and leave because the spirits wouldn't come while she was there and later my mother told me that there were two women in our rural community in central Texas - the setting for my novel - who were "possessed" and would strip and do vile and disgusting things and who would only calm down when my grandmother came to 'heal' them - she and this phenomenon are also mentioned in the novel- I realized then that this power over demons is a generational blessing just as the depression, which is a personal demonic attack, in my opinion, is a generational curse probably designed to destroy us since we have the power to destroy the demons that are part of our DNA when we evoke the name of Jesus)...anyway, I did have a vision during my delirium for three consecutive nights; I watched tens of thousands of clouds move rapidly past my bedroom window and finally it registered that they were angels and they were a sign from God that I was going to be all right...I might add, just before the vision, I placed that ad in The Detroit News, so don't go thinking I'm all "holier than thou" because I'm not...I showed someone my "pin-up" shot recently after I re-ordered the Dimensions magazine in which it was published along with my article about being "smart and sexy" because my ex-boyfriend refuses to return the only copy I had; and she said, "You did that before you were saved," and I said, "No, I did it afterwards and God and I talked about it" because I wrestle with being a single Christian and what to do about my sexuality all the time...another generational curse my family has is sexual addiction and we've all wrestled with it, each of us in his/her own ways, but I usually go through long, long, long periods of celibacy - not because I'm good, but because sex for me is like alcohol to an alcoholic: one drink is too many and a thousand is not enough; which is why I became promiscuous 16 years ago after having a heavenly vision...no, I'm nowhere near holy, but I am a Christian: a very imperfect one and God and I have an understanding that when menopause is over, all bets are off on the celibacy - look out!... but I'll try to do things according to his will, meaning if I have to legitimize sex (get married), I will, as much as I personally don't believe in marriage (for me)...I'll probably draw up a partnership agreement and have a "holy union" (a religious ceremony with no marriage license) because I think marriage as defined by the state leaves to many loopholes...now, they could be wrong about post-menopausal sex drive (I sure hope so because God knows I do not need to be married to anyone - I'll need to borrow Michelle Obama's "Black Widow" dress - the black one with the red markings - she wore Election Night because I think given the opportunity, I would literally devour any man who was unfortuante enough to live with me; sorry, guys, but ya'll get on my last nerve and I keep attracting all these men who want to be 'punished' and, although I am a latent dominatrix, I really don't want to go there and neither does any man who thinks he wants me to because if I go there, it will take me to depths I never want to go to: I met this guy from New York once who wanted me to come there and put on some black leggings and a bustier and go to this club called The Dungeon where he said men lie on the floor naked and beg women with my ASSets to beat them for large amounts of money - I couldn't do it because I'd still be there whipping men's behinds FOR FREE!)...but with all these women in their sixties getting AIDS, I think there may be some truth to that post-menopausal hormonal surge...whatever happens, God and I will be talking and I'll be sharing our conversations with you because I plan to find a way to stay just shy of mania and at that place I was last summer and fall...in the secret place of the Most High...the thing about being there is you don't realize that's where you are because it feels so familiar, so natural, so real, you don't think of it as a special place because it's not...I didn't think about why I had so much joy and peace, I just enjoyed having it, although I knew it all came from God...that much I knew...I also knew I was abiding under God's shadow...that's why verse 2 of Psalms 91 talks about God being the place of refuge and a fortress because that's what happens when you live (dwell) in that place of peace and joy and stand (abide) under God's shadow...it's not this mania that is nothing more than a chemical reaction caused by the same microscopic demons that cause you to be depressed; mania is artificial joy that though spiritual (we are dealing with powers and principalities that are in the spiritual, as well as the physical) is not real joy; it's the same 'high' you get from taking amphetamines (I know because I used to take diet pills and wash them down with a fifth of cheap wine when I was in my second undergraduate college - the one in Oklahoma, not the one in Texas where I was a model student labeled as a 'militant' - and wanted to stay up all night cramming for an exam or writing my column for the college newspaper - some of those columns I wrote when I was "high" make Rev. Jeremiah Wright look conservative!) or smoking a joint (something else I tried in college, although I could never inhale except by contact- I am physically unable to suck smoke down my throat, which is why I never learned to smoke cigarettes, although I did try!)...I'm feeling the same way I did then now, except my heart is not pounding in my chest like it did when I took those diet pills and I'm not getting sleepy or hungry for sweets like I did when I got those contact marijuana highs...so, I know this is artificial and won't last, but when it's over I'll already be back in that secret place (not 'secret' because it's unaccessible but because the way there is so discreet and ethereal, you can't explain how you got there, you just go) where I'll dwell, abiding under God's protection...of course, winter will return again and with it, S.A.D., but this time, I'll be taking Vitamin D, getting out in the sun and fresh air (even if it's frigid outside), and reading verses 1&2 of Psalms 91 twelve times every day; I don't think S.A.D. will be able to interrupt my joy and peace again...I've already broken the cycle of illness that always followed it, nearly killing me 16 years ago until God sent angels to remind me that I was protected and I haven't been sick after having S.A.D. since except for some minor problems like having an allergy flare-up this year, but no fever, no infections, no visits to the doctor...next winter, I'll be ready for S.A.D., armed and read and will I beat it? - of course, the answer can only be YES! (This begins and ends with the word "yes" in homage to James Joyce, who writes a 'stream of consciousness' monologue for one of the characters in his novel, Ulyssess that also begins and ends with the word "yes" and has no punctuation...I did use some - it's the English major in me, I guess!)

A Winter's Tale That Has S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder), Hope, and An Epiphany

I took some time to relax tonight, watching the Oscars. I've been suffering with S.A.D. (seasonal affective disorder) and wanting winter to just be over. No more gray skies, cold nights, and snow and ice please. I used to get sick at the end of winter every year, really sick with upper respiratory infections. It was during one of those episodes in 1992, the first week in March, when I was delirious from fever and saw thousands of angels fly by my window in the shape of clouds for three nights in a row. That was the last time I got a post-winter illness. Since then, I've managed to overcome the "sick" part of S.A.D., but still have all of the other "affects." The following symptoms of S.A.D. are listed on the Mayo Clinic's website:


Fall and winter SAD (winter depression)
Symptoms of winter-onset seasonal affective disorder include:

Depression
Hopelessness
Anxiety
Loss of energy
Social withdrawal
Oversleeping
Loss of interest in activities you once enjoyed
Appetite changes, especially a craving for foods high in carbohydrates
Weight gain
Difficulty concentrating and processing information
My problem is that this used to be how I felt year round, especially during adolescence. So, having S.A.D. is like reliving the worst moments of my life every year for a few months; however, I don't usually have the worst symptoms until February. My worst day ever was 2/2/2002. Now, for those of you who are into astrology (not me, although I was born on the cusp of Virgo and Libra since my birthday is September 23, and I do vacillate between being a reclusive, shy perfectionist with deep-seated, hidden passions and an indecisive, creative, and socially outgoing bohemian constantly seeking balance), numerology knocks those stars out the sky when it comes to accuracy. The day I was the most depressed I've ever been in my life was all two's, the number of depression. I know it's not scientific, but it's fun - well it wasn't 2/2/2002, but other times, I've had a lot of fun with numerology, mostly having to do with birth dates, addresses, and names (each letter in the alphabet has a numerical value).

Anyway, I actually sat down twice this weekend in the obligatory rocker that's in every hotel room and enjoyed some of my time away from home for once. I haven't enjoyed visiting my favorite hotel since I started coming here to write last year. Now, two books later, I'm trying to juggle numerous projects and deal with the lethargy and exhaustion of S.A.D. at the same time. I did try to enjoy my four free nights last month, but then depression set in (this doesn't usually happen so early, but that was when temperatures were ten below) and all I could hold onto was being thankful I wasn't out in the cold. Everything else seemed hopeless. I can't wait for spring to get here!

Meanwhile, I did relax and watch a movie yesterday after writing my response to that political cartoon published in The New York Post for that other blog I do on political matters. Then, tonight I sat in the recliner nearly an hour during the Academy Awards. Everyone I wanted to see win did except for "Best Actor." I haven't like Sean Penn since he took exception to some joke Chris Rock made about Jude Law; I think this guy takes himself way too seriously. I was rooting for Mickey Rourke, the comeback kid in "The Wrestler." But I was happy Kate Winslet won; if Angelina Jolie had won, I swore I'd never watch the show again (my brother, James, stopped watching when "The Color Purple" didn't win any awards!).

"Slumdog Millionaire" cleaned up, as did "Milk," the film Sean Penn starred in; the only movies nominated that I've seen are "Wall-e" and "Happy Go Lucky," an offbeat British film I went to with James and Leslie when I was in Columbus during the Thanksgiving holiday. I took Pajil's three kids to "Wall-e" last summer to give "Mom" a day off and watched it again with my niece and nephew, KiKi and Joe, in Columbus, after buying the DVD for them. "Wall-e" won one award (I was a little upset when it didn't win "Best Song"). Hugh Jackman was a good host and his number with Beyonce Knowles was quite entertaining.

I just love seeing someone who is not the size of a toothpick doing a song and dance number! Go girl! Speaking of big girls, Queen Latifah did her star turn singing during a tribute to the film industry's deceased members. But what was with her dress. I'm no "Mr. Blackwell," but did she really need a bow right in front above her belly? Kate Winselet's a big girl, too, by Hollywood standards and she looked great; so did now zaftig Whoppi Goldberg who joined four other former "Best Supporting Actress" winners to announce this year's nominees. I liked that format. The only category that didn't include a former African-American winner was the one that has had the most: Best Actor. They couldn't get Denzel Washington, Jamie Fox, or Forrest Whittakier to attend? Surely, one of them was available!

My favorite award show is The Tonys (I don't watch The Emmys or The Grammys) because it celebrates Broadway shows. Speaking of theatre, I'm trying to decide which of my plays to submit in the National Black Theatre's Reader's Theatre competition. James' play, "Wimmin with Wings" will most likely be on the main stage (his play, "Black Man Rising" was featured during the last festival and has since had a run off-Broadway in New York; this is James' second time having a play off-Broadway: his first was "Our Young Black Men Are Dying and Nobody Seems to Care" in the 1990s).

I may need your help. My sister, DE'brar thinks I should enter "Casting Stones," my dark one-act about a psychopathic serial killer who is targeting black Baptist preacher's who commit adultery (I was working out some father issues). I'm very tempted to enter "Ruthless Bonds," my one-act about the abuse African-American hitters have faced when they got close to breaking Babe Ruth's record. I originally planned to enter B.R.AIDS (Black Response to AIDS), but it is a full-length play with a cast of thousands. Any suggestions?

Anyway, enough about art....despite S.A.D., I saw signs of hope this winter: first, there was President Obama's response to Henrietta Hughes, the Florida woman who was living in her truck with her son who made an impassioned plea for help when the President visited there (a Florida elected official later provided Ms. Hughes with a rent free residence); then there was "The Miracle on the Hudson" that gave America a needed hero during economic hard times; and, finally, my curriculum guide is starting to sell!

I got two orders this month after flooding the state's day habs with promotional emails at the end of last year - I also sent a few to some other states. One was for the $65 bound copy and the other was for the $40 email version. I'm still waiting for to approve the cover of my novel and once that's done, it will be available at amazon.com. I'll let you know. Meanwhile, I hope to get more orders for the curriculum guide and when I get back my energy, I'll start working on my next novel and finish my second curriculum guide.

Oh, I had an epiphany the other night on the way to a black history program. My neighbor's wife and kids picked me up at the hotel after I invited them to attend the event and on the way to the church, my neighbor's 13 year-old daughter asked her stepmother if there was enough left on the food stamp card to get some snacks to take to her mother's house for her 11 year old twin brothers' birthday party sleepover. Her stepmother told her that they needed what was left on the card to get through the last week of the month. At that moment I realized that these people who've lived next door to me for the past ten years have been going through what most of the rest of the country is just now experiencing all this time.

Last week, while driving me to work, my neighbor mentioned that he doesn't charge my neighbors on the other side of my house to give them rides to the store and various places because neither of them is working right now. I thought that was nice of him. Then I realized that he is using some of the money he charges me to transport me to and from work to provide free transportation for someone else. I was pleased because I realized he's finally starting to get what I've been telling him all along about giving to other people without expecting anything in return. I was rather proud of him, even if he does charge me way too much; at least I have some comfort in knowing that he's "spreading the wealth," so to speak.

When they first picked me up to go to the program Friday, I mentioned to his wife and kids that I needed to go to Krogers after we left the church to get some food to take back to the hotel but would probably be too tired. After finding out that they didn't have the money to get snacks for the sleepover, I told the 13 year-old not to worry about it because I had to get some food, too, and we'd get their snacks when we got mine. After church, we stopped at MacDonald's and got hamburgers for everyone, but as predicted, I was too tired to go to Krogers (S.A.D. strikes again!); so I gave the 13 year-old a list of the three things I wanted (Pringles, Mi-Del's Natural Ginger Snap cookies, and Lemon-Berry Hawaiian Punch) and enough money to get my items and the snacks she wanted.

Sure, I'd paid my neighbor sixty dollar for transporting me to work three days last week and had just given his wife another ten dollars for picking me up at the hotel and taking me to the church for the program; but the money I spent at MacDonald's and at Krogers was about the 13 year old and her 9 year old brother. I realize that in all his hustling and overcharging do to the least little thing, whether it's shoveling my steps, cutting my grass, or taking me to work, my neighbor is just trying to provide for his family.

His disability (heart disease) prevents him from working for more than a few hours at a time for more than a few days a week, but he does the best he can. At least he puts forth the effort. I still think $20 a day to take me to and from work is too much, but at least I know he's learned to not charge those who can't pay; and I've learned that some time paying too much is giving just enough.

NIGHTMARE ON SECOR BOULEVARD AT THE COMFORT INN

I just woke up from an actor’s nightmare! I was a playing a soldier in a play; it was almost time to go on stage and I could not get my lines. I kept reading them and saying them over and over and even rehearsed backstage and I couldn’t remember the name of the officer I was addressing and the various references or the message I was delivering.

I woke up in a cold sweat!

Now, I’ve never had trouble remembering lines. Delivering them believably, yes – remembering them, no. Don’t ask me to recite anything I’ve ever said onstage now, because once the show is over, my mind becomes a clean slate; but I can remember large amounts of dialog in short periods of time. I have a technique that allows me to do this and a brain that has cooperated in the past (I don’t know if the Lipitor changed all that or not).

When I was a senior in high school, my favorite teacher, Mrs. Amanda Ealleam, my English teacher, assigned poems to each person in my class to memorize. She gave the assignments from the poetry section of our literature textbook, going down the roll alphabetically. When she got to my name, the next poem was four lines. When she got to the name of the slowest learner in our class, Charles Jones, the next poem was eight lines. (I was Charles “date” for an athletic banquet once – meaning we sat together – so he bought me a beautiful sweater for Christmas and last I heard he was a mortician in Fort Worth were legend has it, he built a beautiful home for him and me!)

Anyway, the day before we were to recite our poems, Mrs. Ealleam had Charles and I trade poems. I learned an eight-page poem overnight. I recently looked up the poem, “Death of a Hired Man,” and did not remember any of it. I also learned 66 pages of dialog that included four monologues (one of them was two and a half pages long) in four weeks when I performed in New Works Writers Series “Yellow Man,” directed Dr. Imelda Hunt. The problem was not remembering the lines. The problem Dr. Hunt had was getting me to perform. (I am very hard to direct because I just say lines unless given direction; I truly believe a play is completely under the control of the director and if the director makes no demands of me, I have nothing.)

The point of all this preamble is that I DON’T HAVE TROUBLE REMEMBER LINES! So, why was I having a nightmare about forgetting lines? And why was I playing a soldier? It all made perfect sense in the dream and since dreams are not about what they seem, I will figure all this out. Anyway, I woke up and there was some infomercial on, so I switched to CNN to behold a different kind of Obama B(l)acklash. A former KKK member was apologizing as one of the African-American members of Congress listened.

This man, a Mr. Wilson, seemed sincere and the Congressman accepted his apology with grace and dignity, saying that it was given in the true spirit of non-violence and accepted with that same spirit of forgiveness as demonstrated by its progenitors, Mahatma Gandhi and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The scene reminded me of the story of “The Night the Stars Fell” told in a genealogy account:

“Anyone who has studied the history of American slaves in 1800's is familiar with the incident in the early part of the century, known as 'The Night the Stars Fell.'

"Many of the interviews with ex-slaves taken in the 1930's often spoke about ‘Night the Starts Fell’ and this story is also part of my own family's Oral History. Fortunately, for me, while on a trip to Chicago, I met and visited with an elderly cousin, Frances Swader. As a girl, cousin Frances heard the family matriarch, my gr. great grandmother, Amanda Young, speak about this same event--when the stars fell. Cousin Frances, told this story to me and I place it here for further generations to read about and to know of as a pivotal event in the lives of many 19th century slaves.

"Since Gr. Gr. Grandmother Amanda continually told this story, I have, as a result, been able to make a more accurate guess of her birth year. Born a slave in Maury County, Tennessee, Amanda said she was a small girl, when one night while sleeping in the quarters, someone started screaming outside. Her story continues in the manner in which she told it:

‘Somebody in the quarters started yellin' in the middle of the night to come out and to look up at the sky. We went outside and there they was a fallin' everywhere! Big stars coming down real close to the groun' and just before they hit the ground they would burn up! We was all scared. Some o' the folks was screamin', and some was prayin'. We all made so much noise, the white folks came out to see what was happenin'. They looked up and then they got scared, too.

‘But then the white folks started callin' all the slaves together, and for no reason, they started tellin' some of the slaves who their mothers and fathers was, and who they'd been sold to and where. The old folks was so glad to hear where their people went. They made sure we all knew what happened.........you see, they thought it was Judgment Day.’

"Unfortunately, it would be many years before Amanda would be free from enslavement, and she and her parents remained slaves until the Civil War ended. She was fortunate to have been with her family, and her children had not been sold from her. But this incident stayed with her.

"Only a few years ago, while reading a book of African American quilt makers, I learned about a slave woman called Harriet Powers who made some of the most unusual quilts. This lady's quilts now hang in the Smithsonian. One of the panels of her quilts described in the book, told the story of the Night the Stars Fell. I was immediately excited to see this referenced. I quickly took note of the footnotes that gave a detailed description of the Leonid Meteor shower of 1833, and thus the real date of this event was learned. Between November 10th & 12th in 1833, for 3 consecutive nights, North America was witness to this dramatic shower of stars from the heavens. Amanda was only a child in the fall of that year. Her exact birth date has never surfaced in any records, but this historic reference to a spectacular astronomical event, in addition to our oral history of the Night the Stars Fell, somehow made an estimate of the time of her birth more realistic. Since she was a young girl when this event occurred, I have approximated her age to have been between 7 & 8 years. This would put her year of birth to be approximately 1826. The Leonid Meteor event of the 19th century has been recorded in many astronomy journals as the most spectacular meteor shower to have been recorded over North America to this date. It was also the most vivid memory of Amanda's childhood, which she spoke of, over and over till her death, in 1920.

"Every year on the evening of November 12, in honor of my ancestors I drink a special toast to Amanda and to her family, and to her spirit that continues in our family today, and then I go outside, and watch the stars.”

The event, as chronicled here, was confirmed by a family’s oral history, as well as in the fabric of a quilt. I mention “the night the stars fell” as a story handed down by a slave ancestor of one of the characters in my novel They Just be Killin White Folks (A Vampire Tale of Bloodlust, Terror, and Horror) written uner a pen name. There’s also a “KKK rally” in the novel that’s actually a ploy by some vampires to try to scare the black folks in the small community where it’s set into leaving the area. However, the lynching violence in the novel is real. I cite two recorded lynchings and one that was never recorded that happened in the community where I was born and where I attended school. My mother told me about it. (I also created two fictitious lynchings in the novel as part of the development of one of the characters who is “the embodiment of evil.”)

I don’t know what my dream means quite yet (I’ll figure it out; I’m good at interpreting dreams, as long as I know the person having the dream – so it won’t take me long to figure this one out!); but I am glad that I woke up in time to hear that apology and to see one of the many positive effects of America’s election of its first black President.

FOOTNOTE: I did figure out that dream! It means I have trouble "falling in line" with a regimented "script" for my life and will probably panic and be unable to cope if I'm ever put into a situation where I have to do any of the above - so no more working fulltime for me!

My Columbus Journal

Saturday, January 31st:
I’ve been in Columbus nearly a week now. I arrived last Sunday morning a few minutes past midnight and went to church later that day at 8:00 am to hear my sister, DE’braR, preach for the first time. I was both proud and sad: proud because my baby sister inspired and moved me; sad because her sermon preparation and organization so much reminded me of my father who died eight short years ago.
After a short church service, we went to breakfast during Reverend DE’braR’s break between services. She is a church musician at her home church, Liberty Hill Baptist, and her other home church, St. Mark’s AME, playing alternate Sundays at both churches and rehearsing with choirs from both churches during the week. This is in addition to having a fulltime as manager of Macy’s Playaway (day care) at Easton Mall and performing in our brother James’ spoken word theatrical company, FLOW Theatre. Whew! Sounds like my former life.
James, who is an absolutely fabulous gourmet chef, had a wonderful dinner ready for us after church, featuring my favorite vegetable, cabbage, and a “dump cake” in order of my deceased former best friend, Dr. Karen Flowers who loved making this dessert. James is not just a great chef, he is a consummate baker (I think he’s channeling both our grandmother who made the world’s best sweet potato pie and our Uncle Calvin who was a chef extraordinaire).
Monday I attended a certification class for instructors for PATHS (Professional Advancement through Training and education in Human Services) – the reason for my trip to the state capitol where I lived for five years before moving to Toledo. The class was fantastic with a teacher that should teach ALL would-be teachers how to teach. He's also a mentor and gave me some useful information about upcoming opportunities to write curriculum for some of PATHS specialized training.
I made a new friend among my “classmates,” a fellow Toledoan who, of course, has a friend in common with me who just happens to be a former hab tech of mine (my only male hab tech and the best one I ever had). My new friend, Fern, and I had lunch together at a great Mexican restaurant (Columbus is full of great restaurants, the city’s ONLY redeeming quality for me, aside from being the home for two-thirds of my immediate family!). Monday night, James, DE’braR, and I were treated to an amazing “organic” meal prepared by my brother Joseph and hosted by him, his partner, Leslie, and Joseph’s two wunderkinds, Kiana and Joe.
At the end of the delicious meal, James outed me for wanting to bring my own food – hey, I went on a healthy eating kick back in the mid-1970s and after being a vegetarian, then trying a macrobiotic diet, and taking as many as 20 health supplements daily, I concluded that I would never eat another thing that tasted like cardboard, twigs, or tofu. Well, I was pleasantly surprised by how good organic food tastes now. Joe made a salad that had a variety of organic vegetables, fruit, and nuts in it and that reminded me of a salad bar I frequented as a grad student and during my health food kick where you could eat all the salad you wanted for sixty-nine cents.
The rest of the meal consisted of stuffed pasta (with cheese for everyone but me – I had squash), chicken sausage, and the piece de resistance, a delectable bean stew that we could not get enough of. Leslie made coffee for us afterwards and we relaxed, talking, and eating almonds and some great tasting pita chips.
It was such a great evening and a real treat to my siblings and I that we so rarely share. Of course, I stopped by next door to say “hello” to Mom (who I sat next to at the 8:00 Sunday service) and made sure she was all right. She opted out of coming to dinner (she doesn’t have much of an appetite these days), but was overjoyed that her “kids” were hanging out together.
After dinner, I went back home with James, my host for the week. The next morning, my new “little brother,” Kunta served me breakfast in bed, spoiling me for good. I took up residence in James’ upstairs den/guest room which had everything I needed in it: a daybed (I hate conventional beds), a massive low table in front of the day bed that served as my dining table, laptop desk, and make up table; a large console that served as a stand for the TV; a writing desk with a nice, comfortable leather chair with a printer nearby; and a closet that held a microwave and a fridge where I kept my new favorite drink – Lemon Berry Hawaiian Punch.
Aesthetics were also taken care of with James’ distinctive flair for decorating. One large portrait flanked by portraiture, landscapes, and a still life hang above the daybed and an adjoining wall holds numerous proclamations given to James by various municipalities and framed theatre posters of James his play, “Our Young Black Men Are Dying And Nobody Seems To Care,” celebrating the play’s New York debut over a decade ago.
There nestled in the corner are also posters of two double features of my plays that James directed and produced: “I Ain’t Ja’ Mama” and “Fat Ladies Ain’t All in The Circus” (which I performed as a one-woman show) at Aldersgate United Methodist Church September 26, 27, and 28, 1986; and S.K.AIDS (School Kids with AIDS) and B.R.AIDS (Black Response to AIDS) performed at Columbus’ MLK Center, April 28-May 1, 1988.
Over the desk are creative displays of theatre posters from past performances, including one of “Black Man Rising,” James’ latest play to be performed in New York after being featured at the 2007 National Black Theatre Festival in North Carolina; photos of actors (and one of me performing in a video-tapped production of a play by Da Coloured Gurlz Collective) and a very modern graffiti painting that I’ve always liked. The TV wall is actually a large window covered with wood blinds with limited wall space, but there is a framed photo of a crowd gathered at the nation’s capitol.
A pair of red leather armchairs with nail head trim sits underneath the theatre posters with a low chest between them and an ornate brown leather armchair sits on the opposite wall next to the TV console. Wooden tables flank the daybed with huge lamps, a collection of trophies, sculpted figures and a photo of the two foster sons James had planned to adopt decorating them. Other features of the well-decorated room include a wooded pedestal holding a white ceramic arm and hand holding a golden belt between the desk and the door; a milk can holding a bowl and a tree stump in a corner right outside the closet and next to the TV console, and my two sentinels: five foot tall wooden African statues, male and female, sitting on stools on either side of the daybed, standing between tables and chairs reminding me that history is always with us.
However, my favorite items, which I offered to, buy when James said he was selling them on Ebay, are the woven cases stacked underneath the TV console. There are four of them and a collection of nesting baskets. James gave them to me and told me I could take them home with me, but Kunta stores his clothes in them, so I can wait until he gets a chest or dresser. I described this room in such great detail because I rarely left it from Tuesday until Friday, when I went to spend the day with my mother while Kunta fixed some plumbing for her and DE’braR and then went with James to tape this year’s entry in the National Black Theatre Festival.
I spent Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday doing about an hour of work a day on a final edit of my novel (a copy of the book was sent to me for final approval but I wasn’t able to read it while I was in Columbus, so I edited my computer copy). The rest of the time, I waited out the winter storm relaxing, watching cable TV and actually paying attention to what was on the screen, looking at James’ decorator magazines, enjoying his cooking, answering numerous emails, and doing a little laundry. I also slept A LOT!
I didn’t realize how tired I was until I stopped to rest. Had it not been for the over a million people left without power, I would have considered the storm a blessing. My sister’s sermon Sunday helped me realize that I have been trying too hard to do things that will get done and relying on myself rather than trusting God and letting the power given to me by the Greatest Power loose to effortlessly do the things I need to do to be successful.
Realizing that, I was able to relax and to handle the rejection emails I started to receive from my queries of agents and publishers with a positive attitude. In the past, I have not sent out my work due to the devastation of rejection letters I received, some of which have been brutal. It was a great three day reprieve from my frenetic nearly round the clock writing schedule.
Thursday night, I treated Kunta, James’ houseguest, also named James, and a friend, K.C., to pizza.
Kunta and James (who I secretly nicknamed salt and pepper because Kunta is black and prefers blondes and country music and James is white and prefers black women and rap music) brought the daybed that was my place of repose for an entire week up from the first floor, navigating up a steep staircase and around a sharp corner into “my room.” They also had to take the leather sofa which had been in the den downstairs. Kunta gave up sleeping in the den and slept downstairs in James’ on the leather couch now in James’ dining room during my stay, as well. He’s also been doing the repairs on the house I bought with Joseph and Leslie. And I got breakfast in bed again Saturday morning, so I felt buying pizza was the least I could do. Friday, I spent most of the day with Mom, watching TV, talking, and doing laundry (mine and some towels and rugs from DE’braR’s basement bathroom that got soaked from a busted pipe upstairs in Mom’s bathroom). I also got to eat some collard greens, cornbread, and baked chicken Mom cooked earlier in the week and a piece of fruitcake leftover from the holidays (I swear fruitcakes could last a hundred years!).
Friday night, Kunta, James, James, and I watched the video before James mailed it. I saw my baby sister and another actor, Amber, performing excerpts from James’ play “Womyn With Wings” that was written for my best friend, Pajil who never got the chance to perform it. However, she will be performing it in North Carolina next summer if it’s accepted by the festival judges.
DE’braR, Amber, and the other members of James’ company, Jeffro and Ron will also perform. The video was quite stunning. DE’braR’s acting and singing is better than ever and Amber is a gifted actress and singer, as well. The play has evolved since I saw it nearly twenty years ago and now includes a tribute to Michelle Obama, our new First Lady. “Black Man Rising” is also being submitted again by the New York company.
I plan to enter B.R.AIDS as a readers’ theatre, as well, so my last task before I leave Columbus is to do a FINAL edit of the play. Then, tomorrow, hopefully, I’ll be returning home to resume working and writing, with just as much zeal and determination, but less self-imposed anxiety and frustration. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll be working just as hard and still won't be available for chit-chat except for my column by that name or much socializing of any kind (sorry, friends!), but it won’t be frenetic. It will be far more relaxed and enjoyable.
My trip to Columbus has really helped me put things into perspective. Actually, I was tempted to move into James’ guest room when Kunta said he was going to move into the basement, but I realize, as much as I love this room – and I do love this room – and as much as I have ALWAYS just wanted to lock myself in a room with books, paper, pen, a TV, and, now, a laptop, I can’t: not even if the room is as beautiful as James’ den/guestroom where I know I’ll always be welcome and can come here and re-group anytime I want.

Monday, February 2nd:
Since I stayed an extra day in Columbus, I have more to share! I attended James' church, Advent UCC, yesterday and had Communion for the first time this year. I used to have issues with drinking Christ's blood symbolically until Kenneth Copeland, a fellow Texan, explained why blood is a necessary component to the spiritual salvation of humankind - it has to do with mankind's history of blood sacrifice and I suspect an event that pre-dated religious ritual which I explore in a novel I am developing that gives my view of creation. Anyway, we had to leave early due to a sewage problem that had to be fixed as soon as possible (sewage was seeping into James' basement after all of the moisture from last week's storm).
Once the plumber finished snaking the sewage line, James and I went to lunch at my favorite Columbus restaurant, Schmidt's in German Village, my favorite area of the city (James lived there briefly a few years ago). We got turned around on our way to the restaurant and I saw a house I want to buy! It's gorgeous, but a little large for German Village where the houses are small brick edifices patterned after real German residences.
We got to Schmidt's before the lunch rush and I had my favorite Bahama Mama sausage and James had a Reuben. We also had ham and bean soup (it's better at Al Smith's and the Glendale Garden Cafe in Toledo!) and I had a really good Riesling wine. Riesling is a white grape that originates in Germany and is not too sweet and not too dry for me. I prefer it to the popular white Zinfandel (Schmidt's other house wine) which I find to be a little bitter in taste. I actually prefer red wine to white and my favorite wine, believe it or not, is Reunite Lambrusco. Cheap, but good!
For dessert, I had to forego my favorite, banana cream pie after having had excessive diarrhea from the cheese on the pizza we ate Thursday night. Instead, I had apple strudel with ice cream. I know I shouldn't have had the lactose, but apple strudel is just not the same without the ice cream and Schmidt's apple strudel is not as good as the apple fritter I had at Shorty's in Toledo which I vowed to never go back to after the treatment Diane Gordon and I received there when she took me to Shorty's to celebrate my birthday last fall - I knew we should have gone to Ruby's Kitchen!
Speaking of Ruby's Kitchen, James offered to drive me back to Toledo today and save my boss' brother a trip here to pick the PATHS kit and me up until I told him Ruby's Kitchen is closed on Mondays. I also think the trip would be hard on his Kia Sportage which already has 50,000 miles on it - hey, he bought it for $200 and it's great for driving around Columbus.
I wore my Christmas present from Mom and Debbie (my baby sister who stopped being Debbie a long time ago, but will never stopped being "the baby" in the family). It's a black velvet dress with a high split in the back and a low neck in the front, and a lovely camel-colored fleece jacket with black piping, plus an embellished black chiffon scarf. I'm wearing the dress typing on the computer in one of the photos I posted to my page at Myblackgirlsite.com this morning. Well, I got some attention from a couple of men at Schmidt's who kept staring at my decolletage (boobs). Since we were the only blacks there who weren't working, all of this attention was coming from white males.
I wasn't put off by it; I've dated a few white guys and, besides, ever since Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton did the nasty (and I do mean nasty) in "Monster's Ball," I've noted heightened interest in black women by white men. This was noted in articles written during the whole Duke rape scandal by black college co-eds who complained that white guys would come up to them at parties and grab their butts or make sexually suggestive remarks to them. Well, I haven't experienced anything that blatant, just a lot of staring and friendly chit-chat - in Toledo, it's always men who look older than my mother.
One young man who was dining with what appeared to be his parents kept staring at me and when they got up to leave, his father patted James' shoulder in a very fatherly manner, as if giving his approval of his son's interest? in a black woman. My brother, author of "Our Young Black Men Are Dying And Nobody Seems to Care," "Black Men Rising," "One Race, One People, One Peace," and "Martin and Me" said quietly, but loud enough for the departing family to hear, and I quote:
"Don't be touching me, m-fer! My name ain't Obama." I nearly fell out of my chair! The poor white guy looked wounded, but the look on James' face was one of incredulity. His attitude was classic John Henry Chapman, Sr. - our father!
My father's grandfather was a sharecropper who had an account at the "company" store which was never paid off no matter how much he worked. Every week he'd go to get his pay and his boss would add up what he owed and the store, which was always just a little bit more than he made working in the fields. "You almost made it this time," the boss would say with a smile. So, my father grew up, left Texas and while pastoring a church in Oklahoma, returned home and went to that "company" store where he saw that same man, now old and half-blind. He bought a pack of gum and paid for it with a fifty dollar bill. When the "boss man" gave him back his change, he said, "Ain't you John Henry?" My father replied, "Yes, and I made it this time!"
Now that man at Schmidt's had nothing to do with any of the oppression my father's family suffered in Texas and is probably the descendant of immigrants who didn't own slaves or force black folks to sharecrop for them. However, people who come here to benefit from all the good that American has to offer must understand that once they become American citizens, they inherit America's legacy which includes slavery and the oppression of not just African-Americans, but Native Americans, Jewish Americans, Irish Americans, Italian Americans, and many others.
I actually felt a little sorry for the man who thought he was being magnanimous and accepting only to be shot down. What he didn't understand was that his gesture was one that was often used by slaveowners and condescending whites after slavery to infantilize black men, treating them like little children or worse, pets. James statement "I ain't Obama" symbolically reflects the difference between our black President and those of us who are descendants of slaves and slavery.
I only wished I'd captured the expression on James' face with my camera phone. It was priceless. Aside from being a bit patronizing, I don't think the gentleman meant any harm, but my brother had a flashback. Some psychologists call this Post-Traumatic Slave Disorder. I wrote about it in a series I did for Sojourner's Truth that was nominated for a Toledo Press Club Award. (I was beat out by the guys at The Blade who did the expose about Vietnam and the ones at the Toledo City Paper who covered the Jeep shooting.) Unlike President Obama, who would have accepted the gesture, James saw red. He also saw white and we might have all seen blue had the man said anything in response.
Speaking of our new President, James, a true Obamaphile, made five beautiful shadow boxes featuring the President that he attempted to sell at the church's bookstore. However, probably due to the economic crisis, they didn't sell. So, I offered to buy them from him. Of course, he gave them to me. And I plan to give four of them to my favorite Toledo Obamaphiles: Denise, who campaigned for Obama; my present and former bosses, Michael Zeigler (actually, I'll give it to his wife, Reba to make sure it gets home!) and Gary Easterly; and chairman of Zeigler's board, Rev. Alexander Sheares. I think
I'll give the fifth one to a manager that I worked with at the board who is leaving the facility where we worked together to work at another facility. She was an Obama supporter from the beginning, so I think she should have one of the shadow boxes to put on her desk in her new office. Our old management team, which has since been dissolved by the board's HR department, is getting together Friday night to give her a send off; however, I'm so busy, I may not make it. I didn't get a lot done this week due to taking some needed time off to rest, so I've got to get busy when I get back. I have to get started finding writing assignments for my new online freelance writing business that I just started yesterday.
I return home today, but I have really enjoyed the last eight days. Columbus is not a place I ever want to live again, but I did pause when James offered to sell me his house, complete with furniture. The pause was because the house is fabulously decorated. I described the guest room where I spent most of my time the past week, but the rest of the house is equally elegant. First, there's a painting on the porch, which is also decorated with African masks. Walking into the living room, a small room with a staircase wall painted orange (I love that wall!) and a small table and four chairs for playing card games in the center, you feel cozy and welcome.
There's a Victorian sofa on the wall beside the door that I want when James gets a new one and two antique looking chairs on the opposite wall. A huge entertainment center on the wall opposite the staircase houses the television and stereo. Of course, there is art on all the walls, including the window wall above the sofa: actually, it's a hanging sculpture of different facial expressions painted a bronzey gold that I've always loved. Past the living room is a dining room that now has the leather sofa that used to be upstairs and more chairs, tables, and art. Then there's the kitchen which I think James should put on HGTV's "Rate My Space." It's a galley kitchen and the ceiling, walls, floor, and appliances are all black.
I hate kitchens (hate is not a strong enough word, believe me!), but this is one of only maybe two or three kitchens I've ever loved. Upstairs is a similarly shaped bathroom that has a wood-topped table that holds the sink, and a tub with black leather on the side and a clear shower curtain that makes the room look larger. The only window is covered with mudcloth. Even the toilet paper holder, a chrome spindle attached to the wall like a sconce, is elegant. There's also a stacked washer and dryer just inside the door for convenience.
James' room is smaller than the guest room, but he made the most of the space by taking the doors off the closet and putting the headboard of his bed in the alcove that was created. He has a beautiful antique bed that belonged to our grandmother's sister, Jessie, who we all called Aunt J. James also has other antique pieces in the room and more art. James home is exquisite and the idea of buying it and the furnishings was tempting, even if it means living in a city I detest. Maybe I could learn to love Columbus? No, I still have nightmares about the five years I lived there, stuck in a suburb with no way to get out - it's a nice place to visit, but...
Driving around the city with James and looking at all of the houses for sale (not as many as in Toledo!), I thought wouldn't it be great to have enough money to buy some of them, let James live in them for a few months - just long enough to decorate them and make them into homes - then sell them to people who want homes but can't get a mortgage and can't afford a large monthly payment. The Murphys do this in Toledo with rental property. Something to consider if I ever write that best-selling novel or get a play produced on Broadway! Actually, James may be headed to Broadway; for the second time, he's entering a play in the National Black Theatre Festival. The last time, his play, "Black Man Rising," was staged in New York. Who knows? "Womyn With Wings" could very well make it all the way to Broadway!
When I return home today, I'll miss my little piece of heaven (James' guest room) as I look around at my house that is falling apart around me because my landlord won't spend the money needed to renovate it and refuses to lower the price so that I can buy it and give it the love and care it needs. I love my Toledo residence because of its history (the Gladieux family started their catering business there, selling box lunches at the old Jeep plant) and its "bones." It has a spectacular stone fireplace, beamed ceilings downstairs, nine foot high ceiclings and gold-leafed valances downstairs, a black tub and sink and mosaic over the tub in the bathroom upstairs, and an enclosed porch with seventeen five-foot windows.
However, it needs new plumbing, new wiring, new flooring, new appliances, new ceilings due to water damage, and will soon need a new roof because the landlord won't trim the two large trees in the front yard or put new gutters on the house (the last ones were removed to put a new roof on the house about five or six years ago). Plus there's a hole behind the house where an attached garage which collapsed and had to be removed once stood. Instead of clearing the area, the landlord just had some trucks come out with loads of dirt and dump the dirt on top of the remains of the foundation, creating a rats' nest. The only repairs done to the house are superficial ones that the city requires my landlord to do.
I could move and I may if the owner of the house my realtor brother John bid on for me in the LaGrange area accepts my offer. However, I love the house I've lived in for nearly twenty years and really hate to give up on a great old house that I know if I leave, my landlord will do the minimum repairs to, slap on some paint, and raise the rent. I want to make my historical house a place befitting its history. I hope I get that chance. Until then, I'll keep returning to Columbus to bask in James' decor, as well as my mother's and Debbie's (she just redid their kitchen area). I also like the way Joseph and Leslie have re-done their home and felt very comfortable there when they invited us all to dinner.
O.K., so Columbus will be my second home.

ALAS, NO AVATAR FOR FROGGIE!

Due to the complexity of computer programming, I was unable to paste my avatar next to my Diva Frog. Oh, well.

The avatar actually reminds me of my pin-up photos taken thirteen years ago in 1995. Maybe it’s because I wore a red nightshirt in the pin-ups and my avatar is wearing red shoes and jewelry. Those photos turned out remarkably well. Guess I’m photogenic or I was then. There were ten photos in all, but DIMENSIONS only published one. However, they chose the best one to feature with my story about being “smart and sexy.”

I’m not sure I was ever either. I’ve had reason to question my intelligence recently, involving myself in so many projects, I don’t have time to breathe. However, I’ve been waiting all my life to do what I’m doing now and NOTHING is going to stop me! (As for being sexy, I was reared to be a proper lady and, besides, I was a preacher's daughter; but you know what they say about Virgos - well, I was born on the cusp so I'm part virgin - we may be reserved, but once you light the fire, watch out or you'll get burned. Don't worry, guys; my spark is mostly hot air these days, going through meonpause and all that - but I hear it all comes back in your sixties, so watch out!)

I’m just taking a break from working on my projects and reading the background material for the book I’m ghost writing, so this won’t be long.

Apologies to all my former friends. I say former, because since I don’t have time for my friends, I’m sure they won’t be my friends much longer. That’s all right. One is fortunate to have one good friend in a lifetime and I had one who died eight years ago. I’ve also been fortunate to have many other friends and acquaintances before and since then. So, I’m ahead of the game.

I wrote about friends, family, and lovers in this blog in the past because those relationships consume so much of our lives. While I don’t have time to spend with my friends or to acquire a lover (the last one sent me looking for the nearest cave to in which to hibernate!), I am going to take time for my family this year.

I spent TWO WHOLE weeks with them in November, but couldn’t go to Columbus to see them Christmas due to work commitments. However, I will not miss any holidays with the family in 2009, even if I don’t make it to Columbus on the day of the holiday.

I realized last year that my family means more to me than anything else, including all of my projects. Speaking of which, I’ve got to take a look at my novel, now that I may have a publisher; find some playwrighting contests to enter, now that I've done yet another re-write; explore some other marketing options for my curriculum guide, now that I've contacted all the day habs in Ohio or at least attempted to; and work on compiling my columns for that book, now that I have a title column and have completed most of the research for it.

I also have short stories, one acts, and that column to write! Whew!

I’ll come up for air some time in 2010!

WHY I'M NOT WRITING ON THIS BLOG UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

Lori,

Have you heard anything yet? I really think you have a good chance of getting the job as Program Director at NODC. I’m attaching my curriculum guide for you and I’m sending it to Betsy, also, to share with the folks at Holland since they are mentioned (not by name) in it. It’s a chronicle of my year helping to supervise “change” at Holland Road and a record of our successes.

Sorry I haven’t called. I got back to Toledo December 2, and I’ve been swamped with work and projects. I just created programs for an arts initiative, a volunteer effort, and certification in adult transition habilitation for young adults, all with accompanying curricula. Plus I’m the ghost writer for a fictionalized version of the story of a man who spent nineteen years in prison for a crime he didn’t commit.

I’m also trying to finish a novel about vampires (yes, vampires!) before February so I can enter it in a writing contest, shopping around for producers and drama publications for my FINALLY re-written play, and marketing my curriculum guide. And I still have a business to get off the ground on top of all that. We got the Medicare waiver, but it’s going to take about a year to get certified.

I knew I was busy last night when I sat at the desk in my hotel room eating my dinner while I created an ad for the program for this year’s Kwanzaa celebration. Don’t forget – December 26-January 1 is Kwanzaa! I’ll be teaching a behavior class ten hours a day during the holiday for three of those days and observing a quiet, reflective observance of Jesus’ coming into this world Christmas week somewhere other than my house – probably at my favorite retreat: the Secor Comfort Inn.

I’m in “retreat” now, typing 35 pages of email addresses so I can send out promotional materials to all of the day hab programs in the state. I finished 17 pages yesterday and have another 18 to go. There are about 12 listings on each page, so I’m inputting over 400 entries! Hey, it’s cheaper and actually less time consuming than sending out printed pages through snail mail. I’m also offering those who want to order the book the opportunity to have it emailed for a discounted price to save money on printing copies.

I’m missing all my favorite holiday events, like a concert I’d love to go today, but I still have all that typing to do and while I’m here, I’m also reading a stack of material about the incarceration and ultimate release of Danny Brown, the gentleman I’m assisting with writing his story. I’m making a timeline of the events as they occurred to keep everything in perspective. His story is a very compelling one and I’m honored to be involved with helping him to tell it.

I was at Holland Road with our young adult group Thursday for their holiday celebration. We went to Golden Corral first and ran into half of the Lott Industries Hill Plant – the community employees and staff. Our young adults had a great time and want to go back to the Holland plant again. Julie (my former hab tech) and I are going to start a pen pal program between the employees at Holland and our young adults and arrange to have participants socialize at both sites next year.

I saw Mary Katherine and was told by some of my staff that she’s “a white Geneva,” meaning they like her! I knew she was the right person to take my place. She wants the three of us to get together. Of course, everybody told me how much they miss me. I got to see almost everybody, except for Kathy who was at a meeting. Betty offered me money to come back and even jokingly attempted to solicit donations. I told them there’s not enough money in the world to get me back at the county board.

I’m working harder now than I did when I worked seven days a week because I have so many projects, but I don’t have any of the stress of working for the county board or the expense for working for the paper, trying to get to and from assignments and get to the office to get them typed with only fifty dollars to pay for it all. I never made any money, even though I loved the work. I just can’t afford it any more.

I’m going on a very strict budget next year while we get the home health business off the ground and my New Year's resolution is to save ten percent of my salary (Susie Orman's recommendation). I'm paying off all of my credit cards and accounts by the end of the year. That will make it a lot easier to stay within my budget. However, my budget will have to include a monthly visit to my “retreat.” Some things I just can’t do without!

By the way, Lee was at Holland, too, and so was Rick. I heard Gary was there before I got there. Everyone was glad to see so many of their former supervisors show up to visit. It was like a “management reunion.” Lee had two more stories for me to read and they were very good. I told her she should compile her short stories into a book. (That’s another of my projects- writing a book of short stories about the rural community where I grow up, along with compiling a book of autobiographical one act plays).

Oh, I saw products from Holland’s art studio while I was there Thursday and was duly impressed. You’d love the art program we started last week at the young adult center. We actually started our “arts program” last summer with music therapy, having my friend Kewape come in and play African drums to teach the concept of rhythm, connecting percussion sounds with movement and vocalization. Now, I’m teaching art history/appreciation using a hands-on method.

I found these “adult” coloring books at http://www.amazon.com/ that have black and white versions of classical artworks. Individuals are given a chart showing slides of the originals and choose which one they’d like to duplicate using their own coloring ideas. Then while they color with color pencils and markers, I tell them about each of the paintings, the artist, and the art form and medium. This is an introduction to art that I hope will include learning to actually create original works when we get the money to hire real artists to work with them.

You’ll also love the volunteer program we’re developing. It’s to provide assistance for seniors and others on fixed incomes who have pets. We’re soliciting donations of pet food to distribute to those who can’t afford to buy it. I came up with the idea of starting a pet food pantry when my neighbors told me they had to feed half their Thanksgiving dinner to their two dogs and cat because they didn’t have money to buy food for them.

I talked to the young adults to see if this is something they’d like to do and almost all of them said yes. I’ve written the curriculum and made up flyers for donations and distribution. We'll be opening the pantry next year when, according to the economists, things are going to get a whole lot worse. Many people may have a hard time buying food for themselves, so I'm sure buying pet food will be a real burden.

I also want to do some improvisational drama, eventually, and I plan to start teaching a writing program using journaling and other fun kinds of writing to assess writing skills and then focus in on those that need honing. I found some “anti-coloring” books that are meant for kids, but are great vehicles for allowing self-expression either through art or writing. I only work at the center fifteen to twenty hours a week, depending on what needs to be done, but I’ve been spending more of my time interacting with the young adults.

Of course, I love teaching, so I’m in my element. My goal, however, is to get the staff to take over some of the therapeutic activities I’ve started. They’re really good and I know once they have the training, they’ll be able to do all of it themselves. They already do great things. However, with such a diverse and highly functioning group, we have to provide a wide variety of choices to keep them engaged.

I did take two hours off last night after typing and reading all day to watch Will Smith in “I Am Legend.” It was worth it. The movie is really good – scary, but very good! I went to one movie while I was in Columbus with my brother James and my brother Joseph’s significant other Leslie. James made us a gourmet dinner at his house, then we went to see “Happy Go Lucky,” a British comedy.

I love British movies. They are usually so well scripted and lack the pretentiousness of American films. My only other outings in Columbus were to James’ church and lunch afterwards, and shopping at the J.C. Penny outlet with my mother and sister. But I don't go "home" to do anything except hang out with my mom and any other family members who happen to come by. Mostly, that's my niece and nephew, Kiki and Joe. They are really growing up; every time I see them, they're two inches taller!

Oh, I fell in love while I was in Columbus. He’s blonde, muscular, and has brown, soulful eyes. He was hostile to me at first, but he was soon licking my face (and feet) and biting my knuckles playfully. His name is “Bear” and he’s a Chow-Golden Retriever mix. He’s only eight months old, but he’s already huge. Bear is Mom’s companion and “grand-dog.” My sister Debbie is his owner. That dog barked at me for three whole days until he decided I wasn’t going to leave.

When I told Mom on the phone that I was going to say I fell in love with a blonde named “Bear” who licked my face and bit my knuckles, she said, “Some guy is going to show up at your door saying he loves women who like being licked!” I also met a couple of toddlers whose mother is my mom’s home health care aide. They are one and a half and two and a half. I wanted to kidnap the two and a half year old and bring him back to Toledo! His mother thought I was kidding. Well, I was, but he is just the cutest child.

I had a great time with my family. I really do love them. I spent a lot of time with my mom and Debbie and some quality time with James and Joseph, as well as Leslie and Joseph’s ex-wife Valerie and their two children. They are all avid Obama supporters and they know I’m not. However, there was never any attempt to ambush me or “gang up” on me, even though they’ve read my columns criticizing him and calling him a narcissist and a megalomaniac. (By the way, Illionis governor Rod Blagojevish is the perfect example of a narcissistic megalomaniac:
I've attached a detailed definition of narcissism from the Mayo Clinic.)

Not that I didn’t have a few heated debates with family members about our opposing views, but there was no concerted effort to “check me” or “straighten” out my opinions about The Chose One. I did get some Obama-themed Christmas gifts, but not the lectures or “interventions” I might have gotten had a spent time during the holidays with Obama supporters other than my own beloveds. My real friends have also been very kind, considering I don’t share their love of Obama.

Some other folks are waiting for the opportunity to “beat up” on me for my dissenting views. I suspect one or two folks of plotting to lure me into settings where I can be “set straight” about my political views. Of course, I won’t be falling for such an obvious trap. Anyone who attempts this really doesn't want to "corner" me; they may think they do, but they really don't. It would be kind of like cornering a wild animal. Have you ever seen anyone corner a raccoon?

They usually come out fighting, clawing and biting! Believe me, no one really wants to see that side of me. Not even me! That's why I resigned rather than "fighting" to keep my job. I hate my evil side and I try to keep it at bay. I have been very successful at not "going off" for quite a while now and I know had I stayed at Holland, even without having to "fight," the stress would have made me show the side of me I've only shown at work once - when I was at Larc Lane School years ago and a teacher (we won't name names) took out her frustrations on me.

I lost it and it took a psychologist, another behavior specialist, and three hours for me to calm down. Afterwards, half the staff was scared of me and the other half left me alone. A gym teacher and a communication specialist I had been having lunch with every day until then started avoiding me, and one of the secretary's who is a friend told me I was completely out of control. I know I was. That's why I don't like losing control because when I do, I lose it completely. It runs in the family.

My mother cannot allow herself to worry or grieve because when she did after her father died, she had a breakdown and has been taking antedepressants for the past fifty years. The reason I know so much about psychological disorders is because I've witnessed them in my own family. By the way, my schizophrenic sister contacted all of us during the holidays, asking for money. She hit pay dirt finally when she called Mom and got money from her and Joseph and Debbie.

She left messages for me on my home phone, but I just had her number blocked because she still hasn't apologized for sending everyone on my email list one of her maniacal rants last year. She's living in a shelter in San Francisco now and she did send a thank-you card to Mom, Joseph, and Debbie and ten dollars for Mom. However, a week later, she was back to ranting and raving. Every time she's lucid, my mother hopes she'll stay that way this time. I used to be on that merry-go-round, too, until I realized she's never going to change.

I understand her psychological condition, but handling it is another matter altogether. That's why when I see symptoms of psychological problems in public officials, I tend to react. People have no idea how dangerous it is to give a psychologically impaired person unlimited power, particularly one who lusts for power and feels superior to everyone and that he's "chosen." I fear our President-Elect may have some issues that really need to be addressed and monitored. I hope his "handlers" can keep him from stepping over the line.

I do wish the next administration well trying to bail us out of this economic crisis, however, (and hope it doesn’t end up a “fail-out” like the efforts to help the auto industry) and I applaud the selection of so many women to fill cabinet positions. I don’t dislike Obama (like I used to dislike George Bush- I don’t even dislike him any more); I just don’t worship at the altar of Barack and I probably never will, even if he turns out to be a great President. I wasn’t a fan of Bill Clinton either as well liked as he was. I always admired his wife; him, not so much.

By the way, I think Hillary’s chances of running for President have been circumvented by Caroline Kennedy’s interest in politics. I’m sure if Caroline takes Hillary’s Senate seat, she will follow in Obama’s footsteps and in two years we’ll see her mounting a Presidential campaign, which, of course, he will endorse, returning the favor she did him; and she will be nominated and elected as America’s first female President. I may live to see a female President of this country after all, in eight years!

The only way it will be Hillary is if Obama melts down (as I fear he will – that’s what narcissists do!) and Biden becomes President, then chooses Hillary as his vice. I doubt that Biden would run in 2012, but Hillary might if she’s the vice. Just musings, not wishful thinking, believe it or not. I’m not really invested in who runs or wins any more. I stopped caring after the Democratic Convention when women were looked over for the Democratic ticket. Now it’s all theatre to me. I just watch the drama and pray we don’t elect an idiot who’ll start a nuclear war.

Enough about politics. I’m just rambling because I don’t have time to write my column or do my blogs because I’M SO BUSY! I’ll call when I have a minute to breathe. I haven’t been returning calls or seeing anyone I don’t work with or see in the course of working since I got back. I mostly communicate with people through email because I really don’t have time to talk on the telephone. I spend all my time at home writing (I’ve got less than two months to write that novel and type it) and away from home, I’m always working on something.

Let me know when you hear about the job!

Geneva