M.I.A.

It didn't occur to me until that it was ok until the D!xie Chicks said it was.
I have worked for some time (at least 4 years, that I can think of) to not be so mad. I have blamed my exhaustion, fatigue, and frustrations on anger. I feel that if I could just move away from being mad- that I would have peace and I wouldn't have all those other things. Well, I've decided that's just flawed logic. I am mad. I am mad and that is my passion and it gets me where I need to be. I am no longer going to fain some mask of happiness in the absence of anger. I believe that I am a peaceful, peace-respecting, peace-seeking person that is the getting there in my hybrid of happiness and pissed off. Anger is my fuel-- Peace is my destination and it all makes sense to me.
I'm mad that my friend and room mate is flaking out me for a boy she met 6 months ago. I hope his divorce is final. I hope she knows that if she needs anything she can call. I hope I don't hear from her after she's gone.
I'm mad that I don't make enough money. What I do is important and if 'people,' more specifically 'women,' were honored as much as selling cars or shoes at Nieman Marcus- I'd be compensated better.
I'm mad that apathy is an epidemic. Do not bitch about how hot it is and then drive 3 blocks to get lunch. That's why it's so hot- and why it's getting hotter.
I'm mad that my mother has a 27 inch flat screen TV (and that's just the one in the kitchen) and yet I work 2 jobs.
I'm mad that cocaine will get you fired but pornography won't. We don't want you rotting out your brain via your nasal passage but go ahead and objectify women?
I'm mad that you can call me 'honey' and I can't call you asshole.
I'm mad that THIS guy can 'allegedly' assault his wife and not have to appear in court- just because he can through a ball as well as a punch.
I am so mad that a woman died 6 days before his court date. He's on a medication vacation at the VA hospital and her 2 little girls don't have a mommy! I'm mad and I'm going to do something about it. I plan on saying something about the gender inequity every chance I get.

In my, now, 7 months of time at the courthouse I hear some of the funniest shit!
I get on the elevator at the 4th floor.
Elevator stops on 5- 3 folks get on.
Brother says- on his cell phone- "Shit, playuh- I'm the only muthufucka done been arrested 4 times this year. I even got picked up on valentine's day- that ain't no love."
He gets off on 9- that's where probation is if I'm not mistaken.

Looking around the elevator at the other 2 people- I want to make eye contact with somebody, I want to share that laugh. The other 2 whities just stare up at the changing number as if that is the international symbol for sticking your fingers in your ears and going 'balalala-la'.

I intended to take a break but didn't mean to seemingly abandon my beloved blog. So here's how I'll re-enter--- like eating a drumstick (the ice-cream--- not the carcass). . . I bite off the end, suck the melting ice cream through the cone- eat the cone. All done in the presence of a feline audience. Much like that, this starts at the bottom.
It all seems to come together when I'm unable to do anything except ride it out. I'm getting much better at recognizing when anything is too much.
I'm sitting at my desk and it's been a usual week- day- hour- of one thing after another. I'm sitting, going through files, reading about how an argument over (insert something you wouldn't share with a stranger here), and I call a victim and it goes . . . Ok. She's fine. This has never happened before and he's reading some books and is really working on things OR she's living w/ her (insert sister/cousin/daughter/pastor's neighbor...) and is ready to move-on. Well, this victim is assaulted again- because the system lets her down by letting it go too long. I'm apart of that system and at this point- I just want to go home, go to a movie, or go to the store.
I'm at the store and I'm getting a few things and I get home. It's fine, I'm fine, the cats are happy to see me and we're our own little happy family of love, hairballs, and threats to jump on the table. I see the grocery list that I'd worked so hard on, only to forget, and while I see that I forgot laundry detergent- that alone is enough to cause my vision to blur with the idea that I'm failing as a successful adult because I can't even remember laundry detergent for the loveuhgawd.
I'm sorting laundry with only mild success because the cats really enjoy co-opting the baskets when they come out (yet they hate the carriers- what the hell!?!). I'm sorting laundry (to be done once I go get detergent) and at the bottom of the clothes bin that hasn't seen a body in at least 2 weeks I notice that it's not mine. It's not my shirt. It's his. It's his with stains and smells and a forgiveness that I can't give myself but would be more than willing to take if someone offered it to me. So I, for the first time in what feels like a long time do something. I do nothing. I lay down, with his dirty shirt because it's easier to hold that than to only hold him in my heart. . . and I take a nap. I do something by doing nothing and it gives my spirit a time to catch my weary body up to speed.
So the moral of the story is, and I wish it made sense to me sooner but....
I don't know shit about cars. I don't know how to fix my shift linkage (although I know I don't have one on an automatic. . . I think). I don't need to know, I just need to know that when my engine light comes on that I need to take in before the smoke comes blowin' out the backside. So, I'm not going to drive myself until I've done more damage than I can afford to fix--- and that's ok. It may only take a nap. I just need to park it.
Better things to come!