Letter to my unborn daughter part 2

Author’s Note: I’m over the moon excited, but I want to say that this note is more of thanks and a prayer that this little being inside me lives. I can’t wait for whatever this is to kick my ass, for real. So … without further adieu, here is my letter.

Dear unborn daughter,

Thank you for entering my womb, for the Gods have opened it wide. You are someone I have waited for for many years. I found out about you on September 8, and now you’re growing like a little flower, perhaps a weed, inside me. Nothing wrong with being as fast as a weed, but I want you to be at least six pounds or heavier by the time you’re due in a special time of the year in 2023. I’m so poised to throw my energy into taking care of you, it’s not even funny. One day, daughter, son, whatever you reveal yourself to be, I will love you. Forever, for always, I will never stop protecting you because hell, Mama bears do that every day. I’m more than just a Mama Bear, you could call me a lioness, you could call me a mother elephant. You could call me any kind of tiger, a mother tiger. Next, you might ask me, what are elephants like? Well, the matriarch of an elephant herd is the most fascinating animal in all of the greater world. The African and Asian elephants run the family with females on top, because the male bull elephants are a bit boring, and they’re more aggressive. I want to be clear, male elephants are aggressive, not human males. We run our families quite different, but the principle is the same. I could be a lioness watching over her cub, a mama bear, a mama anything that protects a baby. Have you ever looked at a mother gorilla? Yeah, you’ll someday understand how much I want to protect you, how much I want to make sure you have a safe space to find yourself, to know your true self. Please, while you’re inside me, show me who and what you will become. Kick my ass, will you, sweetie?

I don’t care if I hurt badly while you grow, my lower back becomes a hot mess, and then when you exit, my body will have been torn big time. So what? I hope you realize that Daddy and I love you dearly. You have brought your father and I closer together, and he truly wants you, and wants to care for me and you together. I wouldn’t have it any other way. As a matter of fact, I’m about to set things up. I’ve already reported pregnancy to the Denver Human Service office, that way I can feed you while you’re inside me. I’ve done some pretty big steps to make sure you are safe, including but not limited to deciding not to show ultrasonic images of your developing physical body on any social media platform, and I won’t even speak your name here in this piece. YOu will have a beautiful name, and Daddy and I have picked out some names, name possibilities, but you will hear your name when you exit, or sometime before. We won’t reveal this to the public till your six or seven pound behemoth of a body rolls head first into this wide world. WE will welcome you with open arms as I said in a letter before, and your daddy says he’s sorry for having driven Mommy to cry so much, but he says he was angry with her about various stuff he shouldn’t be this angry about. My financials will be used up and life here is expensive, that’s what we have to accept. Daddy is going to get a job, and he wants to do this for us. HE wants to do this for us and the rap album, he’s determined. Driven, he says, he’s so driven and motivated and longs for a day he can quit his job. He needs to purchase office space for his LLC, that’s a company thing that you use to say you have a business and you’ll learn about that when you’re older someday, but you will someday understand your daddy has a lot on his mind. He’ll be at dinner with us almost every day, and I’l kick up some good food, promise you I will, for everybody. I will tell you, I cooked a basic Mac ‘n cheese, but I brag a lot that your dad’s cooking is bombastic and awesome as hell, and his organic ingredients are hormone free and you’ll grow as you should, and he insists on fresh produce and such, what a weirdo. *laughs* But trust me, you’ll thank Daddy and I for putting good food on your plate every day. I’ll have you take a big bite of BBQ chicken, and that totally will beat top Ramen, big time. Sometime in your college days, if you choose, you may meet many people who eat lots of Ramen Noodles in their diet, which though it’s bad, it’s quick and cheap. Don’t fall for it.

My dear child, blessed is the time you will spend in my womb, and I’m grateful every day that you are inside here, preparing to spring forth upon the world. IF anyone says a word about how I should abandon you or give you away, I’m gonna knock the sayer of such on their asses and I won’t let anyone touch you. Trust me, when you begin to feed for the first time on the nourishment I will provide, your daddy will guard you like a hawk, like a father eagle guards its nestlings, and I won’t let anyone mess around. We will fill out paperwork at the hospital or wherever we decide to give birth, which isn’t gonna take much, and I’m determined that your father, myself, and you have a great shot at life. I’m hoping for a girl, of course, because you and I will have a lot in common, maybe you will understand why I won’t just banish you to your room, force you to grapple with emotions alone, I will sit with you and help you process those emotions. I won’t let you cry out while you’re in bed, not for the first couple years, and even past that, if you need us, we’ll be there. We the parents will cuddle you as is our obligation, and if you have monsters in your nightmares, we will spray lots of lavender at those bad boys, and trust me, they’ll be gone in a heartbeat, on the run from whatever they think they can do to you. WE won’t let a thing touch you, and that’s a fact. I won’t let anyone try and steal you from my dreams, my home, my arms. We await your arrival in May, and later on, you will be about six months or so when we celebrate Christmas together. Maybe you’ll sit in an old stranger’s lap and he’ll be dressed as Santa Claus, but for real, I think St. Nicholas has interceded and blessed me with something, a possibility. That would come if I was Catholic, but Nicholas is the patron saint of little kids, children and the like. I asked him for a child, and look what I have. A child on the way, and by a very wise and experienced man. I can’t wait to hold you, dear one, so don’t leave me too soon. Stay where you are, enjoy growing and kicking and throwing yourself in and out of balance inside me, have fun. Have fun making me feel like total shit while I’m in the bathroom every second, every two seconds, sitting on my bladder and making me pee so much. Have fun tearing me up inside, literally, or perhaps gliding outside my birth canal, screaming in my face, “Feed me!” Have fun learning about the world, how to get my full attention, then later how to express emotions, huge ones, like love and lust, loss and grief, so much in the way of emotions you will have to learn to process in a logical manner. Even if you were male, I’d tell you what those emotions were, and you have to understand that processing those is how we cope with things like the death of a loved one, a dog also, the idea that a sibling may enter our circle, the loss of a favorite pet or toy, lots of things, or perhaps you wanna process the elation after you win a basketball game, or after someone steals a book from you. We will help you process what’s in your mind, we will help you as parents even in the Giver are required to do. So before I end here, let me just say you have blessed me just by being your little bitty self, in my womb, where you will become a beautiful soul in the world. Thank you, Goddess of the universe, for blessing me with this beautiful soul.


Updates and some other news

Dear readers,

I just want to let you all know that I might not be much writing on WordPress, but I will start by saying I want to write about parenting as a disabled woman. Why? You may be wondering why I haven’t written here in a long while. Well, a surprise has come to pass. I am expecting my first child, his second. It’s amazing, and it’ll be a whirlwind experience for me. WordPress also tried to be all crashy on iOS 16 so I had to uninstall and reinstall the app itself. What is my verdict on iOS 16? Well, .0 bugs aside, it’s a pretty good system, but the bugs I see are mostly the notification center, not the app switcher since right now, I have a home button. Geeks, hear me out. It’s not as bad as it may appear, and Apple should, I agree, get rid of .0 bugs. All the beta testing doesn’t seem to pull away bugs. Ugh. Speaking of which, I pray for a new bed, a whole new mattress, a clean room, a more sanitary environment for myself, my partner, and the coming child. Please, I’m over the moon about this, and I don’t want crawlers on me or anything else.

Thank you readers for your patience and consideration, so yeah.


Why the Space Program Was and Is a Waste of Taxpayer Dollars

Dear readers,

Clay and I had a great talk about the space program and although there are traditions I do miss about seeing launches and landings of the space shuttle in Florida, there are a few good points I’d like to hammer home with all of us. Humanity is in crisis as we speak: we have a homeless issue going on, and furthermore, the Rose Community building I’m in wants to gentrify the west Denver apartment where I’ve been for ten years. They plan to demolish the building and force elderly and oxygen bearing residents, along with wheelchairbound and blind folks, to leave the premises immediately. This is a very big hardship on all of us. I’m tempted to take Clayton with me and we have Coalition for the Homeless help with finding good shelter for both of us. Trenton too. No worries, at least his family is here in Colorado, unlike mine, and I’m not moving across a country full of people who care not about music. This leads to another point.

The space program pretty much ate up all the taxpayer dollars that should have been spent on a few things. Things like music education are more valuable than just STEM (science, tech, engineering and math) fields. The taxes and government revenue spent on launching a multibillion dollar rocket in the sky should have been spent on musical instruments for urban kids, including African American and Hispanic children, children who are economically disadvantaged and can’t get decent food in their stomachs. Not only that, but then there are the working class white people too. The Appalachian children who don’t get proper access to healthcare, those kids need music too. Music is something I grew up with, I breathed, I lived. Music is something I can’t live without. Now I type this thinking about the multiple billions of dollars a government like ours is spending on space and rocketry. Honestly, all that rocketing in to the sky isn’t gonna get us a new planet to destroy, but it is going to allow us to fill our children’s heads with useless information. Science and math are not always gonna hit home with a kid who has cognitive difficulties, period. End of story. Some kids don’t simply absorb scientific bullshit in public schools, excuse my French there folks. However, STEM fields are not truly contributing to the bigger domestic problems we have been experiencing as of late.

While we’re all over vaccinating our kids against monkeypox, covid 19 and who knows what other diseases we have been throwing our kids’ brains into, we’re neglecting reality checks all over our economic circumstances. First, homelessness is a real problem and it will be for myself, Clayton and Trenton. We’re all probably going to be gentrified because of a world that doesn’t want us to survive and thrive. This world is already taking away opportunities to exist for girls in Nepal and Pakistan, but it is doing worse by blind girls in those same nations. Same with the United States, Guatemala, Mexico and other places where sight and white and able supremacists thrive and play happily beside the homeless guy on the street begging for McDonald’s burgers every day because he can’t obviously get food stamps without an address or something. It sickens me that we the people of the United States are not following our own thoughts of a land of opportunity, that a surly government official, Kenneth Cuccinelli tried to rewrite the Statue of lIberty’s poem, that another surly government official lied and told everybody he wins, that he is God, and even more surly government officials want to send us to Mars, that surly corporations want to throw so many of us out of our places of shelter, that so many vagabond misfits who are known as musicians and Bohemians don’t have a place in society. Instead, we have NASA, the Spacex and other corporate moguls and giant companies throwing money into useless stuff that none of humanity is capable of realizing or that a majority of us would never dream of or couldn’t dream of doing.

While the space program did lead to the invention of this here mac that I’m typing this blog on, that it led to i things and phones the size of a candy bar, that it did lead to better inventions that led to accessible stuff for blind people, that it led to medical intervention for a lot of life threatening disorders and such things as this, it is still a useless venture to try to send people to a planet that doesn’t have but barely any breathable air. This planet doesn’t have happy little Marvin the Martian greeting you as you disembark your spacecraft. There are no such places and people on Mars, so why are we throwing money at it? Why are we trying to put superior blood on a place of nothing? Can’t we just get over this superiority complex? As humans, it is our responsibility to get down and dirty and think about our problems, and I mean down and dirty meaning we have to roll in the much hated muck of life. We have to feed the hungry, whether we want to or not. We have to house the homeless and stop gentrifying our disabled people out. The apartments where two of my friends lived in someplace out in Oregon gentrified them out. Mark and Amy eventually found a home in Greeley, not too much farther away from Denver than you should be, but Amy and Mark are happy here, but they could have been worse off for wear. They could have been homeless and to the point where they had to live in a married couple homeless shelter, and with Amy’s beloved late service dog Luke alive at her side at the time, most shelters don’t take service animals, even with a couple behind the dog. Mark had a guide I think at the time of the gentrification, and so that would have been difficult to swallow. The couple were lucky, but not everybody’s going to be lucky.

There are more things we have to do to roll in the muck. Here are the things we need to reallocate our resources for and to.

  1. Homeless people must be housed, and our taxpayer dollars and cents must be spent on the problems of inflation and housing costs.
  2. People must be fed, including all children and those with special needs, and children must be given access to absolute healthy food, including veggies and fruits, good meat, quality food that does not have saturated fats and bad oils and frying stuff in it, and that means no McDonald’s or fast food items at school lunchtimes. We need to salvage the Obama era health plan for schools, but make it so that the schools are serving actual healthy as hell food that doesn’t keep kids empty in the belly. Kids should be getting access to breakfast at home or at school, but we need to help our single mom friends out, right?
  3. Kids need music in schools or at home. We need to reallocate the funding we waste on military police and put it toward music education. Music education is a big thing for me. I’d like to call on Ian Schwindt, my band director, and if I could, I’d like to say his music education is going to die without dedicated guys like him teaching band. Schwindt taught me band for four years, and through his love of music, I personally felt like my life was saved. Even if I had unrequited love affairs with boys, it wasn’t without question or in vain. My band mates were numbering about 300 average when I was in school. Although most of the kids had fathers or mothers working the KSC (Kennedy Space Centre) in the cape as we called it, these folks had it big because they had music in school. IF my dad, okay my adopted father, hadn’t had a decent music education, I don’t think he’d excel in his college studies as well as the today’s child would do because he had music to thank. Music is good for your brain, it is better for your brain than fries. It is better than the boring lecture your teacher is giving you about index cards and how to write a simple paragraph. Music and singing and playing songs with instruments such as our voices and trumpets and flutes and all of that, all of it needs to be brought back because of people like Mr. Ian schwindt, and so many other advocates for music education. I also want to call out in the best way possible A.J. McClane from the Backstreet Boys. HE has been a tireless advocate for music education, and has done telethon ish concerts for Save the Music. Well, if the government would hop aboard, we’d be in no need of Save the Music, but I will tell you that Mr. McClane’s work will not go in vain or unnoticed. But we need to add something to the music curriculum that will ruffle the feathers of white supremacist America. See below.
  4. I would require all students to study hip hop in school, jazz and hip hop being the music of African American people and a lot of hip hop has roots in African musics of every sort. I don’t care what you white Classical people think, hip hop is life. Rap is life. Jazz is life. The music we listen to is not all junky stuff, stuff that includes degrading comments about minorities, women and so on, it also has a conscious thought process going on. Struggles of a Blind Man, for example, tells the story of a disabled man, the typical of such lives a life trying and struggling to pull himself up by his bootstrap. How many others can you name that do this? There is another song by a man called B Mob, My Story, which tells the raw story of a Texas blind rapper who spent years “selling by the night” all kinds of drugs, got involved with the Bloods, all of that wrought out in a song. This is not bad rap. This is good rap, this is the rap we need to encourage kids to do. We also need to encourage kids to find themselves, including write their own rap lyrics. Call it revolutionary, but that’s what we desperately need to do. Esoteric Quality, AKA my dear friend and colleague in life Clayton, would be highly and humbly proud. I could see the schools changed by an approach like this. NO more people seeing rap as a threat, but rather a vehicle that exposes and turns people on their heads, letting them express themselves. EQ was almost not allowed to express himself, having almost been institutionalized just for writing his own hip hop lyrics. I’m sorry, but with my approach and the undoing of all classical and super duper high culture bullshit in our public schools, we will not have to worry and not another young rapper will experience the same problems. EQ’s lyrics are innovative, radical and very fierce as hell. HE has many more beats to do but I’m proud to say his album will be a gem. I hope it becomes such for all rappers everywhere, and one day we will teach others how to do rap music just like that. We need people who will call out racism, ableism, gendder exclusivity, many other things humanity simply refuses to stop sweeping under the rug. Hence, we need to ruffle as many feathers as possible, so bring out the rap music, okay?
  5. Ethnomusicology should be another requirement in schools. I studied a bit of world music, but I’m glad I did because I enjoy Indian bhangra music and Baliwood beats make me wanna dance a lot more. Just wait till my Indian friends find this out. India has lots of reasons to smile but Baliwood is one genre of film and music we need to come to appreciate.
  6. LEt’s go further. Besides hip hop in schools, so much conscious rap in our future, and becoming bulletproof when it comes to other issues in school, let’s also drop public so called education of our children as a requirement, but with a few thoughts in mind. Compulsory attendance in a public or private religious school should not be mandatory because children need to be educated primarily by parental figures, including mothers and fathers, aunts and uncles, trusted grown people called adults. … Yes, you heard right. Trustworthy adult figures need to be teaching our children not only the mathematics, science and reading, we need to be teaching our kids history, through our eyes only, history as we should know it. Here’s an example. I’d tell my kids the stories of Covid 19 mask wearing, showing them an n95 mask I would have to wear outside. I would tell the children about the masks like this: “When we began thinking about bringing you into the cruel world we live in, we had to experience a pandemic.” Yes, we’d also tell about September 11 too. We’d talk about the Muslim extremists, but we’d also have to at the same time tell them that not every Muslim would do such a thing. What most people don’t see though is the roots of extremism can be found in every sacred text corresponding to every religion. Examples like those in the Bible and Qur’an lead to groups like the WFF (Word of Faith Fellowship) and the groups like the Taliban and alQaeda doing extremist activities. These texts have words in them, some of which are improperly interpreted, other wording in the Qur’an actually sanctions some violence, as Ayaan Hirsi Ali has said in Heretic, one of her books.
  7. We need to drop all mentioning of prayer in school. It’s simply offensive, and all taxpayer dollars should never be spent on faith based schooling for any child. That can be done at home.
  8. The government should not be spending taxpayer dollars on obvious pork barrel spending, which should include political campaigns that lead to violence against minority groups, and all taxpayers should not have to pay any taxes if the group they’re supporting is not listed as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center.
  9. No tax dollars should be spent propping up churches, make them pay taxes. Churches are simply leaching off humanity’s wallets, and some are all about the sucking blood from humanity’s pocketbooks. We can’t do this sort of thing and expect churches not to be taxed. We need to start taxing so called hate groups because hate has no place in a free society. Hate is not a good thing for society. Showing love of a universal sort of thing is fine, and not every church is a scandalous group of nobodies who want to beg and steal money only to go on charter jets. Think Tammy Fay. But churches like the FLDS and all these Christ ish hate churches need to be heavily and mercilessly taxed. Ruffle some feathers of all the white supremacist peoples, but I don’t care. We can’t have these Neo Nazi and Neo Volcanish groups mucking around with humanity and their hearts and minds. We can’t even have Anti Semetic groups going scott free on taxes and paying their share to make up for the harm they are doing to our children and their friends and peers. Hate simply has no place in society. It is a big hangnail for which the only cure is to cut it off or peel the damn thing off and let the finger bleed out all the hate it holds. Hate is simply too strong a word.
  10. Government peoples should be required to work in the fields they are running for in committee work. Otherwise, we also need to have disabled representation in our government. Drop the no SSI recipients rule for holding political office. It’s ableism.
  11. We need to stop spending so much money on killing, and start spending it on bringing people to life, even if it’s back from the dead. We need to bring music back into our lives, and to hell with Sputnik, we need no more Russian intervention on our soil which means don’t sell our politicians, don’t mess up our scientific things, don’t mess it all up. The Russians blew our chances of being a musically inclined nation, and we suddenly had to roll our sleeves up and get to science and math … science and math and more science and math, and no music is the result. Lessen the real science, don’t discuss space exploration as we are so against CRT, critical race theory. We need to discuss slavery and its effect on Americans and their lives. Slaves should not be an afterthought. Black people are here to stay, they’re not going anywhere, and they’re going to make this place their own, so let them do it.

IF you want to watch I am Not Your Negro, a documentary about the black experience, just do it. You’ll understand why after a few moments.

Also, if you really wana know what to do to bring music back in our schools, I only scratched the surface. HIp hop and rap do have a place in expression and education, not in the outskirts of street corners only. Why can’t we give it the respect it deserves? This is only the beginning of a radical remake of America we need so badly. And our number one spending hazard is space, sadly the frontier we’ve been exploring is our sticking point.


Letter to my parents

Author’s note: The following is an open letter, and this is dedicated to all of the young women and minorities who refuse to submit to being fixed or forced to conform to family standards.

Dear Mom and Dad,

So I was visiting my best friend from high school, we hadn’t really seen each other in years. She wants to believe I lived a privileged life in a house on some stupid golf course. Well, she’s half right. But there are problems with the way you handled things, and let’s start from the beginning.

Mom, tell me who my biological dad is. Tell me if he has a cancerous family history, whether he has heart disease and whether he has schizophrenia or other issues in his bloodline. If you don’t, I’ll probably never forgive you for this because doctors need this stuff. If you can’t spit the name out, spit out the medical details instead. Tell me what the dude looked like, tell me what the hell you two were up to. I won’t be the one to make you spit out those details, and if you can’t or refuse to, well you can. For one, I have a very awesome couple of friends, one with much wisdom. I won’t reveal names here in this letter for the purpose of safety and security because you are untrustworthy and have taken every boyfriend and potential suitor and treated him like I was the crazy one and I shouldn’t be with anyone. You said I was unlovable, even from day one, and said I was bossy. Well, bossy my ass. You tried to shrink my leadership positions, make me the most incapable person on earth whether privileged or not so you could get me help, and that’s not the right or correct way to do it. Here’s what you do: you just talk about what needs to be talked about, and stop making me look helpless. You are the most hapless white people on the face of the earth, I’m sorry to say, but you are. You did not spoil me, you sheltered me, two different words. You also wanted a straight girl, and guess what you don’t have? You have a woman who thinks men are jerks, not all of them, but I’m considering dating a woman, but who cares at this point. Romantic relationships are bunk, I can’t tell you how worn my heart is and I’m so weary. My latest partner won’t say he loves me, and claims there are “too many issues”, but what does anyone know at this point? I want my skills back, yes, but I also don’t want complaints from folks suggesting that all my cooking is “unhealthy.” Bullshit, if you want me to cook with veggies and fruits and all of that, first I have to be able to prep food with more produce involved, know how to spot the signs that the produce is bad, etc etc. You hapless humans never taught me that stuff, I had to learn from a fellow blind man. I couldn’t tell you just how hapless and unqualified you both are to even be the parental figures for a disabled female child. You not only would have never supported me if I came out as gay, but you subscribe to a very disaffirmational and rigid religious zeal that doesn’t belong in my kind of world. Roman Catholicism does not have a place in my circle, neither does evangelical Christianity, trust me it doesn’t. I’d rather be queer or bisexual or gay than have to marry a straight white male who sits on his ass watching football all day, and I’d rather work as a team with my partners than have them laze around on my sofa screaming, “Get him” and “Touchdown” at every goddamn second. Oh, and I have every right to say what I wish, so don’t pull the young lady crap on me. One, I would never call my mother a bitch, no matter what she thinks or says, because I know better than that. Second, Dad, no matter how much I despise you and the whole family of guys who practically wish I’d just submit to being institutionalized in a bad place, I can’t tell you how many times there are happy memories, some of which I’ve had to blot out because of your blatant attacks on my human rights. I now have my rights in hand, and I will not invite you to any wedding, and to hell with weddings and romance. Even if a little kid comes into my room and begs me to marry Daddy, how the hell can I explain to my kids that “Daddy doesn’t love me quite enough to marry me.” I can’t explain to your future grand kiddos that unfortunately, weddings are like a transfer of ownership from a woman’s father to a woman’s husband. This archaic tradition, I’d say, your daddy did twice, and fell miserably to divorce twice. I want a spiritual bond, an eternal love that transcends time, so when my beloved man goes on to Heaven, he will watch me like a hawk, and he will do things in Heaven like mend my broken heart. As for you, David, how dare I even consider calling you Father or Daddy, you said I should burn in Hell, blatantly attacked my rights, shoved me around on my floor, gave me rugburns so I’d be possibly reminded to respect a fearful patriarch, worse yet you made me sit in a silent room devoid of music and books, reminded me that I was privileged but trust me, there is no privilege being abused and used for personal parental gain. There is no room for forgiving your whole stunt you pulled with guardianship. There is no room for you to frighten a dog or hang me up a tree. There is simply no room.

My friend asked me to look honestly at my life, and honestly while looking back, I can’t allow people to discuss past things with me in an opposite light. I can’t cast the guardianship, for example, in a sympathetic light because it is, as of this moment, even looking back, a blatant disregard for privacy, civility, and human dignity. IF you had used this guardianship, I’d have told the judge that you were abusive and stupid, I’d have let it all out. You’re lucky I didn’t do that. You were foolish enough to get guardianship and you were also foolish enough to invest too many hours and too much time to boys who would get jobs. You attempted to brainwash me to attend a bogus and disaffirming university called Notre Dame, and who needs that place because Amy Coney Barrett is a complete washout. Call her Handmaid Amy if you wish, but she’s a complete idiot and so are a lot of your professors emeritus in that area. Catholic peoples should not ever impose God or the Bible on people who are clearly not interested, clearly hurt, clearly traumatized.

Because of your traumatic attacks on me, I’m going to give you no forgiveness and because you are on the side of antiabortion and antiwoman for god’s sake, I will not let you attend my babies’ christenings, birthdays and other milestones. You won’t be getting photos or videos of baby saying their first word, only the supportive few will. For one, my partner and I will be living separately, but I think it will be good for us to do that for a while, maybe he’ll miss having me close beside him and cuddling him and all of that. Perhaps we will make love on some days when we feel like it, and I’ll call and say, “Hey baby, wanna come over for the weekend?” We’d take walks, and I’d prep a meal and such, and then we’d pop on up to the bedroom and have a lot of fun with one another. He’d do the same for me. I so wish I’d get a house, but certainly, that house has to be serviced with pest control and contractors to fix broken stuff, all of that fancy stuff. David and Mom, you guys won’t be allowed in my house without promising to not observe any wrongs you feel I’m doing. Do not bring your stupid crucifix into my property, and don’t even bless your stupid meal. I don’t wanna hear that unless it’s not you saying those words. For heaven’s sake, don’t bring your hellfire and brimstone God into the conversation. Think I’m gonna burn in Hell? Actually, for disaffirming people who are different and or sexual minorities, I know who’s going and who’s not. Don’t give me unnatural relationships, I’m defending my partner’s right to play with a guy if he wants. That’s his right. IF he wants a bisexual young lover, it is his right. Don’t give me Sodom and Gomorrah, that bullshit is a myth to keep people in straight relationships. I will never even pray to your dead saints, I won’t even visit you in Florida, and because you ruined my existence everywhere I go, even if you think you did what you thought was right, it wasn’t, I will take all the stuff you said about me being warped and crazy and throw it right back at you. There were memories and yes, we did go to Disney World, but you have made my life much more difficult. Theme parks are not of any value because they’re manmade structures and people get themselves messed up in them. Worse, they do this in Ybor City. Remember my friend from Park Avenue Baptist who was a total drunk? This guy totally lost his brain on five or so beers in Ybor, and he got his probation and such, I won’t speak his name for his personal safety. We were all young and stupid. I get that.

But here’s the deal: I won’t be visiting Florida or Disney until a few things happen. First, you guys need to get rid of Ron and his minions. They are dangerous. You side with white supremacy? You might have just been labeled such because critical race theory affects everybody. White supremacists come in all forms, all levels, all shapes and sizes. Yes, my best friend is mixed, but she being darker I don’t know. It’s not like I’d marry my best friend, a female at all. She doesn’t do that kind of thing. Here I am, looking in to the soft blue eyes of the man I just was intimate with last night. I love him so much, he does not know I’m one day gonna surprise him with all kinds of stuff. He could send me stuff, I’d send him stuff too. Christmas will be a fun filled time for all of us.

AS for you guys, all the memories of so many good things cannot outweigh the horrific attack on my human rights, and the horrific things you will try and do to my partner and me. We’re going to stay friends, friends with a lot of benefits. But one day, I want that love and care to come crashing through. Whether there are issues or not, I still won’t marry a man with any vision or whiteness, I can’t imagine doing so. Men like that to me are trash, and you presented me with small town living in a little old hamlet called Titusville, where trashy people live. I’m sorry, the men were trash. Except for, well, one or two. The man I could have married in town is not allowed even to speak my name, so you think, so I’m gonna just say this. No more sob stories, no matter how many times my partner was making love to women or guys, guess what? I don’t give a fuck how many times anyone slept with me either. I accept and love this man, the one sleeping beside me on my bed, as a full lover and friend, and he is so wise, strong, and true to me. I will always be true to him, even if he presented me with a hundred million sister wives. He’d be pretty bogged down and busy. Okay, even two sister wives I’d throw out because I don’t want to share him in marriage with some sighted women who will take advantage of him.

AS for you believing he takes advantage of me, just go your own separate way with me. Christmas won’t be the same. I know Thanksgiving will not be the same without a loving family, but what is a loving family when you destroyed my self esteem? GEt the privilege you supposedly gave me out of your goddamn ears. Just don’t mention Jesus or God to me and we’ll be fine. Do not judge my partner or me and the kids we have one day by religious vices, grounds or otherwise.

AS for me, I can’t love someone who disrespects my bodily integrity or human rights. My partner held himself accountable for stuff he’s done that hurt me deeply, and I will not stray away from him because of that. HE is concerned about panicking while walking, but that is something he can’t work on with me and that’s okay. Only a professional and a good shoemaker will deal with this. I want a new pair of athletic shoes, period, no ifs and questions. No strings attached, I want me a new pair of good walking shoes, no dressy bullshit from some designer tag. Just a pair of athletic shoes, something that won’t rub my ankles raw. Just send me those and be gone with you both. I have a family to start, I have things to do, and a whole world to conquer and change for the better without you to ruin things.

I have no qualms about saying that neither of you deserved any kind of guardianship, but furthermore, think before you pray to any god on my behalf. Your whole blood will be cursed beyond all the curses I could muster. You might have had Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy, and you really need to reanalyze how you did that. No more of you in my life I guess.

Your 35-year-old daughter,


I love You

Author’s note: This isn’t your ordinary blog post. I’m not gonna write ordinary things today. Below is a bunch of song lyrics, a bunch of things I want to express at the moment. Enjoy.

I was lying in my bed so late at night,

Wishing you were here and saying it would be all right,

But you just don’t understand me, you probably never will.

Whenever love becomes a thing at all,

What I get is a cruel joke a thousand stories tall.

My mind is altogether out of place in everybody’s arms,

And you said you would never get with anyone else like me, …

I loved you, and I still do.

You know I take back all the words you might have said to me,

And I won’t be able to hold on to the past,

But when you say you’re the last, I don’t believe this lie,

I love you.

As I take the pieces of my heart to grieve,

I can’t help but wonder how you don’t believe

Any words I say, any small things I do,

When will you ever wake up to this hurt?

When will you ever see the way I bleed?

When will you ever tell me something that isn’t harmful to my soul?

I loved you, I still do.

You know I’d take back every word you said to me,

I won’t hold on to the past, but when you say you’re the last,

I don’t believe this lie.

IF you ever need a shoulder to cry on, look to me instead

OF the pointless people edging me into the pit of death,

IF you want to someday see your errors floating about your face,

Think of how you threw me out and got your whole heart lost in space,

And what I said to you was never cruel and not unkind,

ANd you say I have no golden heart, a very unsound mind,

But you don’t get the way I feel, the way I can’t resist

The way you loved me prior to your refusal to assist,

And I wish you weren’t the liar, you weren’t eh heartbreak man,

But all I see is blisters on the side of both my hands,

As I write this, my shattered heart can’t possibly repair,

Not without the words I long to hear,

I loved you, and I still do,

You know I’d take back every word you said to me,

And I won’t hold on to the past, and when you say you’re the last,

I won’t believe this lie,

I would die to save your whole self, don’t believe me, just ask.

I would not dare let someone kill you, let them shoot me first,

Just know that in my heart of hearts, I love you.

Letter to my Beloved

Author’s Note: I’m weeping yet again. This time, well, I’ll just reveal in the content below. This is partially inspired by Gloria Whelan’s novel Homeless Bird, and you will as the reader learn what this is about.

Dear beloved,

I do not wish to name who the beloved is for the safety of everybody who reads this. If you are who I think you are reading this blog entry, please hear me out. I’ve been having endless crying spells, night after night, perhaps for two nights in a row, and you have done away with my heart on account of trivial matters, and you hurt me in a way so deeply I couldn’t stand it. You claim I’m not responsible, well hear me out. First, I do not absolve myself of responsibility for money trouble, fine with me. However, I do absolve responsibility for supposed narcissism and self centeredness, for this isn’t true. I grew up in a patriarchal Catholic family, mind you, but most of the Catholic church teachings do not teach selfishness. But the labels can be put aside. Even the Hindu Vedas and Jewish Torah do not teach that it is okay to be selfish. No religion or body of wisdom allows us to be selfish, only love thyself. I get that. But I want to tell you something I wish for both of us.

One thing, no more accusations of overtly talking one or another’s ear off. That’s a common way to silence a woman’s voice, and I don’t feel comfortable with that. Secondly, and this is critical, please listen to me and comfort me in times of trouble. You did so as a friend while some bastard threatened my life. You did so as a friend when my grandmother died. Do so now in this case because I want comfort from all the wrong you did, and you should fix it too. Fourthly, well, I’ll save that for another paragraph. See below.

The biggest thing I wish for us is to communicate without being accused of drama or draining. I had visions of beings that would probably be my kids, sound crazy?, but I also have had visions of what our life could look like together, but what’s horrific about this is how you want to throw me out like the paper wrappings you see on candy and food. Except I’m nothing like those. I’m just a woman, a female being willing and able to help you see where you went wrong. For one, there are the better angels who know what happened to me and I know what happened to me. You call it a “warning”, but let me tell you. You picked on my mental health condition and did not learn to understand or cope with it, and you have a temper. I want to encourage, no I want to humbly implore you to work on this. I will be glad to work on money troubles, only if you work on the temper and get back on track with me because all your friends won’t necessarily do something about it. I love you that deeply, but here’s a scene that keeps playing out in my head. Please listen and or read this, hear me out, and follow what I’m saying.

The scene begins with a young woman and her lover who is her age, sitting by the riverside, somewhere in India, probably a swampy polluted area but it’s the Yamuna River, bordering the city of Vhrindavan, the place of widows. Here’s the backstory in brief: Koly, a young woman of 13 at the story’s beginning, was cruelly sold to a sickly boy so he could just go to the Ganges River to heal from tuberculosis, which he doesn’t. Then, mind if I say this, she is treated like shit by her mother in law, she is no longer a proper daughter in law, so she’s put to work as a slave, and then her daddy in law dies, her sister in law is married off in a pompous and better wedding, and she has nothing more to look forward to. Now, she meets Raji, a young boy who pedals a little rickshaw bike with her in the back to a widow house in the city after she’s been not only abandoned there, but brutally insulted and forced to rely on bits of rice and such and try to find work where she can. Then she goes to such as the Widows House, where she meets a rich woman and a guy who owns an embroidery shop, where she later learns and improves her skills doing saris, those Indian dress things they wear in special circumstances. Beloved, you don’t want to wear a sari, and I’m glad you haven’t, wink wink. They’re a bitch to put on, trust me, I’ve tried. But anyway, as we get to the river with Raji and Koly, we see Raji sitting with Koly after many love letters, Koly being one to keep an eye on Raji’s writing details and saying how he should spell one thing or another, and this is a girl. She’d learnt to read which is rare in some remote areas for women in India. That’s badass of her, right?

Anyway, Raji has a proposal for Koly, age seventeen, and she’s living with her buddy Tanu from the widows housing thing, and she’s been working for this guy Daas, who owns an embroidery shop, and the next thing he says to her is something about love and marriage. They go deep into the discussion of what to expect in their relationship, and in traditions past, girls would be sold for money to old men. Well, what Raji says at one point is so powerful it would make your head spin, and maybe fall off partially at your neck.

Raji says, and I’ll change the dialogue slightly a bit because it’s about Rupees, but he says, “I don’t want to talk to rupees, I want to talk to my wife.” He goes on to explain that his mother and father, in his words maa and baap, don’t talk to or never spoke a thousand words between each other because they were not only arranged to marry each other, but there was money exchanged and or money was too high on the priority list. It seems that money is too important not only to you, beloved one, but to most people in general. I have a proposal, albeit not for marriage, so hear me out.

Like Raji and his girlfriend Koly, I don’t want money involved in our exchanges if any. I want communication, no physical force, no leaving, none. I just want to talk to you. You did so to me, but you did so in ways to absolve yourself from doing so to others. Please hear this. I love you, no further explanation needed for why. Love has no condition, it loves you more and more every day. I cry every day and night thinking about how you and I could have done better for each other, and I will continue to cry so hard my eyes will fall out because you are the star for which Colorado waited, and got. You were and are the soil in which my ideas came. I don’t want to talk to a pile of banknotes, rupees changed to dollars here, I want to talk to you. I want to hug you, not my or your money. Your rap album would be a gem for your life, sure, but I don’t want to hear that album unless you write something for me, to love and honor me, my life and let me know you are with me. I want to hear comforting but not angry words. I want to hear words of love and kind thoughts. I keep sending you peaceful thoughts but for whatever reason I don’t get those back. You skewed something about me to a friend, and I have nobody now and nobody cares. I want you to undo the damage, not run away from it. I don’t want to say you are definitely labeled an abuser, for that is a serious label. I don’t want you to complete any further sentences, I just want your arms around me. Like Koly, I would embroider you on a quilt in my mind’s eye. I would use gold and red threads for your hair, blue ones for your eyes, and I’d make every detail of you come to life and you’d be holding a bouquet of red flowers. I’d have you sitting at a desk in another panorama, creating the beats you love so much. I cry as I type this, wondering how and where we both went wrong. IF I could just have another cuddle with you, another hug, another tear cried more is a tear too many. I don’t want to cry to my macintosh anymore, I just want to hold your sweet face in my hands, cup it like I would anyone who is crying. If you have to grab a tissue, do so while you read this, love. Why read, you may say. Because you are loved.

For one thing, I want never to speak with money, guns, or a pile of stone. I just want to talk to you. I want your lithe body next to mine, your hands enfolding mine, and I want to hear you breathe every night of my life. I want to make love under the sun, moon and in water, and if I have to walk through the fires of Hell to receive another kiss from you, I will gladly do so even if I burn to ash. Cover yourself with my ashes, and I will forgive you for all the wrongs you might have said and done to me.

For all the stuff you might have called me, I’ll tell you I will forgive you on one condition. Don’t repeat the same mistake again. A wise young Kristen Lunceford from my private school days once told me, “Everybody has their good points and bad points.” Kristen should be here next to me, probably staring at me as I type this, wondering why I pulled out this gem of wisdom. Kristen also said, “IF you apologize, if you want me to forgive you, don’t repeat the same mistake.” I want to pause a moment and say to her that thanks to her powerful wisdom and the gems that she presented me, I now have a way to speak to people this deeply. Beloved, you will always have a piece of me wherever you go, and you will never be forgotten, even if you try hard to forget me. Don’t. Because I will marry you when you are ready, and if you aren’t I don’t care. I want to talk to you, not my engagement ring. I want to talk to you, not the piles of tech I have in my house, not the oodles of money coming out of the proverbial sky. I want to talk to you frankly and matter of factly. And trust me, beloved, I want to talk only to the living being that is you. Do not say it is too late, it isn’t. I believe in you, I believe in love, and I believe in the miracles that God, Buddha and the gods of all the universe bring. I believe in angels, and don’t accuse me of being weird. It’s not weird. Trenton was sick once with a lung infection, a severe form of influenza type A, and nearly died, and was visited by beings known as angels. If you ever could put yourself in Trenton’s shoes, if you were close to death, I know you were, hasn’t it occurred to you that beings beyond our world could touch you? My beloved one, beings like these do have some impact on us, but God does not truly exist in my mind because all I get from it/him, all I’ll ever get is the pull of whoredom of all women from him. I am not a woman of whoredom, so please don’t say that.

Please respect me, please love me. I can’t stop crying all the time, I can’t stop thinking of how you would misunderstand the use of money in society. Money is money, but I don’t talk to Benjamin, George, and Andrew, whatever faces are on the bills. I don’t give my wads of cash names like that, and I don’t treat my money the same way I treat living beings like us. You breathe, eat, shit, sex and do all sorts of things that living beings do. Why would I want to be cruel to you? I was never cruel.

Please welcome me back with open arms, and if you don’t, well, I know what to do with this. Otherwise, hear me loud and clear. I want comforting and kinder words, promises of love and I will compromise, not my freedom and not my bodily integrity. I will compromise on money issues, I will also do so on food serving and other things. I won’t however do so when it comes to your hostilities and such. Please get some therapy, and listen to the powerful words of Raji, Koly’s boyfriend. I know this is only a story in a book to you, but I’ve wanted to use these words as not so much a weapon, but something else altogether. These words, the ones about wanting to talk to you and not money, those are true. I want to talk to you. I want to hold and cuddle you. How can you make love to money? How can you have babies with money? In exchange, you know what else? LEt me conclude Koly’s story here.

While all this exchange between the lovers at the Yamuna River is going on, Koly thinks about her new life. One of the things Mr. Daas the employer at the sari shop says to her is, “You must not stop your work.” Koly makes a powerful promise, and I’ll never forget the things she says in response to prospective whining kids begging for attention, a demanding husband, many other things, and here’s what she says, “The dishes won’t always be so clean, the food won’t be cooked as many times, and the whining children will sit on my lap and I’ll sing to them while I work.” This woman wants to work her ass off doing embroidery, and she imagines for a few moments her daughter with a scrap of cloth in her hand, all the women in her family having embroidered. LEt me tell you what I’d embroider for you and I.

It doesn’t have to be a wedding gift. I’d take a big giant table cloth, or a banner. On it, I’d embroider your logo, a picture of you, all of you, every last detail, sitting at my desk, the keys in front of you. You’d be just playing the keys, your face would be in a peaceful angular look. IF I could create that, I would. Around you, I’d put the walls and a big room, and I’d put musical instruments, and around that I would put the Colorado landscape with mountains on one side, and an Arizona desert on another side. IF I wanted to make another scene, I’d do you and I together holding hands outside the pizza spot we went to. I’d want to walk with you hand in hand, never to let you go, to let you be with me is a joy in itself. To see you contented and happy would make me contented and happy. The thing is I have to make myself happy, but I’m truly not very happy. I never wanted to hurt you, beloved one. No matter how hard you try to stomp me out of your life, your head, your heart, I will never stop until you shut up about my so called life. For one, you would rather marry money, not women. Well, what if you married women, not money. You can’t wed a job, it can walk away from you with the drop of a hat. You can’t marry money because it can’t talk. Money isn’t able to give you kids, not unless you’re crazy enough to traffic kids in California, the adoption system being so lax in places that a UK couple literally bought two little beings and all because they paid a higher price than a local American couple. Dan the birth mother who sold those children. Beloved, I don’t want to hurt you because you don’t deserve it, and neither did I deserve physical force, emotional name calling, etc. We were better off as friends, but I’m a lover so hard to get that any guy would kill to have this heart of mine. If you want me, promise me that you will take me back after a month or two. I just want to improve communication without physically having to make you do so or you having problems with me supposedly draining the life out of you. I won’t pay any household bills unless you are willing to do so, and better you be willing to now than have a gavel and a judge force you to by rule of law and complete a sentence like you did with an ex. I don’t want to be compared to an ex wife or partner of yours. LEt me also say that I apologize for how you are feeling, but it is unnecessary for me to say that, but more than this, I apologize if I ever hurt you. I’ve cried every goddamn day for you, my tears are falling a little now as I type. Your beats are infectious. I love you so much, and I want to hold you in my arms again. Don’t close the door on me ever again, and remember that money can’t break up or renew things with you. Money can’t speak words of compassion to you, but I can. A living woman can. Raji said this, any real romantic lover would say this. I want him and others to be used as a tool, an example, a template for you to go on. When you want to talk to me, let me know. You may read this, you may not. But let me state clearly, I wil never stop loving you. Don’t make me sing Whitney Houston’s old goddamn song, well Dolly Parton did it first, but I don’t ever wanna sing that song. I want to sing the song, if I could turn back time by Cher.

IF I could turn back time, if I could find a way, I’d take back those words that had hurt you, and you’d stay. IF I could reach the stars, I’d give them all to you. And you would love me, love me, like you used to do. Why did I write these words? Because I’m so messed up crying right now. I’m so goddamn messed up crying and I just want to say that you deserve me, you deserve a better version of me. IF I could turn back time, I’d have just gotten with you five years ago and we’d have married altogether. IF I could just turn back the hands of time, you’d stay with me and we’d have our stone mansion in the cactus covered landscapes of Arizona, and we’d go to a Colorado mountain cabin in the summers and light a campfire and roast mallows and make s’mores, and we’d feast on hot dogs and canned or fresh beans, your choice, you know it’s camping so yeah. IF I could turn back the hands of time to see your smile, if I could only … only … turn back the hands of time all the way to when you were born, no forward from that, maybe the time you met your first wife, I’d have protected her, I’d have told you you were better with me, and said to her, yeah, he’s not gonna hurt you this time. IF I could turn back the hands of time, I’d have stopped your brother in his tracks, pulled the knives and guns and spears from his palm, backhanded him so he falls on the floor, screamed in his face, “How dare you attack your sibling, you vile beast.” I’d have also slapped your mother and father with orders to give you up to a loving family, period. End of story. IF I could turn back the hands of time, you would be in a loving family, hugs and kisses, goodnights and all the great things but moreover, no threat of guardianship, constant punishment, and constant abuse over things you liked. I would have been your girlfriend in high school, married you at eighteen, and we’d be a long overdone but old trusting married couple. Like John Glenn and Annie Caster, you and I would have … if I turned back the hands of time, I’d have been glad to share a playpen with you, grown up with you, fought playfully with you in a yard full of grass and green things, trees and such. We’d be like John and Annie, old and not forgotten about each other. You would have sailed aboard your rocket ships, I’d be at cooking and cleaning and perhaps making a life as an advocate for the less desired and forgotten. Like John and Annie, we’d have special things between us we could say to each other, and whether we are like them or not, it would be nice if I could die at 105 years old, having said in my final statements, “He was the best thing and was worth all the counseling.”

I love you deeply and I will never stop loving you deeply.

With love,

Your beloved one,


Letter to MY Unborn Son

Author’s Note: I am writing this in the wake of the last thing I wrote, but this time, it’s thanks to my newest blog subscriber, so follow My Ramblings on WordPress after reading this. Enjoy.

Dear Unborn Son,

I’d like to welcome you to a broken world. Like I told your potential unborn sister, I want to show you what kind of world I exist in. AS your potential mother, it is my responsibility to tell you what you’ll likely see, and try and help you become the man you want to be. Whether you’re as fierce as Boba Fet fighting off Tuscan raiders in a camp on some distant planet or you’re as rugged as Han Solo on the Millennium Falcon or you’re as upright as the Mando when he’s rescued the Grogu child, well, whatever you become I can’t wait to find out. There is one thing I want to give you a few pointers and advice on.

Please do me one favor when you exit my body and enter this violent and uncertain world. Don’t, play, with, guns. I don’t want to ever see a headline with your name on it as being a mass shooter. IF you see someone committing such horrific things, do what you must, even if it means giving your life. Hey, even Darth Vader gave his life for his son too. IF your daddy isn’t around for this heroic act, well, he just might, you will know him by then. Just remember, when your father pulls off the Darth Vader mask behind the genteel features he possesses, you will notice the man you want to become, the man you should strive to be. I imagine that sons would be more like their fathers, not obviously the opposite. Right at this moment, I’m asking questions, thinking of the kind of person you want to become. As a boy, you will want to swing on the monkey bars, pitch baseballs on a field, and don’t worry, if you have a little or bigger sister, she will be raised equally along with you, and she’ll play ball the same if she chooses. For you, it is your call whether you want to play ball with the other boys in the hood or stand out as someone who actually gives credit to wherever credit is due, and plays ball with the boys not necessarily in the hood. I can’t wait to meet you and see your personality shine through. Perhaps you’ll have your father’s wayward but beautiful locks, reddish blonde in color, his blue eyes, but I kind of wish you would look more like myself. My eyes are brown, my hair as well. My nose is a bit short, so that nose is good on you too. I’d like to think you have a fierce determination, and like Boba Fet, you are determined to get payback for what is done to you. But like Luke Skywalker, you do what is right. Even in the final act of heroism in your life, I will want to see it be that you save your daddy from a world of learned helplessness, hopelessness, gloom and doom. Like Palpatine and Darth Vader, the men I’ve dated seemed like impossible mountains to climb. I’m picking up the pieces from a fifteen years in captivity, and if you’re fighting to get down here, keep fighting, because trust me, you will want to raise your saber high when you grow to be as tall as your father. Unlike Luke Skywalker however, I don’t ever want to tell you that the father who gave you life is dead. Ben Kenobi told Luke Skywalker this in Episode 4, so when you get to be a good age for this, I’ll let you watch that, and you’ll get the point. When Darth Vader rolls into the big paternity reveal, you’ll understand that is the most iconic line in all of history in terms of Star Wars. Your sister and you will not join any such thing as the dark side, and if your father emerges from that funny Darth Vader mask of cold and distance, well, how can I best explain it. There was a time your daddy and I were cold, and I was oblivious to your presence in my body, but trust me, your daddy would probably have thought I should burn in Hell for having you, but when he sees you exit and hears you cry, whether on film or not, maybe he’ll understand that as a man, his son is his life. It’s like that with most men. Men must gage with what they have with one another.

For a time, I thought love was a cruel joke, that is until you came into my thoughts. Perhaps it is not a cruel joke. Your strength and determination to live will probably baffle both me and your dad. It’s not like you will be conceived by the miti kloriets, remember that. I have never heard of but one boy conceived without the touch of a man, and that was Jesus, son of Mary. Even so, your father will be a strong and determined man, wanting to stand on his own two feet in a world that hates every last thing in him, blindness included. I’m also blind. We may both be blind, but we’re not stupid. We know that if you arrive in this broken tattered world, you will be loved and greeted with the same pomp and circumstance as anyone else. Your sister will get the same treatment as you will, and she might be as badass as Princess Leia, and someday there will be a gentle and strong being who will ask you to be their sidekick, guide in life.

Here’s what I want you to know about me and your dad.

I think you should know about him first. For one, he’s had it rough. Forgive this guy, it’s not like he wants to break back and bend you over his knee and whip your body if you misbehave. I won’t let that happen either. Like in the prior thing I wrote, I will only spank you if it’s your birthday, and even then, only in jest. When you mature into manhood, I ask you to do a few things, not too many things, just listen as I advise you because this is going to be tough on any young man.

One, you will have plenty of opportunities to explore your options. IF you see a girl, you like the girl, ask before you embrace or kiss her, and later make love to her. Consent is what it’s all about. You’ll thank me for this pearl of advice, trust me. IF you want to be a father, and your dad in turn becomes a grandfather, don’t impose your will on minor kids and women. Respect your girlfriends’ bodily integrity. Don’t ever, ever ever use force or physical means to tell your girlfriend something, don’t ever create an environment where your girlfriend can’t speak or do things she wishes. IF she is having trouble with money, ask if she wants or needs help. You can only go so far but breaking her heart over piles of banknotes is simply raw hurt. Love her through the good times and the bad, through thick and thin, and show patience. Just as Han and Leia have had their arguments I’m pretty sure, remember that love is a piece of work, and should never be a cruel joke. You will be celebrated not for your hunky looks, your blue eyes, your blonde locks of hair floating about your head, or even your ethnic makeup. You will want to be remembered for your strength of character. I’m determined that you go get ‘em like Han Solo did in his story or like Luke Skywalker facing down his own father, Lord Darth Vader. If you do cross swords with your father, just remember that you must, like Luke did, feel the good in him. You will be determined to save him, but as Anakin says in his death throes in Return of the Jedi, “You already have, Luke.” Unlike the Skywalker saga, however, I hope you don’t have to carry your father’s, my lover’s body to a funeral pyre. I don’t want to see the ghost of him in the air too soon, but I want his dying words not to be just directed at you, like, “Now go my son.” Anakin had the best death words ever, but the saddest. I hope that you will unmask the good in the man who said it would be a cold day in Hell before he loves me again. There is good in him, I see it all the time, but it is mired by trouble from his own family. His blood has been tainted by desire for blood of the kind that is shed for no reason, and his heart is so almost like the Anakin Skywalker at nineteen, but unlike Anakin, this man truly does not need to be going around killing Jedi knights, killing anyone who stands in his way, taking a Sith title and tapping into dark forces. I feel like I’m fighting those dark forces, not necessarily him, every day. HE is a bit grounded at times, but when you cross sabers with him, don’t whatever you do strike him down. Do not surrender, not ever. Take down the guards, the storm troopers in your path, but your father will eventually tell you he wants to see you with his own face, cup your head in his hands and maybe he’ll tear up a bit seeing you like that. Blind people don’t always show affection the same way.

Whatever you become, I’m delighted to know which side you’ll be on. Another piece of advice you will need to survive in this world is to know your true enemies. You will need a lot of tools to equip you for life. Don’t ever address women as “bitch”, for example. The next time you do that, well I won’t ground you but I will give you a good scolding and you will get a lecture on the true definition of a bitch. That’s a female dog, not a malicious woman, and calling every woman a bitch is disrespectful, no matter if she is or isn’t. Respecting women is a big tool in your box you’ll need so you don’t get blacklisted for jobs and other things. When you get a supervisory position in your office as a man, please don’t advance on your employees because it’s unethical. Create a place where your underlings can talk about what they do, and without consequence, say no to a male underling’s advances. Treat every being on this planet, not only the women, with reverence and respect, even if you don’t think they deserve it. IF someone you feel causes drama, or you feel is draining to them, think about what you do to contribute to this.

MY son, there is one more … I can’t say too many more things I want to give you that will help you get here immediately. Come here for a few moments, if you are an angel, and speak gently to the man you want to become. Do not try and deceive anyone and don’t mask your feelings. It won’t help you in the long run. IF you ever need to cry, unlike conventional males, just do it. Go to your pillow, lock the door, and silently or whatever volume you want, just let it out. You will have friends one day who will listen without judging you as a crybaby. My dad did this to your uncles, your future uncles, and it was painful to watch.

IF you want to know who your father is, unlike my mother and me, you will know who your daddy is. He will have to visit you, and when you are being born and on your way to this world, I will make sure your father lets me hold his hand, bite a rope, whatever it takes to get you into this world. Unlike Padme Amidala, I promise you i’ll be here to raise you, not your father’s family, not even an ex. Unlike any mother, I promise you the moon, and if you feel this world is too much for you, please don’t leave it and your body behind. With your brilliant mind, perhaps you can build a rocket ship that travels light years away, and take the whole family on a million light year mission to explore new worlds like Captain Kirk. We would encounter the stars, many alien civilizations, hell we’d get lost in space. Your father and I will marvel at your work, and we’d fly to the moon and back with your help. I want him and I to step on Mars together, perhaps fly past Saturn and explore beyond Pluto. There has to be another system beyond Alpha Centauri we can explore, carve out a life for ourselves. We will be a great dynasty of sorts, and with your help, we will all soar above the sky. Your daddy is a rap god, and if luck has it, he’ll be releasing an album highlighting his hunger to succeed in all the things he wants to do. I wish for him and you to have a strong bond, not at my expense. REmember the thing about bad words directed at women? NEver ever disrespect your mother, not ever. I want your father to respect me not just because I’m a woman, or because I’m all together or anything else, but because I care deeply for him. IF you float along the tracks above our heads, just let your father know I love him. I care too much to let him fly off to the painted desert and mock me in front of a bunch of guys at a bar, calling me the same words I entrust you won’t. Son, you will have a name, and that name will reflect on your courage, heroism, and strength as well as your ability to fight. Your sister may have the same thing in her name, we’ll just have to see.

Son, if you truly want to make sure your daddy doesn’t mess up my and another woman’s life, all you need to do is go all Karate Kid on him too. One other piece of advice, if your daddy and you are crossing sabers and he’s mocking me, calling me names, all of that, turn the other cheek for me, and tell your father that in his heart of hearts, he must stay with me and go back to me and tell me he’s sorry. IF there ever was a rift between us, like Luke had with Anakin Skywalker, just stand your ground. IF Daddy says you will have to beat up girls, destroy women’s lives, that if they don’t bow down to your wishes, blah blah blah, just say it like Luke. “I will never join you.” Luke had and always has had determination. This all boils down to this. What would a good Jedi master do? You don’t have to do things like Yoda, being that there is nothing but do, not try. Grand Master Yoda had a lot of good tokens like these, but try to be as noble as Mace Windu, and as giving as Anakin Skywalker, but not as compulsive should we say. You will be a fine Paduan in the game of life, and I am delighted to write this in your honor.

With love,

Your future mother,


P.S. The force will be with you always.

Letter to My Unborn Daughter

Author’s Note: The following came as a result of a major crying spell. It’s been a week since I’ve been heartbroken over a myriad of things, but a vision of a little girl with reddish blone hair and blue eyes appeared in my mind, invading my thoughts. I thought I’d write her a letter here, and you all are welcome to join me on this journey while I’m writing this. Please read the following.

Dear unborn Daughter,

First of all, I just want to say I am the one who could become your mother. I want to welcome you to a world without certainty, without security, with a lot of bad things such as war and poverty. There are, however, a few good things in the world. You invaded my thoughts, and thinking about you just brought tears to my eyes. I could see a vision of your golden hair, and my oh my you look like your father. You have your father’s beautiful blue eyes. He can’t see that, but though I’m blind, for all I know, I have inner sight. There was a Greek blind prophet Tereisius who couldn’t see anything, just like me, but he could see the future within his mind. That’s what happened here. The prophet I speak of appears in Oedipus the King and several other things, but you won’t read those till you’re older, my daughter. IF only I could tell you what I am seeing now, but alas, you are only but a thought within. IF you come into this world, promise me this, you won’t forget me. IF they take you from me, if they tell you that Daddy was evil, which isn’t the case, if they tell you Mommy can’t and won’t be able to take care of you, again not the case, when you see my picture on the TV, don’t forget the name. Your father is a gifted rapper, and he made such beautiful beats, and he cried out through one, “I want to know what love is.” Well, I loved him. He probably didn’t love me because I mismanaged money, but he just overstepped a boundary or two, and things didn’t get the right way between us for a time. There was a time the father in your life was cold to me, but then you appeared, a thought bubble in my mind. This is why I’m writing this.

For one, I love your father. HE had the most gentle heart when I first saw him. He was very strong, is still that way and he had a daughter in his home state of Iowa. Well, you don’t realize you have a big sister there. One day when you are older and able to travel in this big world, you will meet her. You two are always on my mind, even if Daddy says it’s not right for me to think about that. We want to make you out of love, not violence, and when you only know violence, uncertainty, and misinterpreted viewpoints, that’s all you can know. It’s a thing in psychology called “learned helplessness.” I think Daddy is helpless to get out of this vicious cycle, and I just want him to get out of it, rise above this, and say he cares about me. That’s all. I could only picture your tiny voice at the door of my bedroom asking if I’m all right, the sweet innocence piercing the air.

The one thing I don’t want to have to deal with is postpartum depression, and that’s because I don’t want you to bear the sufferings I’ve endured. I want you to be a happy little lady, playing on the floor with your Legos and just imagining a world you’d like to build. Your Daddy might cry a little, he might just lose it seeing me rock you to sleep, sing to you and even when you get fussy, I won’t stop till you laugh and get quiet. IF you get colic, I’ll make sure it goes away, one way or another. Come Hell or High Water, you will have a mother, and your life will be the best it will ever be.

I will tell you, there won’t be violence in your home. I won’t let you watch Top Gun, for example, without making sure you don’t have to enact the things that Maverick sees. I don’t care if you try to watch that movie, but besides that, I will never let a guy or any being enact violence upon you. When you exit my body you will find a world where there won’t be a chance for myself even to commit abuse or violence on you. You will never know a spanking, except for birthday spankings. I will sing Happy Birthday to you, and when you turn six, for example, I will give you birthday spankings on your back, not your bottom. I’ll gently slap you six times, and give you a playful hard one to grow on. That’s all. You will not know the pain of injury due to discipline, and you will not have to spend fifteen years of your life in captivity because of some lie your parents doled to a court of law. You will be allowed to date a man, and I will be nothing but honest with you about the man’s character. My character is good, and honestly, I can’t wait to hold you in my arms, Daughter, because I want to not only have you, don’t tell Daddy about the bio clock thing, that’s a minuscule reason he’s here in the first place, but because you are someone I could tell so much to and you will become wiser than I have been. I want to undo the damage between me and your potentially awesome daddy. He will have released his rap album, and I want to see it chart. I don’t want anyone to doubt his skills, and I want him to get a good coach who can help him improve, I mean everybody needs improvement. I want to improve my singing, and when you enter the world, Daughter, I want to hear you sing. I will sing for you, and in turn, I hope you hear the golden notes of my voice and pick up what I’m singing. You will one day receive a piano in your home, and your Daddy and I will probably end up paying for lessons so you know how to make music on the piano. I took my first lessons when I was five.

Your daddy I want to say a few words about. First, I get the learned helplessness, but sometimes there is a silver lining. I want you to be that silver lining, and I’ve never seen so many opposed to your life, but when you finally enter my womb, I want to hear “Congratulations.” I want Daddy to write on social media that his queen is pregnant, and you, Daughter, will be my little princess. I want to pass by your bedroom door every night and say, “Goodnight, Princess.” Your daddy will probably cry really hard because when he looks at you, he will not see the craziness of the past week and a half from a past you will never know, but. he will see hope for a future for all of us. He will say, “Goodnight, Princess. Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite.” I have deeper respect for that phrase as you will never know the bite of bedbugs, if I can help it.

One thing I want to promise you is this. You will never know the biting sting of abuse. I won’t do it, Daddy won’t do it, nobody is going to do it if I have my way with it. We will protect you as best we can, given the circumstances under which you are born. When I hear you cry for the first time, trust me I might cry too. But you will enter a world of gadgets, including smartphones and tablets, and you won’t believe the apps out there that will remind me to feed you every four hours. When you turn four, I’ll start teaching you your alphabet, your name, and I will also teach you about black and gay history, and someday you will learn about Stonewall and all the rioting and the way the NYPD could have been a lot worse but the gay folks taught those NYPD people a lesson. Do not ever make people give up who they love. IF you want to, you will be able to talk to myself or Daddy. IF you are transgender, Daughter, do not be afraid. I will make sure you belong anywhere, if that means we have to move states, move countries, or god forbid take a rocket ship off to Neverland just to give you a safe place to be yourself, that’s what you will see. I will take Daddy and myself too on the rocket ship, and we will explore new worlds together, find alien civilizations, and do many things with the stars. IF we move states, it will be because the hate toward LGBTQIA+ people, particularly the T people will not persist. We will make sure you will have a place to do sports, trans or not, without some guy or doctor seeing your genitalia and I won’t let anyone touch you without consent from both of us and then, only then when you turn eighteen and get married later on. It is your body, yourself. You own your body, not anyone else. You will never have to face the choice of abortion to save your life or having to die of childbirth. I will fight for you, and even if Daddy doesn’t want to be with me or have anything to do with you, no matter what his feelings are, you will be the number one priority. IF I have to celebrate Mother’s Day without support or compassion from him or anyone else, so be it. I know that when you turn eight or so, with maturity, you will walk into my bedroom and squeal happily, “Morning, Mommy, happy Mother’s Day.” You will one day hand me a couple bouquets of flowers, all manner of flowers present, and someday your daddy will understand why you are the priority, but he will present me with a tray of cinnamon rolls, bacon, and so on but if not him, I could let my friend Barbara over and she’d be there and we’d all go out to someplace and eat. Good times is my friend Barbara’s favorite burger joint. Your daddy will never forget when I say something about the time we were in Arizona together, and his hands and hips were gently against mine. We made love for the first time, and if you wonder what making love is, I’ll explain, little one, when you are old enough to understand. But even so, I will only say, the act of making love is the best thing in the world. When his body was on top of mine, I was transported somewhere far beyond. That is all.

Daughter, your image is so palpable it is there to stay. I did say you have your father’s eyes, and I want you to have your father’s eyes, maybe the blue eyes you have will look at me once and say, “Mommy, you’re crying.” I will be happy to explain, the crying will never stop until I can find a resolution. Within myself, I don’t feel that love was kind enough but only to create you. What made you wasn’t an extraparanormal deity called Jehovah or God. It was an act between two consenting adults, Daddy and me, and we made you in good faith. He said he wanted me to get my heart checked, but because I hadn’t noticed it, maybe I should. The heart checkup could be because my own biological father, your biological grandpa, had a history of heart attacks and such. LEt me tell you a little story, maybe a big one for such a tiny thought in my mind, it may be a huge story, maybe inappropriate for children, but you are just an angel wanting to fight her way down here, so let me begin.

I was the product of a Catholic mother, but she never told me who the dad was. Later, I was adopted by a David Taurasi, who I guess didn’t want me to know who the bio dad was. David wasn’t a bad person in the beginning, but in the end, I don’t know how to feel about him. David and my mother, Patricia, got guardianship of me at seventeen years old, presumably because of blindness, but they might have abused me for years, and it wasn’t too physical but it was more mental, verbal and emotional. See, abuse is damaging to everybody, but you’re immortal and an angel, so you don’t have to worry right now about abuse or damage because of such things. So back to my story. David and Patricia never told me who bio dad was, so I thought my ex boyfriend Trenton, would be able to give me a DNA test, but alas, it would cost a lot. The Human Service office was closed and as I type this, still is because of a pandemic. You may not have a physical body, but you do need to know that pandemics can rip a body apart. I indirectly witnessed a chorus mate’s p-parents both die one at a time from this virus. I was almost attacked by that virus, but alas, got better. I had a ceremony with my ex shortly after, but honey, I think my voice sucked. DAvid and Patricia weren’t invited, trust me I won’t ever let them hear of me getting married, but Daddy and me? Well, it’s obvious he doesn’t understand I want a joyful moment in my life. I might have written something or two, but Daddy just has to work out his own inner demons, and mental illness can spring from the abuse of body or mind. It’s not something that can be changed easily without a professional.

So when you ask me, “Do I have a daddy?” You know what I’ll say? “Yes, Daughter, you do.” I will tell you his name, and you will smile and look at me in wonder. You will want to know what jobs and things he’s into. I’ll tell you, his album will give you a sense of who he is. He wants to see and feel love, so part of this composition is about that.

He does have love but for me, well, I love him, and I love him dearly. I want him to stay with me so he doesn’t have to do this to someone else. I can’t explain what happened without crying, but you are an angel and you don’t need to look too far down here to see what happened. Some things are best left unsaid. This man is a powerful advocate of the blind community, yet nobody in that community cared any for him. IF you ever pass down here, and float upon your wings, Daughter of heaven, tell your father to be that you are waiting for him. Tell him I love him, that all I want is to be loved and accepted, that he doesn’t need a deity to believe in angels. Angels exist, I believe that much, and to see you troubled by my crying and all of that troubles me too. Sit upon that man’s shoulder, give him tranquility and peace, and speak to him if he so wishes, if you so dare, whatever. Just tell him he has someone in this room, in this house, that loves him dearly and I want the pieces of my heart to be fixed. He hugged me one day, and on Sunday, we listened to a Juneteenth concert and he just picked me up off the floor with both strong arms, seasoned by years of weight training, and twirled and carried me around the room. I want him to do that to you. Daughter of Heaven, shine down on your father, tell him things will be all right. He is someone I want to be my anchor, my rock, and I want my friend and lover to love me forever until time and eternity. I promised him time and eternity, and I would be willing to forgive him if he just doesn’t mess up again. Forgiveness is not, as an ex of mine would say, a free pass to do bad things again. He isn’t my ex. Daughter, if you should so much as enter my body, enjoy your time in it. Don’t kick me excessively, but if you need to kick, fine. Just when you exit, we want to hold you and fawn over the body you have presented to us. When you blossom into a woman, Daughter of Heaven, we want you to be the best advocate for yourself, the people in your life, and the big wide world. Your father will be extremely proud of you. When you come here, whether it’s an Arizona desert or the Colorado mountains, you will be welcomed with open arms. You will be celebrated by us, the parental units, as a good option and a great achievement and a milestone long since overdue especially for this girl, who was released from guardianship just two years earlier. I am trying to pick up the pieces of freedom in my hand, but you, Daughter of Heaven, are my light and my salvation to no end. You will be the person that nobody will expect. Your name will be able to appear whenever it does, but furthermore, you will be a shining example to me and your father. We may both be blind, but we will forever be that power couple. We’re going to knock the world over, not fight with each other. As you are an angel, you might have watched the things unfold, but if you truly are an angel, not a demon, please bless my dear love with all the blessings and especially your presence. Get him out of the cycle of violence and abuse and into the house of David, king of Israel, or better yet, get him a house of peace beyond all understanding. I threw up yesterday morning, and maybe you’re waiting to grow in my womb, but if you are, great. Stay right there, and when you come into this troubled world, please let me see your light in that troubled world, and let me hold you while you feed, when you cry, and when you laugh. When you get too big to hold, feel free to play in the park, we’ll run around together, and throw a ball further than any boy. You will someday dance as you do in the Heavenly Realms you reside in, and maybe you will wear ballet slippers. Perhaps you will be a Swan Princess, and Daddy and I will enjoy the waltz as Siegfried and the Princess dance down stage, pirouette after pirouette and catch after catch, every move in grave detail described and you will come out to us in your dressing room, your ballet outfit all glitter and lace. Your pointe shoes will have been rosened but after your stellar performance, we will give you hugs every day. You will practice every day as if you want to practice, placing your slender legs on the ballet bar, stretching them out. You will have beautiful hair, I suspect you will have your father’s reddish blonde, but everybody will say, “What an angel.” When you walk into a room, or perhaps you will dance your way into the living room, your daddy will smile and say, “Ready to go to dance class already?” I will nod and we’ll watch you dance but what will surprise me is wen Daddy goes and dances with a bunch of forty something guys, Daddy ballerinas all dressed up in girlish costumes, but trust me, the dance will have a good effect on him. He would dance the waltz across the stage. When the old men are finished, all of us will clap. I can’t, however, get the Swan Lake scene out of my mind. If they choose you to be the Swan Princess, we will jump for joy. I will hope that your Siegfried the prince will have much good dancing ability and will be as strong and tall as your father. Perhaps my Siegfried does not understand that at seventeen, I will have been a caged swan. He doesn’t understand taht deep down inside, I am a princess, no, a queen. Swan queen. IF I was a free swan, I’d gather him up in my tallons and fly him off to my castle, and I am not going to be rescued.

There’s one more thing I want to say here in this letter. You are a wanted by happiness child. I also want you to know that not all men are monsters. He is not a monster, not at all. He’s just a bit off because of the violence he was subjected to. I just don’t want the cycle to continue, and I want him to see your big sister, but furthermore, I never said I hated men. I don’t hate men. I never will hate men. There is a good man behind the monster that possessed my apartment, screamed in my face, and said he wanted nothing of a love with me. Well, I am even more dedicated to making sure this doesn’t turn into any monster. He is not a monster. HE has never tormented me in my bed, but the few times he did, he said I was crazy but I don’t think he gets it. PErhaps the Prince Siegfried would think the same if the swan Princess was in a cage, her wings clipped so she could not fly. When she transforms into the human so beautiful Siegfried could kiss her, she would fly like the wind on her feet to him, but I didn’t want Daddy to see this stuff. It reminds me of Lord Farquad from Shrek, but please, don’t tell anyone his name should have been Fuckwad, but yeah, that guy wanted to lock Fiona the princess up because she transformed into an ogre at night. Guess who took her hand and loved her through that? Shrek, the ogre. Shrek and Fiona are a reason for believing in love, but yet I don’t see a real life Shrek anywhere willing to love this Queen Fiona. I will make this one thing clear. Daddy isn’t Lord Farquad, he is nothing like that. HE might even be Shrek, for all I know. Shrek said he was troubled by the way people treated him, grab your torch and pitchforks, and the Beware and wanted signs all over the place. I will tell you, Shrek was understandably angry. I mean, who wants to marry a big “stupid ugly ogre?” He even confronted Fiona about that, but Fiona learned that this man/being loved her with all his heart. Thanks to Donkey and Dragon, Lord Fuckwad did not marry Fiona for real, and when Shrek kissed her, she took his form, but furthermore, the two lovers learned that love does not have looks on its mind. Love knows no bounds, and my love for you and Daddy will always continue. Even without him around, a piece of my heart will go with him, wherever he decides. Daughter of Heaven, you will always be my daughter, you are the one I want to create and it is you who will succeed, do better at life, perhaps you will undo the damage between all the guys and me. But speak to Daddy, fly to him, and if he wakes up with tears in his eyes, if he doesn’t understand you, make him hear you. Angels are like that. I’m drained, I feel like an empty paper bag. I want to go straight back to bed, but when I wake up in the morning, you might have been there. But you invaded my thoughts, but trust me I welcome you as I will when you exit the sacred spot in my womb. I can’t wait to push you out, Daddy being kickass enough to say, “Push, push, push, that’s right my queen.” He will push my hand toward him, and I might have hormones and bite him or I might not. But when you come rolling into the world, your slimy body bathed clean and bundled in blankets and diapers, we will celebrate your arrival, champagne and all. YOu will cry like all babies, but it won’t be a scream as if to say, “I hate you. Why’d you bring me into this world?” I will connect with you and when you arrive, your whimpers will only serve to say, “Mommy, Daddy, feed me.” That’s what happens. All beings of the living sort are born hungry. I will hold you tight, and there wil be lots of cuddles, hugs, kisses and blankets and toys for you to play with. I will rock you to sleep and put you gently in a crib beside my bed. I will be awoken and will be able to nurse you to life. I will hold you tight even when you are sick, I will calm your fevers, rub your back when you are in pain, give you medication to calm you down, give you a spoonful of sugar so that the medicine isn’t so bitter. I will make sure every doctor gives you the right medication if you have maladies of any kind. When friends come to play with you, you will have many I hope, I will welcome you playing with those friends forever. YOu might lose a few in middle school, but when you reach high school, there will be a few handsome and good looking beings in your life you could end up dating and loving. I will never tell you that boys are bad. They aren’t. IF you kiss a boy, at least you will have more opportunities than I had to kiss boys. YOu will one day experience the lovemaking I mentioned earlier. I will tell you though, when you become thirteen or older, you will likely need a lesson or two on safe lovemaking and such. Someday, you will marry a great person, man or woman or nonbinary being, but whichever being marries you, that being will be proud to have you as their wife. Your sister will be flower girl, and you will have many relations and friends at the wedding. I hope you will die an old lady warm in her bed, not now, not before you are born, not before I can redeem myself.

I want to be with your daddy, but to see you in my mind was a pleasant shock. Thank you for coming to me in a crazy vision, but albeit a crying spell. IF you have to be away for a while, I’ll just say I would miss you lots. I will miss Daddy, and if he widows me too early on, you will know his name and we will lay a rose on an altar for his spirit every year. His spirit will glide its way around, perhaps he will sit by and touch my shoulder. I will love him no matter what physical state he’s in.

Goodbye, Daughter of Heaven, and be well. I hope your mission wil be a success. I love you, and I will never forget you. Psssst, I hope you look like Daddy.

Your future mother,


Welcome to the Town of Better Life

Dear readers,

Below is a day in the life of Mrs. Elizabeth Jacobs, perhaps this is a crazy exercise that will allow me to do some analysis of aspects of mine and my beloved’s lives that could be improved. We did a similar exercise at LaAmistad, and I should have had half the things I have now in this exercise, and Rachel the therapist at LaAmistad encouraged us to imagine the town of Better Life, which is something I’m going back to repeatedly, so to prevent me from going crazy, let me start.

It’s morning, I wake up. Clayton lies next to me in bed, a contented dreamy look on his face, his lips not exactly curved either way, but his nose flaring outward as if he smelled something in the air, the roses outside our bedroom window are heavy with scent. I wake up beside him and say, softly, “Good morning, sweetness.” Both our alarms chime, and we rise from our slumbers, respective dreams, whatever. Clayton smiles peacefully and says, “I slept good, and you?” I nod my head, and because Clayton’s blind, I voice that, “yes, dear, I slept fine. Are you making breakfast this morning?” He says, “I thought it was your turn.” We laugh ruefully and then go downstairs or to the kitchen, either way. Clayton finds a seat on the leather loveseat, and I proceed to the kitchen and pull out a case of a baker’s dozen or more eggs, scramble them on the skillet, and then Clayton asks, “Would you like bacon?” I say, “Why not, cook the bacon perhaps. The kids will expect that. It’s Friday.” So Clayton and I prepare breakfast, and then, an hour later, two little girls enter the kitchen, chorusing, “Mother, where’s our breakfast?” Bright smiles on their faces because of the smell fill the room, and the smell of eggs plain, eggs with cheese, bacon, and all manner of breakfast food fill the kitchen room. We all proceed to sit around and eat breakfast, and Clayton starts off the round robin by saying, “So how are you gals doing on your homework assignments from last night?” One little lady pops her head up and says, “I’m having difficulty with the matrices and I hate absolute value.” Subsequently, the other says, “I can’t stand the history. It sounds biased and racist.” All of us laugh, and the first oldest girl says, “Daddy, I have to talk to you about something. It’s been bothering me since I met this boy down the street.” Clayton lovingly looks at her and says, “Okay, when I get back we’ll talk.” So the day begins on a brighter note, and the girls devour the bacon and say, “Daddy, thanks for the bacon.” The girls then chorus, “Mama, that was delicious.” Then, I rise from the table and go, “All right, school time for both of you. Get to it. I’ve got stuff to do and your daddy’s going to do some recording studio work.” The four of us exit the kitchen, and I proceed to a basement, so I can help Clayton complete a project with vocal harmonies and such. We work together onm the track we’re working on, and then the oldest girl pops in and says, “Hey Mama, will you please look at my science homework?” I oblige, looking at the homework assignment on my girl’s little tablet, which I activate the screen reader for so I can fill in the gaps between me and what my girl knows.

Clayton takes the time to analyze my other girl’s math homework, and then says, “You can do this.” The girl apparently has a hard time with a certain absolute value equation, hates algebra like I did, but Clayton manages to get her to do her math homework without shedding a tear, gently leading her along the path of solving one word problem after another, then she smiles and screams, “Eeeeeeek. I did it.” Clayton rewards the child with a piece of candy, her favorite Reeses’s peanut butter bar. Then he gets a call on his cell. He answers, “What?” He asks the invisible silent voice on the other line, though I’m sure Clay heard something on that line. He listens and completes the conversation, then hangs up and says, “Beth, I have to go perform at CLub 9.” Just making up that name. Clayton smiles and hugs me, then later goes out of the house and arrives at the club. Meanwhile the girls and I are at home, eating dinner of chicken and pasta with or without cheese, one girl says she’s allergic to wheat, so I prepare a cous couscous dish for her, Moroccan rice being some of the best in the world to her. She squeals with delight, and says, “Mama, do you have any more couscous?” I say, “Oh no, sweetie, I just made the perfect portion and I didn’t realize you’d wolf it down like that. Honey, watch your eating, please.” Then, I get the girls and I on the couch, loveseast included, in this house we have a sectional with pink and yellow velvet cushions and a sheas on one side. I sit in the middle between the girls, one of whom has the remote in hand, and says, “What movie shall we watch tonight?” I wait for responses, one says, “The Princess and the Frog.” So the girl on my right hands me the remote, and we switch places. I scroll around using the TV’s VoiceView screenreader. I find the movie the girls requested, and we proceed to watch it all the way through. It’s a good movie, both of the girls being so obliged to sing with the lead lady as she says, “I’m almost there, I’m almost there.” Princess Tiana in the movie wants to open up a restaurant, so the girls find inspiration from it all.

The next thing I know, the movie credits scroll on screen, and I get a call from Clayton on my cell. “Hey baby,” he says gently, “I’m coming home. Please forgive me I’m a bit drunk. I promise I wasn’t so intoxicated, okay?” I say, “Clayton, darling, you get straight in here I will give you some water.” He walks in, and I hug him, he pushes back a bit, his breath smelling a bit like wine. I go, “How much did you drink, darling?” So I give him a cup of water, some bananas for the hangover he’ll be sure to have the next day, then he goes straight to bed. Any good wife does that for a man, right?

The next morning, things begin almost the same, but there are a few exceptions. Clayton doesn’t have to perform that day, so he spends his better part of the workaday schedule doing his creative work on a beat. I teach the girls some new concepts and then we move on to LGBTQIA+ history, and we talk about Stonewall. The girls are enthralled, and though it is a Saturday, we’re still working on things because Clayton has a deadline on Monday to get something done. Perhaps I and the girls have some stuff to cover in our education things. LEt me go through the aspects now.

In the town of Better Life, Clayton is a tender and loving person, with all the considerations for victims and survivors of guardianship. We barely talk about my guardianship with either ourselves or with the girls. I recall a time when I tell my two lovely daughters about a princess who was held prisoner because she was blind, and used her clever brains to sabotage her kingdom’s laws and create a better world for herself, and she used her prowess and brainpower to have her parents hanged for treason when she usurps the throne, the girls won’t know that was my story. In a nutshell. I didn’t have my parents hanged, of course, but I wanted to remind the girls through this story that all princesses have to use their heads to get out of the tower, and don’t need a prince to rescue them. I would say at the end of such bedtime story that the princess took her prince out of his castle, and used her powers to set him free of a demon that possessed his body and soul. He became a loving and gentle person, and he also swore he wouldn’t rule her kingdom, and the princess says, “You will have your own kingdom.” He does. And they parent two kids, and the kids become the heirs to the princess, now queen, and the prince consort says, “I wish I were a king.” So he becomes a king and a prince consort, lord of many lands, and the queen lives the rest of her life in the arms of her prince consort and says, “My life is the best.” Something to that effect.

In the town of Better Life, I don’t take medications for these wild accusations of being mental, instability doesn’t plague my mind, and the money problems are limited or a thing of the past. The transportation issues are a thing of the past, Clayton is connected with many a person in Colorado, Arizona, Iowa, and many other places, and in the place known as Better Life, we are both happy and contented laying in each other’s arms, not a word of hurt between us, no hard feelings, but in the town of Better Life, I don’t go to church with Biblical believers either. Because of the trauma I faced in scripture and churches abusing me in my past, the girls and I in this scenario don’t go to church, but I do sometimes, but Clayton prepares lunch if we do. One Sunday, I arrive home to find a famous filet mignon and collard greens, bacon included, and Clayton hugs me and says, “Beth, I prepared lunch. want some?”

As for the external stuff, I won’t go into it. Perhaps the world is more peaceful in the town of Better Life. Nobody has to come knocking at a door and expecting me to give up my things, and when I age to 99 years old, Clayton buried beneath the ground and long since passed on, I a widow and heir to the estate, nobody will take probate and my estate. My jealous siblings and their descendants are blotted out of my existence. My girls have kids and grandkids of their own, and there are many people in this future and the town of Better Life who believe that guardianship should be illegal for all adults, disabled or otherwise. After living about 50 plus good years with Clayton, I look back at my life and smile, peacefully and contented as my great grandkids hold both my hands. MY death is met with tears, wailing and weeping as customary of when someone goes. One lady says, “Grandma died.” Then my funeral is held at a UU church I attended, and I’m buried next to Clayton beneath willows or other Colorado or Arizona trees, perhaps a cactus stands above both of us. On Clayton’s headstone, the epitaph reads, “The sky’s the limit.” On my headstone, my epitaph reads, “Love is patient, and love is kind, love does not boast …” The whole biblical passage on love is written on my headstone. Clayton’s flower arrangements are all manner of carnation, roses, and lilacs, all manner of things. Both of us would be given proper sendoffs, the ministers not deeming Clayton to hel or anything, or saying that I was not worth it because of one thing or another. The reception for both our funerary arrangements would be met with food, comfort, music and pictures of both of us performing on stage.

In the town of Better Life, I would be able to remember things from my past not as an act of needing to, but as a sweet tranquil vision of what could become the future. Clayton remembers me as a girl who loves to sing, and suppose I go before him, he’ll probably go to a grief group and talk about me like this:

“At first, things were a bit rocky. But then I remembered she brought me coffee one morning, and said, happy Father’s Day.” I remember when she treated me to Thai food on Independence Day or we went to Panera Bread. We also both loved the music in our lives. One thing I’ll never forget is the birth of … (child’s name here) and I wept. She loved me through the thought that I was the one who deserved all of the stuff she got, but she said to me, Clayton, wake up. YOu have a promising rap career on the move, don’t blow it for yourself.” She told me if I didn’t straighten things out in my life, if I didn’t voluntarily (insert thing here, I won’t go into it), then my rap career was over. And sure enough, I got my life together, married her, and we have had such a long life together.” Here, he starts to weep thinking about how many people I touched, and then one of our kids comes out and says, “Mommy and Daddy were great parents, but they did have a troubling past. Both came from toxic backgrounds, but they managed. Mommy was a singer, she’d sing to me if I was fussy, and she would always remind Daddy that we were just kids, and if we needed arms, we needed that.” Mommy would also tell us we were beautiful, repeatedly and it sounds rather annoying, but she would tell Daddy she loved him repeatedly. HE got annoyed with her, but she would counter, “IF something happened to you, I’m not gonna be happy because I didn’t get the love in for the day.” Mommy and Daddy lived life like it was their last day each on Earth. We will miss both.” The last thing I want to say in the town of Better Life is this, in my blog, there would be happy times recorded for all posterity.

I want to dedicate this post to all of the people out there who might have been concerned about my facebook posts. I want to say I never would mistreat Clayton, and for some of you, there is more. But Clayton is worth every dollar spent, and I will continue to help him. I will consider everything said, but I want to see him succeed in rap music. I enjoy his beats, I loved the way he picked me up and twirled me around the room. As I type this, maybe the Town of Better Life will materialize, and I’m weeping a little as I do. I want to also say I may not be a man, but I don’t hate men. Men have given me trouble, but I want to say Claytohn and I have work to do. No further details, but the Town of Better Life exercise I just wrote down is a message of hope, hope for a future that includes all of the good things in life. In your town of Better Life, according to the therapeutic exercise, a day in your life is described, and so is the aspects of things. One person in LaAmistad might have said that their town of Better Life includes no alcohol consumption, no drugs, no hurt words. Ray, one of the guys at the treatment facility, could imagine a life without that Gina woman who introduced him to crystal meth. There are a myriad of things to think about, but Better Life is on its way. Better Life is waiting, and so I shall stop writing before I am slapped with a fifty million dollar contract to write further.



%d bloggers like this: