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.

Beth

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.

Beth

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,

Beth

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.

Love,

Beth

What are the problems with my building?

Dear readers,

My building sucks, let’s be clear. I’ll tell you why. Please see the below.

  1. When you apply, the snooty office manager peoples wanna go track your progress filling out the application, which requires installing a proprietary word processor, namely Microsoft Turd, err I mean word, on a pc or mac or whatever, but Windows and I got a serious divorce, and there’s no legitimate products or children involved. The application is also a very heavily inaccessible PDF.
  2. When you become a tenant, you have to sign papers, and the lease is not ordered up on your pc or mac in an accessible format.
  3. The laundry rooms suck because they’re visual, no Braille overlay labeling, which could easily fix the single function flatty buttons and such.
  4. The mail room and locker keys and boxes are either unlabeled or not consistently labeled.
  5. Requiring people to stay fourteen days per calendar year only is a HUD bullshit rule that must be removed because of heavy homelessness in our country and gentrified places like Clayton’s old apartment. Yeah, he’s been here longer than fourteen days, we need a place to stay period. More than anyone else, and especially because I want a child to be born and raised in an appropriate location. Ah, I digress. But this whole thing sucks.
  6. This piece of crap building targeted myself, my former lover Trenton, and now my current lover Clayton for home care services or ableist rudeness. The cleaning ladies like to make it a habit of throwing wet floor signs everywhere and in every path a blind person needs to walk on even in the early morning. While I realize there is a place for wet floor signs, there is no place for the rudeness and also, lack of language skills?????? See below.
  7. The ladies who clean our building are oftentimes Hispanics who don’t speak much English, and the underlings who do maintenance are also sometimes Spanish speakers who don’t know their English. Look guys, if you’re in Italy, guess whawt you have to do? Learn Italiano, right? Yep. So if I went to Spain, Mexico or Latin countries, I’d be damned if I didn’t learn some damn Espanol, so there you have it. If you go to Sweden, feel free to juggle learning Swedish, or in Finland, it’s Finnish. Also, I have a German friend who I talk to frequently. I told her, my friend Eva is one of the coolest and she speaks great English btw, that if I wanted to work in germany, then goddamnit I’m gonna learn how to speak perfect goddamn german, because that’s their land, their spaces, their territory. Of course, Eva’s hubby is American, but he’s cool and is open to learning german. So yeah, I have internationals all over my Facebook and Twitter, and if I ever said I would refuse to learn another language, they’d laugh at me. So why are we in the U-Stated Nites of Insanity, whatever the hell this country is, bending so far backwards for every last person in the world, not that we need a national language, but English is a very good trade language to begin, even if it is a Germanic Indus and so far mixed up language. I’m proud of that language, even Sanskrit contributes some stuff to it. If you wanna be the lady in Spanglish, fine, but if you come to this country and wish to do work as anything, please learn English if vulnerable folks are involved.
  8. The vending machines and selections thereof are not labeled.
  9. I’m appalled that the building doesn’t give a fuck about blind people in the sense of privacy and security and safety either.
  10. The elevators break sometimes, and both have been down before. Ugh. Just ugh.

Those are ten things I hate about this building, and the complaints come rolling in.

Beth

A Job ??? For me?

Dear readers,

It is with excitement that I present to you a proposed thought. I may be getting a job at a remote company that does music lessons, and I’d rather teach the students there for the experience, and then maybe do private music lessons for young ones and adults alike, $25 and under negotiable for kiddos and young adults in college, and furthermore, if I do private lessons, it would mean the students would totally want to learn more. I want to do piano and voice, but with the company I’d like to learn to be a better person, especially with the soft skill of not being critical. I confess I’m critical of myself, very critical of myself because the criticality came with my parental upbringing. I was upbraided for being a so called egotistical diva, and it was bad for me to even hear my mother mock me in front of others, saying things as though she’d written my letters to the Backstreet Boys. Well, I’ve got news for you, Mom, Florida schools so don’t deserve me because of how dangerous they have become. The governor of that state is dangerous, and his white supremacist agenda is obviously flooding everybody with fear, which is what he wants to feed off of. That’s what Conservatives do, and one of those agenda items is getting rid of LGBTQIA+ peoples, which I won’t put up with. The company I wish to work for is pro LGBTQIA+, which that lines up with my values as a person. Yes, I had been bred in a Conservative household, but I shed that kind of skin so fast a snake couldn’t shed it quicker. While I am writing the blog post here, the Handmaid’s Tale is playing. My job would require me to use a webcam, something I’ll prep even if I don’t get this because I wanna do Zoom meetings in the kitchen and living room on my macintosh because hell, I’d love to do that instead of holding the phone and I wanna use a boom arm with my camera so I can clip it to the right level and have it there against my face level area, and I need a wide angle one, and that’s thanks to one of my good buddies for pointing it out.

I want to also furthermore tell you all that my primary care doctor is amazing, and has decided to put in a good word and a referral for me to the women’s care clinic. I can’t wait to have my own little child, and I am thoroughly looking forward to investigating Colorado’s support possibilities but right now, the job has to be part time, and when Baby is on board, I need to know how long it will be before I’m eligible for maternity benefits, including leave and such. Examples of the use case would be if I just had the baby, and between lessons, I could stop to care for this little prospect, but during lessons, I’d have to make sure someone, preferably a father or both the guys, they’d watch the baby while I’m working to support the kid. OF course, when I’m in the hospital, if it’s on a weekday where I would usually do workaday things, I’d have to text the boss and say, “Sorry I’m in labor, damn it, can’t work today. If there’s a sub who can fill in for my students/a way that I can make it up to you later, please let me know but seriously,” I’d say, “I’m in labor.” The boss would also have to understand in any job situation that pregnancy will mess with a woman. Yes, I ID as female, but I’m a staunch ally of transgender folks, and I’ll also want to include that I’ve participated in pride parade in Colorado, made friends with lots of LGBTQIA+ folks, including, I won’t say which ones are lovers or friends or both. I’m seriously considering not using, for example, one of my lovers as a reference, just to avoid biased statements so the boss has a neutral opinion or good professional opinion. I don’t want to use Florida people, no ex boyfriends, and to hell with some of the people in Colorado who worked at CCB. What if they speak ill of me and say I’m too liberal? Well, I do have one lover who insisted I use him as a reference, you can guess who. Trenton lives with me, so whatever. He doesn’t have my last name, so it works fine. He hasn’t known me from babyhood. So there you go. Then I have to get some sort of thing from another friend, and yes, I will also use a girlfriend who’s said I could use her, but still, I’m nervous as hell. A resume needs three references, but I want more than that so I stand out. But the big thing is I don’t want anything weird coming out in the reference page of my resume. I’m going to have to get back into LinkedIn, but I will be deleting folks. I don’t quite know why I even use that darn page.

Now, I hope you guys understand why I love my other guy, and I won’t have you guys guessing any more. But Clayton just wrote this beautiful note to the DA, and I’m being a bit half sarcastic about it, but this letter pretty much spelled out how the Arizona state peoples have been violating his rights, not honoring the auxiliary aids thing in the ADA or Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act, furthermore, the date and time were objected to because of my arrival. I want to thank this man for forwarding my flight details to the people in charge. They better not accuse him of lying, or even worse, making it up, because he’s not one to lie about things like this. They can call my phone, they can harass me all they wanna, but I’m not letting them steal a great opportunity to meet with a friend and … well, we’ll just announce this when the time is right.

My history with guys has been so so. Trenton being the best, I’m going to do all it takes to include him even if it meant visiting him in the summer in Colorado, and going to Clayton in the winter. I don’t quite know how to knit things together properly in my heart, but no male god is going to tell me what to do and how to live my life. I’m not saying Clayton is official, he’s not quite official as a primarily committable second partner yet, I have to see him first. HE knows this. HE’s a sweet and nothing but true and genuine and loyal friend, and I can’t wait to see this friendship grow into … again I don’t know where we’ll go.

The big thing is that the women’s clinic will reach me soon. I will do a video appointment if they require it, and I can’t see the facilities so I’ll ask them to give me a private tour, nobody else allowed but staff, in the facility. I want to make sure the facility is safe, has a good safety protocol for what could happen, and I’ll present them a scenario about blindness and disabled parenting and such. They will be either condescending or not. The Colorado law says blind parents can have kids, and can have them placed with them. I will explain about the other things between me and all the other friends and lovers in my life. I will also demand that no custodial disputes be settled in court, but out of court. I want whatever happens to my kid never to be because Mommy and Daddy are fighting and can’t get along. Clayton loves me dearly, and I can’t wait to … well, maybe meet the little one that comes along, I wanted a dark skinned kid because paler skin equals being targeted for a white supremacist indoctrination. I want my baby and child and children to be raised pro black, pro LGBTQIA+, and with lots of gay and trans folks they can look to should they come out that way. They will not have to address relations we pick by title, Aunt or Uncle for example, like they can just call my buddy Christine Christine, and Jennifer the lady in chorus they can just call Jennifer or Jenny. Whatever the kid prefers. Jennifer Wensen, one of my friends, doesn’t have to be Aunt Jennifer either. I don’t want my other buddy Tina to be called Aunt Tina either. No titles required, except for professional folks in teaching, but don’t use Mrs. Example, I’m not Mrs. Matthews, I’m Miss or Ms. Taurasi, so to hell with the titles that denote marital status. I like the governor’s approach to that. the Messrs. Polis, for example, they’re a gay couple, but oh, okay, one of them is a Marlin something or other different last name, but Jared and Marlin have a couple sons, and they’re great. I wanna actually meet the governor, and talk to him a bit about improving blindness services in Colorado, making Colorado the best state for blindness services, bar none. Here are the ways I’d like to do this without being a politician:

  1. Blind pension should be instituted that doesn’t ever go away with SSI or jobs.
  2. Blindness should be classified as what it is, not sightless, visually impaired, shut up. IF you’re blind, it’s okay to use the word blind. Trenton is so severely visually impaired he’s classifiable as blind, so he’s blind. Clayton and I? Well, we’re born blind, completely, and that means if classified as such and completely blind is both of us, we should be eligible for more services that help, not hinder. I don’t think caregivers hinder, but we need to also do the next item in the list.
  3. No guardianship for all Coloradans, especially those who are elders and disabled folks. Natural and foster guardianship would be allowed though for the kiddos, and that is needed to protect the kids from abuse or other things.
  4. If a custodial dispute comes up with blind parents involved, if either one or both parents are blind, we need to evaluate what the kid feels with each parent, and the judge will decide who gets some primary custody. Example, let’s say a sighted woman took advantage of Trenton, and had a baby with him. The girl is sighted, but abuses Trenton’s offspring and says, “I don’t like you.” Custody disputes ensue, and in the plan I am thinking about, Trenton would automatically get sole custody if it can be seen by doctors say that the girl is abusing the kid, and they need to also count emotional and sexual abuse of the child as factors of custodial parentage for the kid. This way, according to my plan even Clayton would have sole custody of his child, not an abusive potential other who might kill her because she can’t handle parenting. Most vilicide cases happen because a stupid and ableist and … should I say another word like deranged?, parent decides they can’t handle the kid and regret bringing the child into the world. In the case of one such, the mother said her daughter sounded like a robot, and decided she’d drown or burn the little woman. Not acceptable. I don’t sympathize with vilicide perps. I don’t sympathize with murderers, not on any terms. I’m seriously throwing in scenarios here, but Colorado courts must side with a caring disabled parent, and if the parent is abusive, disability or no disability, that parent does not get custody. So examples, Jason my ex, if he begs me for some time with his own offspring after he abuses the child, I’d say, “Sorry, big shot, but you’re not getting any custody because the doc said you were hitting and beating the kid up. You could have killed my child.” I know Clay would never ever hurt a living soul, not even a fly. Well, I could be exaggerating, but if he squashes a bug for real, I’d be okay with that. Scorpions sting like the dickens, so I’d let him get that thing out. I’d let him kill the damn thing. I don’t want scorpion stings, so there you have it. Spiders too, if I see one, damn, I’m not kidding.
  5. We need Braille legislated in to our education. We also need blind kids to learn comprehensive sex education, which would include not only anatomy and familiarization with the terminology and such, but consent, consent, and more consent. Dr. Fridas would be exceedingly proud of me for saying this. Donna Fridas may be Catholic, but she affirms all people, including transgender folks, gay folks, a variety of peoples. It’s thanks to her book on consent, written for everybody of course, that I think consent should be a huge part of all sex ed for all students, including the blind. Clayton and Trenton would benefit had they been under such a plan, and I wouldn’t be hurt so badly, but all blind females especially should be on the lookout for ableist parental guardianship threats, and be taught how to stall and halt such things.
  6. Blind people should be learning stuff from each other, but Colorado doesn’t have a huge blind community compared with the sighted. I’d be damned if anyone thought that blind people are stupid. They’re not stupid, but the sighted supremacist community should be put in check, severely. I want people to approach us blind folks with curiosity appropriate for the age of the person, and be curious to know how a blind person lives. Let us all be curious creatures, but blind people are not the zoo animals, we are your friends and neighbors, your daughters and sons, your mom and dad, your aunts and uncles, friends, lovers, and so many other things in life.
  7. Finally, I think a blind person should be in charge of Colorado’s blind population, and I totally agree with Clayton’s blind empowerment thing, but the trouble is executing such. I want to take over the CCB and rename it simply as the Blindness Center of Littleton, and I’m sorry, but we need to reverse the ban on one of my friends, give all blind females who survived the NFB’s sexual abuse stuff a chance to put their anger in to action. Anyone who wants a baby can have that baby, and I won’t pay for abortions unless the mother’s life is at stake, or she says please do. If a blind teenager is sexually assaulted, I’m going to kick the perp out faster than a hurricane. I will also institute better supports at the Center in Littleton, maybe we’ll make a slight change and still call it CCB but no longer with the NFB. We’d have an unaffiliated center, and we’d have to pull a George Orwell’s Animal Farm style of co-op with certain sighted businesses and groups, but one way or another, make Littleton a blind friendly town, and honor those who went before us and who will come after. People will no longer see Ray or Diane McGeorge’s names on the places of shelter, but instead, we will rename the apartments to honor someone who’s truly spelling out revolution in action. Blindness and empowering blind people is important, but we need to meet the person where they are, and I’m getting back my confidence in the kitchen, and I’m doing it a little step at a time. Baby steps. I made a green bean casserole, and it turned out delicious. I was shocked that it also had a spice kick.

Thank you all for reading, and I hope to see some good things come from the blog soon. Blindness ought not to be feared, and neither should I as a person.

Beth

My life is about to get better.

Dear readers,

I’m typing this blog post with the aid of my Macintosh. I’m also going to tell you all that life isn’t waht it seems. I’m feeling weird these days. I have 373 gb of stuff I have to remove from an iCloud backup and stuff like this. I’m feeling also that I’m at a precipice on things, including where I’m going to set up shop and have a family. For those who don’t know, blind parents can do things, honestly I’m tired of people saying I have to have excellent cooking skills, stellar cleaning skills, and all of that. Parents should try their hand at those things, sure, but moreover, parents have to have a desire to do this, and they have to be able to attach to a child and love that child. My dearly beloved Trenton says he doesn’t feel the energy necessary to be a biological father, but I’m willing to set it up so that he can help with things, but I also want support in the state of Colorado. So far, my therapist has sent me resources about parenting as a blind person, which is a start, but I have so many friends who are blind, well, I have parent friends, good ones and they are not judgmental, but I also think that UU parents like one of my other buddies I hung out with are very sweet people. I’m truly happy when I’m with my tribe. And I found that tribe, and I’ll tell you it’s not just me, Trenton, and my potentiali other Clayton, and some of you may think this is awfully weird, but it includes sisters like my friends in the UU community, it includes folks in the blindness community of Colorado, it includes folks with comorbid disability who also have been blind a long time. I want to say this journey is not over yet. Before my goddamn mac decides to update, I better shut up. I can’t wait, honestly, to begin new adventures and leaps and bounds. There’s a dog howling outside our window, at least not a damn coyote, and those things are the devil. In Arizona, well, they are the devil for ranchers and such, and the coyotes like to feast on people’s livestock, so I was saying, fight nature with nature, and if coyotes mess with my livestock, I said I would use a guard dog to keep the sheep away from the coyote packs. Moreover, I explained that a certain breed of llama and sheepdog could help out immensely more so than a poison or pesticide. We both love the environment, Clayton and I, and we both believe that playing with DNA and playing God isn’t exactly a good thing.

I just want to make sure the pros and cons are good ones, at least we need to know that 3d tactile ultrasonic images of the children to come are available for Medicaid, and we need the full body because as blind people, we should not have to be dictated about how and who accesses information about things like this. Ultrasound images are intimate parts of a mother’s and father’s life. I’m not dissing you gay folks either, but gay guys and a surrogate who are blind should still have the same equal access and opportunity that heterosexual couples get by being heterosexual. I am for the most part hetero, but I’m willing to try things I couldn’t because of my hellish adolescence. As a young girl, I was stripped of my rights, so now I’m going to see where my straight laced image can be ripped apart. I could say a woman is fine, but I’m not wired for women, and that’s okay. Everybody has natural feelings about things like this. I am affirmative to all persons, after all it is one of the principles that guides my beliefs about things. If anything, I’m going to have a lot to say later on, but I’m going to be in Arizona next month, and can’t wait honestly to be loved and appreciated by someone who truly loves and appreciates me.

What are the pros and cons you may ask? I’ll list them all here.

Pros and cons for Colorado:

  1. I have supports that will accept Clayton as a fellow being of humanity, otherwise known as a homo sapien sapien, a la human being.
  2. He doesn’t have to worry about badass drivers running him over as many times.
  3. We may have better coverage for children and women with Medicaid, and I don’t qualify for Medicare.
  4. I get dental benefits.
  5. Food stamps are a nonissue.
  6. Nicer places abound. I want a bigger place so I can have a few musical opportunities.
  7. The mountains are beautiful.
  8. The weather in summer is way better than Arizona’s by a long shot.
  9. Colorado has wilder weather, but the people here are resilient, and very kind honestly.
  10. I have buddies here who would be able to participate without judgment in a baby shower, birthday party, etc etc.

Pros and Cons of being in Arizona:

  1. A con is the desert climate, duh.
  2. There are enemies in Arizona, particularly those I’ve written about who sent me a deathly threat via a Karen of sorts in my backyard mind you.
  3. People are treating Clayton like total shit.
  4. At least no snow.
  5. Clayton wants a house there, but what if there’s none to be found due to jentification? Jentified, a Netflix show, pronounced “hentified” is a show about Latino families facing gentrification, and Arizona’s gentrification is out of control.
  6. Republican run legislation, no need to explain that part.
  7. Too many goddamn creedal churches, where are the UU’s there?
  8. LGBTQI+ folks aren’t protected as much, trans care could be criminalized as well as sports, Iowa did that already.
  9. Access to abortion if my life is in danger is crucial, and if AZ pulls a we don’t like abortion, even if the mother’s life is in danger thing, it should be clear where my family will live.
  10. No critical race theory or talk about black people in schools. Also, the. high school Clayton attended would get a big F you from me for trying to institutionalize him for being himself and expressing his actions and feelings through rap music. Colorado schoolkids don’t even get that kind of treatment to my knowledge.

It should be clear, but I’m going to be honest. I hope Clayton and I can work something out where he leaves Arizona and comes here, wink wink. I secretly wish he’d do this, even if gun control is bad for his rights to own one, or if Colorado requires sight to do x and y. I don’t care, and I don’t want anyone to be dumped or left out, but we need to decide where and when I go someplace, to visit Trenton or Clayton, and both of them need to share me gracefully, without incident, no fighting, I know this is weird. But I hate heartbreaks, I’ve been through my share of those. I had the worst sex with my ex, the guy in Georgia we call Jason, but Idk. My adventures will include every leg of my journey. I just hope I don’t die giving birth, or worse, die postpartum like a friend did a while back

I’m sorry I haven’t been on this blog in a while …

Dear readers,

I’m writing this blog entry to apologize to readers and others for not having done a year end rap up and not updated on Christmas of all things. Today is January 2, and people are denying me access to food and other supplies, and I’ve got lots to talk about. Let’s talk about the year in twelve or more things.

  1. First off, I learned that extreme weather patterns closed too many things to us, even in January of 2021. I also realize that Covid destroyed all possibility of celebrating Christmas and New Year’s, and it happens seemingly every year but still, not good.
  2. In February, winter just continues and it got worse. Not sure when the blizzard from last year happened, but at some point in either February or March, we needed help, big time, and didn’t have enough food and supplies stocked up. It happens even more now because of what’s about to happen next.
  3. Bedbugs came back, and I just about had enough of the unsanitary living conditions that disabled people are forced to accept, mostly because money isn’t there. I can’t just wave a magic wand and make money grow on trees, people, so I asked for help with housing, and got the following statements from a Lyn Coats and Jennifer Scott: “You can’t feed yourself.” “You’re manipulative.” Jennifer went so far as to drag my poor ex into the conversation, and it went downhill from there. I have more to say about that in some later entries here.
  4. In August, we still had problems with bedbugs in the building, so we had to evacuate our apartment, and honestly I hate my building because of the lack of help we’ve been subject to, denial of resources due to being on longterm care, and so much other stuff. In August, I asked for help a second time for some evacuation strategy, and some Josh Cory and a Kayla Michelle Candelora said the following: “I wanna be honest, you’re not capable of doing anything at all.” Josh added that he’d unfriend me and blocked me anyway because he felt I was incapable of doing for myself, and these two individuals also defended having to compensate people for their time in money dollars I don’t have. Kayla particularly has a huge burden to bear because she is a mother of four. Josh is a divorcee with two kids, and worse for him, he refusees to hold himself accountable for his possible beating up his ex wife. He blames her for DV (domestic violence) charges, and I should have seen that as a clear distorted thought process, a red flag. I reread a sexual predators protection handbook, and discovered not that Josh was or is a predator, but that distorted thinking was present in his brain, so his loss on my page is not really a loss. However, Jos, Lyn, Kayla, and Jennifer all did something I would never have expected. They all called me slurs about my mental health, needlessly incapacitated me on the internet, and revealed private information about me because they felt that I was a personal threat to their egos. Well, there’s one or two more names I have to go through.
  5. Recently, Jose Cintron got himself on my block list because he called me crazy, and needlessly incapacitated me on the Internet via Facebook yet again. His words? “This woman sounds crazy.? He wrote that in response to something a friend did and an interview she gave about my church experiences. Jose should have never said the thing I’m about to write as well, “You should not be in charge of another life.” Well, Jose, I will be in charge of thousands of lives if you don’t think before you write. I am capable of writing this blog entry, so you need to shut up and if I find you are whispering this to doctors and social workers in your state, I will make for darn sure you are flagged as a false person because you said these things, and it hurts loads because I was told I was incapable in a court of law, and even if Britney is free, you won’t be because I have my freedom because I had to do what was right and necessary to prove things. Guardianship is evil, and if you are pro guardianship, well, you have a lot of things to think about.
  6. I looked at my block list on Facebook, and I confess it looks a mile long. Besides Jose, Jennifer, Lyn, Kayla, and Josh, there will be more names I’m pretty sure who would be glad to bully my friends and me. I am pretty sure also that I blocked my immediate family, and my aunts and uncles and such because it’s not their business what I write on social media. Oh, did I forget Karrie Kinsteter also said the following regarding pregnancy and disabled people? “It will be your parents’ business if you get pregnant.” Karrie clearly supported an evil practice of something called stealing the baby from a disabled parent, and I had to put up with that two years ago. Karrie is not coming back and if she does, she has to change what she feels about guardianship because it is pure evil. I had a tough talk with my dear beloved’s mother about such jarring matters as guardianship, and I warned her this. While her adopted mom got scammed $500, that same amount will be removed … per hour if a professional guardian was in charge. $500/hr, that’s a lot.
  7. While I did a few blocks and had to deal with persistent needless incapacitation online, I also was targeted for crimes like my medication was stolen twice. Not once, but twice. I will tell you this, one young man I know suggested I take a trip and pick them up, but that’s too much. If it’s cold and snowy out, definitely too damn much.
  8. One good thing that happened this year, well, a good Samaritan in my building rescued two pairs of binaural headsets Trenton, my beloved partner, had ordered. We use the binaural headsets to record things. We don’t know exactly what will be recorded on those, but if you listen to my binaural recordings, I will warn you, please wear headphones.
  9. I unblocked and added back a friend of mine and found out that CCB and the Colorado Center for the Blind is firing folks right and left and believes that it’s okay for blind folks to die by vehicular collision. Oops, it’s not good at all. I also saw an article in the Colorado Sun about misconduct things regarding the same place, and worse, sexual misconduct affected some of the staff I thought I could trust. They’ve been going through staff like women go through panty hose. I’m not kidding. I want the stupidity to stop.
  10. I met several great people but connections could not have been formed too deeply. I’m having this issue, mainly because of the needless incapacitation and false rumors about me, taht involves connections. I can’t form connections like I used to, and it’s sad. I can’t form bonds with people who have the same things in common with me. Most of the disabled community and blind community in particular are so bored with their lives and themselves that they would rather spread misinformation about me than do real things, including a job, form friendships like everybody else, and do things that people actually want to do. My friends like to do things other than lie around and spread misinformation and watch TV. Yes, I watch movies and TV, but truthfully, I don’t spread misinformation. I tell the truth. From Josh to Jose to Karrie to Kayla to everybody else, these people needlessly incapacitated me without prior qualification or medical evaluation. I’m sorry, but all the pro guardianship blind people need to stop believing for a split second that removing fundamental human rights clears any way for people to … “help” others. Guardians don’t do that. They scam, and they’re on the level of con artist. I’m not kidding.
  11. I’ve continued pressing for the end of guardianship since I’m free to do that now. I want to name some good people I’ve had the privilege of working with on Facebook. Hilary and Rick, two awesome folks, are amazing. Hilary Hogue from naples, Florida, understands the meaning of freedom. Rick Black, one of the best social justice activists I know, has been on standby because I hope this year, I can go to the Capitol in Colorado to talk to Congress in that state. I don’t want to deal with anyone like that Beauvert gal who’s probably going to say I’m incapable and incompetent at all. The truth is, politicians should take notice because guardianships no matter who has them are simply pure evil, should be criminally liable, and should never happen at all. My kids one day will have to contend with my story. I will tell it in the best way possible.
  12. Once again, Lissa or Melissa or whatever her name is decided to have a ball turning on me. This girl sat next to me in high school, but prefers guys who like to send death threats to me rather than myself. Lissa and her husband blocked me and accused me of damaging someone’s reputation, but let’s be clear on something. You send death threat? You get nothing. You lose everything. Death threats are not funny, they’re not cool, and they’re also a crime. You commit crimes against Beth Taurasi? You will get arrested, put behind bars, and I will testify what you said and did, and the call will likely be recorded and played back in court. You wanna hear what you say? I suggest you don’t send death threats by email or phone. It’s been two years since this lady from freaking Avilar did this. So, this is what I want to see. No more death threats or attempts to do so, and because of trolls I had to stop comments on here. If you are concerned, please contact me on Twitter or Facebook. IF your name is Karrie, btw, I think you owe me an apology because you don’t understand how evil your thoughts are regarding pregnancy and disabled people.

For Christmas, thankfully we hung out with Trenton’s mom. She has two kitty cats, and we love both of those cats. One male, one female, they’re adorable. I hope that one day, people will stop digging into private information without my permission. I’m considering stopping all longterm care services because someone on my FB page revealed things that are lies, and are private and it’s unethical to reveal these things. When there is a shortage of caregivers, you can’t really do anything about this. I have had a very difficult 2021, so here’s what I want to do for this year:

  1. Fitness is at the top of my list of things to do.
  2. I’m going to decimate my family’s money and savings so they will have no choice but to put me on their will, and I will be the sole heir and have an inheritance that will help us get proper housing for kids, and furthermore, the county in which the guardianship was handed out will be punished for their deed.
  3. I will have a child, and no, that child will be with us, nobody else.
  4. I will not allow any more needless incapacitation or calls for me to be retraumatized in guardianship on Facebook. Anyone who does this will surely find themselves blocked, reported for hate speech and forgotten but their comments will probably never leave me alone.
  5. I will have a dream and that dream will come true. Anyone trying to tell me dreams are just dreams is being ridiculous.

Thank you for reading this blog over the years. In case you didn’t know, The Throne Room with Beth Taurasi will be getting a new platform home, to hell with someone else taking away distribution of my podcast. I’m done.

I hope 2022 will be better.

Beth

I Don’t Hate Men

Dear readers,

Disclaimer: I do not hate men, and I’m still feministing and being cool, but let me make one thing clear, I do not hate men. There are good guys and bad guys, and I’m gonna talk about both, so here goes.

First and foremost, I see you good men out there. I see you who don’t wanna hurt your wives, kill your girlfriends, or shoot up college campuses all in the name of a sexist societal change. I see you guys who open doors, pull out chairs, and talk serious about letting your female colleagues advance in companies like the tech companies and the ones serving us today like those in restaurant chains and the like. I see you good guys out there, the ones who are truly mature enough to see that some of your actions are wrong, and I see you guys who own up to violent encounters, and without use of faulty manasphere thinking, you do your part to change your life for the better.

The reason I write this is because of men I’m about to cover. I see men online who write terrible things about me and other women, men who don’t take ownership of their responsibilities like for example, this paraphrase from a dude in Colorado even, “She put a DV (domestic violence) charge on me if I didn’t pick up my kids.” Really? Did you really abuse your ex wife, sir? I wonder, are there any others I can think of that are just nasty? I have too many names in my mind, and they’re all blind or physically disabled. This is just one category, but there are millions of unnamed guys I don’t know in extremism communities, including MGTOW, incels, and other communities in the big wide “manasphere.” Thank you, Laura Bates, for writing a great as hell book about this subject, and now I have a healthy respect for good males and good males who don’t do bad things. Laura Bates has lots of examples of how misogyny is dangerous, and she doesn’t have to look too far back or forward.

I have a great partner who actually thinks Bates’s book is great, and we both do not really support the manasphere, and we both understand gender inequality like nobody’s business. Look carefully, especially at some of the disabled community. There is sexism, white supremacy, and all kinds of wrong in the disabled community, and sadly, it’s perpetrated by disabled men, especially the ones living at home with their parents, or the ones who openly admit to denying paternity over children, and those who sit there and complain they don’t get the sex they want with women.

Socially awkward men scare me, and I thought I found a kindred spirit in a man I knew only online and let me tell you how it worked. I thought that “Jason”, the name I saw on the Skype request was indeed a genuine recording “artist.” I quickly added him, and he and I had some talks, fell in love, and then … sadly, but in some weird way, we met. Jason seemed like a good guy at first, but then the trouble started when he was isolating me from good guys like my ex, Deq, who has beliefs that kind of clash with mine, and he needs to get his head straight with certain groups of people, truly because these people, these people including sheikhs and others who have certain incendiary things to say about women are dangerous just like the straight dudes in the incel community are. Either way, Deq respected me, but tried to control which authors and books I read, but who cares. I had to hide certain aspects of life from him because he didn’t get it. Jason was worse, way worse, in that he had some perpetual racial stereotypes about African Americans, Somali immigrants, and so many other types of individuals he had a whole novel he could have written. Jason was calling Mexicans a popular immigrant slur and was suggesting to me that “All Muslims are terrorists.” Not true, and I’ve met some peaceable Muslim folks since, people who actually realize that some of Deq’s incendiary commentary wasn’t cool. That was part of the reason I broke up with Deq, but another reason was the brothers and I had to put Islam away in a box marked, memories. The memory of Islam is not that pleasant, but there are pleasant layers of the sisterhood in Denver, and that’s fine. The brothers were the problem, and my future depended on me leaving Islamic communities behind, but not leaving my support for a peaceable observance behind. What Jason did was lie about Islam being a religion of the sword, not surprising because in the Bible Belt, including Florida or Georgia, churches with such hateful rhetoric against Islam abound, also the churches somehow get away with preaching nasty stuff about gays, women, and simply everybody who is not Evangelical Christian or white or making less than $4000 a month.

Jason gave me two sets of jewels when I met him a second time, but by that time, he had been isolating me, controlling me, picking my friends, hosting all my Skype groups, all of that plus cheating and lying and stealing while at the same time, we had some relations, sexual stuff, but it wasn’t all that satisfying knowing that this man is capable of being awkward and cheating on me. I had been cheated on also by another man in California, but Jason is a glaring example of a man to stay away from. He’s been stalking girls on the Internet, demanding sexual relations with one or two at a time, perhaps he’s telling all the Jessica Sara and Britney girls he stalks, and I’m saying Sara Jessica Britney because I’m talking about this in the same way you say Tom, Dick and Harry, but he pretty much tells every Sara, Jessica and Britney out there that “You’ve signed your death warrant by being friends with Beth.” Picture Jason as the President of Panam, the country in Hunger Games, and you see what I mean. If you were friends with me and Jason knew it, he’d strike you with thet National Guard, and that’s the kind of guy that started slowly coming out when I returned to Denver after our first rendezvous. It was painful to see him do this to Jennifer Weaver (she died in 2015), and worse yet, to other girls I cared about. He finagled Caitlin, another girl I truly did care about, to stop speaking to me, and now she’s joined awkward ranks and told me not to speak out against Jason, but who cares. Jason is someone you don’t want ruling your newspapers, your companies, your household, your country’s government. Jason is not just the man I dated, he is a monster that comes in many other guys as well, including that Bryan Laundry dude who killed Gabby Petito, and now guess who’s after him? Dog the Bounty Hunter, and I’m actually very happy that’s happening, for Dwayne the Dog Chapman has a pretty good thing going and he’s considered a legend.

If you’re Jason, you’re bad. And the words that read, you have signed your death warrant for being friends with Beth, those words hurt. Just because I somehow forced Jason to break up with me, well I didn’t want to at first, but others have told me just what a blessing it was for Jason to abandon ship, and I learned later about the warning signs of domestic abuse. All I can say is, in any way I can without being mean, thanks. Thanks, Jason, for not acting like Bryan Laundry, evading the authorities, but no thanks for the relationship because you cheated on me and you tried to weaken my whole spiritual experience. No thanks for telling me that all Muslims are something that they’re not supposed to be. So yeah, no thanks because you made Jennifer cry her brains out, you said I could die or my friends signed a death warrant and no, don’t run for government office because you hurt me. You really did hurt me, I don’t care if your disabilities did this. They didn’t. You hurt me so bad I cried for days after you broke it off. You even wanted me out of your life, well I’m living with scars, and these scars remind me that I ain’t done fighting for women’s safety in relationships. Thanks to Laura’s book, I have a better experience and understanding of guys like Jason and the composite sketches Leigh Baker also used to help parents learn how to detect sexual predators. Jason is not just the Jason I dated. He is the monster under your bed, the pounding pain in your head when you don’t want it, so you take Advil to get rid of it. He is the guy you see lurking on the Internet, or even in the bushes, waiting to yell a nasty comment your way. Jason is the guy who lies, cheats, and steals, and tries to upend democracy as we know it. Jason is a guy, but he’s also in just about every bad guy I know. HE is a recent ex, recently barred from advancement because a lady said he touched her. He is a guy who didn’t budge when his girlfriend called me a “dog in heat.” He is the guy you don’t want to meet at a bar, but you do anyway and end up messed up in the head because you feel slighted. He is the guy you can’t believe got you pregnant, and then tried to get custody of your baby, and all the while facing criminal prosecution for your rape. He is the type of guy I chose to date because being that I was born blind, and locked out of life like a child, I had no options. I had no decent men in my life. Until Trenton.

I want to take a few lines to honor Trenton, my partner, who might as well be a husband, but we won’t legalize things till this SSI thing is settled, and Congress, I’m counting you in. Get this passed, please. As Trenton is a good man, I’d rather have him a hundred per cent. Trenton is someone I’d call respectable, honorable, and a gentleman after my own heart. He and a buddy of mine named Clayton in Arizona, though they’re both different, deep down they’re good guys. Unlike the Jasons in the world, Clayton has owned up to his actions, owned up to everything really, and he has made a good life for himself, has ambitions, has desires, wishes, wants. Who knew if this or other good men could be the key to ending violence against women? In any case, I want to make something clear. Feminism is something that any man or woman benefits from, and I have written plenty of things regarding my relationship woes. In any case, I better get to bed.

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