What a Difference a bit of Sleep Made

Well, I got home after a hard day at work. It was a really hard day at work, realizing where my life would go. I had a weird foreboding and a funny flashback about my mother’s pretenses and her false hope stuff. I still can’t get the whole thing at the parochial school out of my mind. For one, if I am rich, I’m not sending my kids to a dopey private school. I don’t like private schools, I don’t care how much affluence I have, I’m not sending the kids to private schools. I don’t want them to necessarily live the “good life”: nannies, mansions, cook, maid, and butler waiting on them all the time hand and foot. I really don’t care. Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, and all those famous sons and daughters of you know whats can have their riches, but at a cost. Their power is at a cost. I’m sorry, but I’m sure that Blake Shelton will never want to see a blind person, and if he doesn’t care about folks with disabilities, well, if Usher and Gwenn and them don’t either, I’m done. I’m not auditioning especially in front of celebrity brats. I don’t like them very much at all. Oh, and dressing to impress? Give me a break! Do I have to wear a dress that costs me a thousand bucks just to get noticed? Shoot, I am not going to do something like that if it costs me half my paycheck. I need to pay bills. I’m sorry, but the bills have to be paid. Yuck, I hate bills. And Beyonce can dance all she wants, but she is never gonna impress me. I met N Sync, but Justin Timberlake’s lyrics have gone inappropriate. Joey Fatone Jr. is a good man, a real good guy. I liked his dad, who offered me the tickets to see N Sync so many years ago when they were practically the world’s biggest boy band. My parents think I’m entitling myself to stuff, and they treated me like scum. Yes, I hate writing this at a time when the jitters have gone nuts at work. I’m done trying to be kind to everybody, even my own family. I don’t want Florida news, and I certainly don’t care. Yeah, I follow WESH on Twitter, and they’re cool. I don’t mind if WESH digs in and says the weirdest stuff about me, and that’s because I used to watch them all the time with Mom all the time every day. Ellen would come on at four EDT or EST. Of course, if I earn enough money, I might have tot hink about estate planning, and hopefully I will be the sole executor of my estate. That’s all I want. I am not going to deal with guardianship, and I’m in the process of getting rid of it. I have to do it through radical means, and yes, parents be warned. You do anything to crush my dreams, and you’re gone. No threats, just promises. I won’t speak to someone who crushes dreams, who says I’m not as good as Britney or Christina. As much as I think Miss Aguilera has matured from the slutty weird self she was, I don’t think she deserves any more attention. Why is it when I log on to MSN dot com at Bayaud, I don’t see any good news, except for one measly story about two wheelchair-bound people who go to prom in a fire truck? Everything else is stupid top news that nobody wants to hear: politics and fights and arguments, Congress being stupid and making corporations in to people, Kim and Kanye–I wish they would both stop and think about what I am doing at the moment–and their stupid wedding, Donald Sterling who has Dementia, etc etc. I want to hear some good news. Maybe I am the good news they’re looking for. Maybe I am the chosen one. I hope I am chosen to sing, and I want to show Blake Tucker, my one true lover, that I will see him again. Yes, this is not where it ends, Carrie Underwood, do you hear me out? I will carry him with me, no matter where I go. Trust me, Blake Tucker, all the guilty pleasures I’d want, I’d want you. I’d want someone common, who understands my fate. I want to change my life’s course, and I hope Matthew Orts doesn’t get this. HE might not, and maybe he needs training. What if Matt and I were a rivalry? What if he did something weird and we were the two people left on the Voice? So what if I’m second best? The American people don’t want disabled folks on their shows, and someone with a Guardianship on their heads? I don’t think so. My parents should not need to give me their approval. I want my life, and I want it now. Dear Mr. Shelton, if you’re reading this, this is dedicated to you and your friends on the Voice. Be warned: I’m not the most impressive girl on Earth. I’m a singer, and I will sing my heart out till I’m accepted. If this is the only way to get me noticed, to get me the heck out of this stupid studio apartment, this is what it will take. Mr. Shelton, you are not the man of my dreams, but I am counting on you and your friends to accept me for who I am, my singing and all the good things I can offer. I will be in it to win it. No gossip required.
Love,
Beth

Six Days Left of Work! … I’m a Mess!

Dear Diary,
This is the first day of a long job hunt, and I’m going to hit up the famous job sites for jobs I am qualified for. I don’t care if that means playing at bars at night. I thought of working at the sandwich shop, but face this, a sandwich shop? Really? I’d rather be performing on stage. I talk with my friend Jason on the phone, and he goes, “You’re not gonna get everything on a silver platter.” What? I’m not kidding. Jobs are hard to get, and I’m determined to win this fight for one.
As for the audition coming up in June, if it wasn’t for that weirdo friend of mine from Poukipsie, NY, I’d never thought I’d do this, but I’m gonna do it because … well, it’s hard to explain. I was fourteen years old, in love with BSB (Backstreet Boys), and not able to do what my mother called “discern fact from fiction.” Huh? I was thinking of becoming an entertainer, someone big like Britney or Christina, when the words I would later dread hearing bounced through my mind: “You know, Beth, the Britney Spearses and Christina Aguileras had their first appearance at ten or twelve. You are fantasizing, and you won’t make it because I’m not gonna allow it.” Whether she said those exact words or not, the message was clear: my dreams would never be allowed to be realized in my home in Florida. I never thought I’d be sitting here, searching for jobs that I know I’m not qualified for, but I want to know, WHAT CAN I DO FOR WORK other than those dopey callcenter ones? Blind people and folks from India are taking those jobs. So what if it’s a job? There’s no upward molity, benefits, or competition there. Call centers are not real places to work, and why doesn’t rehab want me to go to college? Why?
I’m not gonna diss what Rehab does so much but I’m gonna say one thing: “You’re pretending to be Arab” came from a psychologist hired by Rehab to “evaluate” me. I had converted to Islam at one point, thinking I’d be a wife and raise a family. Well, famous folks raise families, right? Hey, it’s not like no one does. Blake threw me off the phone today, and it seemed as though I was a mess, a total mess, all day at work. I drifted off to sleep. Even now, my head is a bit heavy. Shoot, I did not sleep last night. I was reading a book called Without Mercy. What was I thinking!
My good friend Art was right about one thing though, the book is weird.
I’m so darn jittery it’s not even funny. And I hear my poor mother’s repeated words flashing back to me, back to a time when I wanted desire, was an adolescent, etc. Adolescent desires were treated as though, well, like it was the dog in heat or something. As a blind woman, I feel like I was violated intensely by my own family’s selfish whims. I want to be a singer, and if that means I have to get my foot in the door by working late at night at bars, that’s what I’ll do. After all, singing and playing is what I was born to do. Craig David, I think that’s his name, had an album that said something about being “born to do it.” That’s me. Born To Do It, I was born to fly, play, and sing. Nothing else. Otherwise, if I’d been in another country? Hmmmm, Jason explained that the Philippines is not as good as here, but jobs, yes even jobs, can make the difference between having a bigger unit in a better building and having to live in a bug-infested wasteland such as my own apartment building. I searched for jobs, and I’ll proby narrow it down to a few: …
1. Musical ones, maybe that’ll be a side job. It all depends on Mr. S. and the V. Don’t stare at me, people. Just remember, my music is my life.
2. Computers. I write all the time. Should I write for a magazine? Maybe I’ll look at creative writing jobs. Maybe I should show them a sample, this blog, a portfolio of my work. Oh, baby, what am I saying?
3. If neither works, I’ll go find something that maybe Christine Ha would do: cooking. I enjoy cooking and doing a few kitchen things on my own. Cooking. I could go to culinary school. Yes, culinary school, it’s a long road, but worth the try. I want to learn food science at that point, cook, etc. Maybe Blake will be grateful for that.
I’m done fantasizing. Time to make my singing career a reality. Thanks, Matthew Orts of Poukipsie, New York. Thanks a bunch. You just landed me in Nowhereville, Colorado with no where else to turn. I’m done here. Done here. Done. … Falling forever.

I’m falling forever into a deep hole,
Nobody knows who I am.
I’m sitting here at a lonely table,
The tears flooding my human dam.
It’s like the river breaks, and I’m like, where will I be in five years?
What will I do?
I only mean I’ll be as true
To you.

I’m a Worry Wart

Dear Selfie,
Or should I say, “Dear Diary,”
I’m worried about a few things:
1. Work training coming to an end.
2. My Voice audition.
3. Where’s my water? Laughs out loud.
4. Where is my boss?

As I write this, I’m afraid of my entire audition being slammed because of blindness, and the producers making up assumptions. They could. Well, after all, they are fickle producers anyhow. My work training is about to come to an end in May 29, 2014. Gosh, what will that day be like? What will I say? What will I do? Will my coworkers throw a party for me? Will I be given a huge cake? Gosh, I deserve all that given I had been working so hard here. The building will be a missed place for me, and I’ll never forget things. I have the memory of a pachyderm, whatever that is. An elephant. I have friends like that.
As for the audition, one of my female coworkers suggested I might look cute in red or pink or a pale pink. I’ll try and get colors from the red family. That’s all I know. Then, … well, I am replacing an entire bag of laundry, undergarments mostly. Melaina, my caregiver, would’ve had to replace, and the church offered to pay me some money to replace all the laundry. Plus I have mismatching pajamas, torn up shirts, etc. I have clothes that don’t fit me, so I need to go and do some serious shopping. I’ll be nceling something tomorrow. I might just have to cancel group on Monday so I can deposit the check in the bank. I will have to do that. After all, I have to replace my clothes and bags and … well, someone will take clothes away from me because they think they can.
That is settled.
Now, … the audition. What will happen? Gosh, I’m a nervous wreck, but when I am singing in front of Blake, I’m fine. If it’s someone else, fine. If it’s my coworkers, fine also. So what if you add a country star in the mix? Uh oh. I don’t know. I simply do not know.
I was gonna audition with one song, but a zillion came to mind. I have a long list of songs I could sing a capella without words or music to back me up. Shoot, I could do something more. But I’m afraid the producers won’t take a blind person, not only that, but …
1. What about my prescriptions?
2. What about the doctor’s care?
3. What about the psychological care I will need? Will they see me as a liability? Musicians have the highest rate of brain illnesses of all the people I would know. Take a look at all the artists, country or otherwise, who ended up in places you don’t want to be: jail, rehab, and such. It does not add up.
4. What if my parents put a stop to my dreams? I’ll have to throw that out immediately. I’ll have to make sure lawyers and so on are on hand to keep my earnings with me and me only. That’s it.
6. What about my place? What if I don’t win? I might not get something out of it because of blindness, mental illness, and other problems. I’ve done all I could to pursue a dream that my mother would dare stop. She will never do that again. I hope she learns from saying that only Britney and Christina could make their dreams come true. I saw Britney Spears live in concert once when I was younger, and I noticed her voice was a lilty sort. She thanked us all for making her dreams come true. What? She didn’t deserve a dream like that. Look where she’s at now, with Rehab, a bad marriage, loss of custody of the kids, etc. Look where I should be, and look where Britney’s at right now. Christina has matured gracefully from being weird to being … well, a good mother to her son or two. The bad thing? She married an old producer guy. That happens … a lot. For me? I’ll marry my baby, and that’s Blake T. He needs me more than I need him. He needs love, not money. I’m not going to have fifteen kids like that weirdo Pilgrim dude did with this lady. I’m not stupid.
Well, Jessey, the boss, just arrived. So here I will be. No worries now.

Work and interesting stuff

Dear Diary,
At work, I hunted for jobs of interest. Seems like the only job I’d be qualified to do, if anything, would be a job at Easter Seals, Johnson Adult Day Center. What? I’m like, really? I’ve done reception work before, and it wasn’t the best thing to do. I have to work with the frail and the elderly in this job. But I’d prefer to play music for people. I love music, but it’s too iffy. Too iffy indeed! I remember years ago while driving home from Parochial school, my dear mother said, “You won’t make it in the entertainment industry.” Then she said that the Britneys and Christinas were all TV talk and music by ten. Well? I could be a music teacher, but you have to have a bachelor degree in music to do that. How much money have I spent on that degree and not gotten results? And as a second rhetorical question: how much money do you honestly think I’ll have to spend with accessing research and print documents? College is a bear for some, and for some others, impossible because of the location and the policies that some college–Atlantic Cape Community Mays Landing, are you listening?–some colleges have against the blind. I’m not going to a college if they hate me. I’m already nerve wracked about my audition, and I want to get away from my apartment and get a second and better apartment. I want to get rid of my poor girl clothes and wear something else, Freedom’s clothes. I want to be able to do things that rich people do: hire a cook to cook for me, hire someone to clean my house, someone to wake up at night, someone to … whatever. I’m done being poor, but yet I want to be able to get a job. Even the well-to-do have limits, and even the rich have limits. I’d rather be rich and donate my money to projects and help the homeless rather than BE the ones who can’t afford to replace your own clothing. Speaking of which, … more than three garments are missing in my laundry. I already called my church’s secretary while sitting with a coworker at lunch. He’s awesome, a great friend, wise and perfect in almost every way. Well, nobody’s percect, but … So I asked the benevolence fund’s amount, and Kris the secretary might have some. Please, God, I want my clothing back, and I want something nice to wear to the audition. God, if I am slated to be a musician, then your Will Be Done. Thank you for the gift of singing and the gift of all things singing.

Choices for an Audition Song for the Voice, My Thoughts As Well

Hello, everyone.
It is time I told you all this, but I’m auditioning for the Voice, and it’s taking place on the DU campus. I’m looking forward to it, so all of you should know that I’m probably going to sing something country. Maybe not a Miranda Lambert song because if Blake Shelton hated me for it, … well, I don’t know.
I’ve been seeing stuff about bringing back girls from Nigeria. Well, if I could, I would bring them all back singlehandedly, but the Boco Haram people need to bring them back because they took what wasn’t theirs. God, the things we learn in kindergarten.
I learned a long time ago that taking something that isn’t mine isn’t a good thing, so I won’t take Miranda Lambert’s husband no matter how tempting and hot he seems, but Adam Lavigne isn’t for me. He’s weird. Just weird, I don’t know why. Usher is hip hop madness, and he can’t sing worth a shot of liquor because he’s a hip hop guru, and I don’t sing that stuff. Ewwwwww, please let me have Blake Shelton stare at me all day. I want to be a country legend, but hey, if I was poor, I might or could stay poor forever so that nobody notices me. What if the fickle producers don’t do their job? What if they reject me based on income, connections, the lack thereof, etc.? Those producers need to allow me to go on because guess what? Matthew Orts may not have the kind of voice that needs to win. Even if Matt and me competed for the winner’s trophy, I think I’d be the one to get it. I’m sorry, but Rocket Songs dot com isn’t the right place to practice singing. Dang, I don’t know what to do next.
Ok, maybe I was being a little bit sarcastic, but I’m sure that I should write a bit of a note to Blake Shelton only the day before the audition so that he notices me, … if not on the stage, then on twitter. Right. As if anyone would notice me. I don’t think the producers know who they’re messing with. They’ve got someone who’s better than Aretha Cadner, some lady on American Idol, and she was named. She didn’t have any thing but a poppish black vocal style which didn’t surprise the producers, but she was allowed through. Darn it. I hope I can get past everybody. I have to win so that I can do something with my winnings. I’ll take some and use it for myself, like a nice house for me and Blake to live in, and then the rest of it will go towards building communities and rescuing girls and … and and and and. I don’t know what to do. Any thoughts in the comments would be nice. I need ideas on also what to sing. I was gonna sing a song from a movie, but decided to do a Katie Perry song, but what about Blake Shelton? What about Blake Shelton’s barn and grill and all? I want to find myself with him in a room, staring at him all day. … What ever. Let me take a selfie.

Introduction to my Career

I’m going to go further and tell you readers what I’ve done so far.  I’ve set this whole thing up to connect to LinkedIn, FB, Twitter, and possibly Tumblr.  I love Tumblr.  I absolutely love to share Flipboard stuff on there, and it works!  Anyway, I want to tell you guys that you are welcome to follow me any time.  I’m happily open to comments and stuff, so just go on. … I was born in Orlando, Florida, September 20, 1986.  I was born with only my blindness, but nobody suspected anything would happen beyond that.  I won’t really go into my life.  If any new bloggers want to know more about me, do ask.

Beth

I ACED THE A PLUS 802 TEST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Holy moley. I aced one of the tests! What was I thinking? I actually aced a test! For once in my life, I actually feel I am running along smoothly. I could be a tech instructor for the blind, but how! OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I aced an 802, but the question is, what about the 801 stuff? I can do Windows command line, but what the heck. I’m great! I’m so gonna tell Blake when I get home, and when I ace more tests, I’ll be good.