The Heart of Life Is Good

It’s official. I’m depressed. Yes, I am back in the abyss once again after enjoying a rather long (it seemed like to me, maybe not to others) period of relative stability. I had physical ailments, but I had mental energy and positivity and all of that good stuff that comes with, dare I use the word, HAPPINESS? I had plans, I had a future mapped out, I was excited about my work, I was motivated. And now? Now I’m not any of those things. I’m forcing myself to write this because it’s been over three weeks since I’ve written anything and I’m ashamed. Worst of all, I had myself all worked up over NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month, which begins today, a competition in which one attempts to write 50,000 words in the month of November. I was psyched. I have had a novel on the back burner for quite a while, just waiting for the right time, and I thought what better time than when thousands of other writers are pounding the keys right alongside me across the nation, motivating me, some of them my “buddies”, cheering me on? I signed up and told everyone I was doing it and talked up my novel to anyone who would listen. And then I started to outline it. And then I started to procrastinate. And then I started to panic. And it all went downhill from there. I started getting anxious about everything. I couldn’t stand to get on Facebook anymore, for longer than a few minutes. All the election stuff. It was too much. I didn’t want to hear Donald Trump’s name or see his face, no matter what he did or how newsworthy or bizarre. I didn’t care anymore. I just wanted the election to be over. And, as is inevitable for the depressed mind, I started obsessing about death. Death I saw on tv, or read about in the news, or heard about in passing. Anniversaries of deaths, my grandfather’s today, my grandmother’s coming up soon. Elderly family members who I am afraid may die at any moment. And just random thoughts of, what if something happens to my husband? My mother, my father, my brother or his family? My nieces and nephew? Their children? I’m sick all the time and my doctor can’t find anything wrong with me. I know he thinks I’m a hypochondriac. What if I’m not? What if I’m really sick and it’s not just all bipolar making me feel bad? Thankfully, I have not yet moved to suicidal thoughts yet. I don’t want to die. I WANT TO LIVE. I want to be happy like before, and excited about my writing and the future and content with my husband and friends and family and focused on LIFE and LIVING. And I am blessed. To quote  John Mayer, “the circle of your friends will defend the silver lining.” And they did. My friends came through for me. I sent out emergency texts and they responded in their various ways with love and caring and got me through the crisis moments until I could calm down and be rational. And fortunately, I already had a therapy appointment scheduled, though I don’t see the doctor for a few more weeks. The therapist talked about a possible need for a medication change and though I hate changing meds more than almost anything, I admitted it might be time. As I have mentioned in a past blog, Prozac gets built up in my system and stops working for me and has to be switched out with something else occasionally. This time we will do it right, gradually weaning me off one drug and starting me on another, not taking me off Prozac cold turkey like they did during my infamous hospital visit. (That’s a story for another day.) I told my therapist about the novel competition and we talked about the reasons why I put so much pressure on myself when no one else is doing so, and we talked about continuing to ease up on the political fervor. So I went home and talked with friends and decided not to drop out of the competition, but not to place so much significance on it. After all, most of the competitors are amateurs and professional writers take months, even years to write novels. I have great ambition for my novel. Too much to fulfill in 30 days. I’m just going to work on my outline at my own pace and just see what I can accomplish in 30 days and use this as a practice run and try to have some fun with it and cheer on my writer buddies. No pressure.  Once I made this decision with a friend, I felt immediately felt a weight lifted off of my chest and I could breathe a little easier. Why indeed do I put so much pressure on myself? No one else is pressuring me. A little later I got on Facebook and when confronted with endless notifications from political groups just started methodically removing myself from each group. It took two days to get them all and it was about thirty total. I could have just stopped notifications but I decided it was time to start pulling back from all that. I have my own political group on Facebook that I run and a few local friends that I have discussions with occasionally, and that’s enough. I’m not sorry I went on an adding spree and added a bunch of Hillary supporters. I have made some great new like-minded friends. But I have also attracted a lot of Class A weirdos (not the fun kind of weirdos) and lonely men whom I cannot help, so I will be doing a purge at some point, returning to my reclusive behavior, having friends, but being more selective.

So, I’m feeling pretty bad, but I’m going to be alright. It’s going to take a while. Medication changes are a slow, arduous process. I’ll have to take each day as it comes. They won’t all be bad, maybe.   As I said, I am blessed richly. I have a loving, supportive husband, a veritable team of friends, and family who all love me, despite my many flaws and screw-ups. I believe God holds me in His hands and I  believe the Heart of Life is Good.

The Heart of Life
I hate to see you cry
Lying there in that position
There’s things you need to hear
So turn off your tears and listen
Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No, it won’t all go the way, it should
But I know the heart of life is good
You know it’s nothing new
Bad news never had good timing
But then the circle of your friends
Will defend the silver lining
Pain throws your heart to the ground
Love turns the whole thing around
No, it won’t all go the way, it should
But I know the heart of life is good
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Presidential Debate #2: “Locker Room Talk”

Everyone waited with bated breath to see how Donald Trump would squirm his way out of questions about the recent video comments unearthed of his from 11 years ago in which he gleefully described groping and grabbing women, unaware, apparently of a hot mic that was on . He talked about trying to have sex with a married woman and told NBC’s Billy Bush that you have to “grab them by the pussy”, among other tidbits of advice. Prior to the debate, many top Republicans came out against Trump, withdrawing their support, stating that they could not support a candidate who made such statements about women, as if this was the first time he showed himself to be sexist. Supporters were starting to scatter. How would he handle it? As only Donald could. He doubled down on it. When Anderson Cooper asked him the question, did he think his comments about women equaled sexual assault he dismissed it all as “locker room talk”. Simply, “locker room talk”. Which, I assume, is some code for, ” perfectly  acceptable”. In a split second he turned that over into talking about what was wrong with the country and ISIS and what he was going to do and everything except what the question was about. He finally admitted, yes, he said it, yes, he had been embarrassed, but look at what’s happening in the world with ISIS!! Heads being chopped off and whatnot. He really wanted to talk about ISIS. To be sure, ISIS is very important, but it’s highly unlikely they are going to be brought down by Trump alone, though he would have us all believe it so.  And that to him was really more important than any offensive language he had used about women or even any offensive behavior he had engaged in. All across America, athletes looked at each other and their coaches and asked, “Locker room talk?” I’m sure in a few locker rooms, that may be the case. Or by a few individuals in locker rooms across the country. But I would not insult all of our young men by saying, “It’s just a thing.” I’ve heard many women on the right in recent days try to dismiss Trump’s disgusting dialogue as “just guy talk”. UM, NO, MA’AM. Not every guy talks that way. Guys have dirty mouths sometimes, there’s no denying it. If you are in a relationship, you may enjoy your guy talking dirty to you.  But the average guy does not go around talking about doing things to women without their consent. That’s what we call rape culture, and that needs to STOP. Guys, when you hear it, you need to step up and say, “HEY. NOT COOL.” Ladies and gentleman, we all need to remember the  Word of the Day, and that is CONSENT. If you do not have consent, then you do not have sex. That is the rule. ALWAYS. NO EXCEPTIONS.

A lot of other things were said in the debate but I think I decided to focus on “Locker room talk” for this blog because it is so vitally important in our society as men and women continue to navigate their roles in our society and attempt to communicate with each other. Hillary performed admirably as usual, maybe not quite as in control because of the town hall setting, but she held her ground. But she stood up to Trump’s bullying well, with all his lurking about behind her, pacing and sniffing and playing to the crowd, threatening to throw her in jail. She was tough, as always, which even he admitted at the end.

But back to “Locker Room Talk”.  People need to learn to talk openly about their needs and desires in a dignified way, asking for what they need or want, not just grabbing and taking by force. In the meantime, we have a President to elect and one of them is a sexual predator.  Yes, I said it. In case you didn’t hear or have forgotten, Donald Trump is charged with the rape of a 13 year old girl, and is set to go to trial soon. His “friend” whom he used to spend time with in the company of young girls, is a convicted pedophile, Jeffrey Epstein. This is a man we are SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING FOR PRESIDENT. Liar, sexist, racist, cheat, etc. So many labels I can pin on this man. In every way he thinks he is above the law. He doesn’t pay taxes.  I could write for hours about how unfit he is for the presidency. But I just have one question. DO YOU WANT A RAPIST FOR PRESIDENT?  

I’m In Repair

Facebook post from last night: My husband and I took my mother out to eat for lunch today and in the ladies’ restroom I had the pleasure of seeing myself in a full length mirror for the first time in a long time. I was not unaware of my weight gain, but I was not quite prepared for the image that greeted me. My first thought was “Mama Cass” and the words to “California Dreaming” started playing in my head. Tears welled in my eyes, but I thought, you know, of the two women in the group, she did have the better voice. And also, I thought, taking a deep breath, there is always something to be grateful for. At least I’m not starving. Right? Right. Still, I wish somehow I could choose my mental illnesses. Instead of bipolar and ADD, I would be severely OCD, with specialties in cleaning and exercising. I would be disturbed, but thin and meticulously organized. But the mental health lottery doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. You play the hand you’re dealt.

 

For you younger readers, Mama Cass was a fabulous singer from the 60s group, The Mamas and the Papas. I’m sure you can find their music on iTunes. She sang beautiful harmonies, but she was mainly known for being “the fat one” and dying at an early age. I believe she choked to death on a ham sandwich or something else not very glamorous. That’s all I was ever told about her growing up, and left with the impression that if you were fat bad things were likely to happen to you, and maybe even SHOULD happen to you, like fat people deserved to die young. I got the message. I stayed skinny for a very long time. Then life happened. I grew up,  I became depressed and was given anti-depressants. Anti-depressants helped me realize, perhaps for the first time, that food tasted good. Really, really, good, and eating was enjoyable and I began to put on weight. This was healthy at first, as I had been significantly underweight. But I grew up and developed and began to change medicines often and was  susceptible to the side effects of all of them and I began to put on more weight. I should add here that I have never been a physically fit person, even when I was stick thin. I was never athletic, never enjoyed physical education class in school, even flunking it on purpose in high school by not dressing out out of sheer stubbornness. I never developed the exercise habit. I didn’t like to sweat. I liked walking well enough, if I was walking somewhere, or walking in an area with scenery like a short hike. But walking around and around a track didn’t interest me, and I didn’t see the point of running unless I was being chased, and then it depended on who was doing the chasing. (If it was a cute boy, I might let myself be caught! *blush* coy smile*) I was too cool too dance and aerobics, popular during my time, was lame.I was thin because God made me that way, but when I didn’t take care of myself over my lifetime, when i worked out only sporadically and ate whatever I felt like eating, my body began to change. I went from skinny in my teens to average sized in my twenties to curvy in my thirties to overweight at forty. The decade of my thirties really did the damage. I switched to an almost completely sedentary lifestyle. Sitting all night at work at a stressful job, stress eating, and sleeping all day. I joined gyms and rarely went. I bought exercise equipment and rarely used it. I made plans to walk and did for a while, then quit. I just never could stick to anything. Exercise made me so tired so quickly; my heart beat so fast. I found out that I have “exercise induced tachycardia” which just means when I exercise my normally high heart rate jumps up abnormally fast to a dangerously high rate. So I can’t run or do any high impact aerobic workouts. I can walk or cycle slowly. I can do yoga, pilates, weight training, etc. I just have to make myself do it. But it’s soooooo hard. WHY? Don’t you feel better after you exercise? People would ask me? Sometimes I would. Sometimes I would feel like I was dying or like I wanted to go to bed and stay there. Surely that is not normal, is it? So here I am, today. Not giving out specific numbers but well over and above a healthy weight range. My goal weight loss is 100 lbs.  To get in a healthy weight range, I need to lose 80. I’m trying not to think in big numbers yet. I’m trying to think about 10% of my body weight first.  Just losing that much can have great benefits for your health. I learned that from Weight Watchers, which really works, if you work it and stick with it. I’m not sure what kind of program I need now. Diet or exercise or both. I hardly eat at all. Ask my husband, he will tell you how I don’t finish meals or I skip meals. I’m doing SlimFast right now and some kind of diet pills I got off the internet. But I am tired ALL THE TIME. I have an exercise bike, and I am too tired to ride it. Simple household chores exhaust me. A few months ago, my doctor told me that I still had mono from a year ago! But my blood tests are clear now. Supposedly the virus is gone, but I am still tired and weak. My fitness level is zero. The doctor suggested water therapy and is supposed to be giving me a referral but I haven’t heard from the clinic and I don’t know if Medicare will cover it. If I had the energy, I could go to thy Y in Madison and do water aerobics twice a week. (and the motivation.) But I don’t have the energy. Just started taking super potent max dosage B12 vitamins that are supposed to give me massive enetgy, but so far I haven’t noticed a big change. Taking big dose of vitamin D too. Maybe B12 shots might work? I’m ready to try anything. Adderall worked when I was taking it for ADD, but Medicare stopped covering it and will only cover Ritalin and Ritalin does not boost my energy, at least not at the dosage I am on. At least it keeps me awake. I was sleeping half of every day for the longest. Now I am awake, if barely, but I go to bed early. tired, every night, soon after dinner. Just a blob. That’s what I saw in the mirror in the restaurant. I felt pretty when we left to pick up my mom. I had on a new top, purple, my favorite color, beaded and cut loose and full so it didn’t cling to me and feel tight. Probably looked like a maternity top only I’m not pregnant, just fat. I looked in the mirror and just saw a purple blob, with newly colored black hair that my mother didn’t approve of (she had made sure to tell me as soon as she got in the car) and now in the ladies’ room when I joked I looked like Mama Cass, she didn’t deny it, just remarked something about her career. And I just felt fat and old and stuck  and hopeless. But I have so much to live for. I am blessed with a loving, supportive husband whom I love with all my heart and soul and we have big dreams together. And I am finally beginning to fulfill my dream of being a writer. I can’t let my weight drag me down. I have to get healthy. I have to take care of myself, for us.
Later, when I came home and posted that status, many lovely people wrote kind words of support in the comments and my good friend Kristine McKeown reminded me of our favorite guy John Mayer and his song that has brought us back from the brink so many times. If you’re not familiar with John Mayer, you should get to know him. He is my favorite singer-songwriter. I have often said I feel like he is singing my journals out loud. He really gets me, and I get him. His song “In Repair” perfectly describes how I feel, in this in between stage of not being quite right, but getting there. This fall and winter I will be in repair, and hopefully “when things turn green again, it will be good to say you know me.” Here it is, with lyrics. Enjoy.

Too many shadows in my room
Too many hours in this midnight
Too many corners in my mind
So much to do to set my heart right
Oh, it’s taken so long
I could be wrong, I could be ready
Oh, but if I take my heart’s advice
I should assume it’s still unsteady
I am in repair
I am in repair
Stood on the corner for a while
To wait for the wind to blow down on me
Hoping it takes with it my old ways
And brings some brand new luck upon me
Oh, it’s taken so long
I could be wrong, I could be ready
Oh, but if I take my heart’s advice
I should assume it’s still unsteady
I am in repair
I am in repair
And now I’m walking in the park
And all of the birds, they dance below me
Maybe when things turn green again
It will be good to say you know me

 

 

A Voice for Teresa

Last night’s post on Facebook at bedtime:Today was a strange, wonderful, sad, spiritual, happy, unsettling kind of day. I am going to bed now to ponder these things and try to find peace through sleep. If you love someone, tell them. If someone you know is hurting, talk to them. Don’t wait. Peace and Love to all of you. 💜

What happened to make me sign off with such an enigmatic goodnight? Well, as usual, I started my day on Facebook. (Yes, I’m an addict. No, I don’t want to stop.) I have been steadily adding friends over the past few weeks, mostly Hillary Clinton supporters.  A few days ago, I was scrolling through confirming friend requests, when I got to one, Beverly Canady Fields. A message popped up informing me that I could not add her because she had reached her limit of 5000 friends. Impressive, I thought. I looked at her profile. She described herself as “true blue liberal democrat, feminist, spiritual humanist, social justice warrior with a California <3”. I needed to know this person. So I sent her a private message: “Hey! I can’t add you as a friend because you’ve reached your limit of 5000! Why don’t you kick a few people out and get back to me? Thanks!”  I didn’t really expect to hear back from her, but yesterday, I got a message from her that said, “Try now.” So I did, and I was accepted as her friend. Yay! Thanks, I wrote back to her. I invited her to read my blog and gave her the link. She wrote back a little while later and said I was a “queen”, how much she loved my blog and she was putting the link on her page! WOW! Thanks! I said. I was blown away. I’m not used to so much praise and attention so I was eating it up. We chatted for a bit and I told her I was in Alabama and she asked me if I knew a Teresa from Crane Hill. I didn’t, but I was familiar with Crane Hill, as it was the home of my former step-mother. I figured we probably knew some of the same people. Beverly encouraged me to look Teresa up and add her as a friend. She said we would have a lot in common politically and would have lots to talk about. So I looked her up as we were chatting and I found her with no trouble. But something was wrong. At the top of her profile page, it said, Remembering Teresa _______. I read a few comments and it became evident that Teresa had passed away in July. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I told Beverly this, and kept reading. Then it became evident that Teresa had committed suicide and I relayed this to Beverly also. Beverly was shocked, of course, and, said she needed to get some air and would be back. A chill settled over me. I got goosebumps all over that wouldn’t go away. Why did I tell her that? I shouldn’t have told her something like that about a friend over the internet, me, a virtual stranger. I should’ve just sent her the link to the page and let her read it for herself. And yet, that seemed like a cold way to handle it. How would I want to be informed? Beverly came back and I apologized, but she said it was ok, and we talked for a while, and I counseled her a bit, the best I could, saying all I could think of to comfort her, everything I knew from my own knowledge of being depressed and suicidal. Beverly said Teresa had shown no signs of being depressed and I explained to her that some people hold it all in and show nothing til the end, that it’s an illness and there is nothing she nor anyone else could have done. If someone is not showing signs or making it obvious they are in pain, what can you do? That’s the whole reason I write my blog about my experience with bipolar and depression. I am one of the ones who doesn’t keep it all in. I let it all out, make it all public, even though it is humiliating and embarrassing at times, because I want to end the stigma surrounding mental illness and make it OK to talk about it. I want people who are hurting to feel comfortable talking out loud about being depressed, about having thoughts of harming themselves or killing themselves without being labeled as crazy. I want it to be OK to talk about going to to see a psychiatrist or a therapist or  taking medication without people making fun of them or treating it like it’s a joke. For the record, if I joke about my meds or my shrink, that’s OK. You’re  not allowed! That’s how it works in the world of mental health humor. Only the afflicted can laugh at themselves. And if I laugh, then you can laugh with me. Only then. Got it? Good! 🙂

Later Beverly found out a little more, that Teresa had been in a lot of pain, whether mental or physical we’re not sure, and had gotten in her car and shot herself. I told Beverly that for Teresa to do such a thing, she had to be in a lot of pain, and that she was no longer suffering and that I really believe that. I grew up being taught differently. I grew up being taught that if you commit suicide you go straight to hell. But now I’ve been through depression and suicidal ideation and I know that I have already been to hell in my mind and I don’t want to go back. I believe people like Teresa who suffer so cruelly are at peace now. That is not to say that suicide is the answer. Suicide is NEVER the answer. Teresa’s life is over now. She has left behind many who love and miss her and she will never see another sunrise or sunset or see those she loved or do any of the things that brought her joy. She’ll never see our first woman President elected, and I know she would miss that. It’s normal to feel sad, and even angry with someone who commits suicide. It’s a natural reaction. Why? Always the question, why? Why couldn’t you hold on? But you don’t know unless you’ve been in that moment yourself how painful it is. So we must learn to understand and forgive those who just couldn’t hang on any longer, and let them go to rest in peace. Remember, it’s an illness. It’s not a character flaw. It’s a hormone imbalance in the brain. It’s not just personal weakness. That person didn’t just die to get back at you or to leave you alone or anything else. He or she was sick. That’s the bottom line. Forgive them, and let them go. Let them rest in peace. Focus on the living. Focus on the ones that are still here, and still hurting. Be more aware of those around you. Don’t assume everyone is OK because they say they are. Observe them. Look for signs. Are they sleeping too much? Not sleeping at all? Number one  symptom of depression is change in sleeping habits. Have they lost interest in activities? Do they seem obviously sad or depressed, or is it more subtle? Dark, flat moods. No sense of humor anymore. Do they talk about death or seem fascinated by it? Their own or others? That’s a big red flag. Do they talk about harming themselves or others? Are they angry a lot? Anger turned inwards equals depression.

I am still unnerved by what happened yesterday….making friends with Beverly, being “introduced” to Teresa, and discovering the loss of Teresa. I don’t want to get all spooky  and weird, but I don’t feel it was a coincidence. I feel something spiritual took place. I don’t know what you all believe in, but I believe in God, and I think He used me, and I am grateful for being used, but it is rather unsettling. Beverly said she would like to post the link to my blog on her daughter’s Tumblr which has 40,000 followers. I was stunned, and grateful. Surely this is the hand of God. I look at Teresa’s profile and I don’t want to obsess over it too much, but I know her photo will stay in my mind forever. She’s outside by the pool with a visor and sunglasses on. You can’t really read her eyes but she is smiling, a funny little smile that makes you wonder what she was thinking. I wish I knew. We had 12 mutual friends. She lived pretty close to me. But I never got to know her until I randomly befriended Beverly. I look at some of her memes under her photos. Funny stuff. She and I would have gotten along well. I can almost imagine her voice as I read some of her old posts. I am almost grieving for a complete stranger. I wish I could speak for her. What would I say if I could? I would tell her daughter and other loved ones, I love you so, so much, and this was nobody’s fault. I just couldn’t take the pain anymore. I am so sorry. Please forgive me. Don’t forget about me. I feel that’s what she would say. I can almost hear her saying it. God bless you, Teresa. Rest in peace, sweet lady. May God bless your daughter and all those who loved you and give them comfort and peace and surround them with love and carry them through this difficult time. May they be blessed with a thousand happy memories of you in brighter times. In Jesus Name, Amen.

 

 

Presidential Debate #1: She’s Got This

This is going to be short and sweet. Hillary Clinton arrived on stage, radiant in red, the color of power. Donald Trump showed up looking and sounding like an angry bull and sniffed and snorted his way through the debate. He was cranky, cantankerous, an old man with kids in his yard and worse. He had no sense of humor. He had no manners. He was rude to Hillary and to Lester. I was amazed he got through it without using profanity. It seemed imminent. I think he did say “hell” once. He lied and denied, and lied some more. And exaggerated and embellished and twisted and stretched. And sniffed. He sniffed A LOT. What was up with that sniffing? Some called it “sniffling” but it was not like a  cold; it was definitely sniffing. Was he sniffing something before he came onstage? We may never know. But down to the brass tacks. What did he actually say? A lot of angry, negative things. Mostly about Mexico, and China. He seems obsessed with those countries and almost more concerned about them than about America. But to hear him talk about America, the state of our economy, and infrastructure and jobs, and “law and order”, we are on the brink of utter ruin and only he, he alone, can save us. It was very grim, and hard to imagine anyone wanting to vote for someone with that message, but I know some people will. Hillary, on the other hand, was calm, cool, collected, and PRESIDENTIAL. She spoke like she was already President. She even took the time to assure our allies that everything is OK. Our word is good, despite the confusion of the election campaign. She was organized and had her plans laid out for the economy, for race relations, criminal justice reform , trade, Isis,  climate change, jobs, and more. She was positive and upbeat. She smiled, and even laughed. She laughed when Trump insulted her and turned it back on him . Once he criticized her for taking off a few days to get ready for the debate and she acknowledged that she had and had also done so “to get ready to be President.” Cheers from the crowd. The jaw dropping moment for me, though, was when he went on one of his tirades and accused her of not having the right temperament for the job, all the while seething with rage and no trace of irony. She actually laughed and the crowd did, too. He didn’t get the joke. He never does. 

White Privilege and White Trash

14369967_1140978549274395_6949873094673701855_nThis is the recent Snapchat page of Kansas State University student Paige Shoemaker. I have no commentary from her to explain or defend this…this…atrocity. As one can imagine, there was a huge social media reaction and I do have a screen shot of one friend’s casual defense of this foolishness.Enter one McKenzie A. Benson, a paragon of white privilege, judging from her comment.  Only white privilege allows one to see a white person in black face calling herself “nigga” as a joke and not racist, and bemoan the fact that one can’t even wear a beauty mask anymore without being called names. (Heavens!) And try to shift the blame to another wrongdoer (Brock Turner) and whine about shaming bandwagons and ruining someone’s life. Poor, persecuted, white soul! Our hearts bleed for you, truly, they do. But this is just a temporary fuss. You’ll wash off your “beauty mask” and change your picture and people will forget and life will go on. No worries. Oh, child, if only I could hex you and make you black for a week or longer and see what a joke you think being a “nigga” is then! Ha ha! Wouldn’t that be a hoot? What if that black wouldn’t come off EVER? What then, huh? Would that be funny? HUH? Wouldn’t it? NO? Well, why not? Is there some reason that being black is not endlessly amusing? Is there some reason YOU’D RATHER BE WHITE??? Yeah.  That’s what I thought.  Now wash your face and shut your mouth!

 

Update: Paige Shoemaker has been kicked out of Kansas State University!!! Color me shocked and amazed. Actual consequences for a white girl? Say it ain’t so!!           Too harsh? Nah…                                                                                                                                                                    14292332_1403023259727360_1285238267023873840_n

 

 

 

Thanks to Jennifer Hay-Richardson for the screenshot.