Dreaming of Wherever…

It has to be a city, or even just a big town. A college town. Not for youth, but for Community Ed, and… feel.

Just the other day, Boise occurred to me. It would be really easy, not far at all. I’ve been a little overwhelmed by the drive alone, with those old lady cats of mine. I never considered Boise, because of the trauma I experienced there.

I swear to God! What is that?!

I look at patterns. If it keeps happening to me, then I’m the common denominator. It’s on me to figure out what I’m doing to attract, create, permit, or aggravate… whatever. But I had nothing to do with a random Boise State housing assignment to a coed apartment inhabited by, among others, a pervert who tried to kill me!

The fuck? How does this keep happening to me?

I’ve accepted that the chaos of my childhood has kept me glued to chaos as a kind of touchstone. I simply don’t understand it if it doesn’t hurt. It’s my job to divorce myself from that connection. If I don’t, I won’t stop repeating it. But I had nothing to do with meeting Roger T. Black, or with putting him in prison. He did that.

I’m also not responsible for a sexist institution that dismissed me and ignored reasonable complaints of alarming, disturbing behavior. “Histrionics of a woman” is such an unbearable insult. (The word itself! Hyster  – Greek – “Of the womb” = hysteria.)

“Oh, go on now. Silly, dramatic girl,” Boise State “said” to me, practically patting my pretty little head. That mentality pisses OFF!

I don’t think about it often. Almost never. When I do, I’m mad all over again that my parents didn’t direct me to sue that fucking school. Boise State endangered me, for real. I cannot believe I took out student loans for the privilege! Then I flunked out! I’m an A student, if you hadn’t guessed. If I’m doing it, I’m doing it well.

Fuck Boise State! I should have been compensated for the crime they committed against me.  They permitted that man to live with students and then took and hid the proof I gave them that he was a sexual predator!

Roger T. Black was a obese, gangrenous diabetic in his 50s (You could smell his dying flesh!) He rode around barefoot in a jazzy power chair and probably died in prison. (In fact, I’m sure he got better care in the hoosegow than he provided himself.) (And he only got 3 years for Disturbing the Peace, because he didn’t actually pull the trigger, just told the neighbor he was going to. When the police broke down his door and hauled him off, they found an arsenal of weapons and ammunition, and detailed plans of my murder drawn up in his room. As well as buckets full of his waste. He only used the girls bathroom to masturbate in, leaving a pile of cigarette ash to identify the deposit as his. Oh, he almost burned down the building, too. There were holes burned into his carpet from the many times he passed out smoking. Thanks, Boise State, for checking up on me after months of abuse and weeks of reports, evidence, and complaints.)

How did he even get near campus? He was a sexual predator, using his GI Bill – still – to “go to school,” with its endless bevy of victims. Hell, Housing will serve them up, right across the hall. BSU didn’t skip due diligence; they didn’t do any! Then they humored me when I brought aggressive, dangerous harassment to their attention, until Roger T. Black nearly killed me! Actually almost killed me. As in, he had a plan to kill me.

I could have sued them for millions, and I should have. I will never not be pissed about that. Fuck not being litigious as a sort of religious moral stance. I’m your daughter!

That said, Boise’s lovely. 🙂

The weather is similar to Salt Lake without the inversion. There’s a huge Burner community, so I can find like-minded artistic weirdos, and I’m still close enough to attend Utah events. Huge belly dance community. Several troupes commute here twice a year to perform in Salt Lake’s biannual festivals. Huge African Drum & Dance Corp. They come to our annual camp every year and invite us to their events. And Boise is probably Idaho’s only southern town not completely right-wing zombified. At least no more than I’m used to.

Boise is an hour-and-twenty from mom (and my darling toddler nephews). There are some former-Mormon high school friends in Boise to meet up with. I can visit Marko for blank drums and didgeridoo fests and general laughs. Hell, I’ll see all my Salt Lake friends more often if a visit is an occasion. It always works out that way.

Boise??? Wow! Why not!?

Spokane? Pueblo, Colorado, popped up. (?) New Mexico? (Close to Texas.)

Speaking of Texas, flights were too expensive to visit my bestie during Christmas, so I’m headed down there for a week on Jan. 10. I’m so excited to see that baby!!! She’ll be 4-and-a-half months then. She belly laughs and chatters, and holds such enchanting attention. Her 4-yr-old sister is in love with her, and interprets her coos.

I was laughing yesterday, because I sent all of my childhood Strawberry Shortcake dolls to my best friend’s daughter for Christmas. It was a little hard to do. I’ve saved them for almost 40 years! They were intended for my kids, but even when it became clear that I wasn’t having any of those… oh, my dolls! I’ve had them my whole life! The care that went into that collection! They’re pristine. They are loved, still.

Yesterday, I Googled “vintage Strawberry Shortcake coloring books,” because the 4-yr-old doesn’t even know their names. (Shame on my best friend!) This was another reason I struggled with what had already been a difficult decision to part with those ever-loving dolls. I knew my bestie, who played with them just as I did in the 80s, wouldn’t remember anything about them (much less everything). I know her little daughter has far too many toys for one child (or 10) and my dolls have already been lost in the mix. They are not being valued properly! (I loved them.) But I had them in a box, in a box. Packed away in my cedar chest for decades, bringing no one even a moment’s joy. They are more valuable being played with by a 4-yr-old I love, even when they’re forgotten by her tomorrow.

So, I thought she and I could have all sorts of fun with a naming ceremony, and meet all the other friends that aren’t in my collection, by coloring together. What I found instead were sales of nearly $40 on dolls in worse shape than the ones I passed down. I had to laugh. A play date with a little girl in Texas has more value than a dollar sign.

I’ll keep telling myself that until it’s true, haha!

Merry Xmas! Love, Xie

****

I’m looking forward to 2018. I didn’t think it was possible for anything to suck harder than 2016, after Dump’s election win (God, that hurt!), but a whole year of that man is too terrible to imagine. I mean it when I describe his presidency as an exercise in imagination. Doesn’t it feel that way to you? Like a bleak dystopian novel that can’t be real? We’ve all had to go numb just to get up in the morning! It does scare me a little to inure myself so completely. I mean, that’s how the apocryphal “it” happens. But, worst case scenario, he’s out in 3 years. (I still describe that election cycle as akin to an abusive relationship. And it’s the new normal!)

I gotta say, I never dreamed I’d be the old lady who said, “The world was too terrible a place to bring a child into,” but I feel it. Not just environmental catastrophe, disregard for human rights, indifference to rape, and near-daily mass shootings. How do we explain the dissonance between the way we ask our children to behave and the cruelty and deceit of our own nation’s leaders?

Not even those horrifying things. Parenting in the cyber age is beyond my imagination and emotional endurance. That alone. You cannot undo what gets online. The bullying there transcends my ability to understand, and I wouldn’t want to face sexting with my pre-teen. Every modern parent will. I’m out, and I’m relieved.

As a childless woman, I will never cry the tears of the damned. Worry and pain for your children is worse than anything we soloists endure alone. I can get through anything. Motherhood is its own brand of terror and heartache. I’m not sorry to avoid it.

That’s not to say that fighting against the final slamming shut of that door didn’t hurt like hell. It was hell to finally learn the plot to that story. I’m nobody’s mother. Ouch.

Jax was my attempt to slip a sperm past that gate, and that recalls Jax ‘n’ Carrie, the real reason 2017 can suck it. They nearly killed me, and they knew it. It was obvious how sick I was. I confessed as much the innumerable times I begged to be left alone – begged – and Jax was there when I swallowed a bunch of pills. I haven’t been that close to suicide since my 20s. I wouldn’t have survived them then.

Oh. That was awful. It makes me sad to remember, and I remain incredulous.

Thank god for Guys & Dolls! Praise my courage and tenacity! And talent, and beauty, and vision. I really like about me that I can find worth and beauty in damn near everything. So I keep finding it.

2018 is a true new beginning. Everything I look at and touch will be new. I’m terrified, and so excited. 2018 is the year I trust my strength, stop testing it [in unhealthy ways], and enjoy my fucking awesome life!

Happy New Year. It’s a good one this year. I hope yours is, too.

****

Oh! I forgot a photo of my most recent drum, and a whole new direction that I love!
drum
12″ on wood frame with mallet
details

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Red Flags in the Rear View

I “processed” but didn’t publish Hard Day when I wrote it, but after events of the previous weekend, my first impression of Jax’s wife is relevant now. I was unimpressed with machinations meant to tell me me who’s “got him now.” (Honey, this ex don’t care.) It wasn’t easy, but have at it. I honestly wished them well. I felt empathy and compassion for her, and I loved Jax once. I wanted him to be happy with a nice girl.

My co-worker had warned me to be mentally prepared: This new girl might want me out of the way sooner than Jax promised.

“Oh, he wouldn’t do that.” I answered.

I did pause, though, considered it, and thanked her. Sadly, my co-worker was right.

Jax is the author of his own behavior, but, boy, did I get a taste of his wife! I know exactly who’s fueling this push out the door. That woman scares me! Disingenuous, manipulative, gratuitous. I don’t care, so far as she doesn’t factor into my my life after Oct. 1, but she has affected me greatly, and continues to do so now.

Those people terrorized me. Carrie is just getting what she wants how she always has. Once I’m no longer in the way of what she wants, she disappears for me. That doesn’t mean she didn’t scare me, scar me, even, but it will all be over soon.

As for Jax, he mattered and won’t go away so quickly. I’m surprised at the depth of his cruelty. There’s a place in him that feels like he has rights that he has not. I’m really trying not posit myself above him, but dear god!

I got dirty in that relationship, and I’ve learned enough to know, “There but for the grace of god go I.” We are each capable of anything. All of it. There but for the grace of god…

That said, I am seeing the red flags in his history. They seemed innocuous. They belonged to youth and arrogance, and Lord knows I’m about the most vainglorious person I know. It’s one of my primary life works, to balance the pull of superior/inferiority of an unhealthy ego. Certainly, too, my youth is nothing but error. That’s youth!

But in the part of our relationship where we regaled one another with the adventures and follies of coming up in the world, there’s one story, in particular, that didn’t sit right with me. (There’s another that involves company theft that went far beyond the “crimes” we all commit of stealing time or office supplies, but I chalked it up to getting caught up in group foolishness and youthful self-importance. Now it serves to remind me to be impeccable with my character.)

Jax didn’t like his friend’s girlfriend. One day like any other, the group was hanging out, and she was reading. Jax asked about her book. After she talked about it a bit, he asked to look at it and she told him to be careful with it. (I should have paid close attention to what he did, because I would ask that. She was probably a Taurus.)

And because she gave him orders, he took the book and ripped it in half.

I took issue at the time, and more than once in our ugly departure shamed him for it, but I should have listened then to what he was telling me. He bragged again in Florida when we were in line somewhere with his brother, who also found it unsettling and said so. Never once did Jax express chagrin. With me, he defended it. With his brother, he allowed the difference of opinion.

And what was his defense? I hadn’t heard the way she talked to him, he said. It wasn’t because the book was brand new, or even important. It was just to tell him what’s what, bossing him around, because she was in charge of everyone and everything.

“You don’t get to impose intentions on her boundaries. It mattered to her.”

“Nope,” he insisted. “She was a bitch.”

“Even so, it was her property!”

“You weren’t there,” was all he had to say about it.

How dare she assert herself? was the attitude. Woman, know your place. More importantly, it was his right to put her there.

Christie! It was always there!

In fact! Our first fight! Like me, Jax has a very powerful voice, and we both yell. I’m comfortable with that, honestly. I don’t want it. I want to learn together how to disagree better than that, but I hate it when I’m the yeller and my partner is just beaten down by my volume and veracity. Jax held his own. I needed that.

We did improve. We found ways to get heated, with raised voices but not yelling, necessarily, by our standards. There was progress in our relationship that made me feel like this was a partner who could not be bullied by me, but was amenable to taking responsibility – he did sometimes, when I pointed out misapplied blame – and strong enough to make me accountable when necessary. We were good for awhile.

Our first fight, however, was a shock to each of us, I think. Neither of us had met someone who could win just by being loudest. He matched energy, and fed it, too. We went fast from pissed to shocked to rage to fury.

Finally, his screaming shocked me silent, and I paused. “Whoa, Jax!” He continued. So did I. “Jax! Stop! Jax! We can reset! … JAX!”

I really thought we could. I had never been able to settle myself in that headspace. If I could, so could he. WE COULD. He didn’t stop screaming and finally out-shouted me. He’s the first perston to out-yell me! And now that he had, he was getting it said. I finally screamed at the top of my lungs, “STOP YELLING AT ME!”

His response? “You made me.”

“I’m not responsible for you!” I screamed. “I’m yelling because I’m yelling! I can’t make you yell! Fuck you!” I stormed off and slammed my bedroom the door.

(Blerg. “Fuck off” is NOT OKAY. I also called him an asshole all the time. I did try. On better days, I just called him a jerk. Sometimes I didn’t do any of my old behaviors! But I hate that I still haven’t figured out how to disagree with a boyfriend without disrespecting him. No, it’s the fights. It’s when I’m triggered. There’s something more I can apply there to HALT. Name-calling is a step up the ladder to abuse! It’s called dehumanizing, and I do not want to participate!)

That day, I called my best friend in a panic, “Oh my god, is he misogynist? Does he really think I made him do it? That’s what abusers say! Is he just a child? That’s bad enough! I am not responsible for you!!!” I was alarmed and ready to call it off.

I didn’t and still don’t think that’s what he meant, and he did later acknowledge that it wasn’t up to me how he behaves. I still believe him. We were speaking in anger. And we all blame. It’s what we do. God knows I do! Impassioned, we are all the child. Patterns and beliefs come up that aren’t true. We own our mistakes, move on, and work together.

I saw that in him, the working together. It is in him. Not with me, but he’s not one-dimensional. After this weekend, though, wow. I’m more humbled and alarmed the more reflection I give it. Especially now that the threat to my belongings and babies is lifted, and the couple is back to their normal not-coming-around. I can “relax,” and the underbelly is surfacing of a 5-day terror campaign that worked.

She deserved it.

Jax was privy to the pain of the trauma with my sister’s husband 6 years ago, and before that with my family, from childhood to this very moment. I talked about it from the beginning of our intimate relationship, when fears and sorrows and confessions come out. He was there when I went through the heartbreak of “losing” my father and brother, who echoed the sentiment, She deserved it.

He held me when I cried. He knew I was suicidal. I did go to the ER for 2 crisis visits.

Right now, it feels like he didn’t comfort me because he cared, but because he was stuck in a situation where he risked a girl getting sick and she did. I imagine the whole time he wished he could go to Carrie, but she was with her ex-boyfriend. I thought I had a friend who cared that our choice was so painfully costly for me, but now he just feels like a guy who was trapped and long gone in his heart. Now I wonder if he was resentful of me already. He was partly responsible, so… “Guess I’ll suffer the bitch.” ?

What he did this weekend was worst thing anyone’s ever done to me. I’ve been back on my meds for a month now. I’m still depressed, but I have been experiencing pleasure and progress on set and at work. I’m functioning and moving forward toward optimum.

That was all derailed last weekend. I was panicked. I thought I might have to check myself in. I avoided it all summer, no matter how overwhelming the pain became, but I was ready to quit the show. I felt I could never catch up, and the fear and guilt of making myself available to a show that I cannot emotionally or physically honor right now swallowed me up. But quitting meant quitting. And my cats! Don’t get me started.

I was scared.

And that’s not looking underneath! How does one even begin? My whole life has been a sham, a joke. I’ve been so blind, careless, STUPID. I’m too old to change this. I give up! I was curled in a ball in my closet, scream crying. My cats were so scared. I couldn’t handle their panicked faces and efforts to climb up and comfort me, so I hid in the closet and shut the door. I could see their little feet pacing, and it made me cry harder. Sometimes I apologized through the wailing, and I could hear their desperate mews.

And on it went. I was in danger this weekend. I felt brutalized.

He knew. He knew what his behavior could do to to me. He’s seen it. He’s held me, contained me, comforted me, and the whole time he just wanted to get away.

Fair enough. This shit ain’t easy. But he endangered me this weekend, with malice and purpose. And she deserved it.

Boys Club

boys club

I agree that her comment was reactionary and ridiculous, but his, to my view, was shockingly invasive. By linking all women with those working in the sex industry, simply because we have the same parts, he made the entire audience, including me, think of that woman’s genitals. Humiliating for her, shameful for him.

And completely off topic, by the way. He didn’t answer the question. He just used age-old misogyny to deflect the issue. Her question was stupid. An informed reply would have been far more powerful. I find this more and more disturbing upon reflection. So much degradation against women isn’t even perceived, much less replaced by equity, enlightenment, discourse, respect, and cooperation.

Disappointing also is the fact that this “haha!” is spreading on the web, touting his reply as clever, cute even. “Oh, he shut her down!” No, he didn’t. He simply demeaned her. It’s the 50s! “Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

In modernity, it’s far more crass. He’s talking face-to-face with a woman he does not know and referring to HER sex organs. He’s talking about HER vagina. And it’s funny. It’s disgusting! And how many thousands of people – according to this meme – obviously see absolutely no problem with that? I can’t even touch on the subject of being equipped by nature to be a whore. Those with a penis are allowed to “Be all that they can be,” in the Armed Services and the world, while women are here to get them off. Still!

Imagine being a woman in the military! I really can’t. Rape is rampant and we all know it.

I know we don’t live in an equal society, but I’m not consumed by differences in the way the genders are perceived and treated. This one just got under my craw. How can people be passing this along to one another thinking his little zinger is so funny, and no one notices the larger message to young girls? If their parents don’t catch it, how can we hope they’re teaching their daughters the truth about their value? I guess I really didn’t believe that this generation was receiving the same message ours did, where their entire worth resides.

Am I truly only seen as emotional and vaginal?

Makes the mantra not so trite: I AM NOT MY BODY.

Incidentally, how many of you have been raped? I have. My best friend, too. That’s too many in a small population of girlfriends. It’s attitudes like this general’s that slide under the radar as harmless and keep women and girls in danger, viewed as commodities. Parts.

(My lifestyle put me in danger, but my bestie was an 18 year-old virgin.)
(I still didn’t deserve it or do it to myself. A rapist did it to me.)

Makes the mind swim with the reality of sex trafficking in the larger world. How blessed I am to live in such comfort, leisure, and safety. Comments like General Cosgrove’s keep us turning a blind eye to a problem that isn’t ours. It may seem like a leap, but I believe these casual, seemingly innocuous views of a woman’s worth and the pervasive acceptability of dismissing and degrading The Anonymous Her is symptomatic of a greater global sickness.

(I believe that gender inequality, while harmful to women in obvious ways, also short-changes our boys and men. We’re all in it together, yo.)privilege(My cousin had this quote on his Facebook page so I clicked on it to save and post here. Not even kidding, it’s from “Women’s Rights News.” Yeah, if you want to think about my body in the context of the Republican Party, geez! Don’t even get me started! It begins to make more sense why he posted this. He and his awesome wife are very, very, VERY politically active here in town.)
in this togetherPolk & Broadway
San Francisco, CA
1/3/13 – 2/11/13

I voted on this billboard in October 2012 at San Francisco’s Burning Man Decompression. http://dreamermadwoman.blogspot.com/2012/10/san-francisco.html

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