living out loud in some red, sparkly shoes.

Before I start, I want to share the website/organization information I was given to start the process of...dismantling...whenever I'm ready to start that process. Just in case anyone reading this or stumbling upon this is in a similar situation, go HERE: www.visionsanew.org. They have lots and lots of resources to help you.

Okay, that's done. Next!

I've put my underpants on backwards two times this week and three times last week, Internet, and not noticed until well after 9:00 AM. I left crucial items for science experiment lessons at home. Yesterday, I almost walked out the door with only one earring in. I think it's safe to say my mental state has been somewhat frazzled.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to every single one of you who reads this dreck. I'm sorry for all the existential bullshit your eyes and brain have had to endure over the last several weeks. If it makes it any better, please know it's not exactly been a wildly fun party on this side of the screen either. 

I'm just going to chalk it all up to Growth Phase Part 2 (Growth Phase Part 1 being when I initiated the separation). Let's all pray Growth Phase Part 3 is less fucked up AND I'm able to dress myself for public consumption more appropriately.

Have I written here about my most favorite movie for grown ups of all time, Living Out Loud? I think I have, but a long time ago and I bet it was very discombobulated. I re-watch/review it every time I need a reminder about what matters most in Life (foreshadowing: not what other people want). 

So the story is about Judith, a 40-something, recently divorced nurse, who gave up every dream she'd ever had to help her unbelievably douche-y douchebag of a doctor husband achieve his. And then he left her for a younger woman and that woman is having the life Judith dreamed about but was asked to sacrifice it all for someone else's happiness.

She meets Liz, a jazz nightclub singer, and Pat, the doorman of her swanky Manhattan co-op. She strikes up a friendship with Liz who teaches her about strength, and Pat who teaches her about true friendship. But ultimately, Judith learns how to love and forgive herself by making peace with the damaged child within, and when she does that she figures out who she is and where she needs to go next. And she does.

The story was written and directed by Richard LaGravenese, who has said it's based on two short stories by Anton Chekhov, "The Kiss" and "Misery." Film critic Roger Ebert (may his lovely soul RIP) loved it to pieces, and if Roger Ebert loved something, then I love it too. 

(Side note: if you write and/or love short stories, you should see this. Character and dialogue matter most, and every reviewer who's ever reviewed it always makes some comment about how it's like watching a short story in motion.)

When I first saw this movie in 1998, I was no where near married; I think Steve (he of the box of darkness) had just broken my heart, and so maybe that's why I was drawn to it. It was about a woman done wrong, and I most likely felt I'd identify. But sitting there in the theater, I remember thinking: oh. oh, this movie is going to stay with me for a long, long time. 

What's funniest to me about the fact this movie has meant so much to me is that, in 1998, I had absolutely no way of knowing that one day I'd be in situations like the one scene of the film where Judith is drunk, on the floor of a nightclub bathroom, telling Liz: "I am soooo tired of agreeing to things I never should have agreed to." And, back in 1998? I had no way of knowing that, one day, I'd be in situations where I'd have to make tough decisions and let go of things I never thought I'd ever have to let go of. Isn't that funny? How things like this are brought into our lives, and then they stay with us for unknown or un-thought-of reasons...and later on, we find out how insightful and meaningful they were all along? Things like this are what convince me Something Greater Than Ourselves is at play in our world; whether It cares or not is up for debate. But I do often feel like It's moving things along on Its schedule, as It demands they move if for no other reason than just to keep the order of things fluid and constantly propelling forward through time and space.

There are only two movies that have ever done this, that have stayed with me for almost a lifetime or half a lifetime, as Whatever It Is has propelled me through this life I am having: The Wizard of Oz and Living Out Loud. And I've been thinking, lately, about why that is - why THOSE two films? I decided it's because they're both growth movies; bildungsroman tales. (A bildungsroman is a coming-of-age story.) And what's most fascinating about THAT to me is that both of these bildungsroman tales are female-centered (which is very unusual in the world of bildungsromans - most of these stories are male-oriented) and both are stories written by MEN. And what's fascinating about THAT to me is that both of these bildungsroman tales written by men are about journeys, and finding out where your core center lies, and doing what's best for YOU...in the end. They are both empowering stories, full of the message: Don't listen to what other people want you to do or have or give...go do what's right for YOU. And that's big, because this planet loves to tell its females they're doing it wrong if they aren't constantly giving in, shutting up, and being a good little girl so others can be happy.

I've loved The Wizard of Oz since I was 7. I lived it, I dreamed it, I breathed it, and it anchored my soul all throughout my childhood. In my saddest moments, there was always the thought, the knowledge, that Somewhere Out There, there might be an Emerald City. The background music of my childhood is Somewhere Over the Rainbow and We're Off to See the Wizard. The colors of my childhood are technicolor yellows and greens and blue gingham. 

And I've loved Living Out Loud for almost 20 years, and have loved it long before I knew that one day I myself would be a divorced woman who'd be sitting on floors in tears, beating herself up over and over for agreeing to lots of things she never should have; who'd given up some dreams along the way to make other people happy or because she didn't really trust or know herself; who'd one day have to start picking up and re-gluing the fallen pieces together. And this would be HARD, Internet. Oh my god, this is so incredibly hard. I can't even tell you. (But I do! And I do it here! Airing out my dirty laundry, including backwards underpants, for all to enjoy on a regular basis.)

Fascinating.

At any rate, that's where I'm at currently. My status update is: re-gluing together the fallen pieces. 

Sometimes you sacrifice things that make you happy so someone else can be happy; the world says that's what real love is. But I disagree, dear Reader(s). I think that's the worst kind of sacrifice to make; that it is not what real Love looks like at all. I'm not talking about not going on a fishing trip because your spouse broke her foot and won't be able to take care of a 4 year old by herself (or, you know, whatever...go ahead and go on your trip anyway, don't mind me. I'll just be icing my 5th metatarsal for 10 weeks)...I mean sacrificing what matters most of all to you, being asked to change your very essence and being told that's what people who love each other do. Which is a lie. 

Love is gentle and open, kind and honest. It's not demanding; it lets go when it needs to, because it trusts that whatever it let go of will come back if it's meant to be there and if it's not,then real Love just releases the object, the person, to the Universe and lets that bird fly free. Love is deeply wishing for someone else's happiness, even if that means you don't get to be a part of it. And that is not a sacrifice; that is simply...letting go. 

And so. If you are asking someone to sacrifice their own happiness so you can have yours, why not just go ahead and stab them in their soul repeatedly with a homemade shiv while you're at it? That's not love. 

Also: Love isn't heroic; it doesn't save anybody else. It doesn't fix anything. All the love in the world cannot unfuck up the fucked up. Love just IS. And you let the people around you fight their OWN battles, and stop trying to fix other people. I mean, you can hand them water and wipe the sweat off their brow now and then. But their fight isn't yours, and that goes for your children as well...let your children fight their own fights. You can only fix yourself; when the oxygen masks drop take care of yourself first - you're no good to anyone if you're passed out dead.

When Dorothy says after fighting to get back home, "If I ever go looking for my heart's desire again, I shouldn't look farther than my own backyard," I don't think she means: stick with what you know and is safe and give up; I think she means: listen to your own heart; be true to yourself. Because Dorothy always had the power to get herself where she needed to be; she just needed to learn how to do it herself. And I bet, I just bet, if Dorothy decided her heart's desire was still in Oz, she'd be on the next cyclone or traveling carnie worker's hot air balloon to go get it. Your home IS your heart. And that's where your power is. Take it with you; use it wisely.

This is what I have learned. Because when I reconciled with C in 2007, I remember thinking: Oh this is nice, I'm home, just like Dorothy; I'm not going to go looking further than my own backyard from now on. But that didn't really work out, did it? That's not what was actually going on, was it? Because, again, I was sacrificing to make someone else happy. And Whatever It Is that's driving this big boat we're all on was propelling me onward to where I am now, just as It's propelling me forward to where I'll eventually end up six months from now. And so I couldn't stay where I was, because I hadn't really learned what I wanted, or what I needed, or who I was, or what really mattered to me. And when I get to where I'm going, there will be more to learn, and more challenges to endure. Because this is the process of learning and growing, and hurting and healing. But I couldn't stay where I thought my home was, because my home was and is and always will be my own heart. And my heart was always sad, and still is, when it's in a home that doesn't fit it well.

And so here I am: Back at the beginning of the Yellow Brick Road, trying to figure out how to get to the Wizard...who's probably going to screw me over and take off without me. Sitting, drunk, on the floors of nightclub, in tears, smacking my forehead for once again agreeing to things I shouldn't have agreed to in the first place. Looking to other people or things to make it better, to fix it. Or! Maybe it's finally sunk in. And I'll just...let go.

Here is what else I have learned, Internet: In the end, there's really nobody but yourself who knows how to find your own heart's desire and nobody but yourself with the power to get whatever those desires are. And that's the central, driving theme to both of those movies that have stayed with me throughout my childhood and then my adulthood. My soul chose stories that are about longing, and journeys, and believing in your own powers.

(This is what I think I need to do, is what I'm saying, Internet. I think I need to figure out what my heart's desire is, actually, and then summon forth the power to go get it.) (If it involves a pair of sparkly red shoes, then awesome! And all will make sense, this journey of nearly 40-something years.)

I kind of like the idea of sticking my hands in my own gore
to make peace with the pain of the past.
I bet this would be like combining Halloween with Valentine's Day:
a dripping, still-beating heart in my hands, but with love.

fragile china rabbit in a bull shop.

"You disappoint me."

-Pellegrina, from The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

I've written here before about Kate DiCamillo's The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. If you haven't read it, your heart is missing out. So is your soul. 

I just finished reading this to my class. I cried two times in front of them, reading it. Two little girls and a little boy cried with me and two other kind-hearted children brought us tissues. I'd stop in different places and ask them what they were wondering - what's going on? Why did he or she say or do that? What will happen now? They made connections, they laughed at all the right parts (mostly when Edward the china rabbit is naked), they gasped at the horrible moments. At the end of the book, they clapped. We all agreed: this book is an amazing book. None of them increased their reading levels. None of their writing improved. They certainly didn't get better at number sense. But their connections and hearts exploded, just a little. And I fell in love with them all even harder.

You guys, I've probably been given a classroom of the most generous and good-hearted children in the history of this school. I just met with most of their parents, and I understand why that is now, because their parents are sweethearts. I don't know if I can move their data the way the new system is demanding I move it. Right now, I don't care. I would just like to sit and read them stories all day, and listen to theirs, and teach them how to write them down. We can pull in Math and Language Arts and Science and Social Studies wherever. But can we do it via Story? Please, new public education system?

Edward Tulane is a story that'll speak to you. If it doesn't, something's very wrong with you. It's a story that I'm just going to re-read on my own over the coming days. Because as I was reading to them, it hit me: bits and pieces of Edward's story are bits and pieces of mine. I am on a miraculous journey, of sorts. And along the way, I'm learning how important it is to stay open. To remember that not everyone I meet on my journey is going to disappoint me. To do this, I think I'm going to have to be more discerning and teach myself to figure out who's a friend disguised as an enemy, and who's an enemy disguised as a friend. Because this is where I always tend to get lost and fucked up.

A friend told me last night that I'm too trusting. I let people in too far, too quickly. I give them too much information, before I know if they're even the kind of person who will handle what I've given them with care. Other friends, in the past, have echoed this about me. C once told me my naivete is my best and worst quality. 

Yet on an ironically bizarre flip side, I have so many trust issues because I've had so many people in the past teach me that being very direct and confrontational is a Bad Thing. And because I've had my heart broken in the past so many times or I've been taught over and over that I'm not enough, it's left me in a situation where I usually don't trust ME. So I end up bonding with people who are very bossy. Or the highly manipulative. Or dishonest game players. Or just dishonest people period. Or maybe they're all just very very nice, but are too much of a fucked up mess to really be a true friend to anyone. 

So here's what happens: I meet someone along my journey. They seem kind and good-hearted. They're smart and funny and I really just thoroughly enjoy them as a human being. I don't ask much from anyone except that they be real with me, and don't play games or manipulate me. All I ever ask of people is to mean what they say and say what they mean. And that's because when I tell YOU something, I mean it. If I can't mean it, I don't say it. What I say to you comes from my heart. I don't know any other way to do it.

So what happens is this: they say kind, friendly, good-hearted, and funny things to me, and I heart them real hard. They promise me they're my friend, and I believe them. Because when I say those types of things I always mean them, and so I just assume when others say those types of things, they mean them too. And then I tell them too much. I let them in too quickly. I assume, too swiftly, that other people don't have hidden agendas. I suck at games, and it never ceases to shock me when it dawns on me other people actually enjoy games, the thrill of game strategy. This is what disappoints me most about other human beings, I think: when they treat other human beings as games. People are not games. We are not.

So when something happens that really underscores that this is not the case, that someone has said they are my friend and then does something a real friend wouldn't do, my heart is always broken. People disappoint me. If you've read Edward Tulane, and you are as fascinated by the character of Pellegrina as I am, you'll completely understand me when I say that. 

Here's another thing about me: I'm naive but not stupid. When your heart has been broken by others enough, you learn. When someone's behavior starts to change, you know to start reading between the lines. Because all your past experiences have taught you this is where the disappointment, the heart break part starts. You wake up to what's really going on, because even when the other person insists they're telling the truth you know they aren't. Your gut knows something isn't jiving. But you've also learned it's not something you can confront them with, the conversation will be exhausting or upsetting. Because maybe they really believe it's the truth. Or maybe they're very desperate not to be seen as a bad person, or whatever their motivation is. 

I promise, Internet: I'm naive but not stupid. Please, please don't ever treat me like I'm stupid. That's the absolute worst thing someone can do with me, or anyone else for that matter. Just be honest. I hate it when people aren't honest about what they really want. Once I figure out you've begun treating me as a game and aren't being honest with me, I lose all respect for you. And then I get really really angry. And then I get really really sad. You disappoint me.

And I'm too trusting, but once you teach me that you're not really trustworthy, once you really show me how you weren't worthy of however close I let you get to my protective bubble, we are done. You're going to have to come through in a really big way to prove to me that I'm wrong about you. In my experience, game players aren't really interested in doing that. Once they figure out they've been figured out, game over. They go find a new person to start up a new game with. But who really won your game? Who lost? Seriously, I could write blog entries on that for days. (Answer: there are no winners when you do this. Everybody loses.)

I'm trying not to build as many walls. I'm trying to learn to live outside a protective bubble. But other people keep disappointing me, and so I find myself continuing to lay bricks, gluing pieces of reinforced steel to my bubble's walls. This has made me really angry. But also very, very sad. Just like Edward Tulane, the fragile china rabbit.

The good news is that The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane is also about hope and redemption. Really, it's a perfect example of American mythologist Joseph Campbell's the Hero's Journey tale - someone is called to action, to take a journey. Along the way s/he meets friends who are enemies and enemies who are friends. S/he fights many battles, both winning and losing along the way. Finally, towards the end, the hero is losing everything; s/he has a Dark Night of the Soul moment in which the decision must be made: go on or give up? If the hero gives up, all will be lost. If the hero chooses to go on, then s/he must make a change. The change will be the hardest thing s/he has ever done, but the transformation after it's over will be magnificent and all will be won. 

I really want to put the Coda (the wrap up at the end of the book) to Edward Tulane here for you to read, because it's probably the most moving and lovely summary of a story I've ever read. But I'm worried there are people who've come here and haven't yet read this book, and I don't want to ruin it for them. If you're in a Dark Night of the Soul, this story will break your heart wide open. If you're not, it'll get you through a Dark Night once you're there. And if you're really living Life, you will be. 

So I'll just leave you with my Coda:

Once, there was a girl who loved the world. She loved its mountains, its oceans, its prairies, its forests. She loved its animals and its people. She trusted someone completely, who broke her heart. But she still loved the world. So she trusted again. And someone else broke her heart. But she still believed in love and the goodness of the world, and so she trusted again. And someone else disappointed her. And on and on this went, until one day she decided to live in a very hard bubble so no one would ever disappoint her or break her heart again. 

But her heart wasn't really happy in the bubble. So once in awhile, she'd let it out. And it would get punched, and then she'd get angry. She'd go back into her bubble where she'd punch and kick at the world outside, hoping some of the punches or kicks would hurt the world even though she knew: if you're in a protective bubble of steel how could it? 

What she really wanted was someone to love her, understand her, and accept her as is. All she ever wanted was a good friend. What she really hoped for was someone who would be a friend who didn't also want to play games with her at the same time. The girl sucked at games. Because what she really wanted most of all was for someone to mean what they say, and say what they mean.

.......that's it. That's as far as I've gotten writing my Coda, since my journey hasn't ended yet. And this morning I'm also thinking about C, whose heart I have smashed into tiny pieces. I wonder how his heart is going to recover, and where that karma will be written, ultimately, as part of my story's Coda. I think because I'm painfully aware that, once you break someone's heart, once you disappoint them, they'll become part of your story and you theirs. Forever and ever. Whether you want that or not. Tread lightly when you invite someone into your game, sweet Reader(s). The stakes are always so high.

At any rate, Edward's Coda is a ton better, because he kinda sorta gets his heart's desire at the end but in a way he didn't expect. And isn't that just how Life is? The Universe will always give you what your heart has always wanted, but maybe not in ways you'd have ever expected. So be careful what you wish for, and what you decide to invite in.

social media thoughts, part 2: connections

Yesterday, we talked about the bad parts of social media: the narcissistic quality to it, Humanity's inability to Just Say No, small children getting adults put on Watch Lists and stuff. I will also confess to you social media is one of the (myriad of) reasons my marriage went into a death spiral. Nothing I said or did on social media; just the fact I'm on it. And C is not. And C does not approve of social media or me being on social media. And I no longer wish to do things or not do things solely based on gaining someone else's approval, no matter how much I love them. This has been a point of contention, for a long time. 

So social media is a tricky rope to tightwalk, yes.

But it does have its good points. For example, Connections. When I think of the good aspects of the power of social media, the one that immediately jumps into my mind is connections. Here is how connections on social media work: When Jason Isaacs retweeted a link to this blog's DIG page, I met some nice, new people and got a few nice, new readers because he did that. When I started attempting to live tweet DIG, I met a very good new friend who eventually helped get me a writing job on threeifbyspace.net. When I go to a discussion forum on the Internet about anything, I try to be very nice and kind and honest and just be myself and whenever I do this, I usually come away with some sweet new contacts, which occasionally evolve into real friendships. 

On this blog, I write a lot about my life--good and bad things I'm going through, life experiences...and I have always done this when writing blogs, as well as on any social media I'm on. I open myself up and make myself vulnerable to other people not because I'm desperate for attention and validation (okay, fine. I actually am) but because I know how important it is to know: you are not alone. Other people go through this. Other people feel like this. We are all in this together, sweet readers. Life is tricky. 

I can't tell you how many times since I've started blogging I've heard from people--family, friends, complete strangers--who let me know they, too, went through what I wrote about or said. Or: thank you for writing that, because I agree. Or: thank you for saying that, because me too. 

Do you know that's why we're all here, why we're navigating through the Milky Way on this gravity-filled rock? We're here to meet each other half way, to connect, to support, to lift up, to cry on shoulders, to be cried on. I cannot stress enough how important it is to feel connected. To feel heard, to feel understood, to feel loved. And, for some people, social media is how they meet those needs. For some people, it fills a void they can't fill offline. 

Somebody out there will read that and go: well, Amy, that's pathetic. Those people are pathetic and need to get a life. And if you are one of those people? With all due respect, fuck you. How dare you judge someone else's approach to life so harshly? How dare you have an opinion about someone else's methods of connection. 

That's the positive aspect to social media. (That, and maybe being told by a stranger on the internet to eff off for being so judgmental; that's nice, too.)

It's also excellent for getting the news out. I don't know about you, but I can't read or listen to the News news anymore. My head says: Oh, you must. You need to know what's happening out there, Amy! But then my heart whispers, oh please. Please, don't. I find Twitter is excellent for knowing what matters most to the world--trending hash tags and all that without too many gory details or misleading company-bought news articles. And Facebook. I have a lot of very right wing friends/family, so I always get to see what matters to the right wingers thanks to what shows up in my Facebook news feed. It depresses me, and sometimes I end up saying something to a family member that blacklists me from future family reunion invites, but I always know what crap FOX "News" is feeding them now. 

And if you're a creative of any kind, social media has become essential to connecting with your audience. Which, one hopes, will sell more of whatever you've created. Doesn't always work out, but that's true even offline. Who knows why some things just resonate with lots and lots of people and other things don't? Social media is one very powerful aspect of maybe hitting the soft spot that will resonate with many, many people. Which, if you're a creative, is hopefully why you're creating--to connect to others (as opposed to becoming rich and famous or just rich or just famous) (because if you're creating art for fame or money, stop now--you're doing it wrong). 

Speaking of creatives and positive connections and spreading the word, guess who I'm going to connect you with right now, via social media aka this blog? Cas Anvar. Do you know of him? I heart him. He's swarthily good-looking and excessively talented, but more than that he's super duper NICE. What ultimately made me love Cas, though, is when I found an article he wrote for a blog called THE IRANIAN, about a mistaken identity thing he went through regarding a role he played in a movie called SHATTERED GLASS. Not only did it clue me in on what a great writer he is (gets you in good with me every! time!), he handled a really sticky situation with such humbleness, aplomb, honesty, and graciousness. I've written here before about how I have a list of criteria I consult before placing someone on any heroes/favorites list; this article he wrote got him on my list, like, immediately. Plus, he's another actor who talks storytelling in ways that make me happy. 

So! If you want to interact with a swarthily good-looking, talented, supremely nice actor, you should go visit Cas on Twitter. He's been in a lot of things you've probably seen: ARGO, LOST, 24, MEDIUM, NCIS, the movie SHATTERED GLASS (about journalist Stephen Glass' plagiarism), DIANA (he played Dodi Fayed to Naomi Watts' Diana, and was most excellent in this--I was surprised to find out Cas isn't British, he was THAT good in this), and currently he's starring as Xerxes on SyFy's OLYMPUS (a most excellent show--I just caught up on most of the previously aired episodes. Like Greek mythology? Like intrigue and double crossing? Like watching ancient Greeks have steamy sex? This show is for you!), and in December I'll get to review his work in THE EXPANSE as Alex Kamal (THE EXPANSE is based on a series of books by James S.A. Corey--I've started reading LEVIATHAN AWAKES and I assure you, it's super awesome and well-written...and this is coming from a girl who usually reads books from the high brow Literature sections of libraries). 

So I connected to Cas via Twitter, and let him know: I think you're rad. And Cas (super sweet, super friendly Cas) let me know: Thanks! That means a lot to me! 

And herein lies the power of social media: I connected to DIG via Jason Isaacs' tweets about it, I connected to a new very dear friend via DIG's tweets, I connected to threeifbyspace.net via a new very dear friend, I connected to THE EXPANSE via threeifbyspace.net, I connected to Cas Anvar via THE EXPANSE, now guess what? YOU'RE connected to Cas Anvar via Amy! Go learn about him and be amazed. Find him on social media and tell him he rocks, and let's all have a storytelling love fest. Okay? 

But do it all on social media. So I can keep this blog on topic and we can inject some positivity into an Internet sphere which can be terribly fraught with the opposite of peace, love, and happiness (if you do social media of any kind, I sense you know exactly what I'm talking about). 

hopeful freaks.

I took Miss M to see TOMORROWLAND today. OMG, Internet! Please go see this movie! Particularly if you are a parent of daughters. This movie was Sci-Fi, but it had HEART. It wasn't just about technology and science and gadgetry; it was about Hope and Possibility. And more important than that? Girls kicked ASS in it. And I cried THREE times. It's one of my favorite movies now. When M is older, we're going to watch it again...when she's not prone to wandering the theater (it was pretty empty so I let her...normally I'd be hissing through clenched teeth: Sit! DOWN! You. Are. EMBARRASSING ME.) Also, for some reason, it gave her the idea she was born a spy. And now she's a spy. There were no spies anywhere in this movie. But it must have had a spy "feel" to it, and now we're fighting espionage at our house. (Espionage is exhausting, if you must know. I recommend avoiding it.)

Speaking of Hope and Possibility, I'd also like to add a rant addendum to what I just posted above. I'm posting this HERE because if I post it on Facebook, my mom (hi, Mom!) is going to call me and go, "Amy! STOP embarrassing me on social media! I want to go to family reunions and look people in the eyes!" And then my mom and I are probably going to get into a political discussion about other things we disagree on, and I'm going to have to add a sad chapter to my Mommy Dearest book. (I'm joking, Mom.) At any rate, I'm putting it here to vent my spleen, because I think the only family members who read this blog are my Mom, my sister in law, and some of my dad's relatives. (Hi everybody!) Who may or may not agree with me, but don't post crazy ass things on their social media all the time that make me say out loud: WTF?! This is incredibly the OPPOSITE of what you just said about yourself! And it's hurtful. And prejudiced. (I made a promise to myself a long time ago to always, ALWAYS speak up when I see or read prejudice, no matter who it's from.)

Caitlyn Jenner (formerly known as Bruce). Is she freaky? I don't think so. I don't think anyone who's figured themselves out after half their life has passed is freakish at all; I think they're simply a human being. Can we at least agree that ALL human beings deserve our love, compassion, and understanding, whether or not you agree or understand them? Can we agree that judging someone else's choices as "freakish" or "sinful" or "disgusting," and spewing that negativity out into the Ethos is incredibly harmful to their souls, and therefore yours as well? What you do to one of us, you do to all. I think this would be a good starting point to building world peace, to agree to that. At the very least. 

I also think that Caitlyn Jenner is incredibly brave. Caitlyn Jenner could have just quietly faded off into a faraway tropical island to transform into her Real Self, never to be seen or heard from again. Instead, she chose to stay in her life, and be proud, and take the flogging from a media and a public that just loooooves to judge, condemn, and generally be dickheads.

More than that, I think science and medicine and technology are gifts to us from the Ethos, the Great Spirit, YHWH, God, Allah, Osiris, Poseidon, Ganesha, or Humanity...whatever you choose to insist is driving this gigantic ship we're all navigating through the cosmos on. Together. Completely dependent upon one another, for kindness, love, food, health care, entertainment, parenting, financial aid, compassion. And if science, medicine, and technology have found a way to change a human body to a form that fits the one who dwells within it more comfortably, then your opinion(s) about that matter this much in the grand scheme of things: 0. Oh, you're very welcome to your opinions (as always), but then that makes you open to being welcome to my opinions about your opinions. And so on and so forth. We can do this all day if you'd like. Because when you're out of breath, and I'm out of breath, and we've exhausted ourselves into a fit of self-righteous, indignant exhaustion? Your opinion and my opinion about what ANYBODY does with their life still only matters exactly this much: 0. It's been this way to the Universe since the dawn of time, and it will continue long after you and I and ten generations of our descendants are little more than ashes and dust.

Also, and further, I think that whenever (EVERY TIME) someone starts a sentence with a phrase like the following:

"I'm not prejudiced, but..." or "I'm open minded, but..." or "I believe in equality, but..." or "I don't hate anyone, but..." (so on and so forth), then that someone is about to say something the very opposite of whatever they just said they are or aren't. Right? It's the "but" that gives them away. Followed of course by their prejudiced, narrow-minded, unequal, hateful viewpoints. The negativity they choose to evacuate from their insides to our world. If you have to let people know you're not prejudiced, guess what? You're probably prejudiced. If you feel compelled to make sure people know you're open-minded, guess what? You probably aren't. Whatever you want to make sure people know you are or aren't, if you tag on the word "but" to it, then guess what? You aren't. Or you are. You're actually whatever it is that follows the word "but." (I have heard the opposite of this from people, and it's always delightful: "I'm a Christian, but..." or "I'm usually angry, but..." or "I don't like homosexuality, but..." Because these are honest people, who are acknowledging another's right to just BE. In this instance the word "but" is a good thing.)

So have your opinions about whatever you like (I'm giving you mine right now), but just know: in the grand scheme of things, we are mere specks of dust in a Universe that could be just one of many Universes. There are stars out there in Outer Space that are bigger than our entire galaxy...we are tiny fractions of what the Universe has had to deal with for gabillions of mind blowing millenia. And yet It puts up with us. Probably for the sheer entertainment value.

Think about that next time you want to judge someone for who they want to sleep with or marry. Think about that next time you want to pass judgement on someone else for being freakish (to YOU). We're all freaks, babies. Just yesterday, for example, I googled "zero gravity sex in a time warp." Just because I'm going to be reviewing The Expanse in December, this is part of the show (one teensy tinsy part of the show), and I'm freakishly consumed with learning more about it. So I can be obsessed with it. God knows, what would I be without a few freakish obsessions? Don't judge--you know you've got yours. And if you don't? That's freakish, too.

We are ALL freaks.

dig (on usa!) connecting the dots out loud.

Connecting the dots out loud...for me, but if you're interested, come along!

@DIGonUSA put up a picture clue puzzle piece on Twitter yesterday. And my tired brain figured it out. Not before some other person's smart brain figured it out, but that is not the point. The point is (before I even looked to see if someone else had figured it out, I figured it out. With a tired brain. If my brain weren't tired, IMAGINE the possibilities! Imagine them.) (Full disclosure: I unscrambled this with a friend's help. Imagine if my brain weren't tired AND I had a friend's help. I'd solve the entire Middle East crisis. Or just find a way for everyone to earn money while they sleep. Or convince Congress to enact the Three Day Work Week law. Something.)

Anyway. Here was the puzzle picture clue:

Can you unscramble the words to figure it out? You have 60 seconds...GO!

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Emma was hired to frame Peter. 

That's a plot twist reveal BEFORE the plot twist reveal! Now I suppose the next chapters will tell us why and how Emma was hired to frame Peter. (The plot twists thicken.)

So, here are some dots I've connected: 

Peter * Emma * Professor Margrove * Yusef Khalid * Ambassador Ruth Ridell  * Rabbi Lev * Avram * The Essene 

Some dots hanging out there for me still: Tad Billingham * Debbie * Joshua * Charlie

I no longer think Emma and Peter's daughter are the same person, or connected. Peter is NOT Emma Wilson's dad. I think Peter had only one child, a girl named Vicky, who he loved with his whole heart. And one day she took her own life, and now Peter is soul-sick with grief and struggling to find his place in the world again. He feels a tremendous connection to Emma because she's a troubled girl, and this is because he's mourning one troubled girl he couldn't save; so maybe he'll redeem himself through this one. (Repentance, redemption: more DIG themes.) I think when Emma was sent to frame Peter (I have suspicions about why, but I can't figure out how to put them into words yet), she felt the connection and misinterpreted as a potential love thing (Emma has daddy issues--she was having an affair with Prof. M., remember?) and developed feelings for Peter that freaked him out. And Peter may have developed feelings for Emma, couldn't figure them out, and the grief is really just generally effing with his head. (That's grief for you.)

I'm like 99% certain Billingham is connected to the Ambassador is connected to Rabbi Lev is connected to bringing Josh to the Temple Mount (for nefarious purposes). I think Josh has been groomed to be the High Priest, but it's also possible for him to be the Messiah. I'm saying that because I read that somewhere in my research on Essenes--they believed in two high priests, plus a Messiah, during the big battle between Sons of Light and Sons of Darkness. Soooo...maybe some more Joshuas will turn up later--Josh High Priest #1, Josh High Priest #2, and Josh the Messiah. Or! Maybe the Josh that Fay had to shoot dead was supposed to be the Messiah...or one of the other High Priests. And so now they're short a Josh. Don't know--I'm still mulling that.

Also: I think the creepy New Mexico compound is a science factory. I know (from researching the red cow), there are people and groups out there who are using science right now to breed a pure red cow. So why wouldn't there also be groups out there who are using science right now to breed the perfect Temple Mount #3 High Priests + Messiah? 

I think Emma was being used by Margrove in connection to what Yusef Khalid was doing, and she knew about what the group was doing but had no other choice--nefarious groups often do that to you, you know: make offers you can't refuse. I have theories about why she appeared to be murdered--I'm not sure how THAT worked, though. I mean, if you're dead and the police photograph you and do crime scene investigation, then...you're not only merely dead, you're really most sincerely dead. Right? 

Unless....Unless!! The police are in on it and helping you stage a death. (The police? Lying under oath? Corrupt?! Noooo. They would never do that! Not the police!! The police are always very forthright and honest and completely uncorruptable.) (I'm being sarcastic, for anyone reading who wasn't born with that gene.)

I think The Essene is trying to stop the Ambassador/Lev/Billingham's nefarious games, and will eventually help Peter and Golan to stop their nefarious purposes, too. As long as Golan isn't in on it. But I bet The Essene's going to do it in a really spectacularly weird spiritually ritualistic kind of way. Somebody's gettin' sacrificed at the Apocalyptic End. Is what I'm saying.

I think the Well of Souls will be brought back in--did you know, supposedly, the flood waters that God used to lay waste to all the Earth (except for whoever was on Noah's ark) lie beneath the Well of Souls? That's what they say. And really--there's hard evidence there's a big cistern or another cave of some sort beneath the actual Well of Souls, just no one's ever gone down in it.

So those are my dots now. I think Emma is going to help Peter figure out what's going on. I think Avram's going to help The Essene. I think Margrove's not long for this world. I think Ruth, Lev, and Tad are going to try to talk to God with The Breastplate of Judgment, and I hope God tells them to stick it where the sun don't shine. Or just refuses to answer when they call. Send that shit to voice mail, God. 

Next time, I'll write about the Temple Mount/Well of Souls. Geeky research. Which I heart so much. I mean, seriously. If I could find a way to figure out a career that paid decent and combined coffee, research, chocolate, cupcakes, naps, music in minor key, the beach, sunny days, wine, the smells of mown grass/patchouli/lavender/coconut/sandalwood, and hearing children's laughter at least 10 times a day with movies/books/storytelling? I'd be the happiest freaking human being on this planet.

For now, I'll just focus on sharing stuff about the Temple Mount because if you don't know about that place, you'd better learn. It's kind of a big deal. For, like, the whole planet. Possibly the other planets, too.

star wars rebel warrior princess

Princess Merida-Xena-Athena, rebel warrior goddess

Man, just when I thought I'd ridden myself of the winking/blinking emoji cats, they're back! What up, Blogger? Seriously, I'm going to have to move to Wordpress if this continues.

Internet, I've had a week. I think it'll be smoother and calmer by the end of October. And I can't write in great detail about it for now, but let me just say: my sense of humor and patience for troubled people was challenged really hard this week. And I had an experience that reminded me: it's really important to watch what we say to each other and how we say it. I am not perfect by any means, but I generally try to really think hard before I decide to end a friendship or say something really hurtful to another person or accuse someone of something based on my own weird paranoias. When I do make those choices, I'm prepared to accept consequences that come as a result. Because all choices have those, you know. And you should be ready to accept whatever shows up as a result of your choices.

But I also think it's never an accident who we cross paths with, that everyone is here to teach us something about ourselves or the world around us and the people we share it with. 

This week, I got a really big reminder of that, and I namaste'd that person all over the place (after I visualized them being smacked in the face by a runaway, out of control big Mack truck, of course). Because they brought this lesson home for me, really loud: Hey, Amy-see how it feels when someone does this to you? Don't ever do that to others, not even little out of control kids in your class, okay? This soul who did that to you is still failing this part of Life, but you went to Oprah's amaze-balls Life You Want weekend last month, so you know better, and you know what's going on here, what you need to do now. This person is a teacher for you, learn from them. Think about hearts, in ways this particular teacher can't. See the light in this teacher because they can't see it themselves, and also because that light is in you (namaste).

I'll do better than I have in the past, Universe. I promise. And namaste to the troubled mf'er who helped me resolve to do that. 

Okay that's done. Moving on. 

So at this moment, I'm watching Star Wars Rebels. My favorite male actor (hello, Jason Isaacs!) does the voice of The Inquisitor in it. This is not why Star Wars Rebels is on my television right now. Most of the time, if Jason says, "Jump!" I go, "Is this high enough, Jason? I can go higher if I practice some more!" So when Jason very subtly suggested this Star Wars Rebels thing was super awesome and Twitter just about blew up this summer when Star Wars fans were shitting their pants after he admitted to being The Inquisitor, I was all: uh, hey Jason, sorry! I'm going to respectfully pass on this job you did. I'll watch you get blown up in a war, burn down churches with kids in them, and beat up bad guys, but cartoons? No can do, mon ami.

I am not a big cartoon/anime fan. I have never been a cartoon fan, in fact. Even as a child, when all the cartoons were airing on Saturday mornings, I'd get so annoyed at Wil E. Coyote, because come on, Wil E.! Get with the program--Roadrunner's SCAMMING you. AGAIN. This is so irritating. I am irritated for you, Coyote. What the hell is wrong with you?! Frustrating. I can't even talk about Daffy Duck--my eye twitch will start up again. Even as a small child, I was more into The Brady Bunch or Bionic Woman or Wonder Woman and other real live action people shows. Once, I had a choice between Scooby Doo and Lawrence Welk, and I totally chose champagne bubble music over the dog. (I sense some of you are completely aghast and horrified at my child self right now--I think I've mentioned before: I was eccentric.)

I feel this way about graphic novels. I don't get them. Some people love them. I don't get them. A novel is words, isn't it? A comic book is words + pictures but has more of a magazine-y feel. A graphic novel seems to be confused about who and what it is--it kind of wants to be a book, but it also wants to be magazine-y. If graphic novels were human, I bet they'd wear the kind of undergarments that would shock their grandmas and make them question their whole realities.

Wait. Where was I? Mean people...Star Wars...Looney Tunes...Brady Bunch....freaking out your grandma...oh right! So my child has been seeing commercials for Star Wars Rebels for weeks and weeks now, and when it came on, she danced around like a crazed, coked up zombie and insisted we watch it. So we started watching it (then she fell asleep). But before she fell asleep, she was absorbed in it--she likes the green girl with the weird green ponytails (her description, but I concur). I'm so happy when stuff like this happens. Like, tonight she demanded Harry Styles posters for her birthday so she can kiss him every night before bed...fifteen minutes later, she was obsessed with getting a real light saber because it makes such a cool noise and she wants to use it in battle. In these moments, I am hyper aware: wow, just when I think I'm raising a future Cinderella...phew! I got Merida! Or Xena, Warrior Princess! Or Athena, Warrior Goddess! Or all three, rolled into one! 

So Miss M had her first dance tonight, and I now recognize it was absolutely no accident she chose to go as Athena, Warrior Goddess. I watched my small Athena dance with wild abandon and I had to sit through a One Direction song during which Athena (Warrior Goddess) screamed her crazy little goddess head off because Harry was assuring her she doesn't know she's beautiful, and she jumped around like she was at a frickin' Beatles concert and this is 1965. But I also watched a tiny little Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pretty much hang out all alone at the dance while M and highly excitable little friends danced in circles around him, and I was all: oh, poor little wallflower turtle guy! My (social butterfly) kid did what comes naturally to her: kept trying to engage him. I so identified with the child--he was all: leave me alone, I'm just going to stand here. I understand children like that, having been one once upon a time.

Which is why I almost (ALMOST) walked up to him to ask if he wanted to come sit with me (where all the parent wallflowers were sitting, because the dance floor was a terrifying place of chaos and torpedo-like small bodies. No, I'm actually being very serious: TERRIFYING....small bodies were dive bombing around the dance floor. I did do the cha cha slide for a bit, but then I was rejected by my line dance partner Athena, warrior goddess for Elsa, frozen queen.) But I left Ninja Turtle alone, and just watched to make sure no overly excited little rugrats tried to make him feel bad about his need to stand cemented like a statue at all times. From time to time, Miss M would attempt to get him to engage, he would object, then she'd shrug and hop off to her little dancing queen group. He'd look at his Ninja Turtle watch and continue to stand. 

At some point I realized, wait, no! That Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle isn't standing because he just prefers to observe rather than engage...that Turtle is standing because he has no clue what's going on, and he keeps looking at his watch because he's waiting for someone to come get him. Is he...oh my god, he's here all alone! He got dropped off by his mom who promptly LEFT the building, like she was Elvis or something. Hey, moms and dads! Don't drop your tiny kids off and leave them all alone! Because then they have to call the cops on you, and that's Bad News. Which is precisely what happened. 

I watched a very sad scene play out, but I also watched some amazingly professional educators really take care of one confused little turtle tonight. Planet Earth, are you aware of how much your educators protect your children, how they love them without judgment or reservation? Please be aware of this, every time you type an angry anti-teacher letter to the editor or jot off a mean note to your child's teacher; those people have some really humongous hearts and children's best interest as their focus. I hope everything turned out okay for Leonardo (or whichever Ninja Turtle he was).

Gosh, my heart is still hurting for that little guy right now. I'm trying really hard not to judge the situation, because I don't know that family's circumstances. Maybe they misread the big, bolded letters on the invitation: PARENTS MAY NOT DROP OFF THEIR CHILD AND LEAVE THE BUILDING. I know sometimes I say "DON'T RUN!" and my small charges only hear this part of my command: "RUN!!" so I have to U-turn it around and say instead: "I MEANT WALK!!" 

Or maybe there was an emergency and the mom thought she'd be right back but it was bigger than she anticipated. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around leaving my child alone somewhere--three times tonight I had to frantically search the place for Athena because I couldn't see her, and I was sure someone dressed as Zorro or a chess piece had taken her.

And also, seriously? Don't you want to see your little progeny hop around like a maniac, giggle with friends, gorge on ice cream, and try to dance Gangnum Style in such a way that you take a million videos of it JUST so you can pull them out in 10 years to amuse their date right before they go to the Homecoming Dance? (What?? Are you JUDGING me right now? Listen: I get yelled at on a daily basis for things that make absolutely no sense to anyone over the age of 6 1/2. This shall be my revenge. My well-planned, exacted, highly orchestrated revenge. And it will taste sweet, and I will revel in it, and I don't care what you think.)

At any rate, I've just come from an evening of unadulterated cuteness, and I have a story percolating because of it. I'm not posting this blog entry until tomorrow morning, but I had to write it right now! Because I love my little girl's school--this is what public school OUGHT to be, and this school feels like it has an atmosphere of kindness, from my parent perspective, and I am very very concerned with kindness these days. And I fell in love a little bit with the principal tonight--what a neat lady. I think Miss M is in a really good place right now, and that makes me happy. Because I really believe in public school, but y'all know how much angst I have about the direction it's been going lately. It feels so good to know my budding Athena is in good hands Monday through Friday, August through May, in spite of what the politicians are doing. 

It looks to me like she's surrounded by Xena Warrior Princesses, Athenas, and Star Wars Rebels, all training her well. (And she's made some silly, awesome little friends there, too.) 

The moral to this post: Hurt people tend to hurt people, so don't let them pee all over your dance party. They can pee AT your dance party, but not ON it. Be far too busy enjoying the blaring One Direction songs and fishing for gum drops with toothpicks to worry about why someone's standing off in a corner urinating all over themselves, muttering about having their vindication. And always talk to Ninja Turtles and give them hugs, whenever you get a chance. They may really need you to.

this is called lazy blogging.

Or, actually, I prefer: lazy Sunday writing. Like a drive through the country, but you don't leave your house.

So I saw this picture on the Internet. It posed a fascinating (I felt) question. I like the "what would you do?" kinds of questions. I pose them to 2nd graders every now and then, and the responses are always interesting. They kind of clue you in on the inner workings of someone's soul. Or what someone would like you to think of their soul. Also, I'm an armchair psychiatrist and like to pick people apart. These questions always help feed that.

At any rate, I put a short version of this up at my personal (private) Facebook page, my writer (public) Facebook page, and on Twitter (where nobody listens to anybody). So I'm going to post the picture here, and this link will take you to my writer (public) facebook page where I give my answer to the query: Which one would you pick? And also, I will link to my twitter page below that, just for fun, in case anybody is listening (they aren't).

And then YOU can ponder your own answer, and if you'd like you can share it with me. Or go write a song about it. Or a screenplay. Or a short story or the beginnings of a novel. Or a poem. Or just share it with your friends, for insight into their souls. And, later, we'll build a fire and roast marshmallows and sing Kumbayah and wrap the world in light and pray for peace and harmony and the age of Aquarius to come. Okay? Okay! GO!

Just for fun.

storytelling truths.

True confession: I was worried when I hit the PUBLISH button on my last entry, the one about why dads matter. I worried I was opening up a whole can of worms; I didn't know if the essay would upset anyone, or if they would think bad things about my dad, or bad things about me for revealing some of his darker demons and the effect they had on me as a child and, later, a grown up.

But (I thought as I clicked PUBLISH), screw it. Honesty matters to me. I find it important to be open and willing to share what is or was true for me. (This is why storytellers tell stories, you know...because they can't NOT do it, but also because they're consummate observers of Life and Humanity. It's a deep, dark need to understand and know and puke out some type of catharsis...I think.)

My dad was a lovely, wonderful, really good guy. He also struggled with some inner turmoil. I know a lot of people are really lovely, wonderful, good guys who maybe have some inner turmoils; I know a lot of people out there maybe know some lovely, wonderful people who they're watching struggle with inner turmoils right now. It's nice to read something, or hear someone speak a truth, and have your soul recognize theirs, experience a common affinity, an understanding. (I call this: Finding Tribe.) (You can't steal that--I'm working on the trademark.)

Also, please know: I couldn't have written that blog entry were he still alive today; his story was and is a lesson for me, but also for people who didn't know him at all, and that's all very true because his story happens to have an ending, and it was the kind of ending we can all walk away from in agreement about (i.e., the themes of: Don't Wait, Don't Build Walls). Also know that I'm an incredibly different person today simply because he's not here; I don't have to worry about pleasing him or disappointing him, two things I spent my entire childhood and young adulthood really really focused on. (In fact, still struggle with people pleasing and extreme conflict avoidance. Hurrah, Dad, thanks!) Here's the whole point to this blog entry (I do have one): Truth-telling in stories and essays and blogs and other places is important and it's important because:

1-People were touched by what I wrote. Homies (who HAVE to tell you things like this, if they're really your homies) told me I need to send that shit somewhere besides blogger and facebook. One person (a relative) is currently setting aside money to buy my first novel (because seriously, where would we be without supportive family members? They're our first fan club presidents).

2-More important than all of number 1? I had at least 2 people contact me privately after that blog entry to say thank you for writing it, that it really moved them, and they wanted to reach out with some of their own struggles, and--you know--basically connect with me. Connections were made.

And therein lies the power of Story.

It's really important to be honest--with and to yourself, with and to other people, and cling to Truth as much as you can. When you tell a story, be it an essay of a personal nature (like my dad's), or a work of fiction, it's important to be honest. I actually think it's harder to be honest in fiction, because you'll need to weave the truth into the story threads. I'll give an example: I've been re-reading a really wonderful story by a novelist friend of mine called THE LIGHTNING CHARMER (highly recommend! Kathryn Magendie writes incredibly rich, well-developed characters--she's a master) (also there's a lot of hot (tastefully hot) sex in this book and, uh, it's summer and summer's a good time for that soooo....wait, what? is that an OCTOPUS behind you?? Watch out!)

What's that? Nothing was behind you? Huh, weird. Wow, sorry. My bad. Where was I? Right. Truth. Story. At so many points, I'm being gut punched by a casual observation, or a memory, made by a character in Kat's book. A thought voiced by a character will resonate so powerfully in me, I have to stop and get a pen, underline that thought, because it crystallized something for me, or I identified so strongly with it...it spoke to me.

Stories are essentially all about connections. They bind people. They soften our hearts, heal our wounds, make us think, push us to change, or encourage us to start (or not give up). That's where stories connect us all, as a species. Doesn't that make you deliriously happy to be a human being? To know that our people brains have been given the magical power to do that with, to, and for one another? It makes me so happy. Kangaroos certainly don't WHUPOW! each other. I mean, they do. Just not via stories. ('Cause, uh, they...use...their feet. To WHUPOW! each other. And you too, if you get too close. ...............Never mind. Kangaroos are probably not good metaphors.)

In other Official News of a Personal Nature:

Miss M is now officially a REAL Mermaid ("Mommy! I'm learning to be like Ariel! Aren't you so happy?") Of course, my love! Who the hell doesn't want to be Ariel's mommy?? Just stop singing those frickin' songs from FROZEN, and we'll be copacetic.

Seriously, it's like some wonderful, weird fairy godmother wand waved over her, and she can't NOT be underwater now. She's like Rush Limbaugh swimming naked in a sea of Viagra and loose women. (I'm sorry. I so apologize about that. You weren't eating, were you? Just go back to the mermaid theme.)