work

I have been doing some personal work over here.

It doesn't feel like I am getting anywhere on this work.

It's not to do list kind of work, well, maybe it is.

It is hard.

Exhausting.

Overwhelming.

It is work.

Most days I only have the strength left to pull myself into bed... even though what I really need to do is debrief.

I don't want to talk, so there is no relief there.

Writing would be a good outlet, but it makes the work even more real and thus scarier and more overwhelming.

I keep hoping that I will turn a corner on the work and it will feel lighter, more purposeful or even just done. I'd take partially done.

Instead, it feels like the pushing up the boulder and having it come crashing back on me.

Only it is larger every time it rolls back over me, flattening me.

I don't even have the emotional or physical energy to wander out in search of beauty.

I am just tired.

And tired of being tired.

And sad.

And tired of being sad.

they say, I hear...

 They take advantage of my strength.

So sure are they that I will always bend and never break

So sure are they that I have infinite capacity to give, they take and take and take.

Even better, they criticize what I give. If only you...

I learned the hard way that I have to stand up for myself.

But when I do, I get labeled the asshole.

Ok, I'm an asshole.

Now what?

The truth is I cannot bend anymore.

I am at the breaking point, and they are still arguing about whether or not I gave enough, or in the right way, or if it doesn't matter because I wasn't smiling while I did it.

ok.

-------------------

Just be happy.

You can choose to just be happy.

Subtext: you're doing it wrong.

Ok, maybe that's not what they meant, but I am here to tell you, that's what I heard.

You see someone exhausted from life

What do you do?

Offer some more things that person should do

Offer a platitude, tomorrow is another day

You don't want to know what I think when I hear that.

-------------------

Shattered.

Broken into a million pieces.

No strength left to pick up each piece and try to fit it together - even if making a new picture is the only way out of the darkness.

Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Done.

I am not just frustrated, I'm tired of trying to make it all work.

This broken clock is not even right twice a day.

And, finally, when I feel like I cannot go on one more day, you care, kind of... 

I am only worthy of compassion or empathy if I am a pool of water on the floor

or a glass shattered beyond repair.

You could have listened any of the million times I told you explicitly or implicitly that I was drowning.

But you waited until I could not go on to demand that I must.

And I am supposed to be what? grateful?

I'm not, but I am an asshole, so it is not surprising.

Poetry Thursday, life right now for a lot of people

Every Verb is a Lesson in Longing or Dread

~April Freely

Dear Reader, it wouldn’t be a lie if you said poetry was a cover

for my powerlessness, here, on this plane

having ticked off another day waiting for her diagnosis to rise.

As the air pressure picks up, I feel the straight road

curved by darkness, where the curve is a human limit,

where the second verb is mean, the second verb is to blind.

On the other line, my mother sits on her bed

after a terrible infection. Her voice like a wave

breaking through the receiver, when she tells me

that unlike her I revel in the inconclusivity of the body.

+

At the end of the line, I know my mother

accumulates organ-shaped pillows after surgery.

First a heart, then lungs.

The lung pillow is a fleshy-pink. The heart

pillow, a child-drawn metaphor. Both help her expectorate

the costs to the softer places of her body.

After each procedure they make her cross,

the weight of the arm comes down. These souvenirs

of miraculous stuffing other patients on the transplant floor covet,

the way one might long for a paper sack doll made by hand.

Though the stuffing is just wood shavings, one lies

with the doll tight at the crick of an elbow at night.

Copyright © 2020 by April Freely. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 29, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

Poetry Thursday

Contemplating Extinction as Theme in Basquiat’s “Pez Dispenser, 1984”

~Kristina Kay Robinson

for Malcolm Latiff Shabazz

yellow roses in my mother’s room   mean

I’m sorry   sadness comes in       generations

inheritance           split   flayed    displayed

better than all the others

crown                                        weight

the undue burden of the truly exceptional

most special of your kind, a kind of fire

persisting unafraid      saffron bloom

to remind us of fragility   or beauty       or revolution

to ponder darkly              in the bright

the fate of young kings

the crimes for which          there are no apologies.

Copyright © 2020 by Kristina Kay Robinson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 23, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

Not Poetry Thursday, on memory and trauma

We Drink at the Attenuation Well

~Porsha Olayiwola

Motivated forgetting is a psychological defense mechanism whereby people cope with threatening and unwanted memories by suppressing them from consciousness.

            —Amy N. Dalton and Li Huang

              in Badagry there is a hung-

              ry well of water and memory

 

                                                         loss. in Badagry there was a well 

                                                         of people lost across a haven 

 

of water. in Badagry there was

a port overwhelmed in un-return. 

 

                                         to omit within the mind is to ebb

                                         heavenward. memory is a wealth 

 

                                                                 choking the brain in un-respons-

                                                                 ibility. violence in the mind and 

 

                                         the mind forgets in order to remember

                                         the self before the violence begot. 

in Badagry trauma washes ungod-

ly memory heavenward. in Bad-

 

                                       agry there is an attenuation well 

                                       meant to wish away a passage, 

 

                                                                      meant to unhaven a people.

                                                                      violence is underwhelming

 

                                       in return. what the body eats, 

                                       the mind waters. responsible 

 

is the memory for un-remittal. 

royal is the body for return. god is

 

                                                 the mind for wafting. forgetting 

                                                 is a port homeward. in Bad- 

 

                                                            agry hungry memory grows angry.

                                                            in Badagry the memories un- 

 

                 choke. trauma un-eats the royal. 

                 in Badagry there is a heaven 

 

                                                               of people responsible for the birth- 

                                                               right of remembering, for the well 

 

                                              of us across a haven of water

                                              overwhelmed in un-return.

Copyright © 2020 by Porsha Olayiwola. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on June 17, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

not a news round up, just one piece

I have been struggling at my new job with princess, that's what I call her now [first she was the cheerleader, but it became clear that her real identity was princess, mean princess].

She alternates between mean girl and injured bird.

It can be annoying. Sometimes it is entertaining. But when it interferes with my work, it is just frustrating.

I had a knock down drag out with her the other day. I was the only one participating as she did a full body shut down. The look of emptiness in her eyes and closed up shop in her stance were remarkable. I have never known anyone who could shut down all emotion like that. It's almost admirable. Almost.

My final salvo to her (my boss who was supposed to be mediating had barely shown up in person, so I was now ignoring her) was this, stern voice, piercing look, all raw strength: "You need to decide if you want me to be on this team. Let me know because I am happy to start looking for another job."

It was an instinctual response to the complete helplessness I was feeling. In true form, I felt helpless and showed all power and control. No wonder people are baffled by me ...

Afterwards, I worried that it had not been the right move to throw the power in her court. But it turns out, so far, that it was just the right move. With the power, she has no idea how to scheme. She was trying to scheme from the position of aggrieved (no one knows, probably not even her) what she has to be aggrieved about, but there you have it.

Hand her the power and she is both delighted and confused.

She came to work the next day as the perfect coworker and team mate. She invited me to lunch. I decline, but nicely, because I had work to do. Who knows how long it will last.

For now, I am going to bask in this piece because this one made me feel again like it was my fault. And hope someday I will find *more of* those people who are not afraid.

Here you go, to all my strong women friends and family... be yourself:

"You’re not too much. You probably haven’t shown the world nearly enough. We need you to be your strong, imperfect, direct, funny, brash, hilarious, sometimes intimidating self. We need you to surround yourself with people who don’t need to diminish you in order to feel more secure. We need your ideas, your vision, your leadership, your presence… all of it, 120 proof. If we need a chaser after being around you, that’s up to us to figure that out."

four years, rambling

When my brother died, a hole opened in the world that I could not fill.  I thought, this is hell.

Boy was I wrong.

I clawed my way to the top of that grief only to be plunged deeper still.

When my sister died, I started to understand just how much more hell there was left to be experienced.

I wish I could say there is something wonderful that has come of so much loss -- anything really.

I have worked as hard as I can to help everyone else through the grief and its aftermath.

But, nothing really works.

I have a few "accomplishments" that I can claim... but none of them actually make it feel better ... or less like hell.

I feel like I am always just treading water, waiting for the next crisis or test.

Someone said to me, it's PTSD, textbook.

I knew that already, of course.

But, when I say it, or even think of it, I am too ashamed to believe it.

Hadn't I always been able to handle loss, disappointment, life? How did I lose my ability to cope?

Oh, yeah, I am coping ... getting out of bed every day, breathing in and out, handling every bit of crisis...

Why does it still feel like hell?  Why does being the one who is still alive feel like hell?

I am not desperately sad anymore, usually.  I mean, I still have bad days. No denying that.

Mostly it is the waiting for the next shoe to drop.  Drop they will ... my days of loss are not going away.  Horrible things keep happening, not just to me, but to everyone.

I am struggling, still.  I want the bad days to be less bad.  I want the good days to be better, less far and few between.

Worst of all, I feel like there should be something that I can do to make it better.

I am sure there is something...

Or that whatever I am doing is just wrong...

Tomorrow is another day.

Poetry Thursday ... what the world needs now...

Somewhere somebody 

must have some sense. 

Men must see that 

force begets force, 

hate begets hate, 

toughness begets toughness. 

And it is all 

a descending spiral, 

ultimately ending 

in destruction 

for all and everybody. 

Somebody must have 

sense enough and 

morality enough 

to cut off 

the chain of hate and 

the chain of evil 

in the universe. 

And you do that by love.

 
~ Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr 

– “Loving Your Enemies Speech”

 Nov. 7, 1957

[emphasis added]

heartbreak

 Never lose hope, my heart, miracles dwell in the invisible.
 Rumi

 Going through my sister's things, we came across a camera with a photo chip (I can't remember the technical term). 

 These gems were the silver lining of the grief inducing trips down memory lane.

 Seeing her little love through her eyes...

 imagining her asking him to hold up the mountains...

 her capturing his attention to fishing....

 and that face that leaves you wondering what travesuras he was plotting...

laugh or cry ....

So, there are days (sadly too many days lately) when I am not sure whether I should laugh or cry.

Sometimes I do both.

Just as a for instance, I give you this.

I went for a run today (hooray), and I was feeling particularly accomplished having made it three whole miles.

I rounded the corner and saw my father's truck still in front of the house.  He had told me he was about to leave when I set out.  When I saw his face, I knew there was something wrong.

He said a guy had come to the house and told my dad that his iphone was in our house.

I can feel my eyebrow raise in response even as I type it.

I knew that my dad had fallen for the scam, whatever it was, and was now really feeling like there was something terribly wrong.

Before we get too far, I will say, so far, it is ok... no one is hurt, nothing was taken, just bruised egos.

The long and the short is that the guy tried to do something with my dad's phone ... not quite sure.  The only thing I could find amiss was that the personal hotspot was turned on and some wild password entered.

After consulting GOOGLE, the police and a good friend who knows much more than I do about anything technological, I backed up the phone, wiped it and restored it with a back up ... after I wiped that hotspot password out of the phone.

I scolded my father about giving out personal information, guided him through a more prudent decision making process when faced with this kind of situation, and finally asked him, why would he believe this person.

The look on his face at the end of this nearly drove me to tears.  He looked scared and confused and teary-eyed when he said, "I don't know."

When I explained the danger of giving out information and potentially letting in people with these kinds of stories, he looked at me, woefully, and said, "I think that guy is working for the FBI or the CIA."

I did not laugh.

But I really wanted to ... and then I wanted to cry again.

He was very serious.  I expected a chuckle... but he was serious.

He was also over his fear... on to the next adventure secure in the belief that I could fix any problem.  Wait, where is my magic wand?

All of it made me want to cry ... but I didn't have the time or the emotional energy to be sad.  So, I laughed... especially at the FBI/CIA connection.

Mondays are hard sometimes...

ugh part 762 aka HUSTLIN'

All too frequently, I present as "I don't have a real job." 

This is misleading in many ways.  1) When I say real job, I mean job that pays me real money.  2) This has nothing to do with how many hours I actually have to work in order to get real money. 3) What I actually mean is that I have a million jobs -- ok, at least four which all pay me so little that I am constantly looking for more jobs.

I am actually *hustlin'* all day and all week long.

I am exhausted. 

That is all.

Here are some pretty pictures:

NRU The Kitchen Sink

The usual suspects
on homelessness and tone deafness:
Los Angeles, like San Francisco now and New York before it, is waging an unneeded and cruel war on the homeless (again).  Here is the latest missive on their tactics.  I can barely stomach to read them, but it is important as citizens to keep an eye on the policies we unleash on the least protected, most vulnerable in our societies.  I was so sad to see that piece after I had opened this one to read and found this other one to read.  In the first short piece, there is not just empathy, and that power of connecting with source energy of others, but hope.  Hope that simple gestures of respect and honor can help people to regain and reclaim their humanity.  What a gift!  And in the second, which I realized after I opened, I had already read and probably shared last month, is another way for people with significant resources and skill to connect with those in need.  Hope, again, all dashed when you see the city taking away the pieces of dignity so lovingly and with empathy bestowed on those without homes.  Ugh.  Utterly heartbreaking.

political corner:
During a contentious political season such as this, it is incumbent on citizens to become knowledgeable about the issues being discussed by candidates. Therefore as the GOP candidates continue to rail against immigrants, particularly those undocumented, these are some facts that need to be investigated and weighed against the policies espoused by these candidates:
"'Undocumented immigrants, like everyone else in the United States, pay sales taxes. And they also pay property taxes—even if they rent. Plus, as ITEP points out, “the best evidence suggests that at least 50 percent of undocumented immigrant households currently file income tax returns using Individual Tax Identification Numbers (ITINs), and many who do not file income tax returns still have taxes deducted from their paychecks.' In sum, according to ITEP, 'undocumented immigrants living in the United States pay billions of dollars each year in state and local taxes. Further, these tax contributions would increase significantly if all undocumented immigrants currently living in the United States were granted a pathway to citizenship as part of a comprehensive immigration reform.'"

I searched in vain for "good" news or even "silver lining" news -- maybe it is just me and I am feeling gloomy, or maybe it is all bad news, I don't know.  But in lieu of good or not so bad news, instead, I am going to give you travel porn.  You are welcome.  If you clicked and didn't see the bodies you expected on the beach, sorry, you must not have met me.  You are lucky it wasn't the ten best cemeteries to travel to in the world, that is my ultimate travel porn.

Non-Mainstream Media
I am not always sure why we need outlets like Medium of TheMighty.  Aren’t there already myriad ways for people to publish their writings? Then, you read something like this.  And the need for an alternative media source that compiles/publishes “the other side” of stories becomes readily apparent. When I wrote I am not always sure why we need Medium it was not meant to imply that what they offer is not of substance, useful and often compelling.  It is just that I am not always sure why these voices are not present in our mainstream media.  This article itself is demonstrative proof of the need for *alternative* outlets.  I cringe when I write that … our media should always contain a variety of voices, viewpoints and opinions.  These are the days I am glad we have the internet.

This is a letter a mother writes to herself on the day she receives the official diagnosis her son is autistic.  I won’t belabor the point.  This kind of *reporting* is not full of references to clinical studies or long treatises on the history of treatments or government regulations or school level interventions.  This is the kind of real deal information that mothers and fathers who are worried about their children need to know.  Thank you to the internet, again, for providing the means to disseminate this info.  Oh, and, of course, thank you to the parents who are willing to share of themselves.  Your ability to be vulnerable and strong, open and fierce, loving and disciplined is greatly appreciated.

stream of consciousness

Sometimes, technology doesn't like me ... even when Mercury is not in retrograde. 

But, right now, Blogger likes me ok, so I am going to keep writing here while I wait for LinkedIn to stop losing its damn mind.


Yesterday, I walked around the lake.
I usually walk the lake once a week -- whenever I am in a mile deficit because it gets me almost 5 miles. 

This week I walked the lake at least twice.

Usually, I walk with someone, so I am noticing what is going on, but also usually having a long, involved (or several) three to four mile lasting talks.

Yesterday, I should have known it was going to be different when I walked by the young woman on the phone. 

I wish I could remember exactly what she was saying, something about I am not saying you are a bitch, but you are wasting my time making me talk to you like you are a bitch.

It was evocative, in its way, and I was trying to memorize the two lines so I could write it down.  But I was late to meet my walking partner.

Little did I know that our first encounter on the lake would be our neighborhood flasher (walking partner does not like me dubbing him that as he might not be moving into our neighborhood). [Hereafter known as NF].

My friend was waving wildly, even though she hadn't seen me when I was waving at her from across the street.

Turns out she had been scrutinizing NF -- she had seen him once before, downtown with his goods hanging out of his pants. 

When she noted NF, he was walking near a woman, talking and walking fast.  The woman, pushing a stroller, was visibly disturbed, and my friend was trying to figure out how to help her. 

As it happened, she helped by getting NF to pay attention to us.  She had me turn around before she explained any of this and we got his attention.  She asked, "Is he following us?" and I said he wasn't, in an attempt to calm her.

But he was.  

And even though he was short, he caught up to us.  I shooed him away by saying no to whatever he said (after good morning, because there is no need to be impolite). 

He backed off, and I shrugged my shoulders and kept walking.  Later my friend repeated what he had said, I honestly hadn't paid attention to the words.  I knew my role was to reject and shut down.  So, I did it.

Apparently he thought by looking over at him we had indicated a desire or a need for his private parts.  So, being the amiable NF, he offered it directly to us. 

Turns out my rejection was apt. 

He was single minded in his quest, and presumably continued looking for the one (or ones) that had such a need.

As I told my friend, and then her husband when he joined us, sometimes you just have to keep asking until someone says, "YES!" It might not be the one you intended .... you just never know.

-------

And because I don't want to start another NRU draft file, here is a little piece on First Fridays (which I love but haven't been to since I moved back to Oakland) and whether or not Oakland is about to lose its artistic soul.  You don't really  have to read the article to know what it is about, but it's here if you do want to read it.  Needless to say, I am feeling Anyka's rent pain as I try to find a place I can afford...

NRU education edition

Really, I keep saying I am not going to do this, and then I can't help myself.

These are the articles that stayed open on my browser until I just had to share them.  Hope you enjoy.

Wow ... if you want to be inspired, read about this teacher.  There are many others out there, but we like to focus on the "bad apples."  I love everything about this teacher ... and I hope others are inspired to bring their magic to classrooms everywhere.

Starting strong down the proactive, positive, inspiring work and staying in that lane.  This NY Times article describes a thoughtful program in Oakland to help Black boys achieve greater heights in education.  I sure wish them well -- and lots of strength and staying power because it takes time to build up when you are starting so far behind 0.  These boys deserve this kind of truly thorough, meticulous and empathetic approach to inspiring excellence.

This is the beginning of an interesting series on how to work the Four Agreements with middle school girls.  I love this book and applaud this woman's efforts.  This piece specifically deals with the first agreement: Be impeccable with your word. This one is for the second agreement: Don't take anything personally.  Stay tuned for the last two ... that is check back with Christina's blog for those other two.

This is a beautiful (and succinct) piece on autism from someone who has autism.  His five things you should know could not be expressed in a more open or striking way.  Everyone should read this -- but parents especially should take his words to heart.  Excellent empowerment...

Ok, so you knew this happy happy could not last on a news round up about education, right?  So, this piece is about how young Latinos don't see themselves in books and why that matters.  Short synopsis -- it matters! 

I'm gonna call it here even though I am sure more stuff will pop up ... this is a lot to digest in one take and I am pleased with the upbeat perspective.  Let's try to have a week filled with this approach to life and challenges.

pics back

Ugh ... don't try to protect your privacy online with regards to pictures, it will take them from your blogs (where you obviously placed them, and where they wouldn't have control over unless you did). Never going to upload my pics to a third party ... not worth it in the long run. Thanks, Google, for the lesson in what I do and do not control, what you can and cannot control, etc...

I needed this today...

...maybe you do, too.

"... 'Paradoxical Commandments of Leadership:'

1. People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered. Love them anyway.
2. If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway.
3. If you are successful, you win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway.
4. The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.
5. Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway.
6. The biggest men with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men with the smallest minds. Think big anyway.
7. People favor underdogs, but follow only top dogs. Fight for a few underdogs anyway.
8. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway.
9. People really need help but may attack you if you do help them. Help people anyway.
10. Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth. Give the world the best you have anyway."

This is by Kent Keith (not Mother Teresa as it is often attributed) and it is piece of a pamphlet titled: Dynamic Leadership in the Student Council.

The fascinating story about how this became "by Mother Teresa" is here.  

I was sitting here feeling sad and frustrated and trying to not be overwhelmed by the sadness.  ...anyway with whispers of these commandments came to my mind, so I googled it.  

Here is the version we usually see, though it is intact:

The Paradoxical Commandments
by Dr. Kent M. Keith

People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.

The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway.

Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.

The biggest men and women with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds.
Think big anyway.

People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs.
Fight for a few underdogs anyway.

What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.

People really need help but may attack you if you do help them.
Help people anyway.

Give the world the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth.
Give the world the best you have anyway.

© Copyright Kent M. Keith 1968, renewed 2001

Poetry Thursday

Not knowing, creating success.

I do not seek the young learner, 

the young learner seeks me.

The first consultation is clearly informative.

The second and third muddy the waters,

Confusing, and hence not informative.

Harvest in constancy.

I Ching

burning the candle

...at both ends for the families of those who were taken in South Carolina and for all of us in this country ... may we somehow learn what we can control (guns) and what we can only hope to impact (hate) with understanding, love and compassion.  And may we begin to recognize the weight of our words and take responsibility for not spewing hate.  We can know what we say, we cannot know how others will internalize it.

I don't care for Skip, but this was a powerful piece of remembrance and history.  May they all rest in peace.

I will miss this so much ...

And this is why I love Jon Stewart ... tilt away, tilt away ... it is the only way.

The Daily Show
Daily Show Full Episodes,  More Daily Show Videos,  Comedy Central Full Episodes

Some days are like this...

Anger is a refuge.

Maybe it is a fort.

Maybe it is an impediment.

I don’t know, but it seems to be the *safest* emotion for me right now.

Maybe it is not safe, just readily available.

When I think of refuge, I picture Julie’s house with beds where you can sleep til noon and gardens where beauty can distract you from any pain.

It feels safe there.

Yes, there are mean and unthinking people everywhere, but somehow Julie’s house is safe.

Anger is not that kind of refuge. Anger is the hot tears turned inward creating a shield.

Anger reminds me that I have to fight against all the impulses to believe I am not worthy.  Anger has kept me alive so many times that I am reluctant to give it up or denigrate it.

But it also feels like a yoke. And it certainly leads to misunderstandings.

I yearn for safety, for someone to protect me so that I won’t need anger. But it is so hard to feel safe enough to let go of the anger.

What a crazy circle of pain, loneliness and peril. And, yes, it is of my own making. It is the definition of suffering.