Butterfly Cauldron

Our Legislature is in session and boy, are they having fun!

First up: Abortion!
Soon, all women seeing an abortion will have to have an "obstetrics ultrasound" before the procedure. It's not spelled out, but that's probably one where they use the probe. And there was a fight to get the bill watered down! As it stands, the woman can elect to not hear any information or view the photograph of the ultrasound that she will recieve. As originally worded, women would not have had a choice! They'd have been forced to watch the ultrasound, while the doctor decribed in detail what it showed AND she would have been forced to look at the picture. Go, La.! Soon, we'll be as bad as Oklahoma.

Next up: Guns! AND Religion!Yes,soon you will be allowed to bring your handgun to church with you. If your pastor says it's OK. It's just like the Bible says, "Jesus wept because the Pharasees wouldn't let him bring his Glock into the Temple. So he passed a law and busted a cap in their asses."

And lastly: Drugs and Welfare Queens Because nothing says Compassion like taking away benefits from children when their mother's on drugs.

Labels: abortion, bad mood, government, law, Louisiana, outrage, poverty, pregnancy, racism, stupid state

I haz a blog! Doh!

So....I am now an officially married woman. Yay me!

We got married March 5, at a little chapel in New Orleans, just the two of us. It was lovely. So far, so good. The government wants MORE money from us so Emmy can get her work permit and status adjustment. So, after that....she can get a job and we can have more money coming into the house, which will be spent as it should be -- on DVDs! :)

Emmy's VISA has offically been approved!

They are mailing it to her within the next two days.

Then she books ticket.

Then she flies here.

Then we gets married.

Then FINALLY it's all sorted and done! Yay!!!

This should be a good time for me.

I just had my birthday.

Emmy is in the final stages of getting her Visa approved. She should (could) be here by Christmas.

I have a little money in the bank and nothing major going wrong requiring I spend it all.

All the tests that the doctors did on my last month came back perfectly normal. Aside from a severe Vitamin D deficency, I'm really healthy. My blood sugar and insulin levels were really amazing. My cholesteral and triglycerides were impressive. My doctor was really really pleased -- although it shot her theory that I was insulin resistant down in flames. (A healthy fat girl? Really? Is it possible?? Noooo!!)

I have a new anti-anxiety med that is working wonders for me.

I've reconnected with a couple college friends, so now my weekends are filled with Doing Things with People, instead of staying at home sleeping the days away.

It's really a good life, all told.

So why do I feel like crying?

Why do I feel like all I want to do is hide in my bed, away from people, away from the world and sleep? Just sleep. If I could get enough sleep, this feeling would stop.

I miss Emmy. It's this viceral, heart crushing thing. And she's sad and I can't help her. I can't make things better. I can't tell the people who are stressing her to back the fuck off. Stop thinking everything is about you and your oppression or your privelige or whatever the fuck we're calling it this week. Take your meds or go to church or have a drink or take a walk or play with fucking sock puppets, whatever it is you do that brings you back down to earth with the rest of us who are just fucking people, after all. Fucking people, just trying to get through all the hoops stupid fucking governments put in our way to keep us apart.

I look at this picture on my desk, here at work, that some stranger took of us in the airport at four in the morning just before Emmy had to leave. Again. And it hurts, because I want her here. Now. But if she can't be here, then I want her to be happy where she is and I know she's not and I know it gets worse every day and I can't do a damned thing and I just want to scream at all the people who are making life worse for her. Because dammit, leave her alone.

This powerlessness bleeds into everything. I can't DO anything. I can't write, I can't read, I can't DO anything. I can't even get myself to put a damned dvd on to watch. I can't fold the laundry I've got washed, I can't clean the house. I can barely sleep, even though it's all I want to do. I only feel good and decent when there's no one else around. When I don't have to deal with fucking people and their precious sense of self-importance.

Labels: annoyance, Missing Emmy, rant, stupid people

This post rings very true to me. My family was Southern Baptist, not Pentacostal and I attended public schools, but the treatment of children strikes a cord in me. And, while I wouldn't blame Christianity alone for Murray's actions, having grown up in a similar atmosphere I cannot deny it had a profound effect. As a therapist who attempted to help him said:

During the brief moments in which Sanchez allowed Winell to speak, she attempted to explain the obvious, that Murray's destructive actions were influenced at least in part by what she called "a crazy-making system that has all sorts of circular reasoning. It's got bottom line rules like, 'Don't think, don't respect your own feelings in any way.' Small children are told they're going to burn in Hell. And if it doesn't work for you...[you are told that] it's your fault."

You cannot destroy a child's sense of self, that core of humanity that keeps most of us from lashing out and destroying others in our grief or pain or fury, and expect that child to grow up into a fully functional adult. Most of us who escape this particular hell DO end up functional, but damaged. So very, very damaged and, unless you move far away from those initial communities, we are not allowed to speak of that damage. I tried to address my damage with my mother. She acted as though I were attacking her, personally. Because her experiences were different than mine and she cannot conceive of anyone having any other reaction than she did. That I did threatens her in some way and that cannot be allowed to stand.

Until the fundamentalist Christian movement acknowledges the fact that its teachings can be profoundly damaging, people like Murray are going to continue. Likely, they won't be so explicit about killing because of Christianity. Possibly, they won't even realize it themselves. The indoctrination is so thorough that it works on a subconscience level. They feel angry or worthless or powerless or are filled with rage and they cannot tell you why. But when you're told from the time you are a small child that you are worthless and deserving of going to Hell, what other reaction can you truly expect?

Labels: abuse, childhood trauma, religion

Labels: music

Decatur Street

If my grief were a tangible thing,
it would be a throbbing red ball
pulled from the deepest pit of my stomach.
Heavy and aching, but slowly, constantly,
in that way you can grow
accustomed to.
I could hold it like a pet,
stroking it in attempt to soothe it.

I like to deal with pain pre-emptively.
That's what I tell myself.
As if that were possible.
As if you can imagine, in advance,
the pain you will feel when your foundation
disappears.
As if you could imagine the hurt
of watching your sun fly away,
not being certain when or where
it will shine again.

Pieces of paper.
Fragile, stupid,
can-get-lost-in-the-mail
or
stolen-from-the-mailbox
pieces of paper.
Paper with government seals of admission
or rejection
or we-want-more-information-so-you'll-just-have-to-keep-waiting.
I despise them, even as I wait for them,
stake out the black box at the end
of my driveway and wait.
Just wait.

I'm tired of leaving.
Tired of brave faces at airports
and I-can't-cry-yet-wait-until-I'm-in-the-car.
I'm tired of worry.
Tired of no knowing when she'll be back
and if I can finally keep her.

Labels: poetry

The nearest thing we have to a death panel in the United States is an insurance company claims adjuster.