The List of Buckets

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(Image from Google, Karen Boyes. I don’t own it-it was just cute.)

I have a hundred things on my mind right now, but that means that the best thing I could do is write down my bucket list. Not only had I mentioned I would earlier, but I most of the stuff on my mind has to do with that, so why not!

Now, I’m not sure any of you need the definition of a bucket list, but for sanity’s sake-A bucket list is a list of things that the individual would like to accomplish before they “kick the bucket” (die). And here’s mine.

  1. Whale watching
  2. Cliff Diving
  3. Learn to ice skate
  4. Learn to surf
  5. Swim in a waterfall
  6. Slow dance in the rain
  7. Witness a miracle
  8. Visit Canada
  9. Save a life
  10. Visit Ireland
  11. Visit England
  12. Visit Scotland
  13. Help turtles hatch and reach the ocean
  14. Be the starfish girl
  15. Eat pasta in Italy
  16. Eat bread in France
  17. See the Great Barrier Reef
  18. See Stonehenge
  19. Venetian gondola ride
  20. Get published
  21. Learn guitar
  22. Stand in the Sistine Chapel
  23. See the Mona Lisa in person
  24. Have lunch with a famous person
  25. See the Northern Lights
  26. Stand in a phone booth
  27. See Platform 9 ¾
  28. Visit Forks, WA
  29. Ride in Hot Air Balloon
  30. Zorbing
  31. Kiss under Mistletoe
  32. Live by the ocean
  33. Learn to scuba
  34. Make the perfect cup of coffee
  35. Learn how to make latte art
  36. Be fearless
  37. Own a 1967 Chevy Impala
  38. Make epic, award worthy cosplay
  39. Perfect cat eye
  40. Go fire walking
  41. Read a book in something other than English
  42. Visit every museum and zoo in the state I live in
  43. Visit Cueva de los Manos
  44. Leave a note in Juliet’s Wall
  45. Make someone smile more often than cry
  46. Be invited to a PowWow
  47. Stop worrying
  48. Stop micromanaging
  49. New Orleans Mardi Gras
  50. Swim with dolphins
  51. See Heaven’s Trail
  52. Give Christmas to a children’s hospital
  53. Replace my wardrobe with clothes I actually like
  54. Repay all the kindnesses
  55. Change the world

I know there are more-I’m just not entirely sure I could remember anything else. (Clearly haven’t mastered that perfect coffee haha!) But I think this is a pretty solid list-and I’m going to get started on it right away.

I’ll let you in on a secret.

I’m tired of people telling me what I do and do not know, what I need to do to know things, how much I’m allowed to know. I’ve spent the last two decades being told I can never know everything, but being held accountable for everything regardless, only to find that every year or so, what I know is obsolete information. I may never meet the standards of knowing. But I’m ready for something else. If after 20 years knowing things doesn’t make me happy, I’ve got to change things. So these next twenty years aren’t going to be “knowing” years-they’re going to be “experience” years. I’m gonna do things, see things, live things. So that when I get to the next fork in the road, the only thing I’ll know is myself.

What I Needed to Understand

I’m a shy person by nature. I don’t talk to strangers often, I like being introverted. Even in a manic state, I only get chatty with people I know. Interesting.

Ever since I discovered that I’m really passionate about human rights, I’ve started to see an evolution in my personality. I helped a complete stranger yesterday who couldn’t get their door to lock. Normally I would have shied away, had my husband see if he could help. And I feel chatty. Depressed, manic, all the time. 

But only about specific things.

And wouldn’t you know that the things I feel like I need to speak about so urgently are the things that I harbor in my soul.

-Depression and Suicide

-Sexual Assault Rights

-Protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline and the Atlantic Coast Pipeline.

                                                                                 (Image from Google-I just happen to love it.)

It has come to my attention (or should I say, I have noticed) that I start these conversations, I make sure the people I am with are aware that there are some very big news stories going on and that they need to care. I mean, I’m sure I sound like a downer because I talk about (generally) death, crimes and destroying the earth/cultures. I know. 

But I can’t stop talking about them.

I don’t even think I want to stop.

Because, as I put so poignantly in a FB response, “If we stop talking, we stop living.” And I believe that. 

So instead of apologizing for being the bearer-of-bad-news and the news anchor in my social life, I’m going to keep talking. I’m going to keep bringing up things people might not want to talk about becuase I have no other choice.

If I stop talking, I stop being who I am. 

And I won’t compromise that. Not anymore.

When Push Comes to Shove


Hi there!

It’s Friday. We’ve made it to the end of the week and for that I am so exceptionally grateful. This week has taught me more than perhaps my entire first year in college altogether. I know that in the grand scheme of things I’m just experiencing the realities of the beginnings of transition (what I have dubbed the caterpillar effect). I know that all things come to those who wait. I know my future is what I make of it. I know that the sun will rise again and so will I.

I know all those things.

Depression has that weird way of making you feel like you can’t reach the things you know. For example, my most relied on quote (the bolded one above) is true, but I don’t know that I believe it. And that’s frustrating. I was up last night with a new friend who was having a panic attack and I was trying to alleviate those concerns. I know what it’s like, I completely get it. And all the while I felt my own walls caving in on me. Did I say so? Of course not. But it was there, nonetheless.

Always keep fighting. Love yourself first. You are not alone.

Those are the “tag lines” for some of the campaigns that I partake in through the Supernatural fandom. And you best believe that I’ve been chanting them over and over again since I woke up this morning. Every theme song for carrying on has been blasting through my headbuds, every inspirational quote has been read, every coping technique I know (that is healthy) has been employed. But my soul is still tired. 

And I think that’s the problem.

Being physically tired is something that often times, a day off and some peace-and-quiet can remedy. Just a break. A nap. But being emotionally, spiritually, mentally tired is something that often comes at a much steeper price. I get enough sleep everyday but my heart and soul just aren’t in “it” anymore. What do I mean by “it”? Well, at this current point-the life I’m living. I mean college and working and “adulting” and well, the total package. Let me be explicitly clear here-I am not headed down the dark and dangerous path of suicidal ideation.  I am just tired in a way that cannot easily be fixed. And I have been for quite some time.

I feel like (and this could be exaggerated because I am depressed) everything I attempt, everything I put myself out there for is getting negative feedback-denial, rejection, being ignored altogether. And that stings a little bit.  It starts to feel like just when I thought I was finding my way through this big journey called life, the universe (fate? Destiny? God(s)?) has stopped believing in me. And I’m starting to cave.

Now, I’m not trying to elicit sympathies or whatnot, as I’ve said before, this is my “journal”-one that I make public to be accountable, to share with the world so that other people may not feel so alone. 

Anyway, I people watch. I see so many people walking down the sidewalks with life in their eyes but I see every so many more who are, just like me, dead inside. And I don’t mean to be melodramatic here. You have seen it too, I’m sure. The people who catch your eye and just look completely used up and empty. Like the world has taken more than they had to give and there’s nothing left but a shell. It’s those people that I understand.

I’ve said before that I don’t feel like praying (in the traditional sense of making yourself look inferior and pleading for help) is something I can get behind. I ask things of the universe as someone who needs things-not as someone unworthy of receiving them. But this past week has seen me asking in every way possible. I’ve even starting asking Angels and Ancestors. I’m starting to feel…desperate.

And I think that’s something a lot of people can relate to. Life isn’t something you can control. You just minimize damage and plan for the best case scenario.

If you take nothing else from this rant, take this:

You may be feeling these things too. You may have left depression in the past, or be waiting for it in your future. But you most definitely aren’t the only person like that. It can’t rain (metaphorically) forever.

Perks of Poverty?

appropriation.pngI came across this article today: The Troubling Trendiness of Poverty Appropriation and while I was reading it, I felt a familiar rant coming up. I actually agree with the level of disdain this author shows. I don’t know how familiar ya’ll are with a book written about 15 years ago called Nickel and Dimed. The cover looked like this (there was also a 10th anniversary edition which looked similar, but different):
Nickel_and_Dimed_cover

The premise of the book is a reporter/journalist attempts to live a life of poverty for her job. Sounds great right? I mean, a woman(!) digging into the roots of poverty, trying to find out why it’s so hard to live at the lower end of the money spectrum. Which sounds like an awesome case study.
Except she did it wrong and then wrote as though she understood.
Ms. Ehrenreich made three rules for her experiment. (1)
1. she can not fall back on any skills derived from her education or usual work
2. she has to take the highest-paying job she is offered and do her best to keep it;
3. she has to take the cheapest accommodations she can find, with a reasonable consideration for safety and privacy.
She also has some additional considerations. (1)
1. she will always have a car
2. she will never allow herself to be homeless
3. she will never go hungry.
Now, before I get into my thoughts, the author makes note that she understands she will never know what poverty is. The tone of her writing suggests otherwise.

It’s not okay to take something which is a source of great discomfort and shame, put a spin on it and use it as something to glorify (if it is a choice-not a lifestyle). That’s the problem with cultural appropriation. It’s great if there’s something which was founded by one group then shared and used for the benefit of all. It’s another thing entirely to glorify something like poverty. It’s not right.

Issues I have with the author’s take on the book are numerous. Of my issues, at the top of the list are the fact that this book was marketed as a woman exploring poverty by experiencing it. She didn’t. Not even close. Let me explain to you how she should have done her experiment: She shouldn’t have.
Poverty isn’t an experiment. It’s a tragedy.

The issues I have with her rules (by rule):
1. her experiences included being an adult with a job. She knew how to get an interview.
2. she should have taken the FIRST job she was offered-high pay or no.
3. poor people will often sacrifice safety, privacy and comfort for what can be afforded.
The issues I have with her additional considerations (in order):
1. being poor means taking the bus, or walking. Having a running car is a luxury.
2. this one, while reasonable is still a heavy assumption.
3. poverty means hunger. Trust me, I know.

Now, some additional things to consider. She kept her car from her old job. So it wasn’t a beater. She also had an emergency fund. There is no such thing as an emergency fund in poverty because literally every purchase is necessary and money is spent before it comes in. Also, she had health insurance. Now, I know that it’s 15 years later and insurance is required. But at the same time, you and I know that that means, if anything, money doesn’t go as far at all. And I remember a time when health insurance was a luxury-and if you didn’t have it, you went to work sick. Because I have insurance, and I can’t afford to go to the doctor. So I don’t.

Let me tell you a story, perhaps you’ll understand where I’m coming from. It would be sixth grade, history. It was the week of my birthday and I knew my parents were strapped for money, so I hadn’t asked for anything extravagant. I just wanted Chinese food from the store in town and some frog toys (I loved frogs). I walked into class that day and the principle was in class as well, which was odd. We were told that there was a shortage of money in the school district, that we would now have to pay 10 cents for each page of our tests, our work sheets and everything which needed printed, and that in order to have access to the homework that day, we were going to have to give up two dollars right then.

I was 11 years old. Two dollars was all the lunch money I had. I was a straight-A student, never missed an assignment, all my teachers liked me. It was the week of my birthday and I was being told that I was going to have to pay a LOT of money in order to go to school. My parents were a little broke and I hadn’t had lunch yet.

As an 11 year old with a wild imagination, the only thoughts I could entertain as I put my money on the table and the principle checked my name off, was about how I was going to cause my family to lose our home, we were going to be on the street eating from trash cans. And, because my birthday is in December, I naturally assumed that I and my family were going to freeze to death. All because I wanted to go to school.

That is the reality of poverty. Little children being afraid that their existence is going to cost too much. That they are going to die because they cannot afford to live.

And for those of you who are curious, I did get my lunch money back. And no, we didn’t have to pay money for paper. It was an exercise to demonstrate how the colonists felt about the unfair taxes imposed by Britain. The principle had been there to reinforce the lesson (make it seem realistic and believable), and as a precaution, I’m sure. About a third of the class was crying as they left for their next class that day. I remember that the kid I sat by went to the bathroom and called his mother who came in to school and cursed out the teacher. A woman teacher (math) later told me that she wished she could bring her subject to students in such a relevant way. I remain appalled.

For the record, I never forgave that teacher. I know I should, but I consider him a monster. He ruined my birthday and taught me that the people who are often trusted to lead children aren’t necessarily the ones you want doing just that. “Derision for disappointed hopes” is a good quote to use here.

Nickel and Dimed was touted to me as an examination of the inner workings of poverty by the professor who required it for one of my classes. I ripped it to shreds in my review because the author knew nothing about the realities. As far as I know, she never required the book again. And that’s why the things the article’s author pointed out are also valid.

There is nothing chic about surviving on dollar menus, discount carts and living in trailer parks. People look down on you, it’s constantly worrying about money, about safety and you feel like the scum of the earth. People who “choose” to experience that don’t even understand the realities of the situation they flagrantly mock. All it does is damage the value of human beings who are fighting to get by. And that simply won’t do.

And if you’d like to hear some excellent words on millennials in 2016, here’s a video. But I will say, there’s some “adult” words. It doesn’t matter to me, but there are people who have concerns like that, so be aware. Snooze by Snow Tha Product (It’ll be featured in other stuff-because I REALLY like it.)

Citations

  1. Staff, TheBestNotes. “TheBestNotes on Nickel and Dimed“. TheBestNotes.com. 19 August 2016. 19 February 2015
    <http://thebestnotes.com/booknotes/Nickel_And_Dimed/Nickel_And_Dimed05.html&gt;.

Time and Change

I needed a place to put my thoughts and could think of no better place than a blog-where I do just exactly that. What I have to say today is more on the border of “things which concern me as an almost-careered woman” but could just as easily fall under the category of “I hope I’m just worrying for nothing”.

Woman. Critical thinker. Thinks-for-myself. Pre-lawyer. Advocate for women. Advocate for mental health. Pro-choose your own life path. Makes decisions based on what is best for my family. Pagan. College educated. Pro-diversity. Pro-free speech.

I feel like everything I just listed is coming under attack this election cycle. And it will be under even more scrutiny depending on how this election goes. I’m not going to make this overly political, but this is after all, my blog, and I don’t have to apologize for my own thoughts.

Depending on November, I could face a variety of problems simply for being myself. And that scares me. I was not alive during the internment camps or the racial segregation period. I wasn’t alive during the Holocaust, where Jews, Gypsies, Handicapped individuals and more were taken, tortured and killed for being themselves. But I read about them.

I remember I had a teacher who threatened to send an entire class to detention because none of us knew what a swastika was. I was in 6th grade. You can bet that we had a lesson on it very soon thereafter. And in 7th grade, we had an entire section of our year devoted to WWII and the Holocaust-even built a memorial as a class. And I had a teacher in high school who drilled those events into our heads. And I remember immediately understanding why it was that we needed to know. So we wouldn’t repeat those mistakes and atrocities in our own time.

You cannot single out a group as the source of all your problems and then force them to carry the sentence you have passed on them as an act of retribution. Do you know why? Because you will have to keep singling out groups until everyone is to blame.

There is a presidential candidate right now who has singled out groups. And I am not (yet) in the direct line of fire. I’m still in the indirect (because I am a woman). But how soon will they come knocking at my door because I am poor? Because I am pagan? Because I am opinionated? Because I am any one of the things that I am?

Depending on the election, I may not be able to get a job. No one will take me seriously because I am a woman fighting for the rights of other women-of whom society has deemed not valid because they must be, in some way, guilty as well. My purpose in life will become a joke like that. Not because it will be funny, but because of who I am and who my clients are. And should I get past that initial problem, if I choose to have children, we face a host of problems directly related to my childbearing capabilities, along the lines of maternity leave rights.

Depending on the election, I might not be safe in my own home, and by extension my husband, and any kids we might have. Because we do not go to church, we do not hang crosses at our doorsteps and around our necks. We do not pray in the name of the same faith.

Depending on the election, I might not be safe. I spend a lot of my time now talking about individual liberties and personal decisions as rights of the individual. How long will it be before someone starts coming after not only the businesses and administrators of birth control or abortions, but the people who support them as well? Or the people who have friends who aren’t “white enough”? Or the people who do not fall prey to the garbage they hear on the TVs?

I can’t say that I know where the future is headed. I’m not pompous enough to assume anything. But these thoughts weigh on my mind, keep me up at night (along with just the usual stress about getting into law school in the first place). I’m concerned. And I’m brushing up on my government, that’s for sure. Because I need to know what my rights are and what can be done to keep myself safe if the time comes. It’s a scary place out there, and I hope it doesn’t get scarier.

Thoughts, News and Stuff

Alrighty folks, welcome to the weekend!
Thank you to all the people who have stumbled across my thoughts. I try to mention it as often as I can, because I really am grateful and completely humbled.
In the news this week:

Kesha deposits 28 tracks to her producer, drops her sexual assault case and keeps pursuing the emotional/physical assault/abuse charges.

Stanford Rapist Brock Turner has successfully petitioned his way back to his home state. Which just so happens to be my state.

Today is the last day of GISHWHES.

 

I wanted to do a big piece on the realities of Kesha, since she was the catalyst for my own self-revelations and then Rapist Brock Turner is returning to my state-to Greene County more specifically. And while I completely understand 1000000000% about the victim’s statement of Rapist Brock Turner making her nervous, I am still completely appalled at his only serving 3 months. He will be released to probation in less than a month. And then he will be coming here, to my state.

Now, I’m not here to make this about me. At all. In fact, the only thing that can be said is how I am struggling for words to describe the amount of injustice I feel about this case. You can read the news article if you’d like, here. I’ve been awake almost a full 24 hours and it’s been on my mind almost the entire time. I’m not okay with this situation, and I can only imagine how the victim must feel.

I mentioned up top that today is the last day of the scavenger hunt I’m participating in. At 2:00 AM my time (Eastern: UTC-5) the hunt will be over for the year. That means a couple things. First, my sleep schedule will be returning to normal-ish. Second, I can share my adventure with ya’ll-with pictures and links to videos. Third, and ultimately most importantly, I will be returning to my regular work. News and opinions, facts and summations. I just wanted to pop in, say hello, wish you all a lovely, safe day and hope to catch you on the flip side!

Hello from the other side.

Greetings all!

I apologize for my absence, but it couldn’t be helped. My brigade of help and I moved our entire apartment on Tuesday. I spent yesterday trying to remember that my limbs were not, in fact, made of noodles and then today trying to clean the old place so that I could come here and find some words which might impart my thoughts.

I’m trying to catch up with all that’s been going on in ya’lls lives, but I thought a lot about what had happened in the last three days and discovered a delightful experience.

For almost 72 hours, I was disconnected from the internet.

Now sure, I did still have internet on my phone, and I did use it a couple times sparingly (to let my Facebook friends know I was still alive) but my phone is so outdated that I really couldn’t do more than that. And I didn’t mind.

So that got me thinking. The first day, I was too busy moving to actually notice the lack of internet. Yesterday, I kept thinking about emails which may arrive, tracking on packages I was expecting and how I missed Netflix. It is only within the last hour or so that I’ve gotten internet back and yet, I checked everything I needed to and feel that I could remain off of it for the rest of the day without very much hesitation.

As a child of technology, I know that I often feel a little constricted by the level of connectedness. I feel pressured into updating everything I am a part of at each moment of change in my life. New place? Better take a picture for Instagram. Better send out a tweet about sore muscles hashtag workout. Update Facebook status. Write blog about the meaning of moving boxes. Complain (wittily) on Tumblr. The list goes on and on. But for three days, I didn’t have the capacity to do so. And I felt so relieved. I felt private and mysterious and adventurous-except for the whole sweaty, sore, sneezing from all the dust thing.

Anyway, I guess the point today is that maybe more people should disconnect from the internet from time to time. I know I’m going to do so more often. This has been absolutely wonderful and made for a great bit of reflection.

These Days Are Ours

Hey all! I’m in the process of moving and as I’m sure you can all relate to-that means I’m busy, a bit frazzled and somewhat lost in time. Today’s thoughts aren’t a lecture per se, nor are they really anything more than just my thoughts. But they’re good’uns and it’s about one of my favorite topics: self-care!

I came across a note I’d saved in my phone and was blown away by my younger self. The date on it was 27 June 2015 and it reads like this:

I’m glad I’m heavier than who I was. It teaches me to be better: to redefine myself every day. I’m glad I threw out that damn dress, because it teaches me that I don’t need to be blonde to be beautiful. I’m glad I change my mind every time I change my mood. It teaches me to be flexible. I’m glad I’m not the girl I used to be. It teaches me that all things change and I must learn to adapt. I don’t have to have everything in the world. I just need to be me. I know some days I’m going to be so depressed I can barely move (and maybe a lot of those days) and some days I will stay awake for hours and be manic (and maybe I’ll be super productive). But I’ve been looking for reasons why I can’t improve my life. I stress about money, I stress about life. So now, I have some things that are going to happen.

I go on to list about a dozen things which I wanted to accomplish in the upcoming year. I managed to get about a third accomplished. But I’m not here to talk about the list.

I could not possibly have known all of the changes which were coming to me this past year. But it coincides with an event that happened yesterday and I thought that it was pretty nifty serendipity.

I send all my packages to my parents’ place because that is the only place that mail is reliable. And I hadn’t picked up my mail since about Christmas. I got my mail yesterday and opened it. I had a bunch of clothes I’d ordered, but hadn’t needed immediately.

I fall into the trap of thinking that I can wait for things. I delay so long that I usually talk myself out of the purchases with sentences like “Oh, well, now it’s not on sale.” or “I’ll buy it when I lose fifteen pounds.” And I neglect myself. I tell myself that I don’t need to buy clothes because the ones I have are still functional. I use my electronics until they can no longer function at all. And I’m proud of that. I feel that I am incredibly thrifty.

But I splurge on other people. I delight in being the one who looks completely together, completely giving. People from my first job can attest that if I had the ability, I would drive from my house to the nearest Starbucks (a 35 minute drive) at 6AM to pick everyone up a drink. And I love looking at people who receive my birthday presents. I love it all. I crave those moments.

But I deny them to myself.

Why would I do that? Why would I abuse myself and neglect myself when I put so much value in others?

The long and short answer? I’m still learning how to love myself.

I know that’s a story that a lot of people can relate to. It’s not something that our society values. The line between self-care and narcissism is muddled. Self-care is preached to people with medical conditions, to nursing students, to a variety of people. But it is often the people who are doing the preaching who lack the ability to fulfill their words in their own lives.

That’s so sad.

As I’m going through my stuff, in order to pack it up or recycle it in some way, I realized I was holding on to a lot of baggage with my possessions. I have a great giant pile of “If i lose X amount of weight, I can wear this.” I have a stack of “If these conditions are met, I’ll use this.” and the occasional “I don’t want to get rid of this because I got it from blah.” But all that translates to one basic thing: I’m holding on to this because I’m not happy enough to let it go. My husband can attest-since coming to that realization, I bagged up 6 bags of stuff and got rid of it. Clothes that were too small, too big, too old. Knick knacks that I’d held on to for the sake of holding on to are gone.

Sometimes loving yourself means giving yourself the same luxuries you give other people. Sometimes loving yourself means cutting yourself loose from unnecessary burdens.

Just a thought for today. See you all soon!

 

Exposé. Of my dog.

I’m just not ready to take on the world yet, and I think that by making everyone read the same depressing facts and figures, I’m going to do something delightful. I don’t want to be known as the bearer of all bad news. Because that’s only half of the story. The other half is the part where I bring smiles and happiness to others and to myself. So in keeping with that, I wanted to post some pictures and things of my (our) dog.

PupPup was born on Christmas Day in 2013. He is a little Havanese dog, and when we got him he was covered in fleas, emaciated and terrified. We rescued this little guy from his life of obvious crap and have spent loads of time loving him. I’m a cat person, so it took me a while to grow to love him, but I believe that all spirits deserve kindness, so I was never mean. He was no longer than the length of my arm from wrist to elbow and weighed only about five pounds. He was about four months old at that point.

550004_10151792943294988_1103916415_n (1)

This was him after we got him home. You can see from the patches on his head that he had a bit of mange, and the dirtiness of his fur is from neglect. I gave up my heating pad for him, because he was shivering all the time. We named him PupPup because we couldn’t decide on a name and then eventually he just answered to PupPup. He has since accepted “Puppy Yuppy”, “Pooper Dooper” and bizarre rhymes of the sort as things he will answer to as well. He doesn’t seem to mind-he just wants attention.

Over the years, we’ve had the chance to see him in several styles. Sometimes we shave him sometimes we fluff him. And almost always, he’s sleeping. You can see from the pictures below that he’s actually a white dog-not cream and brown. And he’s gained quite a bit of weight. The following two pictures were taken in the past year.

 

I think we may never find a dog with more personality than this one. He knows English (salted potatoes, french fries, go to bed, oinkie), he knows when we’re making fun of him (he snorts) and he’ll stop play-fighting with you if you say “just love”. He can tell when one of us gets home based on the sound of our car and then he “goes to his post” to let us in the door. Usually though, he’ll sleep on us. And I’ve gotten him into Supernatural and puppy videos on YouTube. He knows who Dean and Sam are, and he loves watching huskies learn how to howl. He still hasn’t figured out where they are (we watch on my computer) but he stays really attentive. (Bottom left was an epic capture. My husband really was asleep and didn’t kn0w I’d taken it, but PupPup’s face was priceless. He agreed when I showed him later.)

What’s more than that, he’s actually well-behaved. He doesn’t yip or bark or do much more than sass us when he wants treats. He doesn’t have accidents in the house and he’s pretty much a human. He uses my clothes, my pillows and his toys as pillows. He usually doesn’t sleep without a pillow. The bottom left picture I took as soon as he woke up and it’s one of my favorites.

Anyway, I wanted to share these photos because even though you can’t really interact with them, he’s a sassy dog, and sometimes the nice parts in life get stuck behind all the crap. I just wanted to share some happy memories to make ya’ll smile.

And if none of the above worked, here. Have this complimentary picture of my bizarre dog after he was washed and then blow dried. (This is hands down my favorite picture of our dog. It cracks me up every time I look at it. It’s an old one, but definitely worth it.)

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Heavy Hearts

To say that the recent events have no affect on my life would be a lie. Although they are not as personal for me as Pulse, I am a human being and as such, I find the amount of violence and death to be devastating. And let me say, I am sorry for the loss of life for all people-both in the recent attacks in the Middle East and the shootings in the States. Violence is never the answer.

I wrote the response to Mr. Sterling a couple days ago, and I know that it was just words. Words are how I grieve the failings of humanity. As a writer and as a student, we are taught to focus our thoughts into sentences and papers, as a way to combat ignorance. For now, that is all I can do: combat ignorance.

You see, it isn’t a simple answer and solution situation. Generalizations are one of the most dangerous tools humans possess. Not all feminists hate men. Not all men are rapists. Not all cops are evil. Not all people of dark melanin are bad people. I can think of two historical periods in which generalizations caused devastation on a massive scale. The first, as I’m sure most are familiar with is the Holocaust. Jewish people, Gypsy people, Gay people, people with impairments and others were taken away and massacred for being different. And it happened here in America too. It wasn’t Jewish people, people of Asian ethnicity or the slave trade I am referring to, although there were troublesome times there as well. It is the Indigenous population I am referring to. The systematic slaughter of people who were different.

I am just one person. And so are you. It is not wrong to want justice for crimes committed. It is not wrong to  hold police officers in high regards while also holding them to high standards. It is not wrong to ask for the law to pass just judgments.

The easiest way to make the changes we want to see in the world is to vote. I mean it. We vote on the people who are meant to lead us, to protect us. It takes not long at all (I was able to cast my ballot in the primaries in less than 10 minutes.) and it will affect you for ages to come. So with all of this in mind, I am going to implore the readers of my blog to use their better judgment.

I’m not telling you who to vote for. That isn’t why I’m writing. And that most definitely isn’t what I am saying. What I AM saying is that these incidents of violence and hatred and death will not cease if the person we elect as president is a hate-spewing, violence endorsing, racist, sexist, philandering, desperate monster. It will, should a person like that become president, become worse. And what happens when it is your children? Your parents or spouse or siblings? Will a presidential vote bring lives lost back? No. Will a vote stop all of the problems? No. But if you do nothing else, please, please make sure that the racism and hatred stops before it makes it to the White House.

I know a lot of response videos have been made for rallies, but this is one of the ones I have watched several times over. I hadn’t meant for this post to become political, but I guess it has.

Misha Goes to a Trump Rally