tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37294736200511546752024-02-18T17:32:46.592-08:00Coolred's RantCoolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.comBlogger292125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-42274808127200766352014-07-23T06:41:00.000-07:002014-11-08T04:41:01.025-08:00Drip drip...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b>I learned to swim when I was around 6. I have swam in pools, ponds, rivers, lakes and oceans. I have no problem with large bodies of water no matter what size. I didn't think it really mattered how much water there was, if you know how to swim, you swim. You wouldn't drown unless something tragic happened. You swim in an ocean just like you swim in a swimming pool. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b>However, I have learned in my life that there is a certain body of water that is just the right amount that could put you in danger of drowning if you aren't careful. Funny thing is, it's not very much water at all. A tiny little amount in relative terms. About the size of a tear. Or two...or three. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b>The only body of water I have ever feared drowning in is the one made up of all the tears I have shed in my life and not just any tears, not the ones caused by others but the ones I have caused myself. Those are the most toxic and most likely to fill my lungs and drag me under into its suffocating swirling black depths. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><b>You would think I would keep that in mind, that toxic body of water, that grows deeper with every new drop I feed it. </b></span></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-84018633676070774122014-06-06T01:20:00.004-07:002014-06-06T01:22:44.072-07:00Is anything ever going to change? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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http://www.gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=378559</div>
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<span style="color: #990000;"><b>Once again I open the GDN to read an unbelievable story
about sexual abuse and the leniency the Bahrain Courts have when punishing
perpetrators. A 15 year old and his uncle beat, raped, and filmed themselves while
doing it because the man was engaged in a relationship with the 15 year olds
mother. His words were, she was having a relationship “behind his back”. Since
when do mothers need their children’s permission to have relationships? She is
divorced and free, right? Ok let us make the poor excuse that this is an Arab
country and so the mother needs her son’s permission to have a relationship
(this is still Bahrain and not Saudi, right?), why did those two feel that a
beating and rape while filming it was the correct course of action to take in
order to bring this relationship to an end? The son claims it was his right to “honor
beat” the man. Honor beat? Once again, what country is this? Since when did
using the word “honor” become an acceptable excuse for beating and raping
someone anywhere in the world but specifically Bahrain? I have lived here over
22 years and have never heard that word used as justification in court before.
Is a new trend in extremism coming to Bahrain? Do residents here now have to
fear that at any moment an attack will ensue based on “honor”? Not only that
but your day in court will be little more than another assault against you as
the judge will view your beating and rape as merely an inconvenience to you
because the defendant had to restore his family honor one way or another? In all the years I have lived in Bahrain one
of the constants that has never changed are the atrociously low sentences (or slap on the wrists if you will) that
child molesters and rapists earn for doing the most despicable thing one can do
to another, much less a child. Not only did these men confess to what they did
in court, it is obvious that they are dangerous men who use extreme measures to
deal with their issues. What excuse will the courts give them when they show up
once again having done something similar to some other victim (maybe the mother
next time, in defense of honor) because human beings generally show you who
they are but we often ignore it and assume the best in them. If I were someone considering coming to
Bahrain for work or travel and I read the local newspapers as a way to gauge
what sort of country Bahrain was, imagine my thoughts when reading that expats
might not be able to drive for much longer, that car accidents due to extremely
poor and aggressive driving are a daily occurrence, that if your nationality is
not the “right” one you may be treated as less than either physically,
financially, or humanely, that animals are often abused and considered
disposable, that beaches are garbage dump sites, that elected officials in this
country spend copious amounts of time doing nothing more than coming up with
ways to waste both time and money, and
that, worst of all, sexual crime is not a big deal and treated lightly by the
Bahrain Court system. The Bahrain government has spent a lot of money and
effort in convincing the rest of the world that everything is fine here in
order to get tourists and business back on board after events over the past
couple of years and yet for anyone that has even the smallest interest in
coming to Bahrain, all that effort is wasted with just a few minutes spent reading
a local newspaper. All the money in the world and the best P.R. firm cannot
undo that kind of damage. </b></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-17793172416999080462014-04-24T13:15:00.001-07:002014-04-24T13:15:39.917-07:00Happy in Bahrain: Bahrain's version of the Happy song. I recognize most of the places in the video. <iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/CTrBlI-64DA" width="480"></iframe>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-88957968431272470912014-04-21T01:48:00.001-07:002014-04-21T03:28:43.312-07:00Dream a Little Dream ...and Make it a Big Dream<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is the story that was printed in the newspaper...along with a second part after the "waiting begins". Hope you all like it. Tell me what you think. Don't worry, I can take it. I might add that originally the story was complete with the "waiting begins" part but the editor wanted a second part, or continuation, in order to have a follow up printing. Like a series I guess. Which means I had to rethink another ending beyond the first ending. Wasn't easy and I'm not sure the second ending really fits the story as a whole plus I wrote it about two years ago so the groove I was in at the time just isn't here now. At any rate, here it is. You all (if you are still here) might remember the first part of this story from few years ago. </span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">Dream a Little Dream</b></span><br />
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Lee Ann Fleetwood</span></b><br />
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As the last page slips into the tray she gathers the pile up, straightens them up, and lays them down on her desk. She sits awhile just looking at them and not thinking a whole lot about anything much. For the moment the "what if" game is being silent and her thoughts are wispy things that have no substance.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She reaches over and takes the single white envelope from the edge of the desk and writes an address on it and then her own. She picks up the papers and starts to slide them inside but hesitates. After a moment she sits back with the papers and once again begins to read what she has written though she has read it many times already. It has been a long time in coming making the journey from the darkest recesses of her mind to the white pristine papers in her printer.</b></span><br />
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As each word of each line skims across her vision her mind instantly plays out the scenes of her life; the good, the not so good, and the ones she wishes she could forget, but of course, that will never happen. Some things are with you forever.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She reaches the end and once again straightens the pages into an orderly pile and slips them into the waiting envelope. Along with the papers she inserts her hopes and dreams that within these pages her future lies. That the events of her life will finally have meaning because to believe it had none is more than she can bear.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She lays the envelope down while she dresses but can't help looking over now and then and realizes the power that is contained within those pages. The power to change her life the thought frightens her nearly as much as it sparks a bright light of hope within her heart.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She slips on her jacket and collects her keys then walks over and stands in front of her desk looking down. The sudden urge to just chuck the whole thing in the garbage can at her feet is so strong she realizes her hand is already reaching out to do just that before she can stop it. She snatches it back and takes a deep breath. A small pep talk was in order and she gives it and listens patiently to it before grabbing the envelope quickly and heads for the door.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">As she sits in her car she tosses it carelessly into the passenger seat almost as an afterthought. If she dwells too long on its importance she feels she will lose herself in the enormity of what she is about to do and, of course, back out while she still can. Backing out is NOT an option. Just start the car and get moving.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">Traffic is sufficient to require concentration but she still manages to steal a glance or two at the seat next to her. The closer she gets to her destination the harder her heart pounds until eventually she can hear neither the sounds of traffic nor the negative voice in her head that has been her constant companion these long lonely years.</b></span><br />
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She pulls up into the parking lot, snatches the envelope, and quickly enters the building as if the hounds of hell are on her heels. She can't help but glance over her shoulder just to make sure it IS just her imagination.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She arrives at the counter and thrusts the envelope that contains her life at the surprised employee. Almost instantly she starts to grab it back as if discovering her child in the arms of a stranger. She catches herself, steps back from the counter and plasters a smile on her face to put the cautious employee at ease, or so she hopes.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">“Uhm, can I help you,” he asks?</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">“Yes, I would like to send that by registered mail,” she answers quickly. She is pretty sure she sounds normal, at least to her ears, though they are full of the sound of her beating heart.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">“Ok. Fill out this paperwork and that will be $6.80 and it should be there by Thursday,” he says as he places a sticker on her life and sets it behind him on the outgoing mail shelf. She looks at it sitting there and can't help but imagine the little adventure it is about to embark on. Once again the analogy of a child comes to mind. Her child is venturing out into the world and she won't be there to keep it safe. Her heart not only pounds but squeezes too with pain and trepidation.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><br /></b></span>
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She quickly looks away before the tears that threaten start to fall. You would think she had just laid baby Moses in a basket preparing to push him off into the unknown waters the way she felt.</span></b><br />
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">She fills out the paper work and pays the fee then turns to walk away. She can't help but look one more time at her hope for the future lying there so innocently on the shelf. Such power in that envelope, she is amazed there isn't some sign, almost biblical in nature that would indicate the essence of what those pages contain.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">She gets back in her car and starts the engine. Buckles her seat belt then turns the radio on. Checks her mirrors before pulling out and heads for home and it is only then that she allows herself to dream a little dream.</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="color: #141823; line-height: 21.46666717529297px;">And the waiting begins...</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 21.46666717529297px;"><b><br /></b></span></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">Once she
reaches home the real waiting begins. Even though she is aware that it could be
days, weeks, even months before her intense pangs of labor bear fruit, she
cannot help but count every moment of that unknowable future. She will ignore
for the moment the possibility that she will never hear a single word about the
package containing her dreams for her future and that it could end its short
unassuming life lying forgotten and collecting dust in some storage room
somewhere. Hardly worth thinking about so has shut that train of thought down
instantly whenever it rears its ugly head. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">She gets on
with the business of living her life as best she can. Working a dead end job
that does nothing to satisfy her desires but pays her bills, what more could
one ask for? Days filled with numerous trips to her local bookstore and library
to fill her restless need to live an exciting full filling life even if it’s
vicariously through someone else’s version of it. She wakes in the morning and
falls seamlessly, if not contentedly, into sleep every night having managed to
not let her gaze rest too long on the passing days as noted by the kitty
calendar hanging in her kitchen.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">She keeps busy
doing lots of seemingly important things mixed with utterly pointless things.
Rinse and repeat, and the days pass. Then weeks pass and slowly weeks turn into
months. Turning the page of the calendar from one month to the next has become
a ritual that is accomplished with a deep cleansing sigh and a mental kick in
the pants to not give up, not just yet. Patience got her through her childhood
of fear filled days and terrifying nights and patience saw her through a very
long marriage to a very unkind man. Patience was her best friend and soul
companion when all others had walked away or simply forgotten she existed.
Patience had not let her down so far and she was more than thankful for that
small spark of optimism in her life.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">If you asked
her later about the day she received the call she had been waiting for all her
life, a call that started its process of reaching out to her way back in her
childhood when every step she took and every action for or against her lead her
through her life for better or worse up to that very moment she was meant to
answer an unrecognized number, she would say it was among one of the best and
worst days of her life. A life filled with a great many worst days but very few
best ones.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">She was on the
side of the road staring down at a flat tire, already very late for a work
related meeting, Her dress, torn from a grasping needy edge on the car door and
a newly minted speeding ticket tossed angrily onto the passenger seat were just
the latest in a day full of “should of stayed in bed” moments. By the time she answered
her mobile with an exasperated frustrated sigh hissed through clenched teeth,
she was already mentally preparing herself to do battle with whatever new foe
was bringing even more bad news; however, the proverbial straw for this
particular camel’s back was not in her cards for today. Oh no, not today. Today
that camel was about to lighten its straw filled load considerably if she had
only known.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Hello,” she
nearly yelled into the phone.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Hello,”
replied a somewhat hesitant voice. “Is this Renee Miller?’</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">She realized
she needed to calm down and not take her escalating bad mood out on the poor
stranger who chose to call her at the worst possible moment. “Yes,” she replied
in a calm even voice. “Who is this?”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Hello, Mrs.
Miller. This is William Conner calling from Blue Moon Publishing Company. I
hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?” he answered with no hesitation at all
in his voice now.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">At the exact
moment that he uttered the words Blue Moon Publishing it would seem the world
came to a sudden and quiet end for it simply ceased to exist for her. She heard
nothing, saw nothing, was aware of absolutely nothing other than the crashing
thundering sound of a heartbeat that appeared to have forgotten how to function
like a heartbeat should. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing at all came
out. She closed her mouth and continued to live in a world that no longer
existed for a few more crashing thundering heartbeat filled moments.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Yes,” she
replied again but gone was the calm even voice. This yes was little more than a
breath filled release.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">He rapidly
started speaking but she only heard the odd word here and there accompanied by
an odd tapping in the back ground. Somewhere in her mind she pictured this
unknown William Conner tapping a pen against the edge of his desk, possibly
with his feet propped up somewhere along its smooth surface. Words that did
manage to pierce her fog filled mind included, “wonderfully written
“emotionally powerful”, and “best seller”. Those two words evaporated the fog
instantly and the world came crashing back into focus.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“What did you
just say? Could you repeat that please?” she asked with a voice full of fear,
incomprehension, and yes, hope. Hope that she hadn’t just miss heard him in the
absolutely worst way possible and that this small flame of hope was going to
quickly be stamped out before the much needed oxygen of life was breathed into
it. She pressed the phone painfully
against her ear to drown out every other sound, including her own still
thundering heartbeat. “Could you repeat that please,” she asked with as calm a
voice as she could muster.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“No problem. I
said that we received your manuscript and we are very excited about it. We at
Blue Moon don’t usually say this to potential clients on the phone during a
first contact call but Mrs. Miller, you just may have a best seller on your
hands,” he answered with a touch of laughter in his voice. “We would very much
like you to meet with us and discuss the publishing of your book.”+</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Really? You
want to meet with me?” she asked tremulously. Not daring to believe that her
dream was about to become reality. Possibly. Maybe. “About publishing my book?”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Why do you
sound so surprised?” he asked. “It’s a beautifully written book, at least the
chapters we have are so let’s assume the rest will follow suit. Could you come
see me next Monday at our offices at 9:00 a.m...? Will that be fine?”</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Yes,” she
nearly shouted once again but this time from within a bubble of exploding
happiness. “Yes, that would be perfect.” Was it possible that all the pain she
had suffered in her life, the loneliness and oceans of tears, the dark days
that accumulated into dark years occasionally brightened with lightning strikes
of happiness was about to finally mean something beyond she just had been dealt
a bad hand? Were the hours and days and months spent pouring her grief and pain
into her computer while keeping a box of tissues nearby that constantly needed
replacing at last going to MEAN something beyond her life just sucked? She was
beginning to think maybe it did. If it meant nothing more than her story might
affect others in some way that benefited them to some degree than her life did
mean something, at least to her, and that was a feeling she had needed to know
all her life. The smile beginning on her face felt strange and out of place but
also very good.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.399999618530273px;"><b><br /></b></span><b style="line-height: 115%;">“Great,” he
said. Monday at 9:00 it is. See you then.” He hung up and several moments passed
before she closed her phone as well. The flat tire, the torn dress, the late
appointment all seemed to fade away as she contemplated Monday at 9:00 a.m. and
the impossible possibilities. Several cars passed by and the amused drivers
were treated to the vision of a woman in her 40’s with long red hair in a blue
flowery dress twirling happily with arms stretched out and her face raised up
to the sun. A very odd reaction indeed for someone with a flat tire who looked
like she needed to be somewhere important.</b></span></div>
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-57244686245732057232014-04-18T00:00:00.000-07:002014-04-18T00:03:31.823-07:00I am a published writer...of sorts. Woohoo!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
http://weekender.bh/e_paper_pdf/17_04_2014/epaper.pdf<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #990000;">Hey, everyone. A local newspaper here, The Weekender, started a new thing in which writers' can send in stories and have them printed if the staff likes them. As soon as I heard about it I sent in one of mine (it's on this blog somewhere) and I quickly got a call from them about it. Apparently they really liked it and asked me about myself and why I wrote it etc.. At first the editor wanted me to change a few things, give the character a name and other things and then said he would print the story after the changes were made. I said OK even though I like it the way it is but it's not a big deal. He hung up but called back ten minutes later and said we decided we love the story just as it is, don't change anything. We will print it this week and we would like you to send in more stories if you have them. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #990000;">If I have them? I may have a few here and there. Ha ha. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #990000;">The cool thing (more coolness) is that they made my story into a competition by asking readers to come up with an ending for it. Actually, the story is complete as it is but he wanted to make it interactive. No matter, I am a published writer (an unpaid one but who cares). This could be a stepping stone for me, never know. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #990000;">Check it out. I'm famous for a min. </span></b></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-14758691896890699712014-01-26T02:24:00.000-08:002014-01-26T02:52:01.326-08:00The scars of our memories.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>When I was around 7 years old my father hit me on the head with a wire hanger. My "crime" was that I had scuffed the toes of my new school shoes. He checked them just before I was ready to head out the door to school and his reaction was rather extreme...if I say so myself. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Grabbing the first thing available, one of those wire hangers that had a cardboard cylinder for a base, he smacked me on the head with it several times. He then kicked my butt, literally, and sent me out the door crying and with abusive words and threats ringing in my ears. Unknown to me, but I would shortly find out, was that he had actually managed to hit me hard enough that the wire had entered my skull...thus I was bleeding quite profusely as I stumbled shaking and crying down the street on the way to the bus stop.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b> It was one of those moments where you don't realize you are injured until someone points it out to you. In this case, it was one of our neighbors that happened to be out in her yard and who quickly let me know something was wrong with me by her piercing screams and bug eyed look as she rushed towards me. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>She actually scared the cry right out of me as I saw her come rushing at me and I wanted to turn tail and run back to the house. Not often children see strangers come running at them while screaming and reaching out in such a way...but back home was the stuff of my nightmares...and so I stopped dead in the street and waited for whatever fate this screeching woman intended for me. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>It was then I realized I felt a very warm sensation oozing down my face and shoulder and I reached up to wipe it away only to come away with a hand drenched in blood. I stared at my red hand wondering just how it came to be covered in blood and couldn't think of one good reason. Suddenly the screaming woman went silent though her mouth still made the motions of screaming...only to be replaced with a very loud buzzing sound. Just before I went weak at the knees I was scooped up by someone I hadn't seen coming up behind me. My mother. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Apparently my mother hadn't witnessed my father's early morning lessons on keeping my shoes unscuffed, but had heard me crying as I left the house and came to the door to see if I had left or not. It was then she noticed blood droplets in a haphazard line leading away from the door and towards the sidewalk. She told me her heart stopped in her chest when she saw that blood, assuming I had been taken by someone and injured in the process. She ran down to the sidewalk just in time to hear the neighbor woman start screaming...and assumed the very worst. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>As she rushed me back to the house intending to take me to the hospital, not knowing how I was injured but seeing lots of blood, she was met with my stony faced father who quickly took charge of my "medical care". He refused to allow her to take me anywhere and insisted I be put in the shower so all the blood could be washed off. I remember him insisting my underwear stayed on which seemed rather odd when I thought about it years later. All the while he was washing off the blood he was on a long rant of how it was my fault and these were the consequences of disobeying his orders. I made not a peep in my own defense knowing it would do no good and also knowing it could make matters far worse. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>My father investigated my head to see what the injury was and declared there being no need to pay a fortune for the hospital when all I had was a pin sized hole in my skull from the end of the wire hanger. My mother did not insist...in fact she said very little. Something I took in stride at the time but would recall years later as being silent acceptance of my fate at his hands yet again. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>He kept me home from school that day and we never spoke of it again until I was grown and my mother came to visit me. She said that she didn't want me to be hurt more than I was so she remained quiet...to protect me. Considering what that man did to me over and over again for the next 10 years I find it hard to believe my safety was what motivated her that day...but who knows. Possibly she had my short term safety more in mind back then. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>I think about that particular moment of abuse more than lots of others because I have a scar on my head to constantly remind me. It started out as a small raised bump but over time it has grown bigger and gets scratched my hair brush quite often. My father is long gone but his mementos are still around keeping his memory alive. Yay me. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Another memorable event that always comes back with unending clarity were when he forced me to stand in the corner with my sodden underwear pulled over my head. I was a horrible bed wetter as a child and it lasted until around the age of 9 I believe. My older sister absolutely hated sleeping with me as I generally soaked us both with my nocturnal offerings more often than not. I remember my father making it a point to come check the bed every morning and me laying there fully aware of what he was going to find yet again. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>No matter how hard I tried or what I did (using the bathroom before bed, not drinking anything for hours ahead of time) it never seemed to help much. I actually recall having dreams as a child of me getting up and using the bathroom, feeling that sense of release when you have been holding it and then get to finally go as you sit down...only to wake up and realize it wasn't a dream. For the rest of the night I would lay there cold and shaking from both the wetness and fear. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>On those mornings he chose to come throw the covers back and pull me from the bed I knew what fate awaited me...hours with my face pressed into the corner with my own panties snug against my face. Of course it didn't end there. Once his particular brand of punishment was over I still had my older sister to contend with. She always found time to punch or pinch me while hissing in my ear about how disgusting I was and what a baby I was and did I need diapers again? </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>For the life of me when I think about these episodes...I can't remember what my mother had to say about it or if she ever did anything for or against me other than once again change the sheets on the bed after letting it air outside for a few hours. To this day the smell of urine triggers memories of those mornings spent in the corner while everyone else went about their routine as if I were invisible and inconsequential. Good times. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Years later when my own youngest daughter had her own bed wetting years, I should have made the connection, one of many, but it just never clicked until hind sight gave me 20/20 vision about that and a lot of other clues as to what was going on. Another reason to feel such guilt about my blindness. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>When these memories, and so many others, suddenly intrude on a perfectly nice moment, I can't help but wonder what memories my own children have locked away that also cannot be forgotten and make for unwanted company now and again? In my own defense (if I even have the right to make one) I did not remain quiet from the moment I learned what he was doing. I know this does not mean anything against the painful memories my children suffer from when I was clueless but it at least lets them know that if I had known sooner...I would have stopped it sooner. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Small solace but something I try and convince myself means something. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
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</div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-28406234422995875322014-01-13T03:15:00.000-08:002014-01-13T03:15:52.473-08:00Potentially Exciting News...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Since my return to Bahrain I have been looking for avenues in which to use my writing in ways that will both interest me and possibly pay me as well. I've been looking for jobs in that area but so far haven't been successful; however, last night a whole new potential direction was opened up to me. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">Bahrain has a writer's club of which I only recently discovered. It is actually called, Bahrain Writers' Circle, and we all met last night during the first meeting of this new year. They have been a club for a few years now and a speech by one of the leaders gave a run down of all that they have done and hope to do again this year. Among other things, they have an agreement with Bahrain's Ministry of Culture to present the works of local writers' during Bahrain's many cultural venues held through out the year. This particular man expertise is poetry and he explained how they do poetry readings at the national forts scattered around Bahrain. Apparently he teaches the readers to read with real emotion and flair in order to engage the listener. He detailed how all the poetry is gathered and published in a book and presented to the Ministry of Culture. He also said that he truly hopes that at least one person in that meeting will make something of their writing using all that this club has to offer in way of support and opportunity. Apparently several of the longer term members have done some amazing things they credit the club with and others are equally as hopeful in that endeavor. It sounds exciting to me even though I have never really been much into poetry. I might give it a try simply for the experience factor. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">I met a young lady that wrote and published her own book here in Bahrain and she started with just 500 copies and they flew off the shelves so she is on her second print already. The book is the first fiction novel written by an English writer and published in Bahrain while also being based in Bahrain. Arabs are not big on publishing English books so most would be writers must look outside the gulf to find someone to publish their book. She used a local publishing firm and basically they printed the manuscript out as is, meaning, no proof reading, or editing other than what she did herself. She wrote in on Microsoft Word so it printed out quite badly, yet nobody at the press bothered to inform her of that until all 500 copies were printed. Apparently that didn't stop the buyers though as she sold most of the copies the first day it was released. She acknowledges that basing it in Bahrain let her write freely because it is what she knows and buyers can connect with that as they live here and recognize every place she writes about. Of course that speaks to my personal experience as well so will definitely keep that in mind. I am impressed with her that she just decided to write a book, wrote it, sat on it for a number of years, then decided to just print it and see what happens. Good things happen to those that get off their ass and do it obviously. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">This club might be just what I've been looking for as far as getting my own dreams of publishing a book off the ground. I liked the people I met, the goals of the club as well as the many accomplishments they have already enjoyed considering they are just a small group of people that really like to write and present it to the public. I also liked the enthusiasm of the that one leader in particular, David Hollywood. He is from Ireland and so very gung ho about making every writer in that room famous somehow. Was hard not to be fired up by his energy levels alone. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: small;">One very interesting thing was that I knew nobody in that room when I entered it but apparently my name preceded me (I joined the Facebook group a few weeks beforehand) as some of them knew who I was based on my writing to the paper etc.. That was quite something and made me feel rather proud. Always does when that happens. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">I do like the potential this group has to offer me in terms of getting some sort of foothold in the writing field and, of course, finding ways to entertain myself with a great group of people doesn't hurt either. I shall update as things progress. </span></b></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-43544956394650613392014-01-08T01:18:00.000-08:002014-01-08T01:23:29.513-08:00A reoccurring dream has me head scratching...again. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">As I have stated several times on this blog, I often have dreams over and over again that generally end up meaning something to me, or coming true in some cases. Quite often these reoccurring dreams occur in the same place, like a bedroom or a particular road that ran near where I lived for awhile in my teens. One dream I have had many times over the past few years puts me in a bedroom, though this one is a room I'm not familiar with, in which I am on one side of the locked door and someone else is on the other side trying very hard to get in. That someone is almost always my father though now and again it is some unknown person. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">These dreams are not exactly scary but I do wake up from them feeling stressed and a bit anxious. I'm not sure what the purpose is considering my father has been dead for quite some time now. It's not like I will ever find myself on the other side of a door from him while he tries to knock it down. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">The more interesting thing to me is that I don't feel as if I dream that often. I know we forget our dreams generally upon waking giving us the impression we don't dream, so that may be it, but most mornings I wake up with no memory of having dreamt. When I do dream they are vivid life like events that have very little fantasy type scenarios involved. In order to come true they need to be capable of coming true. Dreams that reoccur often do come true in some fashion, though, so I suppose if I dreamed of flying it could be me in an airplane and not me personally flying...but my dreams don't generally work like that either. One thing doesn't generally stand for another thing. If I ever dream that I can fly chances are I can and just need to muster up the courage to jump off the highest available peak. My dreams are more like that . </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #741b47;"> T</span></b><b><span style="color: #741b47;">he dream about my father on the other side
of a door trying to get me is on my mind a lot as he recently showed up
in once again doing just that. The way my dreams generally work doesn't mean my father on the other side of a door trying to get me symbolizes some inner angst...but that at some point in my future, my dad will be on the other side of a door trying to get me. That is what the dream tells me..but that is impossible. </span></b><b><span style="color: #741b47;">Over the years I have had this same
dream too many times to count, but I don't give it too much thought
because my father is dead. End of story. The dream can't come true...so
why do I keep having them?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">One other interesting thing about my dreams is that I don't dream of the people currently in my life all that often. While married to my ex for 20 years he rarely showed up in my dreams...as did my father while living at home. An occasional cameo role is about the most they could hope for. My children probably show up more often than any others in my life, but then again, still not as often as it would seem they should. The love of my life probably even less so. This is something I have always found a little strange. My dreams are generally about me, of course, but often just me or me with unknown people set in familiar surroundings...friends and family are almost never co stars. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">I have no idea if that means anything at all in regards to my psychological make up or sanity level but it is something I have experienced all my life so is normal, whatever that it. However, dreaming of my dead father in a way that makes it seem as if a future event might take place that is impossible (unless one believes in the zombie potential...hmmm) but also knowing that those dreams of mine that do reoccur often come true in surprisingly accurate ways has me scratching my head.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #741b47;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #741b47;">Not sure if I should find this interesting...or be worried about it. My dad alive was hard enough to live with....not sure I want to find out what the alternative is. </span></b><br />
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</div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-43612596304003320272014-01-01T04:01:00.001-08:002014-01-01T04:01:29.383-08:00New Year 2014. Last one was damn rough...time for something a little different. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>2012 was one of my worst years yet since I divorced. No lie. I made some very bad choices, burned some much needed bridges, and generally just set myself on a destructive course that nearly had me in the black for good. 2013 was mostly spent trying to do damage control with varying degrees of success depending on who you asked. If you ask me, I wouldn't mind forgetting 2012 all together and parts of 2013 can follow right along, thank you. </b><br />
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<b>However, I didn't die from any of those bad choices so I will assume that means I still have time to do better and be better. A work in progress. Good days and bad days rub shoulders and have me on that emotional roller coaster ride that never seems to have an end. I have cried a lot and laughed little. I have spent more times just sitting doing nothing other than beating myself up over all those bad choices that just kept coming rather than do something about them...but eventually I caught on and started doing something. Too little too late? As I said, I'm not dead yet so let's assume the answer is no. </b><br />
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<b>I seriously need to start writing again. I keep saying I will and then let things get in the way even though this empty space is running like a ticker tape through my head day and night. It begs to be filled and my fingers itch to fill it but my mind just gets in the way and makes excuses...never seem to run out of those. </b><br />
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<b>Anyhow, my one resolution, if I must, is to get back to writing. I need to fill the empty spaces with words that won't stop in my head until they are written down. I need to finish that story I started awhile back that some of you may remember and I need to figure out how to make my writing work for me because I stopped writing and I started spiraling. I see a connection yet I couldn't seem to stop it or fix it. My goal is to write at least one post a week, more if properly motivated. Whether my readers come back or not is immaterial...I always did write just for me but the positive feedback was always nice. </b><br />
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<b>So here I am, 2014. Not dead yet. Not out for the count. Long as I wake up every morning then I have been given another chance to do better than the day before. Let's see if I have enough sunrises left to undo the destructive sunsets that are behind me? </b><br />
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<b>Wish me luck. </b></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-64793006860120165902013-10-01T01:10:00.001-07:002014-01-01T04:03:53.765-08:00Bring Adam Jones Home/A Foreign Mother's Fight for Her Half British Half Qatari Son<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="color: #741b47;"><b> http://gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=362138</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b><span style="color: black;">Adam Jones was tricked out of the custody of his British mother 4 years ago after her ex husband, a Qatari national, died in a motorcycle accident. Her husband's family invited her to bring Adam over under the pretense of a family get together, something she had willingly done before, so suspected nothing was different this time. They asked her to sign a document pertaining to his inheritance from his father's estate but in fact it was her signing over her custody of her son to the family. She has been fighting four long years in the Qatar courts to get Adam back with only two visits per week with him. So far not much has been done for her and I find this whole drama heart breaking and quite personal as it is something foreign mother's to Arab nationals must live under the threat of constantly. Our children and rights and access to them is what binds us to these marriages or to the countries long after we might other wise be gone. This is the letter I wrote today in regards to Adam and his mother's plight. </span> </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;"><b>In response to the plight of Adam Jones whose mother was tricked into giving up custody of him to his Qatari family, it boggles my mind that the word "allegedly" was used when describing what her ex husband's family did in order to gain custody of her son. Despite the fact that nobody should ever sign a document that they do not understand, especially when it is in a foreign language (a practice that is forced on many non Arabic readers here in the gulf), I must wonder at the Sharia Court in Qatar that still considers that document as valid and legal. Once she stated in court that she was under duress to sign it and that she was misinformed as to its contents then the court was obliged to throw it out or at the very least to investigate the reasons behind the accusations and whether they were true or not. To uphold that document for four long years and keep Adam from his mother, who clearly did not want to release custody of him, is a telling indication of just how Sharia Courts in the Middle East view foreign mother's rights as being nonexistent and not worth the trouble to implement them. Personal experience and hearing the stories of so many other foreign mother's of Bahraini, Saudi, Qatari and other G.C.C. country's children is proof positive that Adam's mother will most likely not find the justice she is so desperately looking for. If it were going to come one would have to assume that the concerned authorities (if they really are concerned) would not let 4 years pass by without finding a resolution. Four years that neither Adam nor his mother will ever get back. I am wondering if anyone in Qatar has bothered to ask young Adam whether he prefers his father's money and family who have connived and tricked his mother into separating him from her or to relinquish his right to that money (since that is most likely what they are really after) in order to sleep once again in his own bed with his own family around him? Chances are they will never ask him nor care for his response if they do and yet they must also be blind to the fact that he will not be a minor forever and eventually when he comes of age he will be free to go where and with whom he pleases. Time will tell whether his father's Qatari family really do have his best interest at heart or whether they will let him leave when he is of age and not bother to keep in touch after that. It is my experience and those of other women that once the native father (or his family) loses (either custody, children come of age, want nothing to do with him etc.) then neither he nor his family are interested in what becomes of those children they once so ardently fought for. As much as I hope that Adam's mother does get her hearts desire and Adam is returned to her sooner rather than later, I am convinced that only time and Adam's age will be the telling clue as to that family's true intentions with him and I truly hope that all the lies and disinformation that Adam is most assuredly being fed do not take their toll on his young mind and convince him that his mother willingly surrendered him to those people for the young are so easily mislead from the truth with false smiles, fake hugs, and confidently spoken words with god interspersed throughout. <br /><br />Stay strong, young Adam. From one mother who nearly lost her children to the unjust actions of the Sharia Court here in Bahrain to another suffering the same fate in Qatar, I can honestly tell you that your mother is fighting for your life with every muscle and breath in her body. That is what mothers do. <br /><br />Lee Ann Fleetwood</b></span></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-12708065129189730482013-09-16T01:09:00.003-07:002013-09-16T01:09:31.142-07:00Who Knew Being A Grandmother Would Be So Time Consuming. Anyone?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have the best of intentions when it comes to writing on this blog. I have stories to wow and amuse my scattered audience (come back, everyone), however, Awesome Maya keeps me on my toes and job searching keeps me on my heels. Hardly enough time to form a sentence these days.<br />
<br />
Exciting times but no time to log it in. I will find time. I must. Have patience. I'm talking to myself with that last bit. </div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-30918995109763837682013-08-31T06:01:00.002-07:002014-01-01T04:06:19.725-08:00Bahrain: Humanity lost among sectarian divide.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #0c343d;"><b>On Facebook, a pic of a man on fire was displayed with the caption that he was a Shiia that caught himself alight while setting some tires on fire. The comments under it were a litany of disgusting and very telling opinions about how Sunnis and Shiia see each other during these days of blood shed. Most of the comments were along the lines of he deserved what he got for being a protester/terrorist despite the fact that he was dying a most horrible death. My reply was this:</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #0c343d;"><b>This man may have been "the enemy" or a Shiia before he set himself on fire and thus might possibly warrant every mean spirited comment left here, but the moment he set himself on fire is the moment all of that hatred should have been dropped and the humanity of this man allowed to shine through. At the end of the day Sunnis and Shiia must see each other as first human beings, then Arabs, then Bahrainis, and lastly (if you must) as Sunni and Shiia before any thought of peace can come to Bahrain. If a man on fire dying a horrible death cannot let you drop the hatred even for a moment and have a second of empathy for him then where is the future of Bahrain headed? Not towards peace that is for sure because each side sees the other as less than human...even during the last moments of an agonizing death. There is no peace to be had in that depth of hatred. </b></span><br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-7091197395286258602013-08-29T08:13:00.002-07:002014-01-01T04:08:07.664-08:00The value of a child. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: #4c1130;"><b><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">A
Bahraini man publicly declared that he would be willing to sacrifice his
children for peace in Bahrain. He was called a hero by many when it was
posted on Facebook by supporters of peace in Bahrain. I was the only
one who took exception to his declaration and said so. Here is what I
said. Comments?<br /> <br /> I am a follower of the Defend Bahrain page on Facebook and recently a particular Shiia man's name<span class="text_exposed_show">
was mentioned as being "a hero" because he stated that he would be
willing to sacrifice his 5 children for peace in Bahrain (for the record
he was denouncing those in Bahrain that are causing chaos). Dozens of
comments lauded this man as a not only a hero but a shining example of
what a citizen of this country should strive to be like. As a parent
myself I was absolutely horrified by his statement and by those that
verbally back slapped and high fived him. I'm sure they would have
carried him on their shoulders as well if possible. As parents we are
given one task the moment we realize we are now parents and that is to
protect our children from harm. There is no piece of land on this planet
that comes close to being worth the blood that flows through any one of
my children's bodies. We are meant to protect them with OUR lives...not
sacrifice them on the alter of stupidity, ignorance, and pride. What
is the point of bringing peace to Bahrain if we have thrown our children
to the wolves in the process as we are meant to want peace for THEM,
not for ourselves. We are leaving this land for them and for those that
come after them. Not for ourselves as we will be long gone eventually.
To say you are willing to sacrifice your children for a piece of land
means you are not only an unfit parent, but neither deserving of nor
striving for that peace you so loudly claim you want because a home that
has lost all its children to war can never be a peaceful home....and a
home that has lost all its children due to a parents neglect, pride and
misplaced priorities is hell on earth. How can peace come from that? A
true hero is a man that lays down his weapons, be they real or imagined,
physical or verbal, while standing in front of his children and
declaring, no more fighting...I want peace..and I am willing to
sacrifice my pride, my ego, and my life for that goal, as long as they
are safe. If everyone of those on that page who called him a hero were
willing to sacrifice their own children as well, Bahrain would become a
barren wasteland for what is peace without the sound of children playing
and laughing. It is an empty meaningless peace.</span></span></b></span></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-4504856979070242852013-08-25T08:41:00.003-07:002013-08-25T08:41:45.847-07:00Hey, Folks...Coolred is back online. Did ya miss me?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>So it has been a hectic few months of late and I just did not have time for this blog. I took it off line for awhile so that I wouldn't feel that constant nagging pressure to write something on it. Now I'm all settled in and ready to get back to doing what I love doing....however, a few things have changed since last I wrote.</b><br />
<br />
<b>1. I became a Grandmother (did I mention that) and that was and is awesome. </b><br />
<b>2. I decided, unlike my mother, that I wanted to be a part of my grand daughter's life...and so I made the choice to do that...and in order to do that I moved back to Bahrain. </b><br />
<b>3. I have been here about a month now and it has been pretty busy with new baby (well about 5 months now) and life in general. Living with my daughter and hubby now but working on my own place. Playing babysitter in the mornings until I find my own job. </b><br />
<b>4. I discovered the trick to being happy. You just decide...to be happy. Yeah...it took 44 years but I finally figured it out. Now if only other people would let me enjoy my new found blissful state instead of insisting this is only a temporary condition and will not last. No..it won't as long as you keep poking away at it with your negativity. </b><br />
<b>5. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring...but I can't wait to find out.</b><br />
<br />
<b>At any rate, I already have ideas for posts so expect them to come fast and furious...InshaAllah.</b><br />
<br />
<b>Stay tuned...and thank you for all the inquiries into where I had disappeared too...blog included. Nice to know people miss you when you're gone. </b></div>
Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-63657792816790112552013-05-13T15:46:00.000-07:002013-05-13T16:32:29.306-07:00A Squeezing of the Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>A Squeezing of the Heart</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>For much of my life I was alone. Yes, I had a family growing up but I was not like any of them..or they were not like me. Not sure which is more relevant or if it matters. What matters is that I wasn't very connected with them and so spent much of my time alone...and by alone I don't actually mean physically alone, since that was rather impossible, but more emotionally alone or mentally alone. I spent more time inside my head then out of it...if that makes sense. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>When I married things didn't really change all that much. I really had no connection to my ex, who never read a book, never thought too deeply about anything important, and never understood why I did. I spent more time alone then with him...both physically and mentally. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I couldn't really make friends either. Mostly because he didn't allow me to be with people, for the most part, but even when I was I didn't really know how to foster friendships and maintain them...so either he broke them up or my inability to be properly sociable did. Either way, I was alone more often than not. I was alone a lot in my life. I could say I was use to it but that wouldn't be true. Choosing to be alone is one thing...having it forced on you is something else. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>And then I met someone who changed all that. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>This person was (is) everything I thought I would never have in my life. Something I thought I never deserved to have in my life.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b> I was taught from a young age that I was worthless, useless, a waste of space and not very good at anything. Not a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, Muslim, friend, girl friend...etc.. Even though my I.Q. was higher than most children my age (I was tested and skipped grades blah blah blah), I was made to feel stupid and never encouraged to build or make something of my intelligence. My father couldn't be bothered to allow me to see just how smart I was. He refused to send me to college...hell, he refused to pay for SAT to get into college. I couldn't take them because I had no money of my own. I took the free ASVAB and went into the military. Not what I wanted in my life but the choice was not mine at the time....and see where that got me. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>My ex spent 20 years destroying what little self worth I had left. He degraded everything there was to degrade in me..both physically and mentally. We both knew I was smarter than him...yet he made it a point to attack me in every way possible so that my intelligence was never a weapon I could use against him. I was too busy trying to get through each day...day after day...trying to be a better wife, mother, Muslim etc. so that the words and abuse would stop. If I could be better...he would be nicer. Didn't work with my dad but it might with the ex.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>It didn't work but we all know now that it never would have. Abusers don't care. Period. No amount of fixing yourself will fix them....since they are the ones who are truly fucked up. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>At any rate, by the time this person entered my life...I was about as low as one could go and not actually be under ground in a grave. That all changed...to a point.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>There is something about being loved by another human being that changes you. To see how he or she looks at you to the exclusion of anyone else in the room. The way he or she softens their voice to speak just to you...softens their touch just for your skin. The way they sit closer to make sure their body has some kind of contact with you. The way the sound of his voice causes a reaction in you...or the way her gaze focused on you makes goosebumps crawl up and down your arms. That reaction your body experiences just because that person is near...or if they are not near...just thinking about them can do things to you that nobody else can. The way they go out of their way to make sure YOU know how important you are in their life. How special you are. How loved and appreciated you are just for being you. It's like your existence suddenly makes sense...you exist for the soul purpose to be loved by that someone special. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Now it is one thing to have someone fall in love with you, quite another for you to believe it...to believe you are worthy to have such a love given to you when you have been made to believe that you are unlovable, unable to generate any emotion other than disgust, hate, or worse, indifference, in others. To have someone open a door and enter your life that knows none of your history, none of your emotional hangups and can't see the scars you have on the inside that are far worse than the ones on the outside...and just loves you because of YOU...not only is that hard to believe...it is hard to understand. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>There is obviously something wrong with me...for my entire life people have been detailing exactly all that is wrong with me. They can't all be wrong...can they? So how is it you can't see what they see? How is it you can see my intelligence? My sense of humor. My blue ocean eyes that sparks a shiver inside you when I look at you with that intensity that you love so well. How is it that my touch, which has always been described as cold and unwelcoming, is suddenly, not only welcomed but longed for? Who is this person you see when you look at me that nobody else can see because it seems you are looking at a stranger. Someone I certainly don't recognize and have never heard of. Since there is something obviously wrong with me...yet you find me desirable, lovable, and all things good...then there must also be something wrong with you. Yes...that is how my mind has been working during the course of this relationship. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Of all the things I have had to work on within myself..my anger, my self esteem, my sense of purpose and worth...believing I am worthy of another person's love has to be the one that has come hardest to me. People who professed to love me have been leaving me all my life...and usually after doing something truly horrible to me (so better they left really but still painful), and those that stayed in my life made sure I understood they were the ones suffering from my existence because I was more work then I was worth. It is hard to get past a life time of that sort of conditioning. It doesn't happen over night and not just because someone enters your life and tells you that you are loved. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>It doesn't work like that. Believe me. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>No matter how much that person will express his or her love. How much they might go to pains to show you, prove it, live it every day of your life. No matter how much you want to believe it..there is always that little voice in the back of your mind saying, it's only a matter of time before he or she discovers that same person everyone else was aware of, that unlovable person, and do what they all did...either leave or stay and suffer from your existence. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>So because that voice is the voice of the demon that lives in your head and has lived in there since you were old enough to know that a demon lived in your head...it is the voice that dominates much of your thoughts, your choices, your life. No amount of love from another human being can silence the voice of the demon that assures you that no matter what that person says...you are not worth being loved. Period. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>So you hear the words, love and enjoy how that person makes you feel, how they touch your heart, your mind, your body...while the whole time the demon is negating it all in your head. It is a constant war going on that never ceases. There are lulls, there are retreats now and then but it is a full scale war going on and the casualties are constantly piling up. Of course the casualties are the moments you let pass, the choices you made believing they were the right choices, the harm you did to your relationship because the demon dominated your thoughts. Created anger and doubt and suspicion where none existed...but existed in your head none the less. Demons are powerful things. So powerful that sometimes even love cannot conquer them. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>My personal demon was anger, of course. All the years of abuse from every corner of my life caused such an all consuming anger in me that in the end, I had very nearly destroyed not only myself...but the one relationship...the one love that was given to me freely and unconditionally. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>It is not that I don't love this person. I do beyond words. Beyond expression. It is just that I couldn't believe in myself, find worth in myself, find anything in myself to deserve what I was being given so much of. I was letting the anger and self doubt destroy even the little bit of good I had in my life. I was allowing that anger and self doubt to make choices for me that were not good choices but of which I had no power NOT to make because the voice in my head, my demon...was the most powerful force in my life up until then. Not even the greatest love I have ever had the honor of being given could quiet the voice of my own personal demon. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I had to fall very hard and very fast and all the way to the goddamn bottom almost (almost) before I learned that the demon was alive and well because I fed it, nurtured it, and gave it everything it needed to survive. It needed my anger, my self doubt, my self loathing to live comfortably in my head...it needed everything negative I had within me...and I had a lot...and so it grew and grew and became louder and louder...until every other voice was drowned out (even my own). Even the voice of my love. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>So I made choices. Bad choices. Choices that were bad for me, for my children and for this relationship that was the best thing I have ever had in my life. At the time, of course, I thought they were the right choices but then that was the lying little demon convincing me they were. And I listened...and lost a lot. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>As my previous post indicated, I had an epiphany of sorts. Realized that I needed to just Let Things Go if I was going to survive my life. Survive with any sense of peace and happiness. I'm 44 years old and not getting any younger (so sad) and all I can say is better late than never that I was finally able to drown out that terrible horrible little voice that has been my constant companion since I was a child. Of course I still have moments of doubt, moments of in which I have to mentally catch myself from falling into bad habits of self destruction...but I'm coming along quite well for the most part. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>However, I have learned that just because I am healing myself...working on myself and doing what I can to ensure I am a mentally healthy person...that doesn't mean the damage all that anger created isn't still being felt by those that are closest to me and suffered the most from it. Most especially by the one person that loved me when no other person on this planet could find one reason to do so (not including my children here of course...that is a different kind of love). I damaged this relationship a lot by making choices that hurt us both. I thought they were the right choices at the time...but they were choices made in anger so obviously were not going to turn out well. Unfortunately, fortune telling is not one of my skills...and I'm worse off because of it. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>So now that I have let the anger go (mostly, still working on some issues) and have gained a lot in my life because of it (inner peace, happy thoughts, better choices made with a clearer mind and losing weight), I find that now this relationship is in danger of coming to an end. Not because the love is gone, it isn't. Still as strong as ever. Not because the desire to be together is gone. Still there...but because my anger has been a very real part of this relationship even when we both tried to ignore it or excuse it. My decisions and choices were made from anger and they turned out very bad for all concerned...and so this person is use to being hurt because of my anger and the resulting fall out. Hard to convince someone that it's no longer an issue when it always has been before. Sort of like convincing myself I am worthy of being loved...even when everything in my life convinced me that I wasn't. </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I am so afraid now. More afraid than at any time in my life. More afraid then when I thought my father was going to actually kill me. More afraid then when I thought I was going to actually kill my husband. More afraid then when I thought I was going to die at various times in my life. None of those moments of fear can measure up to the this overwhelming fear that now consumes me that NOW...when I have finally gotten my life on a good track. When I have accomplished so much mentally, physically and emotionally...to the point where I can feel actual happiness is within my grasp...now when I believe that this relationship can actually be better than it has ever been before because NOW I won't be busy destroying it with anger and self doubts etc....now is when it will finally succumb to all the pain it has had to endure over the years. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Now....when it has the best possible chance of succeeding...is when it will fall apart. </b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Irony...Karma...which ever it is...you are a bitch. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I am fearful that my vanquished demon will return with a vengeance because even though the anger is gone...it is being replaced with fear of abandonment once again. I cannot blame this person for leaving me...lord knows I did my share of pushing away...but I cannot seem to find the right words to convince that all will be better now.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Words have abandoned me, it seems....and without the power of my words...what do I have left to convince with? Words are all I have ever had to truly express myself. To make people listen up and pay attention to me when most of the time I am invisible and ignored. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I have accomplished so much within myself this past 5 months or so...but my greatest fear is that it is simply too late. I will end up losing the one thing that kept me going when nothing within myself could do that. And for that reason...I am terrified. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>It is hard to remain positive and moving forward towards happiness when that very source of my happiness seems intent on moving further away no matter what I do. I cannot blame anyone but me for this. Which is ironic considering I have been blamed for all the failures my abusers had within themselves but pushed off on me all my life...I didn't deserve those blames...but this one I actually do...and I am afraid it will send me free falling back into the black that I have worked so hard to pull myself out of. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>I have dealt with abuse, with neglect, with anger and self doubt. I have lived through soul destroying loneliness and unhappiness. I have survived when my abusers have died alone or continue to live but are alone having lost everything. I survived all of that for better or worse...but I am not sure I can survive this person leaving me (or worse yet, becoming indifferent). </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>It will be one leaving too many. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>All I can say is that I love you. Need you. Want you and that I am so sorry for my past mistakes. I have no excuse other than that I am a work in progress. I cannot undo in such a short time what 40 plus years has had time to create in me. Have a little more patience with me and I promise it will all be worth it. I am trying so hard. Please don't give up on me. </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #351c75;"><b>Please. </b></span><br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-45770115369219513492013-05-07T03:13:00.001-07:002013-05-07T03:13:17.062-07:00Grandma Coolred...how awesome is that?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span style="color: purple;"> Maya Rashid AlJuma March 24, 2013</span></b></div>
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<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">During my long absence my oldest daughter had the nerve to make me a grandmother without so much as asking me. As I said...what nerve. She was due around March 23 and thus I made it my goal to be with her during one of the most terrifying wondrous moments of her life. I was alone for the birth of all 5 of my babies so I know what it feels like to not have a hand to hold or someone to calm me down...I didn't want her to feel that way even for a moment. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: purple;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: purple;">Of course I told her I wouldn't be able to make it because I simply didn't have the money for such an expensive ticket. She believed me...so gullible.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">I got busy on my side, ensuring I had a month off from work (all my coworkers seemed as excited as I was by the prospect of me becoming a gramma...ancient jokes were in abundance) and I waited impatiently for my tax return to show up. It was the only way I could afford to go but it was taking it's damn sweet time and time was running out on me if I was going to make it there before she delivered. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Now here is the thing. Other than my kids over here...and coworkers of course...I told nobody that I was going to Bahrain...not even my best friend there. The only person I did tell was someone I knew who wouldn't spill the beans..so he could pick me up at the airport. (well that didn't work out as well as I hoped but what to do?)</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">My daughter constantly made comments about wanting me there and how she was getting so nervous and worried. I told myself if she really did start to freak out I would ensure her I was coming to calm her down...but that point never arrived so all was good. The day I left I constantly texted her and everyone over there all the way across the U.S. until I lost contact in the air. By this time my best friend sort of had a clue of my intentions as I would see in all the texts back and forth later...but she wasn't positive. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">I arrived in Bahrain after a torturous 23 hour flight all together. I was exhausted...and to make matters worse...my expected ride was no where to be found. My phone had discharged at this point so I couldn't even see his number to call him. I still wanted to surprise my daughter but wasn't sure what to do at this point. My plan wasn't working out...grrr.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">I ended up waiting about an hour before I decided he wasn't coming (I was the only red head in a sea of dark haired people..he wasn't there or he would have seen me) so I decided to take a taxi to best friends house. Surprise her...then go to daughter's house and let the party begin. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">By the time I got to best friends house it was fairly late..and she wasn't there. I spoke with her housemaid who ensured me she would be coming soon...so I hid in her ladies salon where I could see when she arrived. Unfortunately, her housemaid wasn't very good at keeping secrets and sort of let the cat out of the bag as soon as best friend arrived. So much for surprises...grrr. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">She was surprised, to a point, but had a feeling I was coming over and so expected me as well. By this time it was quite late and since my daughter was late stage pregnancy and didn't need middle of the night surprises...I decided to wait until morning to spring my awesome self on her. I spent the night at best friend's house and anticipated the morning's adventures. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">A little bit of back story at this point. I had told my daughter previously that I bought a lot of baby things for her...but would mail a box to her and hopefully it would arrive on a certain date (my arrival date no less). She was constantly asking me if I had mailed the box and I told her be patient. So the next morning my best friend calls her and tells her SHE had the box..as I had actually mailed it to her...not my daughter. My daughter was sort of miffed at that but was happy just to know it arrived..and told best friend to bring it over. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">When we arrived at daughter's house...best friend knocked on door and indicated that the box was so big a man from the street was carrying it for her to the door. As I sprung around the corner..my daughter was standing there with a very skeptical look on her face at this point...but it immediately dissolved into a pool of tears as soon as she saw me. I quickly realized how relieved she was to have me there..and I was very happy that I had decided to come despite the crazy cost of the ticket. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">After celebrating we got down to the business of waiting for baby to arrive. She still had about a week to incubate so we shopped, and readied baby room and just enjoyed the next few days while baby was still on the inside (always the best place for them). </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">During prenatal visits the doctor kept mentioning C-sections and epidurals as choices my daughter could consider and I was rather irritated by that. Why not promote natural birth first and foremost...why even bring those up unless the need was very apparent? By this point baby was being just a tad stubborn and delayed her arrival by a few days so induction was talked about. My daughter decided March 24th would be the day to get baby moving. We waited for that day to arrive with bated breath and mixed feelings of Fear and Finally it would be over with. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">The morning of the Big Day we arrived at the hospital very early in the morning and daughter was settled in and prepped for an I.V. etc. to begin the process. She was scared but I could also see that she was very relieved to have me there..along with her husband. I might add at this point that her husband is a wonderful man and was there every step of the way with her (as much as he could be). Always attending her prenatal visits...always very interested in what she was going through and doing whatever he could to ensure her comfort and calm state of mind. They chose a private hospital that would allow him to be with her during the whole birth process as well and he was with her every moment. I like him a lot. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">When her doctor arrived...she still brought up a possible C-section and epidural..even though my daughter was doing fine up to this point. Yes she was experiencing pain but she was handling it well..so what the hell? I talked with my daughter and advised her to do what she thought was best but that natural birth was the best choice unless something warranted such actions. She seemed intent on doing it the natural way...which didn't seem to please her doctor for some reason.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">My best friend arrived at some point and we all spent the morning listening to the fetal monitor, getting my daughter whatever she needed..and counting the minutes down. She was very slow in dilating, was experiencing more and more contraction pain, but was doing OK. Once again the doctor came in and advised her to consider a C-section or epidural. Her comment was that she didn't think my daughter could handle the pain...which was odd considering that's exactly what she was doing up until this point. My daughter told her...I'm fine right now. Give me a chance to do it this way. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Shortly before noon, as we were all gathered around, my daughter (while suffering through more intense contractions at this point) suddenly demanded we get the nurse. It seemed the urge to push had just arrived. The nurse came and did a pelvic check and was surprised to learn that my daughter had went from barely 2 cm over several hours to 7 cm in no time flat. Suddenly things got serious and nurses came in preparing to take her to the delivery room. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Best friend and I waited just outside the delivery room for awhile...alternating between crying and excitement...waiting impatiently for good news. Her doctor came out at one point and said we could go in if we wanted. Wow...that was awesome. I didn't think I would be able to be with her..just near her...at that point. We put on gowns and hurried into the room. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Daughter was concentrating on her moment in the limelight...SIL was holding her hand and doing his part to keep her calm...and the nurses were running around like those last few minutes before the curtain was drawn and the show began was at hand. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">Best friend and I elected to stand just behind the curtain since it was close enough to offer support but not in the way of all the activity. We shouted encouragement to her every step of the way..until we eventually heard what we had all been waiting anxiously for 9 months to hear...the indignant cries of a new life brought into the world. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">We were all crying, excited, and overwhelmed...but not too overwhelmed that we didn't record the moment when new baby Maya was brought over to the table for her first check up. It's an awesome video that I would have loved to have with any one of my own children. Oh well..sign of how things are changing in Bahrain from the 80's. For the better in some regards. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">At some point my daughter looked at her doctor and told her...see, I did it without drugs or anything. I proved you wrong. That's my girl. Don't let the doctors bully you into unneeded procedures unless it's absolutely necessary. Everything and everyone came through with flying colors. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">And I was a new grandma. Grandma Coolred. How awesome is that?</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">I spent the next two weeks helping daughter with whatever she needed but she assured me that she had a perfect example on motherhood due to her own mother. She had this. Very cool. A million pictures and a hundred videos later...I was sad to see my day of departure arrive. I had to say goodbye to my two kids, my new granddaughter, SIL, and best friend that I love so much. It was the first time I had ever found it hard to leave Bahrain. Imagine that. All it took was a new little baby to make that happen...well not just that...but more on that later. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">So little Maya is well over a month old now...thriving and keeping her parents on their toes. I get lots of daily pics and videos still and share them with everyone who doesn't run away at this point. My daughter is planning a trip here so her siblings can see their new niece and her husband can visit the states for the first time. I can't wait to see them. </span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;">I will make an effort to be in Maya's life because my own children did not have that sort of connection with their own grandmother (thought hind sight tells me they didn't miss out on much but at the time it was very hurtful to me)...plus I have so many things to teach this precious little girl. Sarcasm and a sharp tongue being top of the list...as self defense against the Stupids of the world.</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: purple;"> It's the least I can do. </span></b><br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-72560869380987730752013-04-28T08:42:00.000-07:002013-04-28T08:42:46.343-07:00The Big Golden Dog that spoke to Coolred in her dreams. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Anyone that has known me throughout my life is aware that I have a thing with dreams. My dreams often come true...in one way or another. This has happened my whole life and I have just come to expect certain dreams will "speak" to me in some way. Now I may have a dozen dreams a week...several dozen a month etc. with nothing extraordinary happening..but then one dream will come along that stands out. It's rather hard to explain why this dream is different except to say that while I'm having the dream, I'm fully aware that THIS dream has something to tell me...and it's usually more vivid and more "real" than other dreams. I wake up and immediately know that something will happen eventually to make this dream "come true".<br />
<br />
Another clue that tells me a certain dream is more special than other ones is that I will have it more than once. Up until recently, twice or possibly three times was the max for having one particular dream (with variations but all on the same theme) until that dream played out is some fashion in real life. After that, I never dream that particular dream again.<br />
<br />
Until several months ago that was the pattern for my Special Dreams. Now and then a certain dream would come to me...possibly twice or three times...and then become reality in some fashion. Not all the dreams were good, so to speak, so I can tell you that I have been damn scared by some of them...but generally speaking they have been pretty interesting the way they played out.<br />
<br />
As I said, up until a few months ago...then something happened that changed the whole Special Dream scenario...I dreamt of a Big Golden Dog. When I say big...I mean larger than the size that this particular dog (it appeared to be a Golden Retriever type dog) generally grows. His head reached my chest and was the most beautiful dog I have ever had the pleasure to look at.<br />
<br />
I knew from the moment this dream started that Big Golden Dog was special. I needed to pay attention to this dream. However, in the first dream he did nothing more than follow me around the dream as the dream itself played out. I wasn't surprised when about a month later he showed up in my dreams again. This time he walked by my side as I wandered through my dream. Again, nothing happened to explain his presence but I felt incredibly calm just having him in the there with me. I remember waking up and just laying there almost expecting that he followed me out of the dream...that's how real he seemed to me.<br />
<br />
Over the course of several months Big Golden Dog made an appearance in my dreams 4 times (the first time a particular dream happened that often)...but something interesting started happening...he started looking directly at me and doing things with his muzzle (mouth) that made me feel as if he was trying to speak to me. It got to the point where I absolutely hated waking up because I felt like just a few more seconds and I would understand what he was trying to tell me...and he was really struggling by the 4th dream. I knew, without a doubt, that if he showed up in my dreams again...he would speak to me...and I also knew he had something important to tell me. 4 dreams obviously meant something...but what?<br />
<br />
You know where this is headed, right? Big Golden Dog did show up for a 5th time...and yes...he spoke to me...but wait...first let me give some back ground that will explain what he had to tell me and why it was so damn important that I get the message (as if I needed telling but who am I to dictate my dreams...or who shows up with a message in them). <br />
<br />
If you read my previous post (I hope), you will know that I have been struggling with a lot of personal issues for a long time. The past few years have been especially hard after the divorce (and the reasons for it) and just dealing with the anger that permeated me so deep I think my bones were soaked in fury. I sank quite low, to the point where friends were abandoning me and I was in danger of losing some very important relationships that meant the world to me. I was on a very destructive course that had me free falling into The Black.<br />
<br />
It's about this time (at my lowest and darkest point) that Big Golden Dog first showed up. I didn't equate the two until much later...as you will see.<br />
<br />
At around the beginning of this year I had a nasty wake up call. I realized that if I continued on this course of self destruction I was going to lose the one relationship that mattered more than any other (besides my children). I needed to figure out a way to rid myself of this over powering anger in order to save myself...and the relationship. By this time Big Golden Dog had shown up 3 times.<br />
<br />
I started thinking (see previous post) about all my issues and what was at the root of all the anger. My ex obviously played a very big role in this. The life I had with him has scarred me in ways that I will never be rid of...but I was holding onto the anger long after the divorce was a done deal...so essentially I was keeping the man in my life as if we were still married. I needed to drop that mentality if I planned on getting rid of that anger. I spent two days off from work, around this point, doing nothing but laying in my bed and thinking...and just letting go of things that had bothered me to the point of causing issues for me...and for those closest to me. It was a weekend of mental purging and by the end of it I was completely exhausted. I barely had the energy to return to work...but before I did Big Golden Dog returned for a 4th time. This is when he really tried to talk to me but couldn't quite make it.<br />
<br />
By this time I had told plenty of people about my dreams and the latest star appearance. Everyone had opinions about what a dog in a dream meant but I was no nearer to knowing at this point what his purpose was...but I knew he would come again and I was patient. <br />
<br />
By March I had sorted through a lot of my mental anguish and had let so much crap go that I started feeling like a new person. It was mid March that I traveled to Bahrain to attend my daughter's birth of my first grandchild (another story there) and for the first time ever...I enjoyed my time spent in Bahrain (with a few bumps). So much of the anger and suffering that I equated with that country was simply gone. It was almost like visiting it for the first time...with no preconceived opinions about it. When it came time to leave and return to this life...I actually didn't want to go. Yes, I know. Quite surprising that Coolred was actually reluctant to leave the country where here demons came to life...but reluctant I was. I could almost feel my heels digging in even as I looked forward to seeing the children I had left behind for a month.<br />
<br />
It was then that I truly realized I had successfully done what I never thought I would ever be able to do. I separated the fact of my abusive 20 year marriage to a worthless human being...from the country it took place in. Bahrain wasn't evil just because evilness occurred there. If that were true then America would be evil and unacceptable to me as well since my own father was every bit as abusive as my ex. I realized that I had been equating the place with my ex and my marriage...and for that I had been making those closest to me suffer with my anger and personal issues. I also realized that because some of my children still live there (and my new grandchild) that I would obviously be making more trips back there and so getting rid of the anger and bullshit that crowded my mind was paramount if I was going to be the Awesome Gramma that my own mother never was (another story...I have plenty of them...just wait).<br />
<br />
I returned home with renewed determination to continue the healing process. I had plenty of incentive...a new me...a new life awaited...and happiness.<br />
<br />
And so...for the 5th time Big Golden Dog showed up in my dreams (last week)...and he spoke to me just as I knew he would.<br />
<br />
And this is what he said.<br />
<br />
You have lived a life full of pain. It has made you who you are today, for better or worse. You cannot deny your past nor can you change it...all you can change is how you let it influence your future. Letting go was essential for healing to begin. Those who left you while you struggled were meant to leave...and those who have stayed were meant to stay. Do not spend precious moments grieving or feeling anger for those that are no longer in your life as their paths sent them in a different direction. Those that love you, need you, and want you in their lives have made it a point to remain in your life. You have learned that life is short. Time is precious. Prolonged anger is a wasted emotion and love is often the victim. You have traveled a rough road but it has led you to where you are today. Be proud for what you have accomplished. There is still work to be done but you are well on your way. Happiness is always a choice. <br />
<br />
I woke up from this dream feeling absolutely amazing. Rested and at peace with the choices and actions I have made recently. I have no doubt that what I want for what remains of my life is the right choice or me...but it doesn't hurt to get a second opinion that supports that choice. Ha ha.<br />
<br />
Big Golden Dog (who remained nameless throughout the dreams but strongly reminded my of my dog King) was a sort of spiritual adviser I'm thinking. Something I've never experienced but certainly was well worth the wait. I have no idea if I will see him again but I doubt it. He had a message and he delivered it. <br />
<br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-13600506087978432182013-04-22T00:05:00.000-07:002013-04-22T00:05:33.717-07:00Just Let It Go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
For those that use to read me regularly you may have noticed that I haven't written anything significant for quite some time. Writing is my Thing. It's what I do and I have always enjoyed it since I realized I do it rather well. However, this past year hasn't been My Year, so to speak. I've been in an up and down roller coaster ride that has had me either hanging on for dear life...or raising my hands in the air and enjoying the thrill. All this has resulted in one very troubling aspect in my life...I lost the desire to write.<br />
<br />
Period.<br />
<br />
It just left. No idea why...or really when but I realized at some point that I just had nothing to say anymore. Or maybe I felt my words had lost their ability to really convey what I was feeling or what I wanted to express. I have no idea but the end result was silence in the one area of my life I had always depended on to get my demons out...or my humor (I choose to call it that) or whatever was on my mind. Without being able to write...it has all been locked up inside me...and damned if I haven't suffered because of it.<br />
<br />
I went down the rabbit hole more or less and apparently enjoyed it so much I decided to stay there for a spell. I have been down that hole before (my past made it a place I tend to visit from time to time) but I have always used my writing to pull me back out again. This time I did not have even that ability to rescue myself...so there I stayed.<br />
<br />
Around the first part of this year I had a revelation of sorts. I was angry. Very angry. Angry at the people in my life (past and present) that have done things to me that turned me into a negative, pissed off person. Every day I was fuming about one thing or another. My temper, which use to be so hard to trigger, was now on a veritable trip wire. Anything could set me off...and I was a raging ball of fire. I was a seething mass of negative energy that ended up corrupting everything good in my life...because I was too angry to pay attention to the good things in my life.<br />
<br />
I was letting my past ruin my present...and destroy whatever good my future held for me. I was allowing all that bullshit that was my past life...be the sum total of my present life. I was my past..and my past was me. When I realized that I was allowing those people, that are long gone from my life, to still be a part of it (taking up full time rent free space in my head) and therefore impacting and corrupting it...I knew I either accepted the rabbit hole as my forever dwelling...or fight my way out of it.<br />
<br />
Everyone who reads (or did) about my life know that I have 5 kids. I had a blast with my kids while they were growing up. We were rarely apart for any reason and they were a close knit group of siblings. My kids are mostly all grown now. I have my youngest, 15 years old, at home still but the rest are off living their lives. The silence that is my house now weighs on me terribly. Gone are the sounds of the music they all played, the fighting or laughing...the messes they each generate in their way. This silence has fueled my anger in ways...because I had no distractions from that anger and could spend copious amounts of time nurturing it and feeding the flames. My children are the soul reason I survived my marriage. Having them in my life, knowing I needed to be there for them..meant I couldn't give up or give in. Even if I felt my life wasn't worthwhile or important, theirs was...and I had to make sure they knew it. Now they are gone (generally speaking) and Ive been alone with my thoughts, my inner demons, my anger issues...and that has meant I had little respite from the inner destruction that was going on. <br />
<br />
As I said, I realized one day that I might as well still be married if I was going to wake up every day and spend my time, my precious time, living as if my ex was still a real and meaningful presence in my life. If my memories of the past were going to keep me company as I went about my daily routine, ruining whatever happiness I might gain from even the smallest of joys then why bother living. If the experiences I had while living in Bahrain for the first 20 years...were going to color and corrupt whatever came after that then what was the point of the divorce..of gaining my freedom...if I was still going to live as if I were a prisoner?<br />
<br />
I realized that the only person that could save me from my anger and issues with my past...was ME. Once I realized this I set about on a course of emotional healing. I spend far too much of my time alone...but one thing that being alone affords me is time to think....and think... and think some more. At times I would lay in my bed, during my time off from work, and just think. I would do nothing else but think about my past, my anger issues and where they came from...and what I could do to change what I was becoming (or had become) into someone better. I would literally lay there for two days solid and just stare at the ceiling...going through every damn issue that had turned me into a person that others didn't want to be around (did I mention I have lost several "friends" this past year as well)...I thought it was them...but realized it must be me since it kept happening. I find it incredibly hard to make friends, went most of my whole life without really having any, so losing the ones I did have was like a confirmation to my already low self esteem that I'm not even worthy to remain friends with. If others can't stand me..what did that say about me?<br />
<br />
I worked my way through issues that were like open wounds on my soul. I poked and prodded them and made them bleed out all that pent up corrosive blood until only fresh blood remained. As I dealt with each issue I would ask myself...why is this still making me so angry...and is it worth it still? Of course, most of the time (damn near every time) the answer was no. Anger and self loathing, low self esteem and feelings of unworthiness were not worth it. My past was what it was...I couldn't change that...but I could change today, tomorrow and whatever came after that. As I worked my way through each and every issue...the end result would be to Just Let It Go.<br />
<br />
Like a balloon that yearned to be free and sail off into parts unknown...I released, one after the other, issue after issue that was weighing me down, corrupting my relationships, my goals, my life. As each balloon sailed away I felt myself become lighter inside. I started feeling something I hadn't felt in so long I wasn't even sure I was calling it by the right name.<br />
<br />
I started feeling happy. (don't be as shocked as I was please)<br />
<br />
Happiness is not a feeling I have really felt too often in my life...and when I say happy I mean more than just a fleeting moment of happiness that is more like a memory than a state of mind. It felt unfamiliar and alien at the beginning...almost like an impostor had set up residence after I kicked out the abusive squatters. I almost didn't know how to handle this new emotional state. I felt like a beginner at happiness..a noob that needed to feel my way around and learn the rules and tricks before really putting my all into the game.<br />
<br />
Apparently the "new" me was attracting some attention. I have had people at work comment more than once that I always seemed to walk around with a scowl on my face (I'm sure I was as I always had some inner demon playing with my mind)..or that I looked like I wanted to punch someone. Now they were amazed to notice that I was smiling, whistling...even singing...while going about my work. I had a few people ask me if I was in love..had I found someone that had brought about this change. Well, first off, yes...I am in love, have been for years now, but that relationship was one of the ones I was busy destroying due to my anger issues and one I was desperately trying to save at that point....but the reasons for the smiling, whistling and singing was due to another person all together.<br />
<br />
Me. I was happy....or working hard so that I knew it was coming. I could feel it...see it...taste it. As I worked my way though each issue...I finished with it..and then Just Let It Go. I could not possibly explain with adequate words the effect this had had on me emotionally. Yes of course I still get angry (more than I like still...a work in progress) and I know that to never get angry is just not possible...but when I trip up and fall into a full blown anger melt down, I mentally try as hard as I can to reign myself in and put a halt before it gets out of control. (again, not always successful but I'm far better at it then I used to be). I ask myself, will this matter in 5 minutes, ten...tomorrow...and of course it most likely won't. And when I realize this...I can almost feel myself relax and feel the anger start to recede and dissipate. It has stopped my anger in its tracks most of the time...most, work in progress as I said.<br />
<br />
I have reached a stage now where so many things that use to set me off (thoughts of my past, of Bahrain, of certain people) don't really affect me at all anymore. I can think about them without feeling that tightness in my chest that would be an indicator that rage was building. I can talk about them without gnashing my teeth or getting angry at the person I'm talking to because the person I'm really angry at isn't there. Those balloons have sailed...and I have never heard of a balloon that was set free...come back to its owner.<br />
<br />
Now, if there was one set back to all this emotional healing...it's convincing others that it's actually taking place. People who know me, love me, are so used to Angry Red...that they are suspicious of New Red. For some reason they would rather believe that you can't change who you have always been even though those same people have been encouraging me for years to do exactly that. I have actually gotten into arguments (go figure) while trying to convince these same people that the changes are real, are reaping benefits and are permanent. I much prefer New Red to Angry Red...why would I go back to that...and why do those I love most keep insisting I do? I have no idea.<br />
<br />
Anyhow, I have a lot more to say. That makes me happy just writing that as it means I have more writing to do...and I realize this post is not up to my usual standards but I felt the need to write and I haven't felt that in such a long time...I'm just putting it out there before the mood disappears. So you guys (if there are any readers left) get a rough copy and I'm sorry for that but it is what it is. <br />
<br />
A few topics I will write about are my two recent trips to Bahrain (yes...imagine that), my new status as Grandma (my granddaughter is amazing) and what the future might hold for me. I became friends again with my ex from high school and other topics that might be of interest. Stay tuned...if you are interested. I know I am. <br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-85155988401746087002013-03-22T08:31:00.000-07:002014-01-01T04:10:19.400-08:00Oh mind of mine...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Being alone with my thoughts<br />
What black chaos<br />
What red pain<br />
<br />
Filling my head with your sneaky ways<br />
Devious pain filled images<br />
Do you even care...oh mind of mine<br />
<br />
Three little words on a screen<br />
Causing doubt...hurt...regrets<br />
Squeezing my heart<br />
<br />
Wonder of wonders<br />
It still functions...beats<br />
Tho each one leaves me breathless<br />
<br />
Choking my throat<br />
Filling my eyes so I can't see<br />
Squeezing...always squeezing<br />
<br />
Oh mind of mine<br />
You are not really my friend<br />
Will you leave me too?<br />
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Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-48126212462141767392012-07-24T11:52:00.001-07:002012-07-24T11:52:29.612-07:00Do you suck at your religion? Worth a chuckle, people.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://theoatmeal.com/comics/religion">http://theoatmeal.com/comics/religion</a></div>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-3905471591222729532012-07-17T01:50:00.003-07:002012-07-17T01:54:24.541-07:00Ramadan Revisted: blast from the past<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wrote this several years ago when I was still a believer...but on the way out...so it seems looking back. </h3>
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Ramadan Ramadan<br />
Burning bright<br />
In our breasts you
do ignite<br />
Passions flaring throughout the night<br />
We leave our beds in the
first grey light<br />
To please You God with all our might<br />
Striving for the
path thats pure and right<br />
To be granted heaven...the sweetest
bite<br />
<br />
From trembling lips vows anew<br />
That fall from lips like morning
dew<br />
Pleading weakness for sins that grew<br />
That far outweigh the good we
do<br />
Charity given by just a few<br />
So hard to stretch a hand out
too<br />
Enough! we believe to pay our dues<br />
With bended knee...sujuud and
ruku<br />
<br />
Our foreheads pressed..a mark that shows<br />
We proudly strut like
birds that crow<br />
Our hijabs pulled tight...our thobes just
so<br />
AstagfirAllahs from our lips do flow<br />
Kneading our misbahs like the
bakers dough<br />
Puffed up pride...monumental egos<br />
As if Muslims are the only
ones that know<br />
Of what God really means...of what God only
knows<br />
<br />
Ramadan...a gift..a month He did instate<br />
A chance to wipe clean
the slate<br />
Of sins that called and sealed our fates<br />
To live in a world
filled with hate<br />
Your wrong Im right...with no debate<br />
Raised
fists...raised prides...two deadly mates<br />
That oft forget God is One...God is
Great<br />
All men from one He did create<br />
<br />
So unbending...our knees...our
heads...our pride<br />
Shown plainly to You are the sins we hide<br />
Lifes not
fair...an excuse we cried<br />
So said those from the past as they died<br />
With
the weight of burdens...not an easy ride<br />
As if old age is assured...time set
aside<br />
For a miss spent youth..a Path denied<br />
Two angels watchful by our
sides<br />
<br />
This month so fake...we are so devout<br />
A month we just cant live
without<br />
To deny ourselves whats ours by right<br />
Nothing in the day...but
plenty at night<br />
A blessed month...a cooling breeze<br />
That will only
temporarily freeze<br />
The hypocrisy that feeds our souls<br />
Hypocrisy that only
grows<br />
Until God is lost among the throes<br />
Of sanctimonious beards..of
Sharia robes<br />
The Path is blurred with fables and stories<br />
Muslim pride
lives on in age old glories<br />
Believing we are blessed by the Prophets
light<br />
But ignoring the Prophet who gave insight<br />
To seeking Gods
Mercy...Forgiveness and Love<br />
3 blessings in abundance sent down from
above<br />
With hot claims from the righteous but fingers in ears<br />
We demand our
rights...but fail to hear<br />
How God in His Mercy will pardon but a few<br />
Oh
Muslims...how can you be so sure its YOU? </div>
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</div>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-475916137043576572012-05-29T01:21:00.000-07:002012-05-29T02:45:24.768-07:00Got some rest...now for the back story.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><span style="color: #20124d;"></span></strong><strong><span style="color: #20124d;">This past 5 months have been an absolute nightmare, college wise. Of all the semesters I have endured (5) this one, hands down, meant to do me in. It has gone wrong from the start and keeps going wrong in so many ways my head is still spinning from the damage I have done to myself through sheer exhaustion and single mindedness. Read this and tell me I am my own worst enemy...seriously.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">When I signed up for my last set of classes last semester, my advisor gave me a list of classes I needed to complete my degree, the have to takes (generals) and the ones pertaining to my field (psych classes). Chemistry was on that list and the very last class I signed up for. I had absolutely no experience with chemistry in my life so all I knew is that it had lots of formulas...like Algebra and I got through that...so, no big deal? Boy was I wrong. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">Along with chem I had statistics (again, no experience with that) and my advisor cautioned that taking both of those classes together might be difficult. She suggested I space them out but I wanted to get this over with...I did NOT want to face another semester. To add to the difficulty meter, stats was an online course. I absolutely hate online courses. I need to see a teacher, see the board, see my course information in action so to speak. Online courses are notorious for slipping by while you are busy doing other things...and end up spending copious amounts of time catching up before a due date arrives (at least that's my technique if you will). I also had a drugs and behavior class online...OMFG!! was it hectic to remember to log onto those classes and see what assignments there were and due dates etc. I ended up missing the very first damn assignment for that exact reason. Forgot to log in and get started by the due date....but I had an excuse...CHEMISTRY!!!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">All my other classes combined did not give me half the amount of grief that chemistry was determined to mete out. From day one I felt like I was learning chemistry in a foreign language...like Swahili or something. While I was in class 5 feet from the board and she explained it...it all seemed to make sense. Soon as I got home and opened the book to do the homework, I was completely lost. I had never been so completely frustrated and feeling like a failure (academically) in my life. Chemistry just would not get IN MY HEAD and stay there. Because I was having such a freaking hard time with chem...spending all my free time on it and ignoring my other classes (5 all together)...my grades were suffering for the first time EVER in my academic life. Again...failure failure failure!! I was ready to pull some serious hair out...mine and anyone else that claimed chemistry was easy. How many times I resisted throwing my 10 pound chem book at that person should be noted. A reward or something at least. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">I was barely staying above a C- minus and that was fighting tooth and nail for every point. I had mostly C's or B's in the other classes as well. Unheard of for me. I wanted to quit so many times that I very nearly did at one point. I threw the chem book in the garbage and stormed up to the college to do just that...but in the time it took me to get up there I calmed down and thought it through. I had come so far and was nearly at the finish line...was I about to let a little thing like chem throw me off my path? I continued on....ugh!</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">The final straw came when she handed us a chapter exam. 11 pages full of formulas and problems that took forever to work through. Even the students that KNEW chem told me later it was a damn hard exam...for a freaking chapter test. They barely got through it before class was over...what chance did I have when I had to take my time and really think my way through each question and each formula? When class was over I was barely half way through...but I figured she would let me stay and finish it as every other teacher I had had allowed that. She didn't. She pretty much pulled it right out of my hand and said my time was up. I was doomed. I failed that test simply because I didn't have enough completed to pass it with a C even...which means my grade had dropped to a low D if not worse. I knew I could not improve it in the time I had left because I was struggling with it as it was...so I went to the office to see about dropping it (even if I had to do it over at least I might get a teacher I could relate to better...as I did with problem solving). Apparently in this respect I was lucky as dropping full time classes without penalty had only 2 days left. I had no clue about that part...just went there hoping. Yay for me though I still felt like a failure. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">So my work load and stress decreased amazingly and I set about concentrating on my other classes. In short time I had all those grades back up to A's and B's...so not a complete failure...however...due to my complete focus on chemistry early on in the semester I let a very important due date pass me by...a date that has affected every thing I have done since in horrible ways. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">I forgot to sign up for graduation. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">When I was in the office dropping chemistry I happened to overhear someone mention it and asked when the due date was...4 days ago. I asked her if I could still sign up for it...how difficult could it be just to add my name 4 days later? They just needed to know you were graduating..and that you needed a cap and gown...that was all. She said no....period. I had to wait for the next graduation due date...which was in the Summer. I planned on moving from here as soon as school was over as I had had enough of this town and wanted to see other places...now I was stuck well into the Summer. I resigned myself to this particular fate and got on with other things....however, I was currently missing something else that I had no clue about and which would bite me in the ass even harder. I'm telling you...I spent the early part of the semester not aware of a single thing outside of the demands of chemistry and trying to get by in the other classes. I was barely getting any sleep (working the night shift and college during the day and so much time spent on chemistry) that I was not really capable of focusing on anything else...which means I missed another important date. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">In order to graduate our college has an Assessment Day (I would assume all colleges have something similar)...a day when you present many example of the work you have done...do a video of something...generally just showcase what you have learned, how you have grown etc. A personal profile type thing. Apparently you have to sign up to do that...and can't graduate without having done it. I missed the sign up...which peeves me to no end because a reminder email would have been nice from the college admins as they know who is ready to graduate (more or less) and a friendly reminder wouldn't go amiss. At any rate...I missed sign up so missed the Assessment Day...and thus couldn't graduate in May as I was expecting too (did I forget to mention that even though my advisor suggested I do chemistry...I, in fact, did not need the credit to graduate as I had taken Biology already...but I will have to do chemistry at some point in the future and she was just wanting me to get it out of the way from now...thanks Jan...all that grief for nothing).</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">I went to the office once again to inquire about Assessment Day...she said I could do the online course that had started already and try and catch up. The online course is done over a period of weeks while the day itself is just one day of doing everything you need to do (with a list of what you will need etc. to accomplish all that). Ok so..do it online..no big deal. I went home to take a look online. Hmmm.........</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">There were tons of assignments to do...things we had done already throughout our college experience as well as new stuff she wanted us to do. There were group activities...which I had missed obviously...and due dates of assignments that I had missed as well. So all in all...there wasn't a whole lot I could do to catch up...which meant I had to make due with what was left. Not a whole lot...only 2 weeks of the class left. I tried but there were way too many papers to write (with points taken off for lateness for the ones that she allowed me to do) and group activities going on of which I had no clue because I had missed out so much already. I was overwhelmed once again. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">I went back to the office. She said I could sign up for the Assessment Day in the Summer...and since I had to wait for the Summer to graduate anyhow...why not? So I told her I would do that instead. Burden gone. Or so I thought. Apparently I was still expected to get a grade in this online course (I thought it was understood I wouldn't complete it due to me signing up for the Summer one...but what do I know)...which I wasn't informed of and so failed it. Due to dropping chem and failing this class...my credits needed for being considered a full time student had dropped to just one under the required amount. This meant my Pell Grant status was in danger of being revoked which meant I could be forced to pay it all back. How nice. The fan just kept blowing the shit my way this whole semester. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">Currently I am waiting for the college to open again so I can once more go to the office and see how much trouble I am in this time. I don't have a lot of hope in that regard. When it rains it absolutely freaking pours. All my fault, of course...I was completely oblivious to all these dates going by without notice or reminders. I could kick myself after all the work I have done...among other things. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">At any rate, I finished the semester with 3 A's and a B...I earned an A on every single paper I had to write throughout my college experience with much praise and feedback. I'm rather proud I was able to come back from those dismal grades I did have earlier on. Especially proud about that stats grade as that wasn't an easy class either for me...and online to boot. Yuck. I haven't received my over all GPA due to not having finished the assessment but I figure it's around 3.4 or 3.5...nothing to sniff at but boy what a headache it has been. I don't recommend it at all. Lack of sleep alone is probably a big factor in why I am in the situation I am in...concentration levels were low throughout the semester and I seriously had to force myself to focus on each class...each assignment and exam...at THAT time...and then pretty much forget about it until the next exam or assignment. No way to get through college. Again... I don't recommend it. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">And chemistry. Need I say more. My nemesis and a HUGE factor in why this semester has gone to shit in so many ways. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">Also, I had no time to write on this blog because my brain was blank on anything but chemistry...with what brain cells I had left to focus on the other classes. To say I am exhausted is a serious understatement....but it's done...except for the assessment I guess. Who knows? Not me...it seems I have no freaking clue what is going on and boy do I make myself suffer from that ignorance. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">Oh yeah...and I can't actually graduate until next May '13 as that is the only time they do graduation ceremonies...so I either stick around until then (I do not intend too) or I skip my actual graduation and miss the diploma being handed to me and wearing the cap and gown etc. They will mail it to me I assume...but maybe I better check on that too. Hmmm....when it rains it pours. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #20124d;">Other than that...I'm doing great. </span></strong></div>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-56724223025399556352012-05-12T20:29:00.000-07:002012-05-12T20:29:32.574-07:00Free at last....for now.Sorry for ignoring this blog for so long...this last semester at college has been a head game from the start. Good news, though...I just finished. I am the proud owner of an associates majoring in psych (or will be soon as they send it to me) and it was about one of the hardest things I have done so far. Lack of sleep, no social life, sore feet from working all night and not resting during the day (college)...all for a step up (a small step, but a step) into a world with a bit of a better view than the one afforded from the bottom.
Don't ask me what I'm going to do next...sleep without an alarm clock is as far ahead as I can think at this moment. At any rate, I do hope to get back to using this blog more often now...stories to finish...and new ones to tell. Hope I have some readers left but even if I don't...I will still write as that is the balm for my troubled heart...and this past 5 months have seen very little writing...therefore my heart is in serious distress. Let's hope I can sort that mess out here pretty quick.
Be back with a post in a day or so.Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-69424156563756652872012-03-02T07:32:00.001-08:002012-03-02T07:32:45.381-08:00This is excellent stuff and well worth the listen.<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DvRPbsXBVBo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3729473620051154675.post-48927008873214332012-01-04T01:57:00.000-08:002012-01-04T01:57:33.349-08:00I wish I knew how to be free....This song has been with me for years...I guess I would consider it the soundtrack to my life. Once again I am listening to it over and over...<br />
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/8ULZQt9IF4g" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>Coolred38http://www.blogger.com/profile/07502256532402473484noreply@blogger.com4