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“I may not be rich…but I have GOD”

Work,  or the place I make money to sit in front of a desk, banging away at computer keys is not the place to be right now.

Diversity, cultural sensitivity, pay inequality, upward mobility-SQUASHED-like a bug meeting it’s maker in a leather shoe.

The people of colour are the worker bees.  Image result for worker bees

 

 

 

 

The people who have no colour are management.

Image result for white people

The company we work for is plump and tasty on the outside with brand colours sashaying in the wind of possible funders, grants and donations.

The company we work for is sour, vinegar and rot on the inside sashaying our token employees in the wind of possible funders, grants and donations.

The company we believe in doesn’t give a crap about us.

Thirty five hour work weeks are just illusions on paper, for the thirty five is actually forty five and beyound.

Overtime hours only exists in hours we hope will be collected and applied to pseudo vacation time instead of paying actual overtime hours. O/T is too expensive for the worker bees and management must preserve their own salaries.

So, the worker bees press forward, out of ignorance, desperation, some content with their salaries while others strive forward through low moral, depression, separation, divorce, as management continues to sit on their thrones of comfort, affordability and feeling so blessed and thankful that their salaries afford them lavish vacations around the world while growing so fat of the backs of the worker bees.

“I may not be rich, but I have GOD” Image result for GOD

He will set things right

right the wrongs

wrong the rights

Send a flood or fire to wash and burn the world of dirt, greed, and those who have everything while those who have nothing coexist right beside them.

-Enough. I am so tired.

I may not be rich…but I have GOD!

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Feeling blue…or not feeling groovy

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

blue is ambiguous, hazy, vague and unclear   pep

feeling sad is not

sadness is pretty much clear, singled out with pity parties thrown but not in your honour

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

feeling blue its totally acceptable-look how many songs about being blue are out there

feeling sad is not   dog

people run away as if you’ve contracted the plague -sadness, we all know is highly contagious

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

blue is an acceptable colour, blue skies, blue eyes, blueberries even playing the blues has colour

feeling sad is not

sad is gloomy and dark, no colour hues like blue just tears, frowns and being down ht

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

like when long standing relationships end because the glitter that kept them going has been thrown and scattered so many times there’s just nothing left

feeling sad is not

especially when you go around trying to pick up those specks of glitter and end up with dust bunnies attached

Sometimes feeling blue is ok download

when it rains on your parade and then, behold, the sun comes through bringing fairies and yellow rays of sun

feeling sad is not

when you try to open an umbrella to starve off the rain on your parade and the wind turns the umbrella inside out and you’re too busy cursing and fighting with the wind and you accidentally knock a fairy upside the head along with the single yellow ray of sun that was guiding it

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

When you buy a hot dog to make you feel better cause the stress at work is bringing you down

Feeling sad is not

you forgot to order sauerkraut with that hotdog and once you take a bite, the bun is stale and you already walked too far from the vendor to run back and curse him out

Sometimes feeling blue is ok

yike

 

SELF…ish.

Self-discipline  IMG_2564

-the ability to control one’s feelings and overcome one’s weaknesses; the ability to pursue what one thinks is right despittemptations to abandon it.

Yeah right.

Been trying to be ‘self-discipline’ for over 50 years and all I’m reaping with that discipline is sabotage of the self

Self-worthIMG_2559

-another term for self-esteem

Yeah right.

Taking a job that does not reward demanding work, excess hours spent completing projects and scrimps on overtime and still working there? Yep-that’s exactly why I make the yearly salary I do. Ups and downs of life living with depression can take a toll on self-worth leaving it defenseless against soul sucking predators who are everywhere, in every field.

 But…

running with a group, racing for my own personal gain can seriously stimulate that old self-worth and lord help the mofo who tries to mess with my self-worth when it’s fueled by natural endorphins. Yep.  You can mess with my salary but not my head.

Self-determination

 -absorbed in one’s own thoughts, activities or interest

Yeah right.

I’m so absorbed in my own thoughts, activities and interest that an impenetrable wall somehow was built around my heart without any funding or government interference. The joke was truly on me without my knowledge or participation.

 Self-Assured

confident on one’s own abilities or character

 Yeah right.

I was so self-assured on accepting a job that started me at 31k. Then realized how the scam management team operated and requested an increase to 37k. The work load increased and the only salary increases were to everyone else’s except mine.

Wowza.

Self-ishIMG_2562

-lacking consideration for others; concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure

Yeah right.

Selfish is looking pretty good right now. Time to reel in the empathy and substitute it with apathy and concentrate on what matters most: me, myself and I.

Guess what?

Ain’t gonna happen.IMG_2560

The me, myself and I cares too deeply for the sentient beings who have no voice, are seen but not heard, are invisible until the rain falls and…

(So sorry,

this does not include the mosquitos.)

Those opportunist mini drones who thrive on the sucking and stealing blood from those who have not given consent or signed a waiver steer me towards…

Being.IMG_2558

 SELF-ISH.

Mega Millions…

Ok.

2017 is almost out the door.

So many memorable political moments in the year as well as some notable human souls going into shadow that will leave a dent in our social fabric-most recently Erica Garner.

She passed on at the age of 27 from a heart attack or as Al Sharpton stated  Many will say that Erica died of a heart attack, but that’s only partially true because her heart was already broken when she couldn’t get justice for her father”.

Erica Garner was a warrior who turned tragedy into a platform for social justice instead of wallowing in bitterness and should haves, could haves.

Yea.

2017 is almost out the door.

Habits and routines are difficult to break because, habits and routines are dependable, always there, nothing to question and no anxiety.

I wanna be superwoman

I wanna make a major change in the world

I wanna be like Erica Garner and stand for social injustice

I wanna be a rebel and give the middle finger to every passive aggressive white person I’ve had to deal with

I wanna win the Mega Millions jackpot and take care of the people who have remained in my life along with its idiosyncrasies.Mega_Millions_Lottery_logo.svg

I wanna buy a large piece of Russian River land in Cali and set up an animal/artist sanctuary with a friend who is dear to mi alma.      fbae963da2b442690d03f6a3e8a1f7d0

 

Does that promote social justice?

It would be a sanctuary for the outcasts of America, the eclectics, insane, irrationals, unpredictable dreamers, wanna be r’s and the right to live without you eatin’ me.

Animals and artists, so much in need of love, support and hope.

Yea.

2017 left the building.

 

 

 

**photos from the World Wide Web-not mine.

Tobias Walsh…Toby.

Tobias…

Tobias, Toba, Tub of lard, Mr. Tobes, Mr. T, Tobester, Tobadia, Mr Tobadia.

Toby, for me

YOU will always be…just Toby. 1440421056303 (2016-11-02T19_58_20.842)

I want to write down the words that tell my feelings about

YOU.

But…

When I think of

USTED, I get all mamba jamba boogied up tight lip and my chest hurts, missing your bunny hopping days through Ppark.

The pain is so real and so there…as

TÚ is no longer here, and neither is Pi and I long to touch and smell

USTED as I do him.

Although, stink, Pi did, as did

YOU, and it did not matter because being all mine, all the time, unconditionally, lovingly far surpassed the dirty dog, musty stink after swimming at the doggy beach in Ppark brought into the house.

USTED passed into shadow on Monday evening, October 9, 2017, licking peanut butter from my finger as Propofol made its way through the vein that would eventually connect with other veins on a path to your heart-unstoppable as your personality and love was.

TÚ paused in the peanut butter licking, confused somewhat and before I could acknowledge what was taking place, the ER vet plunged Euthasol into that same vein, which stopped, and ended the pumping of your sweet heart that held mi alma intact and made me realize that yes,

YOU and your love were stoppable.IMG_2112

Pi took my heart…

TÚ my dear first fur baby, the oldest of the pack, took my soul (mi alma).

Beat on…run on…free at last from the arthritis, the crippling of the joints, the senioritis which left you at times confused looking for our house on return walks the sometimes incontinence, the sometimes-foggy vision, free at last, thank HIM almighty you are free.

Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años.

Gracias for choosing me.

I want to say to

YOU all that wasn’t said while this earth was lucky to have your soul in its presence, it’s concrete jungle, pseudo Ppark in the woods landscape with me by your side. Gracias a

TÚ for finding and choosing me to spend time in your life. Pi was not part of

the package, pero

dscn0751

USTED accepted him or better yet, tolerated him on your own terms.

The residents at the now defunct Bishop Hulces nursing home would also join in this thanks to

YOU, the certified therapy dog who strutted through the dementia ward bringing the gift of words to those who would not normally speak. 1094724054094 (2016-11-02T19_58_16.355)

USTED, my sweet baby boy would allow the locked words to flow in their gibberish, unstoppable, accepted and not challenged or corrected way.

I remember the young teenage girl who was placed in the nursing home due to her disability of severed legs sacrificed from her attempted suicide gone wrong pact with an MTA train. Mother and father were at her bedside during our visits and the tension and awkwardness were too real to ignore. They spoke no English and who knows what if they knew what to make of you grizzly Adams appearance.

YOU jumped on me, and unto her bed, snuggled up to a hip that no longer had an extension.  She in turn was happy to pet your fur which brought forth a smile easing the tensions from the parents who now mirar a

USTED at what I perceived to be respect and admiration. The visits to her room always brought out the best in the soul that resided en

dscn1109

LOVE

TÚ and el alma that took my own away.

Bereavement is not so acceptable when it comes to fur babies because for many they are insignificant, easily discarded as the wrapper on a wad of gum. Going into shadow is as irrelevant as swatting a mosquito of an arm.

But guess what…

For me not having

YOU, the job of life can be done but trust me, it will be half assed done, for your unconditional no judgement love does not await me when I return home and I’m left with no defense to put the day’s sucking vampires behind me.

DSCN0073

I go to work, forced to converse in conversations when I’d rather be home licking my wounds and thinking of you. Grieving for your lil bro was much easier-I was unemployed. 580

To pick up your ashes, I must return to the place your last breath was drawn and I will bring

 

YOU home.IMG_2164

Which is where you are now, my sweet Toby boy.

 

 

 

 

 

** TÚ, USTED = You.  Mirar=look. Gracias a tú=thanks to you. en= in. pero=but. Gracias me perrito  que vivir en mi vida por catorce años=Thank you my doggy who lived in my life for 14 years.

Dignified Toby-001img_0555roomies-220140916_113709

 

Routines…routes…Peace out.

My,

easy to follow a staunch routine when it comes to others. For myself? Nope. Routines are erratic, completed by convenience, routines disguised as promises broken, no follow through or follow up-sounds like my childhood.

Coffee

Bustelo coffee, brew the same way, everyday

Mind you,

attachment to mom, my mom is akin to that of a momma and baby bear where the roles flip flop as a fish on dry land.

Oh boy,

this writing started out as a five-minute morning routine I seldom follow and of course, forgot to set the timer. Five minutes tops, not a minute under or over.

writing

The writing desk with all the idea prompting chutskies.

Well now,

guess this writing turns into a post about routines, easy to establish, impossible at times to follow. Routines are predictable structures set in place by the grandest of intentions, never veering from its designated path, constant.

Alrighty then,

let’s give a cheer for the routines I follow when it comes to others, but nope, not for myself.

-cinco minutos a escribir-(NOT)

Big E

The feline furs demand the 6am breakfast-6pm dinner.

Fragile…or How grief takes hold.

DSCN0869     Today, this day, the sky is grey and rain comes down. Sometimes slow, sometimes fast, sometimes taking a break and sometimes…still waiting for the next sometime to write.

In November I posted my blog piece, ‘I No Longer have a heart…’ on an animal mourning website. Not sure what prompt me to do so but at the time felt a need to release my mourning by whatever means necessary.  Forgot about the post, months passed and then Tuesday came.

I received an email from a pet owner. She lost her fur baby two days prior and was on her 18th hour of crying, screaming, lashing out and not knowing how to deal with the pain.

Like me, she had to make the decision to end her dog’s life and wanted to know how I was doing after six months had passed.

photo.PNGFloored I was.

Did not expect this.

Came out of nowhere into my email which I was checking via Iphone while sitting in Fairway’s parking lot.

Started crying in the parking lot.

Cried, when I got home.

Cried touching his ashes.

Cried.

So f*****g sick of crying.

I responded to her email to let her know it does get better. Memories and pictures guide you through. Allowing grief to take its course is a given.

And it does get better.IMG_1071.jpg

I’ve surrounded myself with so many memories of him. His leash hangs on my coat rack, his collar on a peg in my bedroom where his ashes also rest. I live in the place, Brooklyn and in the house, Berkeley where the memories began. I run in the park he so cherished, especially on Monday mornings after the weekend barbeque garbage lays waiting.

Pi Patel will always be with me.

 

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