Last Christmas my father told me about a wonderful invention called the delete button, and from my understanding it is on most keyboards. Apparently if you get an e-mail that you believe will cause you distress, you can actually delete it before you open it and POOF, it never existed. Time goes backwards, and the creator of this distressing e-mail is struck down by lightning, losing any recollection of why he even sat down at his computer. Amazing!
I learned about this as my father’s brother was using me to try to develop his skills as a fictional writer. I am all for creative writing, but writing fiction requires the ability to remember certain aspects of the story as you write. If you do not have consistency, there is confusion and your creation will have no believability. Especially if you are taking fact and twisting it into fiction. If you cannot keep your story straight, you may want to rethink your plan. Because when twisted fiction affects someone’s life outside your bubble of followers, it may not end like you want.
That being said, most of my family lives in a bubble. Too many of them like to hang out there, which results in brain damage from the lack of oxygen. Common sense becomes non existent, and they lose the ability to understand that fact and fiction are not the same. While fiction usually has some facts, the wanna be writer’s of my bubble family took fiction and passed it off as fact. This created such a frenzy, their demented crap leaked out of their bubble into the real world, my world.
When I asked my father to stop his brother from harassing me with his fictional e-mails, he put his beer down for a moment, and told me about the magical delete button. I could just touch that button, and butterfly’s would fill my room while his brother was hit by lightning. All the e-mails that were sent to everyone saying I was a drug addict that steals from family, would go POOF, and rainbows would fill the sky.
I was astonished to find my delete button does not work like my father said, maybe because I do not live in a bubble. I have since learned his retirement was getting boring, so he created some of his own fictional bullshit about me for my bubble family to enjoy. They drank their Kool-Aid, and followed along like good little non-thinkers. Unfortunately for them, I do not like their Kool-Aide, it tastes funny. I do not follow anyone very well, and I could never live in a bubble full of bullshit. However, I am just as stubborn and like him I do not back down easily when I think I am right.
People screw up, make their mistakes, and the universe has natural consequences that follow. I have written e-mails that gave me a year long vacation from owning a gun. A natural consequence I learned from. I send the occasional e-mail into the world of my bubble family, letting them know I am not pleased about some of the things they have done lately. It gets forwarded around the bubble and they talk about how horrible it is that I can type the word Fuc8, and that I need to move on and stop bringing it up. They should know at this point, their acceptance is not really my concern, I know what kind of person I am. Mistakes happened, natural consequences will follow, and life will go on. As far as the irritating e-mails I send, they can hit their magic delete button, and watch the butterfly’s fill their bubble as my words fade away and go POOF!
Their path you are to follow looks clear…It looks easy…It is like walking on air…For miles you can see the open space in front…Nothing clouds the view…you can see everything ahead long before you have to adjust your step..You turn to look over your shoulder…You can see a reflection of the path in front of you…Everything is the same… You start to wonder if this is all there is on this well-worn road…
The Monarch touches your hand for a split second, pulling your eyes to follow..He dances around the bright blooming flower that grows on the side…The humming bird drinks her nectar…You wonder…Can no one else see that beauty…Why do you stay on this path…
You continue on, every step becoming like last….The Coyote plays hide in go seek, watching as you walk…The flicker of his ears allowing the sun to reflect the morning dew as it flies through crisp air…His dark eyes searching your soul, wondering if you have the fearless craving to seek out more than you understand…
A small break appears in the cactus and trees that surround you…Sitting on a rock…the Coyote stares…waiting with his knowledge for you to follow…You stumble and you fall…You cry out as the cactus are sharp and rocks do not bend…
You stand proud with bloody knees and scraped elbows pulling the quills out…Next to you are those who laughed when you followed the Coyote to your own path…You will heal…Your mind is quick…Your heart softens into kindness…Your eyes able to see beauty they cannot….
And you will follow…What is Yours…
Leaving them to continue on What is Theirs…Only following their own refection…
Creating one email to insure an order of protection will be placed on you is not that easy. It has to be a detailed step by step run down of what you would like to do. Involving the elderly will improve chances the judge will issue it against you. However, if you really want to see your name after the word defendant, make sure the plaintiff writes fiction well.
With an OOP, they are going to arrest you first, ask questions later. Which will probably stop most from contacting the plaintiff for the next year. You do not want to spend the night sleeping on urine saturated cement, digesting a dry bologna sandwich and peanuts, with twenty other happy souls and one toilet . If you are lucky enough to live in Sheriff Joe Arpaio’s county, you will get to enjoy your meal in a 120 degree sweat filled tent wearing pink. I do enjoy being outside, feeling the morning sun on my face, and I look good in pink. However, I learned years ago that, I, in fact, do not like Joey’s bologna sandwiches.
You have to be careful, especially if you are not certain who is involved in wanting you to meet the sheriff. Situations will be created, enabling constant contact with the authorities. While this can be stressful at first, most cops are understanding of the situation. They have even heard the F-Bomb dropped once or twice, and probably will not freak out much if you slip. If they ask strange questions, remember they were probably told a story, so just answer the best you can. Once enough police reports are written documenting you are not crazy, but the plaintiff may have some issues, the questions fade.
If you ask for a hearing, and it results in anything other than dismissed, Brady will apply. Which means you are on the “Fed’s Gun Blacklist” for the next year. You probably want to re-frame from having a gun within your reach. Notice, I said “a” gun, it does not have to be one acquired for yourself. If you know it is around, according to Mr. Brady, it becomes yours. You might ponder that idea into clarity, over the next five years in the Federal Pen, if it confuses you now.
I one hundred percent believe in the second amendment, and in Arizona’s gun laws. If a criminal wants a gun, they are going to get one. Or five AK-47‘s with a thousand rounds, if that is their desire. Regardless of the law, Mr. “What You Need”, is always standing on the corner, like a Walmart greeter to the black market. Supply will never disappear as long as there is a demand. Until society does a 180 and someone figures out why we shoot each other, I demand the right to defend myself.
Which brings me to the bullet proof paper that has me listed as a defendant. The creative writer of fiction, the plaintiff, is quoted as saying, ” I have no doubt, she would use a gun if she had one.” I did have one, when I sent my OOP granting email, a nice Smith and Wesson 45 with a hair trigger. The hollow point ammunition that filled the two clips may have even been illegal, I do not really know. I can promise there is not a lot that would stop one of them once the trigger was pulled. Certainly not a piece of paper.
I do respect the order, and the gun sold with me never breaking the Brady Law. My beautiful Smith and Wesson will be replaced one day. When it is, I will still continue to fight my battles with words, maybe even a F-bomb or two. That being said, come at me with an intention to physically harm my family, it is a guarantee, I will use my right to replace F-Bombs with hollow points.
You sit, the music plays loud. Your stomach twisted in knots. The lies you hear are heavy. More come. The reason escapes your ability to understand why. You will stop it. It will crush you to watch. You know you should look away. You cannot. You are tired. You try to get the normalcy back. Your spun 360, face to face with the same shit, over and again.
You want to move on. It consumes you. You run the pictures of words on a loop. It never stops. You pray for serenity. It is the calm contentment that will slow your run. You feel the freedom you have earned in your struggle. You broke away long ago. You keep looking back for a glimpse of recognition. It is not there. You cannot recall when it was.
A place you adore. The hot morning sun burning your skin as your dreams fade. You can smell the bacon, hear the voices laughing. You look down, the water cool, reflecting back at you like a mirror. You feel the tears burn your checks. A moment remembered is all you have of a life that is no longer yours. You pray for courage.
You look down to your calm, the cool blue mirror looking back. You jump, the rush of the freedom filling you. You know the mistakes you have made. They are your own. To learn from them, or not, is your choice. God is always patient. You grow tired of being right. He still there. Decisions, choices, repercussions begin to mix. You can no longer tell which are yours to accept. You get stung, trying to untangle the mess. You look up, towards the Wisdom, and pray. The light comes down engulfing your storm, leaving you free.
Today will mark the 100th day that we have been “on the run” from family who have lost their minds. This is what they are saying with their loving actions….
“Sorry, Dear, you are guilty of theft, period. We will not ask you anything about your guilt directly. We will only speak through emails. We will tell anyone that may give you a word of encouragement that you are a piece of shit that deserves nothing. And now that we have reached 100 days, we will be forwarding out a three-month old email, trying to prove that this entire FEST is all your fault. We did nothing wrong. We did not steal clothing and give it to Goodwill. The JUDGE did that remember?”
“Of course, Dear, we read every thought you wrote, typed, or drew, and kept for 20 years. We had to steal something we knew for a fact you could not get back from us. Here are your thoughts back dear…See, we cannot give them back. However, we can and will share them with others…friends, family, police, courts, CPS, and anyone else we can think of. We are so happy you are good with that! ”
“Oh, your son? Well, we thought it would build his character for ALL of us to completely ignore him on Christmas. We wanted to show him exactly what kind of people we are. We spent the day with his sister, we had to make sure she got her gifts. Oh, his sugar glider died? I am sorry, we cannot ever acknowledge that. We do not even see him. You allowed him to have a potty mouth in the email he sent out, and our eyes filled with our own blood blinding us for life.
For this 100th day, in recognition the death of the innocent sugar glider, “Shug Zoe”, mate of “Shug Night”, I am posting that twelve-year old’s email as he sent it, potty mouth and all. I guarantee he has handled this shit storm better than the adults who dragged him into it.
December 28, 2012
So, you screwed us once again. You know…. I’m starting to lose count of how many times you have just straight pissed me and my entire family off. Come on what the hell did me or my family ever do to you prior to these events? Nothing…Absolutely nothing. You know, I don’t consider you family anymore, or anyone else in that bloody house. Except “XXXX”, who I would consider a friend.
You are one fucking idiot, man. By the way, who in the hell fucked with my father’s FX Light Saber? That shit was sealed, and we got it only to find it open. I am done being quiet now. It’s time I gave my opinion on this stupid situation. You tried to get into my mom’s safe, didn’t you? By the way, the only way you could get into the Ford Explorer is… Guess what?…BREAKING AND ENTERING!
I am absolutely fed up with your bullshit. I hate you with a passion, I guarantee you that. Oh, and guess what happened, just today?….You know our sugar gliders? Yeah, there WERE two of them…But guess what? ONE OF THEM IS DEAD! And you know it’s your damn fault. If you didn’t drive us into this damn hotel, we would have been able to care for them properly, and they would have been fine.
All because of this lie XXXX said, you automatically, Hell, I would say INSTANTLY accepted as one-hundred percent correct without even asking us. Nice job with the restraining order against my mother, but you didn’t get one on my dad or me. That means we are allowed to go to the Explorer, and you can do nothing about it. Because you can try to twist the law into your own vision and make it all happy for you and your family, but in the end you will pay. You can think yourself a god, but once again, you will pay.
Nice talking to you, Asshole.
The Twelve-Year Old
They look at you with disappointment…. thinking they know something…they have no idea how wrong they are…if they knew that would they act the same…would they make stupid comments…tell you they are not involved…ask you what are they doing to you…do they remember the innocent one in the middle…
You scream….yell…FUCK OFF…as loud as you can in your writing…they act shocked at your choice of words…writing “stuff it” instead of using the words that come out of their mouths…they like to share your thoughts with each other…laughing back and forth…like your life is their game to be played with as they wish…to them it is pure entertainment…
Do they feel better when their foot shoves your face into the mud…when they grow tired they find someone else to shove down you some more… they all stare, laughing as they watch you struggle to get up… wiping away the spec of dirt that splattered back as their boot kicked your innocent one…you stand up out of the mud…you look deep into their soul…you see nothing but anger and hate…
You wonder…can she see a time where he did not get into the car…there is no insurance settlement…the older wise one did not start her in that house…no free and clear…she gets pregnant…he is screwing her friends…she is upset…she takes one more of the pills the Dr. gave her for pain…everything seems a little brighter…a year later..no money… over due bills… and that new problem…dope-sick…is she strong enough to handle that…can she turn down the needle full of heroin knowing the sickness is approaching fast…
Does he know how inches could have changed his entire life…he has been drinking with his friends…gets into his new truck…lines start to blur just a little… he tries to bring them back to clear…cannot see the car with the single mom of three…can he see the felony DUI…the manslaughter charge…can he feel the guilt ripping him apart…does he feel the relief when the vodka slides down his throat and starts to numb the pain…
They judge with only the knowledge formed from their own world…based on what they think is normal…
THEIR world where…. compassion is conditional…monetary success required…functional addiction mandatory…
YOUR world where…. empathy is expected…sharing required, as you cannot take it with you……AND the understanding there is only a moment in time…only one wrong decision before they come slipping into YOUR WORLD ….
- Scottsdale Spun 2013: The Beginning… (spun8.wordpress.com)