Well, my book is out. You can order your copy here.
I also talk about it on PorcTherapy with host Stephanie Murphy.
I’m a bit apprehensive to have my life out on display in this book for everyone to see. Not that the transparency and judgment is anything new…
I’m hoping to get off probation in January. At least, that’s what the judge said he would consider or at least take me off of “formal” probation so I can leave the county!! Then I am OUT of this crazy state. Seriously, things seem to get worse exponentially, day by day.
A couple weeks ago, LAPD and DCFS came and took my roommate’s newborn. That’s sent me on a bit of a tailspin. And that was followed by my office asking that our “ties be severed” by voicemail… a bit like having your boyfriend breaking up with you by text.
And then, of course, these things happen and my supporters, family and friends want to know what I’m doing to MAKE these things happen. Either I have not “manifested” enough blessings or I am “inviting” drama.
This leaves me to the uncomfortable pondering of Haitian orphans and babies with HIV and starving babies in Somalia… what did they DO to deserve their pain?
My answer can only be that they have done NOTHING different than the babies raised in a white picket home in the suburbs. For whatever reason, God has seen fit to put me here in this time and place. I cannot wait to see the reason, because I TRUST that it is worth it.
Of course, I do have ears to hear what I am saying and a part of me feels those words as a hollow eyed solution and words of desperation. Kind of like reading Ann Frank’s words in hiding, “Despite all this, I still believe in the goodness of humanity.”
Well, I DON’T. But I do still hold to the goodness of God.
Unfortunately, that stand does nothing right now for the splitting headache and lack of drive to do anything but lay in bed and wish to wake up several months later and find this was all over. If only I could hibernate… at least then I wouldn’t use up the groceries.
I’m glad my roommate is here… she does dishes, cleans and cooks to keep herself from going mad with how much she worries about and misses her children. If I were the only adult here, my dishes would be piled high and there would be no clean clothes. Roaches and flies would have infested our bathroom and kitchen.
Her husband works tirelessly at the endless paper trail to somehow feel like battle is being waged for his babies, locked in a bloated and overstepping system of evil.
And my children play video games and instruments and dig holes in the ground just to fill them back up again. To make the lingering days pass until we can be free and I can work again.
Somehow it appears things will get worse again before they get better. I don’t know that I will recognize freedom since I have fallen into a cozy depressed apathy in these chains. Is this how they kill people slowly? Is this what makes addicts who become the skid row street dwellers I used to serve on community service?