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insomnia.

I still don’t really feel like being here, but it’s 2:00 AM and I have insomnia. This is better than dwelling on the stupid things my brain’s been dwelling on for the last hour. Here are some less stupid things:

1- PokemonGo. Against all that is holy and good I decided to download it. For M, not for me. Her cousins are playing it, and I knew she’d want to play along with them. But I can’t register an account. I Googled it, and Google said go in through them, through Google. I have 2 Gmail accounts and still can’t figure out how to register for PokemonGo. For some reason, I’m not that upset. M already just left a weird tweet to one of my favorite actors tonight, and so I’m really not that upset about her being on my phone more. (I am not going to get into a discussion or a debate about this, Internet. My child on my phone – everybody has an opinion about this, but quite frankly that’s all they are…opinions. There is no good or bad, there just is, so it is what it is, and I’m not going to talk about it further than that.)

My point about PokemonGo is that it’s weird to me, but I’m not going to judge other people’s love for it. We are strange, the things that capture our imagination. I wish books about magical worlds would capture everyone’s imaginations, but for right now humans seem drawn to things like Candy Crush and chasing bizarre anime creatures all over the planet. (Actually books about a magical world did capture everyone’s imaginations several years ago – Harry Potter – but they made movies, toys, games, clothing, etc. out of it. This is how we do, these days. With everything. Marketing is king.)

2- Speaking of magic and imaginations, I read an article today that essentially said the British tell children stories better than Americans because they’re still in touch with their pagan roots and Americans want to moralize everything away. In British children’s stories, there’s more of a fight between good vs evil all set in a world of magic, with really no “and the moral of this story is…” at the end. All of our stories, the article said, have some kind of moral theme or lesson to them, and a lot of our tales focus on folksy, bigger-than-life characters often based on real or realistic people. Even Wizard of Oz, my beloved Wizard of Oz, which has always been a defining story to my whole reason for existence here, has a moralizing theme to it (“There’s no place like home.”)

Clearly, America is ready for a pagan-based tale with no moral to it. I don’t know that I’m the person to write it, necessarily. I just think it’s time for us to stop freaking preaching to everyone else when our top two presidential choices are an orange-haired, racist buffoon and a blonde sketchy lady. And probably the buffoon is in cahoots with the sketchy lady so she can wind up president – they were bestest of friends mere years ago. America is in NO position to preach morality to anybody else on this crazy rock. We are repressed, we are prudes, so many of us lack the irony gene, and we have a tremendous issue when it comes to beating up and/or killing each other and blowing up parts of the rest of the world. Yet we like to tell other people what to do and what’s good and bad. That’s us.

3- I’m getting tired of the white apologists on this police brutality stuff. Really, really tired…and I’m white. And all about peace and love. I recognize that there are some really stupendous police officers, both white and black, out there. And I recognize the need to recognize we are all humans, all in this together, all connected; I say this all the time. But just like mass shootings: when is enough enough? When?

And then the asswipes with their “factual data” start coming out, pointing out like the pedantic pieces of shit they are how blacks murder more blacks per year than whites do. They’re such victims of their own White Privilege they don’t even know how completely and totally they’re missing the point: it’s not about WHO murders who or how much. What people are tired of and angry about is the excessive use of force employed by people who’ve been given badges and guns and power over those of us who have not been given those things. I get nervous driving in front of a police car because I don’t have money to pay a traffic ticket if I get pulled over; can’t imagine what I’d feel if I were a black man driving in front of a police car nervous about being pulled over and shot and killed because I didn’t raise my hands off the wheel fast enough.

It’s about the fact that many people who are, essentially, bullies are being drawn to police work so they can, you know…go be bullies but with a lot of power over those weaker than them now. And it’s about the fact we are not addressing this at all, just like we’re not addressing sensible laws to make sure the vast majority of people who get to have access to guns in this country are responsible, sane people.

I get that people are trying to find peaceful solutions to really tragic things that are happening. But instead of posting “well, look at THIS example of a good interaction between a white police officer and a black citizen” (and I am guilty of posting these on social media myself, because they DO make your heart happy; it’s nice to know not all people are douchebags), we need to be having really respectful, painfully honest conversations about race in this country. We need to be open-hearted about other people’s plights in life. And, in America, we need to make peace with our past and quash every single thing in our laws and our business practices that even remotely smack of those kinds of historical attitudes. And I’m not just talking about race – I’m talking about race, women, immigration, socioeconomic status…everything.  We can potentially fix us, but it’ll take guts, a letting go of ego, open minds and hearts, and some money. Just going off what I see on social media and the Internet and how many hard eye rolls I do each time I’m on the Internet, I’m not very hopeful for us. But I hope I’m wrong.

4- This men’s movement/rights b.s. It disgusts me. Men, the status quo, are so so soooo sad that the nicest ones of them just can’t get a woman to sleep with them. Boo hoo. What I find is that I’m most attracted to men who are consistent, not clingy, and don’t lie. I find those qualities really awesome in a man. I also like men who don’t act like adult virgins – petulant, whiny, and victims of their own entitlement.

It’s just like white people going: when do we get a White History month? (Uh, because every month, historically, since this country’s been in business, has been White History month. How many black presidents have we had, for example?) And white people going: I should get to celebrate my whiteness. First of all, genetically speaking, we’re all related via DNA similarities; we all have a common ancestor who just so happened to originate in Africa. You can get mad about that, and be like the crazy Christians who think people and dinosaurs existed together so The Bible can make sense in spite of its lack of dinosaur mentions, but it doesn’t change the truth. So your whiteness that you want to celebrate is simply you celebrating your lack of melanin brought about by millions of years of evolution and human migratory behavior. Celebrating being black isn’t necessarily about celebrating “oh look at all this melanin I’ve got!” as much as it is: look at how far people with as much melanin as me have had to fight to get as far as we’ve gotten, and look how much farther we have to go.

I’m half Welsh, part German-Dutch, Scottish, and English. With supposedly some Apache somewhere in there. I’m pretty proud of my Welsh/German/Dutch/Scottish/English heritage. My great-great grandmother immigrated here from Wales and because she lived until my dad was 12, I now know that the word for “grandma” in Welsh is “mungee.” And I can say “How are you? My name is Amy.” in Welsh. I have great memories from childhood of eating Welsh cookies and other treats my grandmother made from her grandmother’s recipes she brought from Wales. I love my Celtic heritage. But I’m not going to celebrate my whiteness, because being white isn’t a struggle. It’s just not. And if you think it is, you’re probably one of those pedantic douchebags posting research articles proving that black people are their own problem. (Never even asking yourself if there’s a white people/historical reason for that coming to be…much like how many Native Americans today struggle with poverty, alcoholism, and angst about assimiliation and life on the reservation is just not as awesome as it is in the big, White Man city. Why is that? How did that situation come to be? Hm, could the White Man in power have created it? I don’t know.) (And I’m being sarcastic…of course white people did it. Go read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.)

5- I’m feeling slightly better than I was last time I was here. Someone I’ve gotten friendly with on Twitter wrote me a poem that moved me to tears. When I’m not busy cleaning up vomit (Miss M had a vomiting incident at 1:30AM last night…1:30 AM last night when I DIDN’T have insomnia), or running around doing whatever (I have been keeping busy lately, which is a GOOD thing, y’all), I’m going to compile what he wrote and put it here. It was really, really kind and I’m tearing up again right now just thinking about it. Later,  I wrote my own poem, based on what I was feeling. I always find it really interesting, when I write poems based on what I’m feeling…what or whoever is my muse for these. I always ask myself: why am I writing about THIS person and not THAT one? Or THIS thing but not THAT thing?

5- Every time I turn around, I am bombarded with something on the Internet about A Course in Miracles. Something Somewhere desperately wants me to do A Course in Miracles. The problem, Something Somewhere, is that You need to give me the ability to focus for longer than 1 minute. These course things, they take time, focus, and concentration, three things I’m in short supply of usually. (Something Somewhere is rolling Its eyes at me and sighing in exasperation.)

If I ever go back to church, it’ll be to a Unitarian or Unity Christian church, though. They seem way less full of judgmental hypocrites. I watched something online the other day by a Christian preacher talking about gay marriage. He started out so sweet and loving, talking about how Jesus would have shown love and compassion for ALL people, even the gay ones. How dare Christians be mean and judgmental about gay people? And then he launched into his real point, the part of his spiel where God goes: NO. To gays and transgenders and etc. and everybody else this Christian minister all concerned with love and compassion and acceptance doesn’t understand or accept.

See what I mean (see number 3 above)? Hard eye roll, Internet. Hard eye roll.

7- I have cried so much over the last week or so. So much. Some people have gotten to hear me cry, either in person or on the phone. Listen – if I am comfortable enough with you, if I trust you big enough, to cry in front of you? You are special. So, so special. If I actually ever cry ON you, like get snot and stuff on your shirt? I can’t even tell you how special that makes you. I obviously don’t keep everything inside of me – I spew it all out here or in my handwritten journal. But I try to brush everything off, even when everything is not okay and I’ve indicated it’s not okay, as just fine. Like: “I’ll be okay. I’ll eventually be fine, I always am.” Which is true, but in that moment I am NOT okay. I want you to be able to see this and know it, and I want you to hug me to you and tell me it’s okay to cry on you.

I like to fix other people, I think, and so at heart I want someone else to fix me. (No one can fix us but ourselves, but it’s nice to know someone wants to, is what I’m saying.) Another way to say all this is: I’m holding out for a hero. I’m holding out for a hero til the end of the night. (But he’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be fresh from the fight.)

Okay, it’s almost 3 AM. I’m heading back into the fray of trying to sleep.

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