I am a big doofus who always forgets to smile. I hate selfies, but my head is warm.
As I pushed the door open to exit Great Clips, a wave of cold bashed me upside the head. It felt like a giant ice cube had immediately enveloped my head. “Shit,” I said. “I forgot my damn hat.”
This is exactly how Hitler took control of Germany.
In 53 days.
Cheetolini is not going to take that long.
I created this video about my grandmother a few months ago for a creative nonfiction class I was taking. While I had some experience slapping together videos as a reporter at the Star-Herald, they were always “quick and dirty” to get the information out. This was my first serious attempt at making a visual essay.
Mrs. Blustein, my fifth grade teacher, brought a lady in to speak with us about politics. It was an election year and she was running for a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives. She didn’t have to come and speak to a bunch of 11 year olds, but I was glad that she did because I found it fascinating. We were learning about how politics work and here was a lady willing to explain all to us and answer our most idiotic questions. It was 1982 and that visit set me on a path of becoming aware of what was going on in the world and how I might actually be able to help effect change.
A drawing of T-Rex by Wyatt and me. I drew the head and teeth. Wyatt didn’t like my horns and said they needed to be “more pointy.”
A notification popped up on my phone. It was from my friend, Jina. I rarely read emails on my phone, save for things that are emergencies, and this was no different. When I returned home a few hours later, I read my email, nodded my head and spoke to my monitor. Yeah, that’s right. Now you know why it takes me so long to reply to emails. I tend to talk right back at you and forget to actually type out the damned response.
I don’t think this is anything related to my trauma. It’s just how my brain works. It’s also why I have written about a dozen awesome posts in my head over the past month, but never actually typed them. Sometimes, I type them in dreams and forget to do it in the real world. Today, I’m going to start typing them out and share them here.
We’ve been on a terrible timeline since the end of 2016. If we are going to be forced to live with this shitshow, I think it should start off with a bang to make me smile. Here is my proposal on how to start 2025 and survive the next four years.
Mom and Gram, sometime in the early 1980s.
WARNING: GRAPHIC PHOTOS BELOW
I stopped screaming when I was 9 or 10 years old. No one came to save when I was 3, 4, 5 years old. They still didn’t when I was 8, 9, 10 years old. So, I internalized my screams and pain and stopped asking for help. I have wailed once since then on the day I nearly lost my eye, but I did not scream. Monday was different.
It’s been quite the week and I’ve spent a lot of time in thoughtful contemplation. Wilson Cruz shared this video five days ago. I just came across it now. He is absolutely right on all account and it would be good if you took a couple of minutes to watch it.
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Some comments on the comments and a few other small things
By Irene
On 2025-01-23
In News
A view from a plane a few minutes after takeoff from Scottsbluff.
A few months ago, the folks who read my writings here started commenting to me via email. While that’s fine and it’s great people are reading my work, I wondered what had shifted. Why was no one posting comments anymore?
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