My husband and I played the “We’re so lucky” game the other night.  Talking about how incredibly blessed we are: to have jobs that we love; to have each other; to have a home; a family that supports and love us…the list goes on and on.  The game was spurred from a conversation about the pending benefit cuts in our state’s budget.

Washington State is proposing massive cuts to financial aid.  They are proposing to eliminate all funding for Disability Lifeline, and to cut TANF, Food stamps, and health care. This after they have already cut those budgets twice.  Right now, an individual on Disability Lifeline receives $266 a month. Tell me, how in the world do you live on $266 a month?  Food stamps have been slashed, TANF (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families) has been cut, both in the last year.  And they are facing more cuts.  That means more disabled individuals will lose their subsidized housing, when they lose their only source of income.  That means more mothers will have to choose between food and shelter.  That means more hungry people, trying to find a meal.

I work with these individuals. I work with these mothers who have fled domestic violence, and have to depend on government assistance, because, try as they might (and believe me, they try!) they cannot find a job.  I work with these individuals who have such severe physical or mental disabilities that they are incapable of earning a living wage.  I know these people by name, who depend on whatever assistance is available, just so they can live.

With these cuts, more men, women and children will be on the streets.  Right now, the average wait to get into a domestic violence shelter in King County is over a week.  The average wait to get into an emergency family shelter is 3 weeks.  Three weeks!  For an emergency shelter.  I am currently working with a mother who has 7 children.  Seven beautiful, well-behaved, smart kids who didn’t ask to be homeless.  They have been waiting for a month for a spot to open up somewhere.  Anywhere.  Their mom has been fighting, to no avail, to get on some kind of government assistance, just until she can get a job.  In the last three weeks she has applied to 22 different jobs, with only one call back.  She didn’t ask for this.  I know of a grandmother, who is caring for her two grandchildren.  The three of them live off the meager $266 from Disability Lifeline – less really, if you factor in that her subsidized housing is 30% of her income.  If she loses her check, she will losing her housing.  And then what?

Then what Washington?

I know that I am lucky.  Damn lucky.  I have been blessed with my health.  Both my husband and I have stable incomes.  And if, God forbid, something were to happen – if one of us were to fall ill, lose a job, our savings, our home – we know without a doubt any number of family members would step in.  Friends would offer us a place to stay.  Yes, we are so so lucky.

But what about those who don’t have stable family?  Those whose friends are in the same boat they are in?  Those who have lost a job, a spouse, their savings, their hope?  Where is their luck?

It makes me weep with anger.  It makes me want to scream.  It really makes me want to force those Olympian decision makers to try to live off of the scant incomes they are getting ready to cut for one month.  Hell, see if you can live off of that for one week!

And so I urge you – do what you can to effect change.  Say something.  Write a letter.  Call a representative.  Rally.  Donate food to a food bank.  Talk to your church about opening your doors at night as a shelter.  Go visit a shelter and let the people there know that someone actually gives a damn.

And remember, and be thankful every day, for your own stroke of luck, recognizing that at any moment, it too could turn.

 

The value in reading

*Just a fair warning.  This post of chock full of judgment!!*

I haven’t been reading as much as I did last year, just seems to be a slow start to the year.  Could be that I’m not spending as much time in airports this year.  Could be that my fiance now lives in the same city.  Whatever the case, my reading has diminished, and that’s a little sad for me, considering how much I love to read.

I met a guy a few weeks ago – one of those real sleezy guys that makes you want to shake your head and say, “I thought people like you only existed in daytime soap operas.”  It so happened that because he was a business associate of my cousin who was in town, I had to spend a better part of an evening with this guy.  He was loud, obnoxious and infuriating.  It would be hard to pick the comment that I found most appalling, but this one definitely landed in the Top 5.

“So my kid, he’s like 14, and he reads all the f***ing time.  I mean, come on, do something dude!  I make fun of him all the time.  He so didn’t take after me.  I can count on one hand the number of books I’ve read in my entire life!  I just don’t get him.”

I just stared at this man.  Who mocks their kid for reading?  Seriously?  Now, I had been true to my Southern roots all night and ignored most of his asinine comments.  I pretended to ignore his mockery of all things decent, and feigned losing count of the number of times he put down his wife.  But mocking his child for reading, I couldn’t handle.

“Um, I read 32 books.  Last year.”  And I honestly didn’t care how pretentious I sounded.  Shame on that man for mocking his son for reading.  Shame on him for not setting a better example.  And kudos to the kid for not taking after his dad.  Call me judgmental, but good grief.  I’m not saying everyone has to love reading as much as me, but puh-lease, don’t mock your own kid for goodness sake!

Reading for me is a release.  It can be an escape from my day.  Or it can me something to draw me closer to a certain history, or personality, or subject.  I just finished reading, “The Piano Teacher.”  A decently good story, but what really drew me in was the attention to describing the setting in Hong Kong.  It made me miss my dear friends back in the city.  It was a great reminder of my time there.  Reading road names and hotels that I often passed helped me draw to mind particular faces that maybe I haven’t thought about in awhile.  What a beautiful thing for a book to be able to do!

So read on kid, whoever you are.  Escape if you need to.

I have been using Aussie Sprunch Spray for, oh geez, I don’t even know how long.  YEARS!  It is the only product I use.  Ever.  When I go to the store, I buy 2 or 3 bottles at a time because I go through it so quickly.  About a bottle every 3 weeks.  Granted, my hair is down to my waist, but still.  I use a lot of Aussie Sprunch.  I love me some Sprunch Spray.   (and it’s a fun name!)

And then, they went and changed the product on me.  It no longer has its familiar, comforting scent.  And it doesn’t work the same!!  Sprunch spray used to give me firm, but manageable curls.  I could wear my hair down or up in a ponytail and always be assured my curls would stay in place.  Now, my hair feels like it is fried, it’s like straw!  The curls aren’t holding, and the frizz is back!!  Oh my goodness the frizz is back.  Raise your hand if you remember back in the frizzy days?  Oh dear….but your hand back down and hide those pictures please!!

I don’t consider myself to be a vain person, but when you have gotten used to one product over the years, particularly one that makes you feel at least some what put together, well, it’s devestating when they change it.  I guess I have to start looking for a new hair product, but ugghh. 

Darn you Aussie.

Um, excuse me?

For those of you know me in real life, you know that I’m not a girly-girl. Frills, lace, bows? No thank you. It is a joke in my family that while my sister is pinks and polka-dots, I’m earth-tones. I like to believe that I am pretty darn independent. That I am a well-rounded individual. I love hiking, reading, writing, traveling. I love to bake and am learning how to cook. I like organization but hate cleaning. I love sports and am a forever Noles fan. I do love cute clothes, but comfort is key. I own only half the number of shoes my dear fiance does. And I should add, not a single pair of heels, mostly flip flops. I have an earring fetish. I’m interested in photography, living sustainably and working for justice. I have lived in 5 states and two countries, all on my own. My graduate degree was paid part in scholarship, part in bar tips. I’m getting married in June, but I’m yet to buy a bridal magazine. My requirements for a dress are, “No butt-bows, no bedazzled, no lace.” Let’s just say, I’m not the kind of girly-girl that most wedding magazines/movies/websites are geared toward.

Case in point:
Modern Bride (sent to me by my sister via my mother), while containing helpful articles about staying on budget and planning a healthy honeymoon, also contains an article called, “Get in the Game: Tips for watching football with your fiance.” With such helpful tips as, “Wear a replica football jersey…he’ll think it’s sexy.” and “Don’t pepper him with planning questions during the game.” The article also includes some incredibly enlightening diagrams on how to learn the basic refs’ calls. That’s a good thing, otherwise, I might have never known what a first down was!  Moral of the article, Look sexy and stay quiet.

Seriously? I mean, SERIOUSLY!?   Short story: First game of the Noles season, I spent refreshing the ESPN page every 2 minutes because I don’t have cable and couldn’t stream the game live online.  I spent the last minute of the game on the phone with Kris, where he wasn’t allowed to talk, so I could listen to his TV to hear the end of the game.   Another short story:  While I Hong Kong, my first Thanksgiving I had Kris turn the webcam to the TV so I could watch at least some football via Skype!

So all I have to say is….SERIOUSLY?!?  For all brides to be and brides that have been who love football as much (if not more than) their men, I am offended.  Maybe I’ll just make my wedding cake in the shape of a football and let the groom’s cake done the wedding toppers!

Righteous Anger

Mary’s Place has been in the news quite a bit over the last few weeks.  In case you have missed all of the Facebook updates, you can check out the following links in order to catch up. Long story short – for over a decade, Mary’s Place was housed in the basement of First United Methodist Church in downtown Seattle.  It was a great location, and the organization had a great relationship with the pastor.  Fast forward to 2006/7, FUMC got a new pastor, who, while claiming to be a homeless advocate, decided to take the church in a different direction.  The church sold their prime downtown property to a developer (for a high rise office building to go in its place), and bought property in the posh Queen Anne district.  While the church was under construction, Mary’s Place found a temporary location, having been told that when the new FUMC was completed, Mary’s Place would have a place in their new building.  The temporary location is now being placed on the market for developing as well.  Fast forward to March 2009, when FUMC told Mary’s Place that if they wanted to return to FUMC they would have to give up their 501(c) and become a part of the church’s ministry.  This was something that Mary’s Place absolutely could not do.  They have spent the last 18 years building up trust in their donors and supporters, they have established themselves as a ministry that is open to women of all or no faith, and pride themselves on the numerous denominations and churches that support Mary’s Place.   There were some dirty church politics that occurred as a result of FUMC’s decision and that severely effected the ministry of Mary’s Place, yet we have tried to move past this and focus on what is important.  (Even though in my head I keep singing, “I’m not ready to make nice.  I’m not ready to back down.  I’m still mad as hell and I don’t have time to go round and round.  ‘Cause I’m mad as hell and can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should.”  Guess that is why I don’t make the decisions around here – anger isn’t going to get us anywhere we need to be.)  The fact remains that, regardless of how we ended up in this dire situation, by as early as February, Mary’s Place could become homeless.  Without that promise of a place to move into, we have been suddenly forced into a desperate search for permanent housing and funding for the move.   Both things that, if we had known 2 years ago when we were preparing to move into this temporary location, we could have been building up towards.  But searching for affordable housing and money for a move and possible renovations in this economy is well, harsh.

Okay, so maybe long story long.  I’m getting to my point, I really am.

The decision was made to reach out to the media, to tell them of our story in hopes that someone out there could help us in our search for a home, or help with funding, or just help in whatever way they could.  But the problem with reaching out to the media is, its not a story unless there’s drama involved.  And the drama of hundreds of women and children losing the only day home they know and trust just isn’t drama enough.  So while it was never the intention to bash FUMC, the media needed that spin.  And there is something to be said for letting people know exactly why we are in the situation we are in.  We have been mostly pleased with most of the coverage so far – it has focused more on our need than the FUMC drama, and we have gotten mostly positive feedback.  But the place where we have not gotten positive, or even really relevant, feedback, is the comment sections.  In today’s media market, where every one has an opinion and a username, comment sections are the place to be.  As I read through the comment sections on each media piece, I was amazed at how quickly things can spin out of control.  While the article focused on the need for a home, the comment sections became a religion/Jesus bashing session.

And then I read this:

“Why are these women homeless?   Why don’t women stay in families, build multi-generational extended households and care for each other from cradle to grave?

Oh, I forgot…they are strong, independent and capable! They don’t want to share a home, car, t.v., kitchen or a man’s income.  You’ve come a long baby!”

And not only did I want to scream at the computer screen (which I did), and throw things (which I didn’t), but I wanted to weep.  The fact that someone could seriously think that the cause of homeless in women and children is due to the fact that they are not dependent on their husbands anymore is nothing short of absurd.   It is just beyond my comprehension that the mindset of keeping a woman “barefoot and pregnant” still exists.  Not only that it still exists, but that the deviation from the idea is the “cause” of homelessness in women.  I wanted to scream, “But what about the woman who was being abused for years by her husband.  The woman who fled in order to protect the lives of her children?  What about the woman who never had a husband to depend on?  The woman who was abandoned as soon as the pregnancy test showed positive.  What about the woman who was dumped by her family because of her mental illness, or the woman who knew nothing of drugs until her boyfriend introduced her?  What of these women?”

It makes me think of the passage in the Bible, where Jesus enters the Temple and sees the merchants dishonoring a holy space with greed.  When Jesus over turns the tables, we sense his anger, not at their greed, but at their defilement of something sacred.   And it it makes me think.  While the anger in me boils over the ignorant and sexist comments such as those in the comment sections, the root of my anger is really over the lack of compassion.  The defilement of something as sacred as the provision of basic needs of all human beings.  When compassion is lost, what hope do we have left?

Nickelsville

*Advocacy alert!!  Please be sure to check the bottom for ways that YOU can HELP!!!!*

A big story in the Seattle news recently has been the most recent move of Nickelsville, a tent city for homeless men and women.  Sponsored and managed by Share/WHEEL (co-sponsors also of Women in Black), Nickelsville is named after Mayor Nickels, who claims to do great things for the homeless people of Seattle, but has in all actuality, failed them time and time again.  

Mayor Nickels may say that there are enough beds to cover every homeless person, but how do you explain the nearly 3,000 men, women and children who still sleep out on the streets every night?  Do you really think that is their choice?   I sat with a mother today, and her five year old daughter, and we called every single shelter in King County, and two in other counties.  Not a single opening.  No one had room for this mother and child.  Does this outrage anyone else? *end rant*

The fact of the matter is that no, there are not enough beds to even begin to cover the thousands of homeless in King County alone.  Out of this desperation, Tent City 3 was started in 2002.   Modeled after Portland’s “Dignity Village,” and named after the manner of naming shanty towns Hooverville during the Great Depression, Nickelsville has faithfully provided anywhere from 50-100 homeless men and women a night safe shelter for 7 years.  Nickelsville, and its sister camp, Tent City 4, are housed mostly in church parking lots, occasionally taking residence on university campus.  The entire camp has to move every 90 days, to follow city ordinance, leaving Nickelsville to find a new willing host. 

Nickelsville is more than just a tent city, it is home for hundreds.  It is a place where men and women can safely rest their head each night. With shelters, if you don’t get in line in time, you lose your bed.  There is no guarantee with shelters.  In Nickelsville, the tent you sleep in is yours, every single night. It is a place where they can leave their belongings during the day while they are out working, looking for work, attending doctor appointments, visiting with family, etc.  It is a place where husband and wives can stay together, something no other shelter in Seattle offers! 

Nickelsville has turned into a community full of people who equally encourage and hold one another accountable.  There is round-the-clock security, community meetings and strict rules, all set by the community.  Drugs and alcohol are strictly forbidden.  Quite simply, these are men and women who desperately need a safe place to sleep each night, and a community to gather around them.  These are women and men who are empowered by simply having a tent to call “home.”

And yet, the City of Seattle has continuously tried to evict Nickelsville from nearly every location it has landed over the last 7 years.  They are give 90 day permits, after which they must pack up and leave, trying to find new safe ground.  Churches have put themselves in the line of fire, trying offer Nickelsville a place to stay.  These church have, in turn, been sued by the city. 

Finally, Nickelsville grew weary of fighting the city, and has sought refuge from the State.  They are now residing on State owned property, in hopes that Governor Gregorie will have a more open heart and mind than Mayor Nickels.  The land Nickelsville currently sits on has been abandoned for quite some time, and it seems a waste to let perfectly good land to unused, particularly when there are people in need of a place to go. 

We are currently advocating to the State and to Governor Gregorie to give Nickelsville a permanent place to call home.   It is rumored that she has been to visit Nickelsville this week.  We are only hoping that she can see how much good this tent city does for these men and women.  Until we can eradicate homelessness, there will be a real need for Nickelsville!

If you are interested in joining the campaign, please send an email or a letter to the following.  They are listening!  Now is the time to speak up!

Mr. McKenna, Attorny General: rob.mckenna@atg.wa.gov

Ms. Hammond, State Transportation Secretary: hammonp@wsdot.wa.gov

Mr. Judd, Governor’s Office: ron.judd@gov.wa.gov

Governor Christine Gregorie (via her website): www.governor.wa.gov

Home sweet home

Well, after an unexpected extension to my travel time, I’ve decided that I despise Delta.  Boo Delta.  My flight was delayed take off for an hour.  I had a 45 minute layover in Atlanta, and the delay meant I was going to miss my connection.  Before we left though, they made the announcement that due to weather all of our connections were also delayed an hour, so everyone should be fine.  Before I boarded, I went to the counter and gave them the flight number of my connection, and they confirmed that flight was delayed one hour and wouldn’t leave until 11:45pm.  Right as we were taking off, the head flight attendant announced that there was no running water on the plane, which meant we couldn’t wash our hands in the bathrooms, and more importantly, that there would be no coffee or tea during flight service!  Seriously?!  We were taking off from the city where there are more coffee shops than people, and someone on staff couldn’t think to run down to Starbucks for a jug of coffee to go?  Geez.  I hadn’t had my coffee that day yet because I had been rushing to the airport and standing in lines trying to figure the delay and connection deals.  The headache that was creeping up on me hit full force about halfway through our flight.

You know you have to buy your meals on planes now?  I knew that before, but it never ceases to tick me off.  I think that any flight over four hours should warrent a free meal.  Good grief.  I paid $8 for a salad that I wouldn’t have paid $2 for in a deli!  It was not good.  The little flight attendant man that was working my section kept ignoring me/forgetting me.  When they would offer drinks he wouldn’t wait for me to answer before he was already moving back!  Twice I had to stand up to get his attention.  I was so frustrated.

I finally land in Atlanta, after the flight attendants promised everyone they would make their connections (yes, she actually used the word promise!), and was told that my connection was gate D28.  I was at B17.   And to make matters worse, my flight was leaving in 10 minutes.  Turns out, my connection  WAS NOT an hour late, as I had twice been told previously!  So I ran two concourses in three minutes flat, only to arrive at my gate 4 minutes too late!  Four stinkin’ minutes!  The plane was still there, but the doors were already shut, and even though I begged the lady at the desk, they wouldn’t open them again.  Seeing as how that was the last flight out to Ft. Walton for the night, I was stuck in Atlanta!  I stood in line for over an hour to rebook my flight, expecting a hotel for the night.  They were more than willing to offer me a hotel…if I paid for it!!  I couldn’t believe it!  Here I was, stuck because of Delta, and they were making me pay for a hotel room!!  I was so ticked at this point, I may have let a few choice words slip.

So, I stayed the night in a poor excuse for a hotel right under the incoming flights, so all night I heard planes and rattling windows.  The flight the next morning got off fine.  Though it was bumpy the entire flight (so bumpy that the lone flight attendant never got out of his seat!), we made it to Florida fine.

But it doesn’t end there.  When I got home and opened my luggage I found that menacing little paper that indicates the TSA had searched my bags.  I had put my sister’s wedding present in my suitcase, because I didn’t have room in my carry on.  It was this really cool candle that was actually two candles woven together, and when they met at the top they formed a heart.  I met this really neat local artist at Pike Place Market the day before I left, and he made all these candles.  I thought they were just beautiful, and that the heart would make a unique gift for my sister.  So I double wrapped it in bubble wrap, then wrapped it in a bag, rolled a shirt around it, then a sweater around that, and placed it in the middle of my suitcase.  Well, while the TSA was rooting through my bag, they took apart my packing, down to the bubble wrap, and didn’t put it back together.  So when I opened my bag, the candle was snapped in two.  I’m so sad because it was such a good idea, and now I’m stuck for a gift!  Stupid Delta and Stupid TSA.  Grrr.

But, on the bright side, I’m in Florida!  And it is BEAUTIFUL!!  I mean seriously, weather like today is why people move to Florida.  Blue and sunny, a slight breeze, a perfect 72 degrees.  All the dogwoods and azaleas are in bloom, and it is just so darn beautiful!  I’m enjoying being back with my family.  Today was my mom’s birthday (YAY!) and we had a great time together today, going to lunch, shopping, and then grilling out tonight.  Alison is in Princess mode, and just loving all the attention.  My mom’s dinning room is literally overflowing with wedding gifts.  Tomorrow I’m going to pick up Kris from the airport (YAY!) and family starts coming in tomorrow night.  Mom, Dad and Alison will be peeling 50 pounds of shrimp while I’m picking up Kris (gotta love the boy’s timing It is going to be a fun but busy weekend!

Commitment

I just have to say that life without a car is a serious commitment.  Using public transportation, for all its wonderful perks, can be hard work.  It is a commitment to ride the bus to work in the rain, sleet or snow (all of which we had over the weekend).  It is a commitment to stand outside waiting for the bus, while the wind gusts are so hard you lose your cap and your scarf threatens to strangle you. 

Life without a car makes you more paranoid about the time as well.  Let’s say you wake up 5 minutes late.  It sets your whole morning routine off by 5 minutes.  Five measly minutes.  If you had a car, no prob, you are just five minutes late to work (or you speed – which I, of course, would never do – haha!)  But, if you ride the bus, and your whole morning routine is off by 5 measly minutes, it means, you guessed it, you miss your bus.  And the next one doesn’t come around for another 15 minutes.  Making you now 20 minutes late to work. 

Most days, I love the life of a non-car owner.  I love being environmentally responsible and doing my small part.  I love not having to pay for or worry about the maintenance of a car.  I really enjoy the interesting people you meet at bus stops.  Most days, I really like public transportation.

Today, was not one of those days.

I need my mom

When I was preparing to move to Hong Kong, there was a ridiculous amount of packing to be done.  I had to pack up my house in Kentucky, but I only moved it out to the garage, as my roommate and my boyfriend were staying in the house.  Then I had to figure out what I thought I’d be taking to Hong Kong, and throw it in my car to take to Florida, where I was staying with my family the month before I left.  The week before, my mother, bless her heart, packed me up.   This amazing woman packed 15 months into two suitcases.

Now, it is time to come home.  It is 15 month and 6 countries later.  And I seriously need my mom.  My flat is a WRECK right now.  I can’t decide what to take, I have an unhealthy addiction to books and I have not figured out yet what is a reasonable amount to spend on shipping.  I will be doing a lot of traveling in order to get back home, so I’d like to try to manage with only one suitcase and just ship the rest home.  But man, packing is a bore.  And I am no good at this game.

In which I rant and rave

Today was just one of those days.  One of those, “Don’t cross me” days.  You know the kind.  I’m not really sure what spurred it.  Maybe because it is (was) Monday.  Maybe because my irritations are stemming from the fact that my life is about to be uprooted again, and I’m nervous.  Or maybe it is just because it was one of those days.

Regardless.  It is.  Was.  And everything was set to rub me the wrong way.  Which is a bum deal when you work in the business of social justice.  Sitting in court today I had the very strong urge to thump the interpreter in the head.  Violent, I know.  But trust me, she deserved it.  And don’t even get me started on the the judge.  A menacing little man with an evil grin and even more evil disposition.  How a man who hates people as much as he does got into the business of court conciliation is beyond me.  He is beyond prejudice.  He is equally hateful to all people.  I don’t know if that consistency is supposed to be comforting or not?  Every time I end up in his court, I groan.  I really despise this man and his beady little eyes and condescending attitude.  He is the one judge that I refused to follow the Chinese tradition of bowing for.  He just flat out doesn’t deserve that kind of respect.

And then, during the court break, I went back to the Bethune House to grab a quick lunch and a few minutes of quiet.  Of course, being one of those days, that wasn’t going to happen.  While eating, one of the clients wanted me to edit her statement.  And normally, I have no problem at all to work while I’m eating (or vise versa), because my days are typically so relaxed.  But for some reason, today, that really set me the wrong way.  It took a lot of restraint not to snap at her.  After I finished lunch, as I was editing her statement and claims sheet, I realized that not only had the courts decided to use new formulas for calculations (formulations that end up equaling less than before), but they had also made a mistake in her claims.  A $200 mistake.  Oh, then I just went off.  Poor girl, I think I caught her a little of guard.  But I wasn’t yelling at her.  Mostly just ranting at the computer and the claims sheet.  I’m pretty sure I called the Labour Department a moron.  Yes, the whole department.  This obvious mistake, had it not been caught, would have denied this girl one of the fundamental contractual rights.  So I used her new claims sheet to set the record straight.  Let’s just say there were italics used.  I think they’ll get my point.

Then, I rush back to court.  Only for the judge to be 40 minutes late.  Seriously?  I already don’t like you, and now you are going to be late?  In the end, my client settled her case.  And I was so glad.  Because I say that I don’t have any favorites at work (ha!), but if I did, I’m sorry to say, she wouldn’t be one of them.  I don’t know what it is, I guess our personalities just don’t match, but man she gets under my skin.  With all the clients I have helped over my time here, I don’t think I can say that about many of them at all.  But this one lady in particular just knew how to push my buttons. (Namely by not listening to the very advice she asked me for, thus making her case longer and more difficult.)  But it is finished.  And though I spent the entire day in court, it is over.

I’ll tell you what, having one of those days in a work environment like this is a bad combination.  Because every injustice, every mistake and every prejudice becomes a soap box for me to stand on.  I won’t here. Because I have in the past.  But just know that my restraint only means that I’m just tired and ready for bed, and ready to put this day behind me.

Oh!  Also!  Who in their right mind decides that 11:30pm is a good time to practice piano?  My upstairs neighbor.  That is who.  Either they need to start playing lullabies or they are likely to hear me pounding on their door real soon!