Cheerios, White Privlege, and How We Might All Just Get Along...

Over the last few weeks there has been some back lash to a Cheerios commercial. If you've never seen it, it is of a white mother speaking to her daughter who is clearly not just white. After a cute little back and forth about how Cheerios is heart healthy, it cuts to a black father who is covered in Cheerios. Some people thought this terrible. How dare we have an interracial couple? How dare we?
 
To this response, more than one person has mentioned how difficult being black must be. This was the second time, in a month's time, that the idea of being black was pushed at me as a negativism. A few weeks ago someone mentioned white privilege to me, again. I said I hate it, and I do. I'm not sure white people should want to feel bad for being white. They can't help being white anymore than I can help being black, and why would I want to? Why should they HAVE to? I don't feel bad about being black. I was born black and I am perfectly happy in that skin and all that comes along with it; regardless to where I live, go to work, school, or worship. You're born as you are to be who you are (for the record, I mean this in terms of race and ethnicity), why are we apologizing all the time for things that we can't change? (Remember I am talking about what we can't change.)

I suppose (if I take a moment to see it from a white person's view) that they'd like to sympathize with what minorities have suffered through. Well, thanks, seriously, thanks. Here's the thing, if you sympathize you're trying to understand, and that's enough, or at least it is a bloody good start. I don't need you to feel bad for me because I am black (this is something I do NOT feel bad about), and I refuse to feel bad for people feeling bad that they're white. It's stupid. I'm sorry, but it is...wait, I'm not sorry.

I implore you not to perceive being of a different race as a negativism. Hating your race or ethnicity is hating yourself and I cannot condone that. Looking at someone else and thinking that you'd hate to be their particular race or ethnicity is looking your nose down on them, I will not condone that either.

Don't feel bad for me or anyone because they are a different race or ethnicity than you are. You can feel bad for the way someone is treated; you can even speak to the persons or person who are treating someone unjustly, but to develop an entire train of thought to assume the guilt of the centuries before you, no...don't. Or to perceive either a race or an ethnicity as unfortunate for simply being is wrong. Unless you personally did something to someone based upon their race or ethnicity you have nothing to feel sorry about. (I am speaking to this particular issue. If you've, I don't know, kicked a puppy, you should really feel shitty about that.)

Listen, minorities can do anything that the majority can do. Our road might be harder, but that doesn't mean that it is impossible to live a good life, a productive life and a life that is fulfilling. My ancestors made it through displacement, slavery, torture, being miseducated and misunderstood, and yet here I am. I can do anything I want to. I wanted to go to college, and I did. I wanted a MFA and I have one. I wanted a car, a career (I have three actually), a house, and to be a decent person...done, done and done. I've worked hard, I've fallen down gotten up and worked harder; that is all anyone has to do. I still have goals and dreams that I will accomplish despite this supposed privilege that someone has over me. I just think it is silly.

We all have difficult roads on this journey called life; cliché but true.  I'm black; it's not a handicap or a negativism. And as an aside I don't sunburn. I do feel bad for white people who get sun burn. That doesn't seem like a privilege to being white. Does that make me privileged? Should I go door to door every 1st day of summer handing out free bottles of SPF 40 and giving my extreme apologies to the white families? Should I? Should I follow them around with umbrellas shielding them from the sun? Perhaps bring them lemonade and water if I see them outside? All because I feel bad? Or is that silly?

Recognizing that someone will have a harder road than you is polite. Thank you for recognizing that people may treat me differently because I am black, but please, don't take that on. I'm alright...as a people we will be alright if we devote ourselves to being strong and seeking out the positives. I mean all people really. We've come a long way and we have a hell of a long way to go, but I don't think that we get there by making white privilege a thing or hating who we are, or wanting to run from it.

I went to the same high school as my white friends and we all went to Big Ten Conference Schools. I have a higher degree than some of them, some of them have better jobs than I do, some are just trying to make ends meet, some travel the globe, some have never left the country, some are on food stamps, some can't pay their bills, some have 700 credit score ratings, some have STDs, some are LGBT, some can't spell sexuality without blushing...when we get right down to it, color, race...none of it matters. We are born who we are, we lead the lives we've lead, we made good choices and bad choices; we are who are despite race or ethnicity.

Why are we apologizing for who, or rather what, we were born as. I had a white woman once say to me that she had to deal with keeping her white privilege in check every day. "Every. Day." she said putting strength to those words as if they needed more weight than she was capable of giving them. As if she desperately needed me to understand just how agonizing being white can be. I could hear it in her voice; she was attempting to teach me something about the world. It was as if she understood racism far more than I ever could and this was a clear indication into how wrong I was. 

Really? It seems to me that she would've been an entitled asshole regardless of race. It seems to me she would have struggled to keep herself in check...Every. Day... no matter what. It was the journey that life took her on that helped shape her to be who she is. Granted this individual DID have a hard road, I'll give her that, but who we are is ultimately up to us. It's how we deal with the cards we've been dealt. You don't deal with those cards by saying, "Oh woe is me, I was born advantaged over most of the population, and therefore I will remind them of that by inventing a reason to feel bad". Or "Oh woe is me, I was born this race and it is too hard, therefore I will hate it and myself". It's self loathing, and kinda frustrating.

Just stop it people (it isn't all of you) but just stop. We are humans. Just feel bad for me if something bad happens because I am a human being and not because you think you should for a history you did not create. Let's stop giving life to the hate that that history did create. That will make a difference. Ignorance is everywhere, directed at all people. The negative response to this commercial doesn't just hurt black people; it hurts all open minded people committed to diversity and a better world. Until we eradicate ignorance, we're stuck on planet earth all together dealing with it and each other. With that in mind why not start saying, "Hey I'm human and so are you. Let's try to treat each other as such". Now THAT I can get with.

If you STILL need something to make yourself feel as though you have made a difference socially...talk about how the shooting in New Orleans got virtually no coverage in the weeks after Mother's Day. Talk about how black males are still largely misunderstood by the media and tend to be underrepresented in nearly every positive aspect. Read your history and understand that the Emancipation Proclamation didn't end slavery. Tell me what Juneteeth is. Tell me who Marcus Garvey is. Explain to me the dynamics and the differences between the slavery narratives of Fredrick Douglass and Olaudah Equiano. Tell me, do you cross the street when you see a group of "under privileged" teens coming towards you? Are you committed to social diversity and treating people the same, or are you obsessed with fighting a fight, regardless to whom you think is offended?

Sort all of that out 1st, and then perhaps you'll see this whole white privilege thing to be as nonsensical as I do. Think about all of that and perhaps you'll realize that being one race or ethnicity does not give you a privilege over another. Maybe you'll see me as a human and not black female. Now all of this is based on race and ethnicity, if you want to talk socioeconomic status and the privileges therein, that's an entirely different blog post. Of course, this is just my take on it...you'll feel as you do, which is only fair since you're a human being too.

A Post I Have Avoided...

Sitting in one of my favorite writing spots, contemplating life and deadlines, and then this happened...

The air around me suddenly smells more of toothpaste than of my Earl Grey tea and French Toast. The stillness of Sunday morning is shattered by the quicken pace of footsteps. There's conversation all around me that I don't care for, that I would rather not be apart of. I hear the sound of cereal rolling over a tongue and teeth chopping while lips remain open. There are sniffles, snorts, and questions. I furrow my brow, roll my eyes, and sip my tea in annoyance. I recognize that the last few moments of my breakfast are being usurped from me. I want to yell about it, and yet I sit ever patiently and even find the strength to muster a slight smile.

A few weeks ago I wrote an article about loneliness I decided a long time ago that I may not have children, and that I might face a frightening loneliness in my old age because of that choice. A friend of mine frequently follows this up with, "Well you can't, right?". There's some truth there, but it's not the only reason that has motivated this choice.

I have a very...fertile family. There are more kids than their parents know what to do with. Thus the responsibility of raising, watching, caring for, and monitoring children fell on my shoulders at a very young age. By the age of 16 I was watching some 3 children after school, cooking dinner, helping them with their homework, plus doing my own, cleaning and getting children ready for bed, and for school in the morning. It's not the life I wanted then, and to be perfectly honest it's not what I want going forward, at least from this viewpoint.

I resent people who say things like, "Oh, one day you'll meet someone and you want to have their children", I just don't know about that. I am not saying that it isn't true for some, or that it can't happen for me, but...if I wanted a child, or children...I would have written an article about the hopes of adoption, or the joy of being a single parent instead of guidelines for being alone and enjoying it. My concept of enjoy, sadly for those of you upset, does not involve children. I also don't think that having children to make sure I am not alone when I am 80 is a proper reason to have children. I have a friend whose parents did that, and now her parents are her burden. I don't want to be a burden.

If you haven't guessed, I was referring to a child in the beginning of this post. To those of you who have  and properly care for your children, I think you have done an amazingly beautiful thing. In theory people who want to have and are prepared to have children are great! That's just not me. To my friends who have children and want children, I think that is great! That's just not me. I laugh with kids, at kids, for kids. I think pregnant women are the most awesome people. That's just not me. And I think that it is ok.

I have avoided saying this out loud, or writing it for fear of hurting people's feelings...but what about my own? What about my request for peace and quiet? My need for a proper writing space? The needs of someone else have infiltrated my own concerns. Now this is what children do, and if you want to have children this is something you should be prepared for, but when you are like me and don't want them...then no. It shouldn't happen. Just no.

And for the record I don't hate children, I don't hate your child...so settle down. I don't like to see children hurt or in pain. Children deserve to have happy lives. They ought not to be afraid, cold or hungry. Children deserve to be loved and loved desperately...by their parents especially.

Keep having children, keeping taking care of them...just please don't be mad with me if I need to step back, or if I am not there for every event, or if I retreat into the recesses of my mind for that quiet peaceful time that I am so very fond of. No that my space is child free again, that's where I am off to right now...

Thinkin' While I Drive...

Note: I was in the car when I recorded all of this digitally. I played it back, and for the most part what I said is what is written. Just a rant or so to speak.

When I am driving I usually take the time and think through things. I play mental leap frog in my mind going from one thing to another. Some people have a lot of things on their minds and I tend to be one of those people. Let me tell you how my brain works, before I have have one think about one thing I am thinking two thinks about something else, most of the time I can hardy catch up with myself. Some people call it depression, some people call it over active brain, sometimes it gives me insomnia, some people call it intelligence I just say I got things on my mind.

Typically these things are a medley of what I have recently observed, or they are things that have happened to me directly. Some thoughts are recent...others are from a distant and far off place in my memory. Either way here are a couple of things that I am thinkin' about while I drive.

First thing. Do not diminish your own accomplishments. Many times things happen, good things and we say well, eh, this is ok but blah, blah, blah...stop the butt shit. Just enjoy what you've done. I am not saying that you should be overly conceded, however, it would behoove you to just enjoy what you've done. Is there any reason why you can't? And if you find that you can't sit back and enjoy, then you have a problem and it is time to start researching that. When someone else has done well, let them do well. Praise them for it, and then make it your business to start doing well too. Each and every person walking on this beautiful earth has been through their own share of shit. What you must do is climb out of that. Don't carry unnecessary baggage and hang ups. Dust your shoulders off, and start working it all out. Do not stay below where you were yesterday. It doesn't have to be hard. It can be, but you can accomplish it.

Second thing. When someone does something nice for you, or is there to encourage you, or is there to help you, there is something that you should do. You should say thank you. However you choose to do it is up to you, but it is imperative that you say thank you. There is nothing wrong with saying. thank you. This would be fore something as simple as, "Oh you held the door open for me so that I didn't drop my coffee", or something complex as, "Oh you are giving me a kidney so that I can live". If you have a difficult time with this concept, then you should live by yourself in a little house in the middle of nowhere,  away from people, and don't talk to anybody. We're all human beings on this earth and we should all make a decent effort at getting along, or at least not being rude. It's the rudeness that is getting to me. I think that common courtesy, decency, and simple politeness has really gone out the window. Perhaps it is where we are with social media and the the separation that we have with ourselves. I recall this concept becoming apparent in 100 Years of Solitude where the characters were so far away from the human connection that the death of a baby meant virtually nothing. It was not considered an important event at all. I feel much the same way when pictures of murder victims flash across my screen during the evening news. It is nearly as seeing some trash blow down the street, it means nothing. And even that trash should mean something, but it doesn't. There is a disconnect, it starts with the small things that we don't even notice and bleeds out into the aforementioned cancerous behavior. I say all that to say...the next time someone does something for you, no matter how small...say thank you. Turn to them, smile and genuinely say, thank you.

Third thing. Roses always come with thorns. Let me explain what I mean by this. If there is something in life that you really want, if you think it is going to come easy then you have anything think coming, or you shouldn't really want that thing if it is that easy to obtain it's not really worth having. Roses always come with thorns. You can't get through life expecting a cake walk. If something is happening in your world, and you are looking at it and you are thinking, "Wow this is really hard"...look toward your end result. Isn't there something that you want to come out of it all? I have been through enough to be an authority in this if nothing else...nothing is easy, if you want something you have to work for it. Everything worth having is worth working for. Assess what is important to you and figure out the best way to get it done, and accept from the inception that it is not going to be an easy road. It might not be well traveled, it might need a lot more work than you initially thought, but if you want that end result, suffer through it. Roses always come with thorns.

Fourth thing. One of the worst things someone can do to another someone is to ignore them. I'd rather be yelled at if you're angry, hugged if you missed me, kissed if you love me. To ignore someone is to say, "I don't even care enough to recall that you exist. I don't care enough to treat you like a human being. You don't matter enough to be treated one way, or the other". I am erasing who you were to me, since that's who I mourn. I mourn who you were and not the who that you actually are. I don't wish to know the person that you actually are. That person is horrible, that person has a bad memory, that person forgot to remember that I matter too.

Anyways....those are just a few of the things on my mind, taking a drive through the country and contemplating what people have said, and what I have read. Essentially, I suppose that this is a rant, or could be called one. Truly, they are just some thoughts I recorded.

Writers IN Development...

The thing that I love the most about the graduate program I did, was getting to know the writers. I just spent the weekend celebrating with a few of these precious jewels and it made me...very happy. Hearing them talk about things that have plagued and will plague me for years to come made me feel better. Normal. I felt, 'ok' for the neurotic stages of creating that I endured and will endure. As these in person trysts are too few and too far in between, these wonderful conversations typically happen via text or social media, which, I might add, gives so much more weight to these words. They are made tangible; I have something to refer back to, and I just love that.

(Writers collect words, bathe in them, and ingest them frequently)

We understand why we want to hold on to what we create as much as we want to send it out into the world. We get why success, fear, hope, depression; two reasons for tears are standard along this journey. We all get why creating in any capacity is as necessary as the last breath you took. We are constantly in development, in growth and in various states of change. 

(Writing changes with each thought, each year, or each life event)

Fostering these relationships and letting my writer's spirit continue to grow and feel is...well, everything to me. I never go a day without that development, and it is nice to know that the close group of writers I know are all currently in development too. We have this community full of dusty first drafts, words, and books AND ideas...so many ideas.

( I know so many brilliant writers in development)

What is A Weekend?

First, let's start off with the fact that I had one of the most amazing weekends in the history of weekends. To quote The Dowager Countess, What is a weekend? A variety of things, but this one was about discovery of the best kind.

The weekends give us a small chance to check out from the rest of our busy lives, or to rev up the usual routine. For the last several years my weekends have consisted of mundane tasks, then graduate school requirements, and the occasional fun or ambitious project. This is not one of those instances where I tell you a detailed break down of my weekend. Besides I cannot imagine that many people are THAT interested. It's not your business what I did even if you were interested; it's how I felt about what happened that is paramount.

Before I go too far though, I have to give another shout out to Lizz Schumer (entire blog link to the right) and her recent blog post The Luxury of Happenstance,  unbeknownst to her, this ideology was the very catalyst for my own weekend. I read her post on Sunday evening, and was just gleeful. I appreciate her thoughts and who she is.

Now back on track...

I am a planner, a bona fide I NEED to know what is happening and when, sort of planner. I hate last minute dates, I feel like I never look as good as I could've looked if I would've known a day or two sooner. I need to reserve or set up rides to and from the airport weeks in advance. I begin planning for a weekend where I'll be just over state lines WEEKS in advance. I need to budget, think, and be prepared for...whatever. Perhaps it's because I am anal about travel, but there is, I believe, a fear of getting all it wrong. There is this horrible feeling that I won't spend the time wisely, or that I won't have a good time, or that something awful might happen, or worse...that I'll desperately need something that I don't have with me. OH! The sheer unadulterated horror of it all. Whatever would I do?

Seriously...what would I do?

This got me thinking of the automatic, 'yes'...2 of the most important days in our lives, we don't plan, and we usually have no hand in them...when we are born, and when we die (I said USUALLY, not referencing those who choose to end it all) are automatic yeses. If these two days can happen, just by chance...then what is wrong with having an air of spontaneity? What am I afraid of? What if I just took a step back from my life long enough to let it happen? What happens when you spend a few days just saying, "yes" and letting life happen?

This weekend I went in, with no plan, no expectation; just a 'yes' to life on my lips...no more, no less (wait...and clean underwear, you really do need both, that I won't let go of). During this excursion into life, something rather simple was suggested, "You're a writer, I want coffee, let's go to a cafe", I said, "Yes". I too thought it was cliche, but 'yes' was on my lips, and clean underwear under my skirt. The walk was nice albeit a tad long, it allowed me to experience a few things that I might not have without it. The cold air, the way smells cut through it, the way the sun sets in between buildings and the colors they all form can make a brisk walk...anywhere something incredible and memorable.

One of my graduate school advisors, Ryan Boudinot, told me that in order for my characters to be real I had to assign them real experiences, real tasks. How could I do that when I have been so shut off from the world? I have to be real first, and I haven't been real. I spent a long time just existing, but hardly living. It stifled my thinking, stinted my creative brain. Saying yes to this weekend, yes to my life will give me more to write about, more to feel. Let me expand on that...

The image that I mentioned before...the sun setting. The close to each and every day has an entirely different look than the one before it and the one that will come after it. Try and duplicate the beauty of a sunset, either in paint, description, or memory...you can never do it proper justice. It is immeasurable beauty. Then again it is the human condition to challenge beauty...you may feel that the sunset in the mountains beats the one on beach, or that the sunset at the beach beats the one from glaciers of the arctic; for me, this time, the city beats all.

Unlike the breathtaking back drop of nature, the city has been created by human hands; much altered by business, construction, and destruction. In a city beauty is driven by corporation and economy; supply answering demand. When buildings are blueprinted, placed, and developed...I am sure that the architects and engineers take a general interest, or thought, in the direction a building should face. The beauty of the building, planned, possibly duplicated...the beauty of the sunset, never planned, never duplicated. The beauty of the sunset enhances the beauty of the city's buildings and after two chilly walks at dusk I can attest to this, unequivocally. At dusk the buildings merely become the blank canvas that the sun paints itself on.

Taking the same route to and from said coffee shop each evening allowed me to see the world through the same eyes in different ways. The sky was a pinky peach one day and a muted fire orange another. Some of the clouds did that puffy cotton ball thing one day while others did a streaking thin smattering of white and gray the next. The reflection of the sunset magnified. Mirrors of sunsets blasted across the city. One reflected then another, and another and so on, until the sunsets and the unplanned beauty for the show was done.

After the show, once the sunset was concluded, the buildings lit up for their own show. Humans challenging beauty. A mechanized plan in which the man made lights try to compete with our memories of the sunset, the sun light, and the stars. The buildings don't even come close. We've been mesmerized with man made light since electricity came to the World's Fair in the early 1900's; Tesla turned on a light and the world got hot and bothered right along with him.

          "Why so quiet?" That's what was asked of me.

          "Oh, just thinking about buildings, lights, sunsets, and Tesla."

          "You know about Tesla?"

          "Yes," I said. I said, yes.

Cassia, How Do You Sleep with Tornadoes and Killers?

Before I even start this one....I know, I know...I said a post a day for 7 days. See what had happened was...life as mentioned in this post...but I feel as though this post on dreams and sleep should make up for it. This is a small part of something larger that I have been working on. In no way shape or form is it ready to be seen in its totality since it happens to be a work in progress. And I may not post from it here again...cry or rejoice about that as you will. So without further ramble...

Short answer to any and all questions referencing sleep...
 
Don't ask.
 
Long answer to any and all questions referencing sleep...

If you must know...since I was a little girl, I've had vivid dreams. I've felt the breath of an attacker, the grip of a would be suitor, cobblestones laid by those long dead beneath my heels. Those are actual things I have felt while dreaming. In dreams I feel everything. I have felt them as real as you feel the place where you're sitting. As real as your chest expanding to take in that last breath, and just as real as your eyes blinking your way through these lines. My dreams are extremely vivid. To the point when,even to this day, sometimes I wake and for the first few seconds (or longer) I couldn't tell you if I am awake in my own bed, or flying, burying a body, shanking a man in a train station, or running in the streets of Germany. Those are also all scenes from actual dreams. 

This happened to me most recently...

5:47  AM...I jolt awake, I see the time, I think I drift back to sleep.

I'm awake. I'm asleep. I'm terrified. 

My conscious is sleeping, my unconscious thinks its awake.I'm doing a cerebral tango, dancing in the dark. I'm terrified. 

Motionless, I'm in bed. 

Hastily, I lock all of the doors and secure the house. A house that isn't at all my current home, but rather a mixture of two homes that I know intimately. There was a man who landed in the back yard. He was hang gliding, at night. He appeared as an ominous creature against the night sky. I know he means me harm. 

He's the leader of an organization who is against free speech, against gay rights,against religious freedom... He knows I'm a writer. He knows I want everyone to be equal. He wants me dead. He has government ties. I may not survive this.

Next scene (yes, scene as in a movie. I dream in scenes), I'm cornered in a school. I pack my drawings of rainbows, my writings on happiness, and the locations of my LGBT friends into a duffel bag. I've got to hide it all. He'll kill us all. The girl I thought I could trust is on his side (the girl is randomly Alyssa Milano). They're coming for me and in a moment, I'll be dead. I hear his steps. I duck down further, behind a desk. I hold my breath. Like a cell phone I command my organs to function on silent.  But none of it matters, in an instant he's got a hold of my arm. In a moment, I'll be dead.  

Here. There. In that moment is where I stayed, locked and afraid.

7:29 AM....I wake up trying to get away. I am throwing pillows. I see the time.

It was another dream. Just another dream. That's all. I'm shaking. It was a dream. I'm awake I was locked in terror for roughly two hours. Two hours stuck in a place where my mind could not decide if I was dreaming or living a horrible scene in the flesh. Was there really sweat dripping down my face, or was it a stray hair moved by my own breath tickling my cheek? Were those the footsteps of a killer coming closer, or footsteps of the neighbor upstairs heading out for her early morning run?

The moment I look down, I see bits of cord attached to my gold bracelet. Unbeknownst to me, the bracelet had hooked into my blanket. During my tossing and turning it must of happened, thus impeding my movement. In my dream, he had caught a hold of my arm, I wasn't going to get away. The realization made me chuckle, I had been captured by my comforter. Funny, didn't feel so comforting at all. My comfort came the moment that I rolled over, groped under the pillows for my iPad and began writing. Only after that did my mind begin to feel at ease.

This is nothing new, not at all. My dreams have always been so vivid that they live with me long after they should have faded away. Much of the fiction that I've penned my name to began as dreams. Such a blessing and a curse. Thank goodness there is a market for the dark and the horrible. Thank goodness people like to read and see things that grip them with fear. Thank goodness. I write comedy too, but I own a terrifying mind and there is nothing, nothing whatsoever comical about that. Useful, maybe.

Those dreams scare me, and not much truly scares me. Actually, scare isn't strong enough of a word. It's torture, torture of the worst kind. I never know when they are coming. There are nights when all I long for is a peaceful sleep (I'm busy, I'm anemic, sleep should be my friend), yet my mind refuses to settle down. Images of murder,death, violence, rape, and danger roll around like a movie reel that I cannot stop.I close my eyes, pray for sleep, and on more nights than I can count, that prayer has gone horribly unanswered.

Some of the worst dreams I have had are about tornadoes. I look up into the sky and the dark clouds gather and twist upon themselves. I feel the rumble of the ground under my feet, I run, my heart pounds, I sweat... I sometimes awake crying, yelling, and soaked in sweat. Other nights I wake throwing pillows and ripping the sheets from the bed. My body twists about the bed as the clouds twist in the sky. My legs kick,my arms flail...I don't have a night stand anymore. I bruised my hands one night punching it in rapid succession.

These nightmares, night terrors, subconscious movie reels, they run in my family. I've seen uncles and cousins alike wake in the middle of the night fighting off visions they have no control over. My uncle, the deacon woke the entire house one night with the sound of yelling and violent pounding. He was discovered beating the wardrobe in his bedroom. I watched a younger cousin have a nightmare. He pounded the bed in the same fashion, yelling unintelligible words, tears fell from his eyes. He didn't wake. I didn't wake him. Somehow it seemed fair that someone else suffered with visions they couldn't control.

Many nights, I avoid sleep. If I stay awake, they can't happen. Understand? If I'm awake there are no uncontrollable visions to frighten me. I'm often glad to be kept awake by conversations, or my writing. Anything to avoid sleep where the potential of me being tortured again and again is my very own strange bedfellow. Often I pace the rooms of my home; lightly touching the furniture or items. It makes me feel grounded, my real world becomes tangible again. That dream world doesn't exist anymore; I'm ok. I promise me that I am, but sometimes that isn't enough.

From time to time, I'll open a window to feel the night air. I need to feel. It helps me to remember my reality has a time of year, a smell; cold air is the best at these times. Sometimes, when I've awoken in a cold sweat I strip down to nothing, and lay on the cold hardwood floor; another shock to my system.I force myself to re-acclimate to reality. Force myself to realize that there are no more tornadoes, no bodies, no killer inside of me, or otherwise. By then, it's just me.

Once it's just me, I can write. I can get all of the images out of my head and on the screen. They aren't so scary there. There they are controllable. I can delete them, add to them, manipulate them at my will. They no longer have the control they once did. These tortuous dreams are now my writing prompts. I hate them, I love them, I accept them. Accepting them is how I am able to sleep with tornadoes and killers in my bed.

Asking me if I slept well is an insult, a complicated answer at best...I have never slept well. Part of me doesn't want to.

The 5 Things I've Done Since Finishing My MFA

        I now realize just how time consuming working on my MFA was now that I am no longer working on it. Suddenly I have hours upon hours of time to fill up. I have to fill the time because I cannot tolerate just sitting still anymore. No, that is out of the question. So here are the 5 things I have done to keep myself busy. In no real order...

5.     Pandora it is the other half of my brain (I forgot that I can sing my ass off too). Now that I can read or write at my leisure I have been playing my station steadily. The station is based off of "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" (Where the hell is she by the way?!? Lauryn, get in the studio! Please!!). I am amazed at the catalog of my music knowledge, and not just a song here or there. I am saying that within the first 16 bars I know whose song it is. Within the first 32 bars I recall the back round vocals, the chorus, and the dances from the video. I find myself dancing more in my seat more often than not and it is a heavenly change. Heavenly, considering that I was hitting my head to the keyboard attempting to finish a thesis just 2 months ago. Heavenly, to have a head full of lyrics.

4.     Blogging, obviously. I used to do this, and on a fairly consistent basis. Once I had the requirements of school and life it was impossible for me to do it. I just didn't have the head space. Now that I have picked it up again, I can say that my old posts suck. So essentially I spent several thousand dollars so that I could become a better blogger. Niice.

3.     Yoga! I had absolutely no time to center myself nor did I take time aline my chakras. I missed twisting myself into near impossible poses while breathing like the ocean (yes it breathes) and trying to blink sweat out of my eyes. I missed using super sized rubber bands and straps to hold poses on mats, blankets, and bricks (yoga or porno...hmmm)Yes...I did miss it, no sarcasm. Yoga is cleansing and strengthening, makes me too happy.

2.     Avoiding my family. They think because I'm no longer in school I am available to do their bidding. I hid whenever I can, and leave they are as soon as possible. I have a level of sanity now that I'd rather not lose if I can avoid it.

1.     Working on all the projects that have been calling out to me since I started school. I was roughly 1/2 way through my creative thesis (a novel) when I realized that I would much rather work on screenplays, films, and acting.Fairly inconvenient timing on the part of my creative self. I directed two episodes of my friend's webseries, Flour. Both are set to be featured at the LA Webseries Festival this March. (Flour is on the list!).

There are the 5 things that I have used to fill up my time. Still writing, remembering how to sing and center, and discovering even more about myself. I think that's time well spent.