Feeling lost, ya gotta just stick to who you are and trust the Universe to get you where you wanna go. This has been me a good portion of my life. Where the hell am I and where am I going? Don’t worry, you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be.
So, I wanted to go off, spouting about all the things in the world I can’t stand. Tell everyone what’s wrong with everything. You know, be me and try to be funny. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Let’s find out—together.
Awwww… For a guy named ‘Butcha,’ he’s so sensitive. He really feels things.
Yeah, right now, I feel snot running from my nose and drying on my nostrils. Great. I didn’t get a flu shot this year because the last and only time I did, I spent the summer as my hip-hop alter ego, Notorious B.O.O.G.I.E. Pretty sure the contents of that syringe was pure mucus DNA.
The other day, I was sitting at—you guessed it—Starbucks (Look, if the Library had a ton of foot traffic and served coffee, I’d go there.) and suffered from the sniffles. They have those brown, earth-friendly, used-to-be-corrugated-cardboard napkins there, so I grabbed a few and began wiping down. What I wouldn’t give for a tissue. Maybe one with lotion in it. Fellas, you know what I’m talking about. Yet, there I was, caring for my tender nostrils with stucco. Then, a memory sprung to life from the recesses. Did anyone else’s mother or grandmother carry tissues up her sleeve? A fucking magician, any time Meg, Russ or me had sniffles, Mom would pull unused tissues from her sleeves. How the…? What the…? Ahhhh, relief!
Remembering this, a flood of it’s-gonna-be-alrights came about; kinda wish John Edwards had been there to announce,
“I’m picking up an M. Did anyone have a family member whose name started with M?”
Then, the entire store starts thinking, and in unison, calls out,
“Mom, is that you?”
And Mr. Edwards again basks in charlatan glory…
Mothers perform magic. On a daily basis. No question about it. I know many, many women who have made and are making extreme sacrifices for their children.
Talk about electrons, they are in-tune with their kids—other people’s children, as well. If you need any evidence, take notice of the events in Newtown, Connecticut last Friday. Young women—teachers and assistants, administrators—died protecting children from death. Some of the children were saved, many were not. An interview with Kaitlin Roig, 29, brough to life and made real the horror that she and her students experienced.
“I thought we were all going to die,” Roig told Diane Sawyer of ABC News. “I told them that I loved them. I wanted that to be the last thing they ever heard, not the gunfire.” She told the children to pray and “think happy thoughts.”
Amid the confusion and terror, death and gunfire, the students remained calm. However, they did express to their teacher—perhaps the last adult they’d ever see—questions and concerns that no child should ever have to think, nor adult to answer:
“I just want Christmas… I don’t want to die, I just want to have Christmas… [Is there] anyone out there?”
I don’t know Roig’s personal story: married, children, etc. But the way this story has been reported (I’m not being conspiracy-don’t-accept-the-official-story guy here), Kaitlin Roig did not just save her kids, she protected them. She tought them a universal law that came naturally to her. She became a vessel. Knowing herself what had visited itself upon her sleepy school, she did everything she could to prevent the reality from descending into her classroom. If only temporarily, she shielded the kids from that. Undoubtedly they now know. But they will grow up knowing what their first-grade teacher did. Most-importantly, they will grow up.
By now, many of us have seen the photo of another teacher, Victoria Soto, 27, who died while shielding her students from the gunman. One account tells of Soto ushering her students into a room, locking the door, and confronting the shooter, telling him that they were in the library. In that account, the man killed Soto before eventually turning the gun on himself. Regardless, the fact is, Victoria Soto died for her students, her children.
Naturally, the tragic events are being spun into something vastly different from what it was. Is. Gun control! Mental illness! Politics! Etc., etc… Did we all just decide to jump off the fiscal cliff. Together?
Awwww… There goes Mr. Sensitive.
For real, what the fuck is wrong with this place? Twenty children and six adults are murdered and within twenty-four-fucking-hours, the “country is again divided” by assholes all over the television asking moronic questions like “Does this speak to a higher issue?” and “How will the NRA respond to this?” You have got to be fucking kidding me. I know, 24-hour news cycle and all. Everything moves so fast. Shit is in mothereffing hyperdrive. All the time. Would the “Big 3” networks, Fox, CNN, Telefuckingmundo, etc etc just slow down for a goddamn minute and let people absorb what just happened? A guy named “Toure” (pronounced Toor-ay, or douchebag) was on MSNBC talking about gun control within a day. First, who the hell are you? Second, why is your voice, your opinion, more important than, say, the people who just endured something horrific?
Yes, automatic weapons have one true purpose: to kill. Yes, there is a debate worthy of our attention.
Yes, mental illness has widespread effects and is utterly ignored by the powers-that-be. Throw drugs at ’em! (For the record, I am somewhat qualified. Somewhat. I worked in the field. Plus, my current shrink has me on so much shit right now that I rarely know if I’m coming or going. Well, thanks to anti-depressants, I ain’t com—too personal. Edit yourself, just a bit, da Butcha.
Is there any real research being conducted into WHY autism is on the rise? Where’s the evidence that shows the long-term effects of these psych meds are doing more good than harm? I, for one, am not ok with my brain chemistry being tinkered with. But when you live in darkness for a long period, you become willing to try anything. I like my mind. I LOVE my mind. I like that I can think rationally or irrationally at times. I’m a thrill seeker. Life has ups and downs. That being the case, let’s just medicate every symptom until I’m a drooling, shitting, snotty mess on the couch. Soon enough, I’ll be able to use the remote with my beautiful mind anyway…
Honestly, where’s the sense of urgency to correct what is so very clearly wrong with how we live? Ratings for these news outlets have skyrocketed, equalling untold ad revenues. During the pre-game for football today, one of the talking faces spoke of the Kraft family, which owns the New England Patriots. The Krafts own a box-making factory in Newtown, CT. So this has “touched the [Kraft] family deeply.” Yesterday they announced they will be donating $25,000. To whom? Not sure. And, far be it from me to say, but when a poor, single mother or an out of work veteran puts $5 in the collection, it’s a sacrifice. When a multibillion-dollar family donates 25 G’s, it reeks of “charity.” How about these disgustingly, mind-numbingly fat pig corporations actually do something and provide counseling for all of the children, parents, teachers, family members, etc.? These people will have to deal with this forever. And give without the expectation of profit?
The story here is of the lives lost. The children, the teachers, the sons and daughter, brothers and sisters, teachers who were mothers, cousins, aunts… The people who died. And how. And why. But let’s not rush to blame gun laws or the state of mental health in this country. Let’s just take a moment to understand what happened, the depth, the meaning. The reality…
Here’s my crazy guy rant:
This country is being controlled, not by the people who take to the streets each day, heading to and from work or school, to care for the sick, to try to make a difference, but rather by giants who hide in broad daylight. If only we had eyes to see them.
Also, in watching the beginning of the Giants-Falcons game, the kick returner for the Gmen caught the kickoff 8 yards deep in the end zone. He then “returned” it to the 14 or some shit. When are these “specialists” going to understand that a touchback is better than trying to play hero and getting tackled at the nine ain’t cool?
As always, thank you for stopping by, gentle reader. Tell ya what: I’ll love you if you love me. Nah, I’ll just love ya either way. Read. Subscribe. Comment.
Amid all the chaos, I feel a little less lost…