Monthly Archives: April 2019

Triggers

They can randomly slam into my psyche at any time or any place.  A smell, a sound, a sight.

And those unpredictable triggers can elicit a pounding heart, a sigh, a sob, a painful pit in my stomach, or a full-fledged meltdown.

Driving to Pennsylvania for business three weeks ago, I was stopped at a red light and happened to look at the car behind me through my rear-view mirror.

A drop-dead gorgeous guy was staring at the so-so looking girl sitting in the passenger seat. The so-so girl was staring straight ahead stiff as a statue.

To anyone else, this would have been a nothing burger. No there there.

But I could sense trouble brewing. Call it intuition from experience.

So, I kept looking.

As the light turned green, he roughly grabbed her face with his right hand, yanking it in his direction. She swatted his hand. He pulled hard on her hair. She never stopped staring straight ahead.

I didn’t budge. I couldn’t drive. He put his hand to the horn, and I jerked forward and pulled over to the side of the road as soon as I could. As he sped by me, my eyes locked with hers.

I wanted to chase them down, jump out of my car and pull her out of his. Save her, because a long time ago I didn’t have the courage to save myself.

Trigger.

I sat shaking and shouting.  LEAVE HIM!!!!! LEAVE HIM!!!!!

Once I got control of myself, I continued driving. But it ruined my whole day.

That’s how it happens.

Something awful crashes in on me unexpectedly. The melancholy, the anxiety, the overwhelming sadness. The anger. The frustration.

Yesterday a young boy roller-bladed past me as I was pulling my car into the garage. His hockey stick swayed back and forth as he glided along. I watched him skate until he disappeared.

Trigger.

I stumbled into the house and grabbed a pen and paper.  I tried to write it out and then set it aside by shoving it into my bulging treasure trove file of heartbreaking notes.

I’ll get back to them one day.

It’s my written way of calling a friend. My lifeline of sorts.

And then today, I had to drive into town to drop something off to my client.

I was feeling good. Until Nights in White Satin came on the radio.

I pulled into a parking lot where I could close my eyes and breathe.

And just like that, a flashback.

♪ Nights in White Satin, never reaching the end. Letters I’ve written, never meaning to send

It was 1968. We had just left the hospital. He was driving. Her burns were severe. Worse than anything I had ever seen. And the pain she was in. I was afraid she would die. Afraid of being afraid.

So afraid.

Nights in White Satin came on the radio.

♪ Gazing at people, some hand in hand. Just what I’m going through they can’t understand ♪

He pulled the car over. And buried his face in his hands. He let out a God-awful guttural sound.

I loved him. I hated him. I pitied him. I pitied myself.

♪ Beauty I’ve always missed, with these eyes before. Just what the truth is, I can’t say any more ♪

I knew then, as I tried to block out his wailing that as a family we were cooked.

To Joe Biden: Don’t Touch and Don’t Joke

I decided to write this blog post for two reasons:

#1: My Republican friends are angry, and rightly so.

#2: As a MeToo I can’t tolerate stupid.

Plus, does Joe Biden think his inappropriate touching is funny?

I don’t know about any of you, but the above photo that I chose for this blog post is especially creepy. It makes my skin crawl.

First off, these two biker guys from Ohio don’t know what the heck to do.

The guy on the left is rolling his eyes at the guy on the right.

And the guy on the right, is side-eyeing the whole seedy scene, like WTF?

And secondly, is this woman married to one of these guys????

I don’t know about you, but if I were her significant other, I’d be extremely annoyed. (Extremely annoyed is putting it mildly.)

I mean, back off Joe.

So, in answer to my friend Ken’s VERY valid question:

“And by the way America this picture is OK because the creepy old white guy is a Democrat where is #MeToo?”

I can’t answer for every #MeToo, but I’m here Ken, and I’m disgusted.

And I will not vote for Joe Biden.

I would first like to say this about anyone running for president:

IF YOU’RE 70 OR OLDER, YOU NEED NOT APPLY.

And that includes Bernie.

And Trump.

Oh, wait. Trump can’t quit.

Because if he does, he’ll probably get arrested.

Sad.

Anyway, let’s get back to Biden.

Seriously Joe?

You see the photos.

Don’t you think they look creepy?

Do yourself a favor.

And don’t run.

But if you choose to run, exercise some self-control.

AND STOP TOUCHING PEOPLE.

And don’t try to make a joke out of it.

Because inappropriate touching is not funny.

Oh, and as far as asking if it’s okay to touch someone.

You think asking and having someone say yes makes it okay?

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It doesn’t make it okay.

Stop touching people.

Because if you ask, they will probably say yes, even though they don’t mean yes.

AREN’T YOU GETTING IT?

YOU’RE POWERFUL, SO PEOPLE DON’T WANT TO SAY NO TO JOE.

Stop asking, and stop touching.

And above all, stop joking about it.

Joe,

PLEASE.

I used to have a lot of respect for you.

But your time has passed.

For a lot of reasons.

You’ve been a stand-up guy.

So do the right thing, and don’t run, don’t touch, and don’t joke.