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 |  Blog and other works of literary sense |
| Here is a collection of ruminations and whatnot. |
| To get everyone up to speed, I’ve started a new novel, The Bridge. This is set in Paris. The main characters are French and English. Then I’ve also decided to join the Libertarian Party. I wanted to help the town I live in and run for some sort of office. I went online and saw that they had City Council posts available (at least I thought so). I didn’t want something bigger than that. A nice job to help the county folk and being dutiful, that’s what I wanted, but, I have to admit that their application form had a question that might have stopped them at their tracks: Do you have anything in your history that might be a problem for people to vote for you? Well, I answered it honestly. I did. I was admitted to a psychiatric unit when I was in my late twenties/early thirties. A rather long time ago. So I also sent them a selfie, just because they asked for it. I was given a welcoming email from them but have not heard about the application. Then I started to get a bit nervous about running for this post. I might have to out and distribute flyers and meet people and ask for their votes. Stands to reason, right? Well, I wasn’t quite sure I wanted to meet people after all. I decided to just not do anything more to pursue this application. I’m not even sure I want to be a Libertarian anymore but I’ve already spent $25 for this. It’s probably a yearly thing so I’ll be Libertarian for a year. I do not know what a Libertarian is all about. The did ask about gay marriage, and asked about guns and whether I was for owning a gun or whatever amendment that was in the Constitution. I said yes to both. I actually applied to carry a gun a while ago when all hell broke loose in San Bernardino and some places in the Lafayette area had home invasions. I did not get a gun but my stepdad did. He bought a Glock. I like Glocks and I was shown one at the store where stepdad bought his. I wasn’t quite sure about how to do anything other than use it but it would require training. I pictured myself as Mrs Peel in that old TV series with her side kick Mr Whatsisname – oh Steed – and then I was happy. But now I can’t own a gun at all due to this sad thing about having been checked into a psychiatric unit. I don’t mind actually. I rather someone else packed heat for me. I rather like the idea of having a bodyguard. That means I can be myself and not be a very serious minded and rather grouchy person because the person he/she guards is a flake. I’m not a flake but I might be flaky sometimes. It’s just sometimes I get a bit giddy when I’m a happy girl or if I’ve got something good happening to me. Like the time I discovered I got an eBay sale and I was fucking excited someone actually bought something from my eBay store. Things like that. Nothing that big. Nothing that spectacular. I’ve not done much more than the Libertarian thing or the novel The Bridge. I’ve got another novel I might want to dust off but I’m not quite sure about it. Seems as though the theme to that novel is the same as The Bridge, except that the main characters are generations apart. I might still be able to but I’m rather worried about these hackers. My life is rather like having been hacked from beginning to present. I’ve been hacked by being kidnapped from my second family (my first family weren’t together – they had me as a consequence of a one night stand) and taken away and brought to life back in The Philippines. It’s rather a complicated story and I don’t wish to really go through this thing here. If you want to check my Facebook pages that might be where you can put things together. But yes, I’m a hacked girl. Even to the point of having a bad knee where gremlins have decided to put up residence. They (these gremlins) are going to slowly replace my stuff (body) with theirs and I’ll become someone who’ll have a different personality – same look but not the same insides. I could become plasticized. Or whatever synthetic these people who seem to go round the world look like – pretty and rather empty headed. Where my brain will go is a good question. I do not wish to part with my stuff. This is where these gremlins and I get into a big disagreement. I’m not going where they want me to go and they insist on it. These people (or gremlins) seem to go off after I’ve told them off but they keep coming back and they seem not to remember that I told them off yesterday. I think they grow these gremlins in petri dishes and then they let them fly over to my house and that’s where they live until someone’s taken out the Formula 409 to get them to Hades or whatever. Death is what they want – mine. I’m supposed to have been killed sometime ago but I’m still here. Every Sunday I get all sorts of zaps into my chest and it makes me think I’m having a bit of an a-fib but it’s not real. I have been going through this for several months perhaps over a year now. At least every day for several months. Used to it was only on Sundays. I had the idea that it was because I left the Church. Now it’s because of some other reason that I could blame – something’s keeping me from spelling it out. I don’t know why. My stepdad told me once that he thinks all the bad luck we’ve had in the last year was because I refuse to be reconciled with ‘the blessed mother’ who I construe as the Virgin Mary. Well, I don’t like her now. She’s not really good. She never answered any of my prayers. She’s just there, kind of like an accessory. My stepdad hasn’t even gone to confession in a longish time. He always told the priest that he didn’t have anything to confess. I think he’s got some sins to confess he merely tries to weasel out of it. I must say it’s a long blog post. I think I’ll end it here. |
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