Log in

No account? Create an account


So Mike Flynn was plotting to kidnap Fethullah Gullah and render him to Turkey's Erdogan, who would certainly arrest and railroad him, possibly torture him, and quite possibly execute him.

For money.

Meanwhile Turkey is appalled that the Sauds murdered Jamal Khashaggi on Turkish soil. Why? Do they get a commission for every murder or something?

Where does one start with this? Well, for starrers, Flynn did not "make a mistake." Choosing whole wheat instead of rye is a mistake. Plotting to murder an American resident (for twenty years) for money and deliver him to certain torture and imprisonment by a dictator is a whole seties of decisions.

I don't even have tome today top enumerate all of Flynn's "mistakes", but I might later.


They're together now. I don't know about heaven for people, but there has to be one for pets


Fred 2010--2018

Fred, in the sun, with bunneh feetz



Well, Fred has cancer. It could be a week, it could be....who knows. I'm giving him what amounts to kitty morphone for the diarhea pain. He had to get the cone of shame again. I just.....He's six. The bills are....huge. letting them go at twice that age is hard enough, but this? I just want some time to cuddle him and spoil him, but there will be no chemotherapy. That would terrify him, make him feel awful, require him to go to The Sharp Place every week, and for what? Pure selfishness on my part to take that route.

No. He gets chicken and tuna and snuggles and naps in the sun. When the time comes, it will be at home.


Keep your fingers crossed

He's home. I finally took the cone off and put on the baby onesie. Now he feels better enough that he's getting on my last fucking nerve--------trying to chew his way through the vetrap. Sigh. If he doesn't watch himself, I'm whipping out the pink fluffy flower collar.


You guys should know, whoever's still reading, all seven of you.

Fred's in the hospital. He'd started to lose weight. They found a tumor. They had to remove part of his intestine. My two regular vets told me they'd either A.Call me; or B;be around so I didn't have to go to the vet. 5,000 dollars later.....both of themcan go fuck themselves.

More than one kind of bomb

Well, fuck it.

I tried to kill myself a few times. The VA had turned me down several times, my untreated panic attacks had turned into agoraphobia, I had lost my job because of said panic attacks, and I didn't know that what was happening to me was PTSD. The VA was not eager to diagnose this.

The signiture weapon of that war was the IED, the Impromised Explosive Device, usually concealed at the side of or in the road itself. Lots of veterans came back from that war flinching at trash bags, mailboxes, or stranded vehicles. (The Hurt Locker, which was set in the time and place where I was, is utter trash, by the way.)

I felt fine for the first few months home. A big kid came charging at my back door one day and I lefted the Iraqi officer's sword I'd just unpacked and unsheathed it as far as the doorway allowed. That distinctive ringing of sword rattling against the scabbard made quite the impression. He about-faced like a humingbird and disappeared. The refrain, "What are you going to do, shoot me?" Started to pop up in conversation. Been there, done that. Tee shirt.

Then the time changed and I started going home at night on the bus. That had been my decompression time, relaxing mindlessly till I got home. One night after getting off work, I started having tunnel vision, difficulty breathing, distorted hearing, a feeling that there was a belt around my chest. I got off the bus to throw up in a MacDonald's restroom.

It didn't happen every time. For a while. Then it did. It seemed to take hours to get home or get to work. One day I splurged on a cab. Then again. It worked for a while. Then it didn't. Then I had a panic attack at work. I passed out. The boss stopped returning my calls.

Only later when an NCO saw this did anybody tell me these were panic attacks. The city buses at the time smelled and sounded exactly like an armored Humvee, a sound I hear in my nightmares.

Another time, I had the same symptoms at home. I rushed through the house, aware enough to realize something was wrong. I happened to catch a glimpse through the front door. Out in the street, a road crew was filling a pot hole. What do you think it smells like when a bomb blows up under soft asphalt at about 6,000 fahrenheit? It's not something you notice at that moment. You're too busy concentrating on other things.

The nightmares were indescribable. I would relive things I experienced in Iraq, except I would either see certain death approach, or have to watch other people would die. The more fond I was of them, the more horrible were their deaths. I served with human beings who didn't strut around like movie heroes. Well, okay, there was one guy who approached our sardonic XO one day. "I just lifted more weights than I ever have!"

"I don't care."

There's an intimacy in nearly-getting-killed-together that erases a lot of barriers. Shakespeare was so right that I sometimes wonder if he were a soldier. "We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us."

It is always unexpected, the way you get a quiet moment during a battle, and find that the person you once hated now benefits in comparison to those currently trying to kill you. People show aspects you never would have seen before. That new appreciation for these men and women made their nightly loss the worst, intimate shock.

To make it a total horror show, the dreams felt utterly real. Nightmares are no big deal, right? That's what I got told. I wonder how many other female soldiers got likewise dismissed. You women are so hysterical and dramatic.

I got treated really shittily. I discovered that prowar rah-rah-rah types hate the troops who point out that war isn't glory or conquering shit or that the enemy isn't evil. "It's not like you're the only person who went to Iraq, you know!"

That was a relative.

"You just have ONE tour in Iraq, I have TWO college degrees."

That was another relative.

"I don't care about Iraq, you're not as funny as you used to be."

That was a former friend.

The Army had a clever trap for returning troops. There was a questionaire in Kuwait where you were asked if you felt you had any symptoms of PTSD. If you answered yes, you didn't go home. You would be placed on a medical hold indefinitely, in Kuwait. If you answered "no", that was used against you later.

"Well, you SAID you didn't feel bad....."

Nobody felt bad at that point. Instead you felt an indescribeable bolt of confidence from surviving that year. You had lived. That lasted a few months. I went to work and literally went toe to toe with the occasional cop. When you know you can take some guy's gun away, it adds a certain spring to your step and a gleam to your eye. So much for that "good guy with a gun" bullshit, too. You need to worry about that woman you didn't look at twice because you're the sort of asshole who thinks A: women aren't in combat, and B: that "I-like-the-ones-who-didn't-get-captured" thing is either acceptable or didn't happen.

I got so little sleep that I could barely stagger from one end of the house to the other. My legs felt like they did when I finished a long, fast run. I heard voices that whispered to one another that I was still awake, that wondered if I knew they were outside my window, peering in. I was on the second floor.

I suspect certain people will deny it, but our society thinks women should shut up and take care of other people, not need help themselves. And what if you get UGLY? Facebook won't let me repeat certain things. PTSD is hilarious! Look at that crazy.....female dog.

There's stuff that happened in Iraq that I will never talk about. There's things that happened when I came back that fall under that, too.

I was absolutely convinced I was a terrible burden. No, asshole, telling somebody to "ignore it" only works for the scumbags imflicting the very crap they want you to ignore. If you fired a gun at somebody, people wouldn't tell you to ignore it. Why----especially when the target is a woman-----do people just-----oh, wait, never mind. Because women are supposed to be society's punching bags. And other women often do the punching for men because it's easier than fighting injustice.

Guys face different barriers that get ground in before they're aware of it. We give baby boys toy footballs once the umbilical's cut. My dad told funny, ironic stories about WWII-----but I know he fought in the south Pacific for at least part of his time in the war. He was a paratrooper who jumped out of planes. Fifty years later, he'd get up in the night and drive, sometimes hundreds of miles. I was too stupid to know what it was. When Alzheimer's finally stopped his nightmares, the sweet, betrayed boy he once was surfaced. My paternal grandmother was a woman who should never have had kids.

The VA refused to help me for years. They turned what should have been a simple, basic case of PTSD into what felt like psychosis. I just don't want to repeat all that. Just in the past year they finally identified those vivid....experiences.....as flashbacks. Ten years. Eleven years.

By the time I tried to kill myself the first time, various people and treatment had turned me into a wreck. It wasn't like they didn't know, either. Some of them were VA staffers. I couldn't get to the main VA without a panic attack and throwing up, but they treated me like a potty training toddler. They dismissed my back and shoulder injuries as "arthritis." Huh. Combat arthritis, who knew?

What gave me some temporary respite was the shocking experience at the ER. The paramedics took me to a civilian hospital. I was shocked to find out that people who worked at hospitals were *nice* to people in pain. Even the security guard was kind and considerate.

The other thing was the realization that suicide was permanent. For a while, I felt a certain shaky sense of optimism. That lasted till I informed my shrink that the anxiety meds weren't helping. She casually told me to just increase the doseage. This was AFTER the first suicide attempt.

As an effort to stave off suicidal feelings, I started cutting. It felt like if I punished myself a little, it was temporary stay of self-execution. My shrink told me if she caught me doing this she'd involuntarily commit me. So much for THOSE office visits. Even after I finally won my case, I had to fight to get a new doctor. I told one shrink that I felt like a sniper had his sights trained on me when I went outside.

She asked me why.

I've called this number myself as recently as July of last year. If you have to take it one hour at a time to survive, do it. If it's one minute, do it. If it's one second, do it. I want to say so many things that I can't put into words. There are people who are far luckier than you and I are, or faster, able to lift more or less weights, or run faster or slower. That doesn't make you who are.

Depression will whisper in your ear. It will lie to you. It will tell you all your flaws, but fuck it. Do you know how *horrible* a perfect person would be? They'd be a robot. *Shakespeare* gets bad reviews. *The Bible* gets bad reviews.

That voice is strongest and loudest when you are exhausted, drunk, high, paranoid, or whatever. It kicks you when you are down. It is an undertow that grabs you in what feels like an inescapable grip, threatens you, lasts for what it tells you is an eternity.....but it's lying.

Here is the hard part. You have to stop fighting. It will take you.....but it will let you go. That is the lie. Live one more second. Grab that breath of air when you surface. It WILL release you. One more minute.

Talking helps. 1-800-273-8255 Depression is lying to you. I'm not going to tell you it's easy.....but it IS temporary.

And the VA strikes again

....The Va officially identified those "things" I experience as "flashbacks" within the past three months. Hallucinations, sense of smell, nightmarish dislocation of reality.....are those palm trees? No, can't be. Where am I? Oh, God, where am I? Can't be. Can't be? Where am I? Freezing and boiling hot at the same time. Is that cordite I smell? (Cordite is what you smell after lots of small arms fire.) Is that sand, dust, smoke? Shaking, shivering, where am I? How did I get here? How do I get home? No, can't be real. Can't be.

And then they have the nerve to get snippy with me about how wary I am about trusting them. You know what? Just thinkinhmg about these bloody things makes me feel dizzy.



Okay, okay, i need to blog more. This will probably happen whether I want it to or not because either I tore something else in my knee or the VA didn't bother to fix it all the last time they operated.

As for what's going with certain elected officials? Holy shit, I need to RANT, but I guess the oligarchs that now own LJ won't allow politics.

As usual, the PTSD has an effect, buuuuuttttt....I got on a bus! And then I did it again! (It took me three tries, but fuck it, right?) And I did it by myself. Good drugs make a HUGE difference.

I can't rant at great length here, but I think my dreamwidth needs to be broken in.
Yesterday, I did approximately 8,500 steps. That apparently dud the truck because except for a few nightnares, I slept really well.

So far this morning, I fed the cats, took out some garbage, scrubbed some of the floor, cleamed five litter boxes, and racked up 1,390 steps. Yesterday, about step 5,000, I realized I'd forgotten to eat. Whoops.

I have a cleaning product addiction. I need to get that organized. It feels like I see something new and my eyes get cartoonishly huge and lustful.

I've been puppy sitting a neighbor's bichon frisé puppy. Cutest little thing ever, and it gets me out of the house.

Now off to get myself caffeinated.

BTW, I'm going to be trying the move to Dreamwidth. It feels like I never get to sit down. That's not neccesarily bad.
For 18 years, I thought she was stealing my identity. Until I found her |
US news | The Guardian
Yargh. For the second day in a row I managed to double my step count, but today the knee gave me a twinge. I did 6,800-something steps yesterday, 7,300-something today, without really trying. Yesterday was sorting books in the garage. Today was errands, or at least it was supposed to be. One minute I'm thinking---like a normal person----"I just need to get this key copied"-----and the next thing I know I'm looking at a cart which has two HUGE sacks of potting soil in it, three bags of sunflower seeds---because you have to pay squirrel protection around here----and enough pots, plants, and seeds to recreate Versailles in my garden this year. Or at least on my front porch.

Depot my ass. They need to just call it a crack house and have done with it.

I'd like to write more but Shadow---my Grumpaluffagus, my scarred ex feral who hisses at everyone but me----has once again made me into the big spoon and is using my arm as a pillow.

Weird thing: ever since they started giving me that anxiety med that actually reduces nightmares, I have not had a single instance where I woke up gasping. Not one.


The next Brock Turners?

Arizona high school athletes arrested in hazing case | Reuters

Yeah, more entries in the "rape charges really ruin a guy's life"
Good news: managed to make fresh buns this morning. Mmmmm, fresh bread with bu------

Where IS the butter?

I put some out last night to soften in the cupboard, because Fred has made off with whole sticks of butter.

So....oh. Wait. Why are those bowls in the sink? I just washed those yesterday.

I put them in the cupboard.

And shut it tightly.

Now I have an open cupboard, spilled bowls, and.....no butter.

He opened the bloody cupboard.

"FRED, goddamit."

In other news...

So I see people are ignoring the major, glaring, huge, implication in these ISIS attacks: car attacks and knife-wielders? This is not an enemy with any reserves of tactics, personnel, or plans to offer.

Meanwhile, a white guy----ex-Army----came up to New York to specifically black men. He killed one. "All Lives Matter" personnel are suspiciously absent from conversations about this. The guy apparently has long-standing ties to white supremacist hate grops, but Trump quietly removed those groups from hate group watch lists. Now they can operate with impunity. Their radio stations and youtube channels spew hatred and conspiracy 24/7, but they're white, so they CAN'T be terrorists.

And Trump is declaring that he's "vindicated" by the discovery that his people were inadvertantly surveilled as part of an investigation into suspect foreign nationals. The guy making excuses for him----Nunes----was part of his transition team.

Now, if you're an idiot (or a Trumper, but I repeat myself) you can call this "vindication", when what it shows is that Trump's people had a lot of meetings with foreign actors that various intelligence agencies felt compelled to observe.

Meetings which those Trumpers either failed to mention (Flynn) or outright lied about(Sessions).

Hm, if it were just golfing being discussed, why was Sergei Kislyak brought into Trump Tower in such a way as to avoid the constant press photographers? And why is Trump desperately acting like somebody who knows there's a whole wardrobe of shoes about to drop? So much for questions about collusion. If he didn't know-----but why is Putin (of all people) the only person he gushes over?----then he's so oblivious he shouldn't be president. The willfully stupid and the congenitally-idiotic have found their savior, however.

And I realized today that guys who whine about Mel Gibson or whoever when the talk is about some asshole black guy are just the "but her emails!" people with a tweak of subject. Bill Cosby raped 50+ women. Let me know how many women it takes before you give a shit. Saudi Arabia only requires four. At a certain point, a guy does such a horrible thing or so many horrible things to so many people that whatever he did before doesn't matter.

Oh. Shit. "People". I forgot, women still aren't people, even to men who themselves have had to fight to be regarded as such. And they think sexism is a fun thing they've been denied while white men got to have all the toys.

Certain people see this and scream, "You libtards want special standards!" No, asshole, we want the same standards that mediocre white men get. One standard for everybody. We want the same assholes who scream, "ITPG!" (Innocent Till Proven Guilty)about every rapist to appear when a woman gets falsely accused of lying about men who attack and harm women. I'm sure they'll be along any day now.

No, the Irish were NOT slaves, you morons

Debunking a Myth: The Irish Were Not Slaves, Too - The New York Times

Brian Bilston

Thanks to another "gangster bully careerist reviewer" for introducing me to this poem.

Read the poem first from the top.

Then read the lines up from the bottom.

Meals on Wheels

C'mon, Repubs, just TRY and jutify cutting Meals on Wheels. I dare you. And the school lunch program? C'mon. ONE weekend at Mar-A-Lago would fund Meals on Wheels for the year. And that's, what, the FIFTH of six weekends he's spent there, while Melania stays in NY?


Another Tea Bagger

Former Tea Party darling Steve Stockman arrested for felony election law
violations - Salon.com

Another Nazi in the White house.

Top Trump Adviser Sebastian Gorka Denied A Report That He Belongs To A
Nazi-Allied Group - BuzzFeed News

Now and forever

Rachel has this report that got leaked by the intel community and it says....

*people do not COME here as radicals.
*they get radicalized here.....gee, do you suppose rampant Islamophobia mighy have something to do with it?

Can we get to work on rightwing nutjob hate groups now?

So it turns out if you.....act like Saddam Hussein people don't like it. There have been HUNDREDS of attacks on Muslims, Jews, and Sikhs since Trump was elected. These people FLEE the Saddams and the ISIS groups, then they come here, and what do they greeted with, as they stand there, drooping, having left everything behind them?

"Give me your tired, your poor...."

They are us. We were once them. Tomorrow we could be all us, one big colorful group. Those of us who have been saying this is NOT America, that this is NOT right.....were right.

The right thing is not a fad. It's like the clear note of music that you get from a properly-tuned piano. That never changes. There is no fashion this year for decency and bare humanity, it never changes. If that is your thing, two thousand years ago, Jesus said,

"...for I was hungry, and you gave me food to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was sick, and you visited me. I was in prison, and you came to me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry, and feed you; or thirsty, and give you a drink? When did we see you as a stranger, and take you in; or naked, and clothe you? When did we see you sick, or in prison, and come to you?’

“The King will answer them, ‘Most certainly I tell you, because you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’

These are the words the people pushing this ban supposedly believe.

By your actions ye will know them is the phrase.

Now is the time to take action. It remains, forever, the right thing to do.

Latest Month

December 2018


RSS Atom
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner