The Longest Relationship I Ever Had

10 years and 7 months—something like that. Almost everything I know about nursing, I learned there. My job has probably been the only stable thing in my life. I have moved 8 times, lost 2 partners, almost lost my mom, watched my father-in-law die, started and abandoned the MSN program and finished my MFA. That’s the short version.


Even before the restructuring, I knew the end was drawing near. I could feel it at 6:30 am as I walked down the long corridor. I wondered how many more times I would ride the elevator to my floor. What was next? I kept having dreams about tornadoes and tsunamis. These dreams are often about change and rebirth. I thought maybe I would die in a fiery plane crash on my way to Nebraska. That obviously didn’t happen.


Yesterday I worked the last day at my 1st nursing job. I didn’t know it was going to be my last day until the day before. It was anti-climatic. A regular let’s discharge everybody Friday. No bangles. No buzzers. No banners. Just an e-mail on how I’ll leave a void. Assholes leave voids too.


Packed up my stash of snacks. Emptied the freezer. Shredded my mail file and evaluation portfolio. Picked out the books that were still relevant.


All day I made a list in my head of the things that I won’t miss. All the discharge paper work—not many people are discharged on the night shift. Not having a bright light over the bed. Being on the last floor the doctors come to round. Getting up at 4:30am. The constant ring of the phone. Semi-private rooms. Medications in a million different places. Being Vocera-ed for stupid ass shit—but maybe that will be somebody else’s job.


J.G. asked me if I was a little sad. She asked if I was going to miss them. I said that I was and that I would, but I hesitated a little and laughed at the end. So she didn’t believe me. You’re not really sad, she said. Well, I am, but I don’t want to be. And I most certainly don’t want to be in front of people. It’s hard to be sad when I know I’m only going to be 5 floors down, and in all likelihood will be back as a float staff from my new floor. And it’s hard to be sad when I don’t feel anything yet. Except a sinking, nauseated feeling in my stomach. Besides nobody died. Everybody is still right there where I left them—for now.


I stood in my boss’s office to say good-bye. I think maybe she was holding back tears. Maybe. It was verging on something emotional, and I didn’t like it. I had this compulsion to hug her, but I know she doesn’t like hugs. Instead I said, this feels weird, so I’m out of here.


Truthfully, I’m scared shitless. I’ll be the one orientating, not mentoring someone else. I’ll be the new person. I’ll be the person who doesn’t know stuff. And I’m really going to miss them.

Socialism is Bad Mmmmkay

Marijuana was completely legal until the government said that it wasn’t. Hemp production interfered with cotton farm special interest groups. They demonized Marijuana and coined the catch phrase Reefer Madness! It is still demonized today. Alcohol was legal until Prohibition. It was demonized from 1919 to 1933 when it was miraculously legalized again under government control. Was there anything inherently bad about alcohol that it had to be made illegal? No, the government just wasn’t making any money on it. They had to take it away, make us want it really bad, so much so that we wouldn’t mind if they let us have it back with stipulations—a sin tax.


My point being is that the government will say that anything is bad or wrong or illegal if they are not gaining from it in some way—usually monetarily. This is also true of certain political ideologies. The government plays these little mind games with us, using propaganda to make us think that certain ways of thinking are unpatriotic and dirty. It’s bad, because we say it’s bad. We are being mind-fucked.


Quotes from George Orwell’s 1984:
"And if all others accepted the lie which the Party imposed—if all records told the same tale—then the lie passed into history and became truth. 'Who controls the past' ran the Party slogan, 'controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.'"- George Orwell, 1984, Book 1, Chapter 3

"Day by day and almost minute by minute the past was brought up to date. In this way every prediction made by the Party could be shown by documentary evidence to have been correct; nor was any item of news, or any expression of opinion, which conflicted with the needs of the moment, ever allowed to remain on record. All history was a palimpsest, scraped clean and reinscribed exactly as often as was necessary."- George Orwell, 1984, Book 1, Chapter 3


I think we compartmentalize everything and believe that certain things can never touch or co-exist like socialism, capitalism, communism. But they do coexist. They all ebb and flow into each other. Can you really have pure capitalism? Do people really want pure capitalism? Do you now what they would entail? It’s all just Propaganda. We are trained to believe that Socialism and Communism are dirty words.

socialism:
–noun
1. a theory or system of social organization that advocates the vesting of the ownership and control of the means of production and distribution, of capital, land, etc., in the community as a whole.

Socialism that exists in America:
Independent Self-sustainable Hippy Communes, Amish living, Churches, Welfare, God’s Kitchen, GoodWill, Non-profit Hospitals, Food Pantries, Salvation Army, Student Grants, Public Schools, Fire Departments Police Department, Public Libraries, Public Parks, Government Worker Programs:Civil Service Retirement Systems,Federal Employee Retirement Systems,Railroad Retirement System, Housing & Urban Development (HUD) Programs:Public Housing,Rental Vouchers & Certificates,Section 8 Housing, Low Income Home Energy Assistance
Social Security Programs:Social Security (OASDI), Unemployment Insurance,Temporary Disability Insurance,MedicareMedicaid, Medicare Prescription Drug Plan, Welfare Programs: Supplemental Security Income,Temporary Assistance for Needy Families,Food Stamp Program,Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC),National School Lunch Program,School Breakfast Program

communism:
1. a theory or system of social organization based on the holding of all property in common, actual ownership being ascribed to the community as a whole or to the state.
2.(often initial capital letter ) a system of social organization in which all economic and social activity is controlled by a totalitarian state dominated by a single and self-perpetuating political party.

10 essential tenets of communism:
Central banking system
Government controlled education
Government controlled labor
Government ownership of transportation and communication vehicles
Government ownership of agricultural means and factories
Total abolition of private property
Property rights confiscation
Heavy income tax on everyone
Elimination of rights of inheritance
Regional planning

^Some of these Communist tenets do exist here in the United States. What are you going to do about it? Eliminate public education?


After WWII, everyone got nervous about Socialism and Communism, because they associated these political ideologies with crazy fucked up dictators like Stalin and Hitler. These leaders were fascist totalitarians. Any political leader has the capacity to be corrupt regardless of political ideology. So even though we have socialism in our society today, we don’t call it socialism, because that’s a dirty word.

totalitarian: –adjective 1. of or pertaining to a centralized government that does not tolerate parties of differing opinion and that exercises dictatorial control over many aspects of life.2. exercising control over the freedom, will, or thought of others; authoritarian; autocratic.

fascism:
–noun 1. (sometimes initial capital letter ) a governmental system led by a dictator having complete power, forcibly suppressing opposition and criticism, regimenting all industry, commerce, etc., and emphasizing an aggressive nationalism and often racism.

Tactics used to demonize Socialism/Communism:

Red Scare – U.S. witch hunt for Communists. If you were even remotely unpatriotic, you might be considered Communist—thus a threat the U.S. Today we would use the word Enemy Combatant, and they would send you to Guantanomo Bay. This was if you expressed any views in opposition to the government. Forget about Free Speech.

Cold War –USSR vs The West (aka U.S.) U.S. tried to push Democracy and Capitalism onto Communist Russia. This led to the Nuclear Arms Race and Space Race to see who had the bigger dick.

Democracy does not equal Capitalism.

democracy:–noun, plural -cies.
1. government by the people; a form of government in which the supreme power is vested in the people and exercised directly by them or by their elected agents under a free electoral system.
2. a state having such a form of government: The United States and Canada are democracies.
3. a state of society characterized by formal equality of rights and privileges.
4.political or social equality; democratic spirit.


Democracy actually sounds like it might have some socialistic properties.


Everyone demonizes everyone else. Conservatives demonize Liberals and Socialism. Liberals demonize Conservatives, Capitalism and Patriotism. I think somebody is purposefully manufacturing rifts between us. There is NO difference between the Republican and Democratic Parties. They are all friends behind the curtain. They have to make it look like they are enemies, so that we will be satisfied--so we can pretend that there’s a choice. But they are all together working toward this secret invisible goal. More money for them.


They want us to fight. That person believes in gay rights and a woman’s right to choose, so they turn left. You believe in God, Guns and a baby’s right to life, so you go right. But those are the issues that the politicians present on the surface. They don’t give a damn about my issues or your issues or the environment or aborted babies. They use those issues to divide us, so they have the control.

Whether we have Capitalism, Socialism or Communism—the people at the top always make the most money and make all the rules. So it really doesn’t make a difference. Not really. There’s too much corruption in government for there to ever be any real change.

capitalism:
–noun
An economic system in which investment in and ownership of the means of production, distribution, and exchange of wealth is made and maintained chiefly by private individuals or corporations, esp. as contrasted to cooperatively or state-owned means of wealth.


Privately controlled could be a mega corporate-conglomeration or an independent small business owner. Capitalism includes both Wal-Mart, your source for cheap plastic crap from China and the farmer selling his crops at the Farmer’s Market. I don’t think the founders of Capitalism ever envisioned Wal-Mart. There is also Free Trade in Capitalism-- your job sent to Mexico or China. Where do you see an opportunity for the hard-working man to be a part of this free market? Getting on top? Making lots of money? Big Markets are going to squash the little man or the little woman. You only make money and get on top if you are already making money and on top. But these Corporations have jobs. That means money for the little guy. If we can’t make money on our own, we have to prostitute ourselves out to someone else.


We have all been programmed to believe certain political ideologies are superior to certain other political ideologies. Just as we have been programmed to believe that certain religious beliefs are preferred over certain other religious beliefs.


Remember we have all been Mind-Fucked. Beware of the Thought Police.

My Word for Poop

Poop. It’s a funny word. You can’t say it without smiling a little. Maybe because it’s everyone’s dirty little secret. Everyone likes to pretend that they don’t have to and that theirs doesn’t stink. Before Kindergarten, I was unfamiliar with the word “poop.” Mom made up her own word for that embarrassing bodily function—“ahkee.” I don’t now how it’s spelled, and I can’t find it on Urban Dictionary. Maybe the word was passed down from Grandma. Dad called it something else “taking a dump” or “shit.” “Taking a dump” doesn’t lend itself very well to conversation when talking about poop as a noun. And “shit” was not an acceptable choice for a Kindergartener. When the subject came up on the bus (because poop is a subject that always comes up), I chimed in with what I knew about “ahkee.” The conversation halted abruptly, turned to laughter and finally ridicule. That’s where I went wrong in school—not by dressing funny or being overweight or asthmatic. It was because I didn’t have the right word for poop. If I could do it over again, I’d say shit instead.


As a nurse, I’m frequently concerned about other people’s poop—whether or not they are pooping and making sure it’s the right kind of poop. I refer to it frequently as a Bowel Movement or B.M, especially to the 65 and older crowd. If I say that to anyone younger than 40, they look at me like I just spoke to them in Mandarin Chinese. Nurses may have to change their terminology soon.


Jacks says that in her line of work, everything she makes turns to shit eventually. That Coconut Risotto, Gourmet Grilled Cheese, and Artichoke & Blue Cheese Bisque—all goes to shit.


I recently spent a three day weekend at the Wheatland Music Festival. No running water. Just lines of blue, plastic port-o-johns from a company called Fresh Start. Each year, the conditions of these port-johns declines as the festival goers become more drunk and stoned. One year someone decided to shit along side of the hole instead of in it. The piles of shit in the blue water rise along with tampons, paper and foreign objects. Don’t forget the flies and the abandoned beer bottle sitting to the side. Why would you ever bring a drink into one of those things?


Fresh Start was out there every day with their shit hoses and tanks of blue water. Each truck had a cute little name with a cartoon. Honey Pot, Honey Jar, Honey Trucker, Honey Bucket. I realize that honey is a product of bee shit. But I don’t really want to associate deliciously sweet golden honey with human shit. Not appetizing. No matter what you call it, it’s still shit. There’s nothing cute or delicious about it. Especially as the smell of raw sewage wafts over you as you take a bite of an elephant ear.


Last week, I was watching the news with my parents.
“No one uses the word manure anymore,” Dad said.
“Oh?” I said. Where the hell was he going with this?
“They used the word scat,” he said.
“Are you sure they used that word?” I asked.
He had been watching a news program earlier that week that referred to monkey manure as scat. I informed him that scat is a sexual practice involving shit. One should never have this type of conversation with your parents. Especially before 6am.


I was having a drunk conversation with JW. I joked that at the next Wheatland, I would just wear a diaper like the NASA astronauts. Whenever I would hold up my index finger and have a strained look on my face, everyone would know that I needed a moment of quiet. And as always with poop, the conversation steadily declined to dirtier and more profane subjects. JW asked if I had ever heard of Space Docking. Of course, I immediately thought of space ships, space walks and satellite repair. Apparently this is a sexual practice that involves pooping in someone’s vagina. Can you say E.Coli? We determined that it would have to be a solid turd rather than diarrhea otherwise it could not be called docking.


No wonder Mom told me it was “Ahkee.”

Eating Pie

One of my poet friends shuns social networking sites. Says he doesn’t want to be connected to the world. He’s happy with his peaceful life. I get that. Why does everyone need to know everyone else’s business? Aren’t these sites only devices to hypnotize us with advertising? Don’t they cause social networking addictions—where we aren’t addicted to connecting with people as much as we are addicted to the meaningless applications and time wasters under the façade of “games.” And is it really necessary to have messages sent from Facebook and Twitter to your phone? My once best friend in 3rd grade who I haven’t talked to in 15 years just drank a cup of coffee 30 miles away. Or my ex-girlfriend’s sister’s kid woke up with a hang over. These aren’t urgent messages. We could have gone on living without them.



But aren’t these messages from friends on Facebook or Myspace just a faster more immediate mail service? Isn’t Twitter an updated version off the telegraph? Some people are worried that nobody talks anymore. Why can’t they just pick up the phone? I have set up dinner dates with friends without ever picking up a phone. Isn’t this how people used to get together before the phone? Send letters and notes? I suppose if you have a problem with social networking sites, the internet or cell phones, then maybe you should get rid of your landline and join the Amish.



The other day I updated my Facebook to: Made peach pie. Real peach pie--not from a can. The peaches still had green leaves attached. I received a slew of comments. Even my mom wanted to know where her piece was. My friend JW left multiple comments about this peach pie. We see him once a year at the Wheatland Music Festival. Jacks & I know him through his girlfriend, and we see her just as much as we see him. So I don't know where he lives, and I don't have his phone number. But he’s a seriously nice guy. I told him he could have a slice of pie if he drove an hour and 30 minutes to our house. He asked me for our phone number, which I gladly sent to him—not thinking that we would actually hear from him. At 9:30pm, my cell phone did its little song & dance. It was JW. He was on his way and wanted to know how to get to the house. At first, I thought it was a little strange, because I hadn’t seen him in a year, and he was driving all that way for pie. It had been a half-serious invitation. But if he was willing make the drive, I was willing to give him the whole damn pie. And then I was worried that maybe he was interested in another kind of pie. Not that he’s the type of guy who likes to eat everyone’s pies.



I'm not so sure he came all that way just for peach pie, but he wasn’t looking for any other kind of pie, and the visit wasn’t so strange either. I think he was just looking that human connection. So we ate pie, drank coffee and bullshitted until 2am. Had it not been for Facebook, JW would have sat home alone without peach pie, and we would have slept, missing out on a good time.



I still don’t deliver, but I think I’ll make pie more often. Maybe branch out and make cookies and cakes.

Better to euthanize your child rather than have them brainwashed by Obama.

So many haters, man. I might not agree with everything Obama says or does. I might not agree with a lot of things. But Jesus Fucking Christ. Can't the president address the children? It's not like he's starting a war without the approval of congress or anything. Omigod. We should be grateful that he gives a shit. Oh no. Oh no. He's brainwashing the children. By having them write an essay on their educational goals? Mmmm. He's a socialist. If you're so goddamn afraid of socialism, you better hand over your unemployment, social security, medicare/medicaid, foodstamps and whateverelse the government helped you with.


I think I might be more concerned that Cartoon Network, Xbox or Facebook was trying to brainwash my children. But the president? If your children have the capacity to be brainwashed by one presidential address, there's no hope for them anyway. You might as well euthanize them.

Fucking Breeders (or Fucking Kids)

Warning this may be offensive to you if you have children or are planning to have children. I’m not sorry.


The neighborhood is a little quieter. I think the little fuckers are back in school now. I’m all about year-around school and uniforms. They play in the road. Litter. Ride their bikes through our lawn. Pull the branches off our stubby maple. Beat each other up. Fucking kids. Can’t wait until the annoying ice cream truck retires for the season. A little snow and the fuckers will be holed up in front of a TV with a game controller in their hands. Next summer I hope to have a thorn barrier, hedge roses and raspberry bushes. Ride through the lawn now bitches.


I remember this little old lady at the nursing home, M.G. She was a stick of her former self. She had been a missionary. Never married. Never had children. Traveled the world. Met Ghandi. Did all sorts of self-less things, I’m sure. One thing she said has always stuck with me, “Married people don’t do anything.” She said this with such conviction and snobbery. But I think she was right. We get into relationships, and it becomes all about the honeymoon phase and how we can see more of each other. It’s all about being up each other's butts. Then we either get comfortable or continue to do nothing to improve ourselves. Or we become unhappy and try to find things that will make us as happy as we were when we first met. This is why people have children, because they are bored or unhappy. Instead of fixing themselves, they create a younger version of themselves, hoping these younger versions will turn out better. Will do more. Have more. Be more. And just maybe the parents can live vicariously through their child’s experiences. Can’t anyone stay happy and childless? Everything is too perfect or drama-free in their lives, so they must procreate it.

And other not-so-random ways to die . . .

When you’ve had a girlfriend and an ex-girlfriend die a span of 5 years, you get a little paranoid. It’s not a matter of if it happens again but when. We all die eventually. So even though it may not happen now or 10 to 20 years from now, it will happen. But who will be first? Will it be me or my partner?


Jacks might inherit her mother’s breast cancer. The next cigarette could lead to an early
heart attack? Or a random chunk of blue ice could fall from a passenger plane, killing her instantaneously. Maybe she’ll be electrocuted during a house repair project or choke to death at the dinner table. The cat could trip her on the stairs.


This past weekend I was out of town for my 3 day work week. I felt that impending
doom, worried that she might already be lying dead in a ditch somewhere. All because it was 10pm and I had not heard from her since 11am. I couldn’t remember if she was headed Up North for a visit or if she was supposed to be working.


I left her a voice mail. Texted her. Nothing. I tried to calm myself. Maybe she didn’t have very good cell phone service Up North. Maybe she was busy at work and couldn’t call me back. Maybe she went out for a pack of cigarettes and was never coming back. Earlier that day I had noticed that she had disappeared off my Facebook page. I was no longer in a relationship with Jacks, according to Facebook. If she was really dead, there was nothing I could do about it anyway. I told myself to just go to sleep. I took a Benadryl and proceeded to toss and turn. I texted her brother. He hadn’t heard from her either. .


My phone vibrated at 10:30 with a message from Jacks. Her phone was almost dead and she didn’t have her charger. She would be home soon, and she loved me. I was relieved but still wide awake. I wouldn’t be satisfied until I heard her voice from the safety of our home.


15 minutes later, she called me but not from home. She was at exit 90. She needed the number for a tow truck. She had been driving 70mph down the freeway when her tire flew off and her truck hit the cement, sparks flying. The truck stopped inches from the guard rail.


The guys at Tuffy said the lug nuts were sheered off perfectly like someone had cut them off. Rather suspicious. A couple days earlier we had noticed that the top right hand corner of her license plate had been cut out. Some fucker must have used a tin snips to steal her tag. She only makes $9.00/hr. Seriously, if you can’t afford your own tag, ride the bus! She drives a rusty 1991 Chevy S-10. Why couldn’t they have gone to the rich neighborhood? Why not a BMW or a Lexus?


Tuffy said the truck should have flipped over and veered into on-coming traffic. Those feelings of impending doom were not unwarranted. Jacks said she had similar feelings.
The tag and the tire are both replaceable—Jacks, not so much.