"I Ain't Sorry."

Dear Hearts,

“I ain't sorry…Na' nigga', I ain't sorry…Hell no.” Beyonce

I was tagged in a Facebook post today. I am not really sure what that means--"tagging," but I think the person who tagged me wants me to see the post I dunno.

Disclaimer: I am writing this post while I am covering the front desk at Burning Bed. I am using my portable keyboard and iPhone. I am still awed--phone call--by a fax machine. So the idea that I can type on my phone is fucking crazy.

One of the posts I was tagged in was about Michael Fuck Head Moore predicting Trump's win and the horrible sociopathic things Trump will do to America. My British friend tagged me. We have been friends since childhood, BUT our lives and politics could not be more different. She is a Socialist and I am a Republican.

Several people, including Mom, had posted in sympathy.

I wrote basically that Fuck Head is a Fuck Head for exploiting 9/11 and if you want to talk morals, Trump is the fucking pope compared to Moore. I have never seen kiddie porn. I don't want to. I know it is evil. I don't need to have seen "Fahrenheit 9/11" to know that the film was a desecration of all those who died on 9/11. I didn't add the last bit about kiddie porn in my post. But I used to say that to students who wanted to watch his movies in my class. I also said that Trump's bombing Syria was a necessary thing that should have been done a long time ago.

Among the crowd of posters--I am definitely the Black Sheep.

I thought about not posting my opinion, because I didn't want to make my English friend mad.

I apologized to a Start Sister for not driving an hour tomorrow to spend time with the Rainbow girls from 10 a.m. to the next day--a sleep over. I told her I was tired. She told me when she saw me I looked tired. I am like the few Rainbow girls I met. But, fuck me if I am gonna spend my day with games, and initiation, and sleeping on an air mattress. I slept on a fucking air mattress for months after the cops came to The House, because Asshole had taken my keys and wanted my parents to talk sense into me. Yeah, Asshole actually called MY DAD and told him that I was out of control and they needed to come up and help me. Yeah. Mom called the police--Dad just wanted to bring his Derringer.

I digress.

So I apologized to Star Sister for not spending a day with her and a gaggle of teenage girls.

I almost apologized on my FB post.

But then I thought. Hell, no.

WHY? WHY do I have to be sorry for what I believe?

COCKSUCKER.

I am so fucking tired of apologizing for who I am and what I believe. (Okay, I am not sure who I am or what I believe. I know some of it, but not all of it.)

I apologized to every fucking boyfriend, T., and Asshole for who I was and what I believed.

I am fucking done. Just done.

I don't want people to be mad at me. I don't want to lose any of my "many" (NOT) friends.

But, why am I wrong and they are right?

I may be fucked up. But, I am intellectually not stupid. Apparently, I act like a "fucking bitch" sometimes--but I am not stupid.

Suma Cum Laude, Motherfuckers.

The phone rang twice last night in two and half hours. Tonight, I have gotten three calls. Irony.

I should apologize for who I am and what I believe...

As I wrote that sentence, it gave me pause. I do feel sorry to my family who had to go through this Hell with me and to myself for fucking up.

But as far as FB and Star events that I don't want to go to. I am done apologizing.

I have a voice too.

I just gotta use it.

*****

Tomorrow is Palm Sunday/Saturday Mass. It is going to be 70 fucking degrees here.

This Client (the women who stay here are called clients. Like I was called a client when I was in the nuthouse) just walked all the way from her room up here to drink from the water fountain again. When I am here anyway, she just roams about--looking for human contact I guess.

So 70 degrees here. What a perfect afternoon to spend with Gram at the Graveyard. I have not been there recently because of the shitty, cold, windy, rainy days. I so much want to buzz off Mass and go be with Gram. But, I feel guilt. I have an appointment next week to talk with Father and Saint Patrick's, the church I've been going to. I want to give, do, have? A confession. I want him to know me and I want to know him. I want. I need a priest in my life. I hoe he is not a dick. I am going to tell him about Father Jag Off and the totally inappropriate joke he told.

If I were to go to be with Gram tomorrow, I would get my Cafe Iced Coffee--that and a cigarette make life worth living. I would say hello to Gram, pray the rosary, pray to God--

Another fucking phone call. It was dead last night. But I am learning I found the Client's file and her ROI (release of information). The caller was on her ROI, so I put him through.

Let's try that again.

I would say Hello to Gram, pray the rosary, read the lectionary, pray to God, Christ, Mother Mary and whatever Saints and Angels will listen. Gram is in a beautiful spot

ANOTHER PHONE CALL

Against a wooded area. When the trees are green, it's so beautiful. They do that summer whisper that they do and you can hear wind chimes from neighboring graves.

Palm Sunday is a celebration of Christ returning to Jerusalem for Pass Over. It is the Beginning of the End. The Catholic Church says I have to go to Mass and receive the Eucharist to be a good Catholic. What would JC do? What would Pope Francis do? What do I want to do?

Stay Tuned Tomorrow For: revelations about The House and Faerie Kate.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

Grateful For:

Cafe coffee

A cigarette outside

A boring ride with G-Pa

Covering the desk at Burning Bed

Health

Faith

Typing a post on my phone.