On politics

I thought my blog would be a safe space to discuss my thoughts on the debate in the entirety, moreover because I posted enough on Facebook already. The folks that read those thoughts are more than welcome to continue reading them on this blog. The Internet is a noisy place and I don't mean to negatively contribute.

Tonight was the night:

THE DEBATE

The "debate", also known as the tantrum-throwing-talking-over-show, was unlike any I'd heard in my life. For years, I had been raised to be a good Republican because that's what a "Christian" was, switching between altars of Jesus and St. Ronald himself. Being homeschooled didn't help this cause but in fact exacerbated the "brain-washing" that occured in my formative years. I do not think my parents ever meant this to harm me but I do believe they would die if they knew my deepest, darkest secret.

I'm with her.

I mean, I guess. She was never my first choice, for many reasons, but those reasons are now minute compared to the outrageous toupee'd pumpkin who parades himself as a yuuge success. I'm really with Bernie and think what the Clinton campaign did to him was obnoxious. Very House of Cards, if you will. However, I love my country enough to vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton.

There have been many things that have not felt right about Drumpf's campaign, message, or personality. He's brash and narcissistic at his best; mean, incompetent, and dangerous at his worst. In fact, the thing that made me 100% for Hillary (I mean, like, buying a car magnet and stuff 100% for) is Drumpf's character...or really the fact that he hasn't got one.

Political television ads are ridiculous, ranking up there with used car places or mini-malls in annoying factor. A poorly edited video with a microscopic budget is not a proper way to run your campaign, nor is an all out bloodbath, dumping everything on the other candidate as if they are the anti-Christ. Oh, do I remember my parents talking about that 8 years ago.

Clinton has an elegance about her campaign and its attack ads. In fact, when I first viewed this one about a WWII Prisoner of War, I was stunned. Secretly hoping for a mini-documentary about this hero's life, I was shocked to see it was a tactfully done ad by the Clinton campaign. It was not vicious; it was truthful. Drumpf is his own worst enemy.

The second ad I watched has been playing over and over in my mind and I cannot ignore it.

Can we ignore a man who degrades women? As a woman, one who has been considered "fat" or "chubby" or "overweight" by many people over her lifetime, I cannot. I cannot support him, cannot believe he is representing a party that I so closely associated rather foolishly with my religious convictions.

It is not just that he degrades us, it is that he would never see us as equal. What kind of world would I wake up in thinking that the President of a country I love, that my father and my grandfathers fought for, my grandmother emigrated to, would not see me as a valuable asset to the country? He would not see me as a person, rather as a piece of meat.

His comments tonight regarding "home grown terrorism" involved some pretty derogatory language, including a person who would be considered a deviant of society (a hacker) would be 400 lbs. Why is it necessary to: 1. bring up a person's weight in a political debate and 2. associate obesity with being a "bad guy"?

This isn't just about me.

This is about my mom.

She was brilliant in her top form, educating me every day while juggling managing my dad's business. In the 1980s, she was even an engineer of sorts without ever holding any type of higher degree. This woman is my hero. She left an abusive relationship to raise her son, gave up a promising career to make sure I became an educated person, and always tried to make sure I did my best.

Would he see her as a woman, a person, because of her condition? What kind of rules would he make to rid the earth of the disabled or people who couldn't contribute? This worries me greatly. 

Because of the feminist my mother made me, believing I was equal to any man, any person at all, I will break her heart and vote for a Clinton. There is no way that I would ever put any support, ideological or monetary, behind such a hateful fascist.

My mom did not raise a fool. I have changed; I do not believe I am a Republican or Democrat. I try to remember what she taught me, about God being the one whom I truly adhere to, to be kind, to be loving, to resemble Christ in his compassion and love. Hell, they even named me after him.

It is because I value myself, my mother's legacy, and my grandmother's legacy, that I firmly will say:

I'm with her.

champion

"Can we talk, um, about stuff?"

My request to eat ice cream with my husband is not unusual, though it has become problematic thanks to a recently discovered gluten problem. The things on top of my mind had nothing to do with wheat amino acids or calories or anything of the sort.

He seemed a bit shocked that I suggested we dialogue over the dinner table instead of in front of the television. Without a proper couch, or even living room set up, this is uncomfortable. I don't need it to be anymore awkward than that which I bring myself.

I'm anxious.

Rocky road, sitting in little glass bowls, staring at me.

"Talk to me, baby. What did you want to discuss?"

"Nothing..."

Wait for it.

"Well, I mean, when you left college what was your mindset? What helped you press on?"

Husband is a wealth of knowledge and self-motivation. He knows no failure and to not say no to himself. He's not only a champion of his own, but my champion.

He tells me the story of taking two months to complete a portfolio, as his parents graciously let him come home for a time. He then got the job he wanted. He knew nothing else.

He encourages me, holding me as he tells me the things I am accomplishing that no one else has done that he knows of. He tells me my mind is a torrential sea, swaying me back and forth. I need to be Neptune, controlling it's waves and ebbs, controlling it instead of the alternative.

He is my champion.

I will be victorious for him.

sixteen days

It's been a long while since I've written anything here, without much good reason. Writing is usually a stress reliever for me and, boy, how I have been stressed.

Half of this year, a good chunk of my 28, has been absorbed with my father's sickness. We are coming to a close on the radiation journey. He seems to be doing well; our phone conversations are less strained, his speaking is much clearer than previous efforts.

Sixteen days left until my birthday. I think. My math skills have been kind of lackluster lately. Maybe I need to get back to doing hundreds of Kumon problems every week! There are lots of things I need to get my brain back on track, out of cancer survival mode, doing what I was trying to before things fell apart.

I will be 29. Starting then, I have 30 things I want to accomplish before my 30th birthday. I'm actually going to be writing a completely separate, hilariously gut-busting blog about it, detailing my own rules for the 30 things I'll be doing. Ok, the only gut I'm really trying to bust is my own--definitely one of my goals.

After the Valley is back into full on production. There are some exciting developments that have taken place in the past week alone that I cannot detail yet. Just be warned, my film will be awesome.

Graduation also comes this December.

I'm trying to take a break from things that distract, people that hurt, and thoughts that destroy. It's hard, but I'm almost to the finish line and when I get there, it will be fantastic.

exhaustion

Silence on this blog is a side-effect of many things, including but not limited to dropping classes, visiting family members, and, of course, a very sick Dad with a very bad stage of cancer.

Of course, I am allowed to cry and feel miserable but it gets me nowhere. The Lexapro that massages my brain into some sort of satiated normalcy has kept me sane, along with this crazy wonderful man known as my husband. Other than that, I'm pretty much falling apart.

This is the basis for another blog I'm going to be working on here shortly. But if you are in need of this as much as I am, just remember:

It's okay to be mad.

It's okay to be upset.

It's okay to feel defeated.

But it's not okay to give up.

You got this, I got this, we got this. We're going to survive together.

hairy premonition

Sometimes I think God has a sense of humor and/or is making me learn a lesson about comparisons. This is nothing new. Now, before I continue, please don't comment or tweet or email that 1. God doesn't test people or 2. God doesn't test you about stupid things such as _____.

I get it.

Over the years, it feels like my pity or sympathy is an activator for some awful thing to happen to myself. When I was about nine or so, my mom, brother and I were at Tom Thumb grocery shopping. It was a pretty average shopping trip, though I probably begged to be taken in to the fake Blockbuster-type rental store in the front with overpriced VHS tapes and knock off Cowboys jerseys. Mom was standing dutifully with her checkbook and pen, while I was hanging on the side of the lane, admiring the skill and precision which the bagger could fit so much crap into one small plastic bag.

Then, I saw her.

I tried not to stare because I know there was a good chance Mom would lecture me on not being rude or worse--not take me to the fake Blockbuster. As I clung to the check-writing counter, my mouth on my folded hands, I saw a bearded lady.

Probably 16 or 17, this young woman had patchy wafts of hair swooped across her neck and cheeks. Looking back, she resembled someone who could have been part of my mom's side of the family. Or even future me.

As we walked away, saying our 'thank-you' and 'see you soon's, I remember looking at that girl and thinking, "God, I hope I'm never like that."

This is where God comes in a smacks me with something. Again, metaphorically or whatever.

Mom always told me that you have control over your future. Your believing, whether negative or positive, can change your life. She also told me about putting out good "vibes" to get people to like you, which I still have yet to master, but that is a discussion for later. I wonder if I have created self-fulfilling prophecies for myself, such as this poor-bearded girl.

Did, or does, she have the same disease that makes my face rough and scratchy every morning? The same disease that makes her have belly pains for no reason, anxiety, depression, weight gain, and the inability to naturally conceive children? Perhaps I did not invite the self-fulfilling prophecy in but became aware of the similarities between us and let it frighten me. The bulbous nose that sat on her face, thinner lips, wire-rimmed glasses, and brown poofy hair might as well have been a mirror into the hell I knew as puberty.

Or just being a teenager.

This curse or blessing has had a strange impact on me over the years. I used to have premonitions that would come true, but always of stupid things like seeing a cool girl's pair of Adidas slip-ons at Girl Scout camp. Three weeks later? Same shoes, same girl, same camp. Woah. I even had a voice, ever so clear, tell me one day I might as well give up my life because I will have to take care of my parents. That voice has haunted me more than the ones that allude to failed potential.

Lately, my thoughts have been more controlled and positive. Thanks to the invigorating conference I attended a few weeks ago, many things in my life have begun to turn around and my beliefs along with it. Perhaps God does still exist and maybe his promises are true. Maybe I'm not so much of a failure. Today, though, the bad thoughts came back and when they do, I think of the girl at Tom Thumb and if she triggered this self-aware doubt spiral otherwise known as my life.

Maybe I will never know if my thoughts do control my circumstances. The skeptics, of which many are my friends, will assure me of my superstition. Others will assert that I can change my life if I want, that my attitude and mindset must change for me to succeed.

I am starting to rebuild those brain pathways with good things, I think. Let's hope I can rebuild the ones that lead to the hair follicles on my chin.

woah.

Though Chicago was incredible, I'm glad to be home in Dallas. I'm still digesting all the incredible things I learned at Storyline. Man, I wish my husband had been able to come with me since this was the last conference (!) but I think I've relayed stuff to him the best I can.

Which I will do here, on my blog, soon. 

The processing part is still happening. It will be for awhile, I think.

I mainly wanted to write tonight because I could not believe how many readers I had last week. Do you want to guess how many visitors checked me out on Wednesday of last week?

250.

YEP. That's a pretty big number, right?! I haven't had readers in those numbers since, uh, well, never. Nope, never. That's definitely encouraging and you will be seeing plenty more out of me in the days/weeks to come.

Thanks, you guys. It means the world to me!

-c

Chicago: Day 1.5

Hi. I'm not sure how to start this entry because of the crappy 24 hours I've had. Well, not 24 hour but more like since 5 PM yesterday after I found my flight to be delayed. From there, it was finding the car rental place, being coaxed into spending way more money than necessary I'm sure on insurances and pre-paid gasoline. Guided by my trusty Google maps app, down through the seedy and actually quite "country" parts of Illinois towards my destination. I was told by a nice Sikh convenience store owner to "take care of myself".

I wish I could have had his foresight.

So far the best part of this trip has been collecting all the street passes on my 2DS. What a grown up thing to say, I'm sure. The seedy hotel with people screaming, a bed-bug infested room (I have bites now but could just tell last night. I was so tired I couldn't do a thing about it) was the last straw. This morning I swore on my Bible that I lost my keys somewhere mid-flight only to find Sleepy Christine had safely tucked them away in her bag, in a small little compartment.

Traveling and I are not close friends; we meet once and again, in hopes of kindling something beautiful and inspiring. Most of the time that's the case. Perhaps its the state of mind I've been finding myself in as of late that is causing such a rough go of things.

I do know that I am running myself into the ground, which is partially the cause, and that this conference will help me sort out that whole thing. I don't know what to give up. Hopefully God will make that abundantly clear because I am not completely focused on this trip, for obvious reasons. Upon reading the entry packet for the conference, I am amazed at the beauty this experience offers and am doing my best to focus on such.

Tonight there is a movie showing of Risen. Its about an account of Jesus' early years from the perspective of a dude who was not a Christian. It sounds good but the best part is Tom Felton is in it. I'm all about seeing a new Draco Malfoy picture. And I'm sure he would hate to hear me say that.

The instructions in our beautiful binder that was given to us were clear: this is a spiritual journey and it is best to treat it as such.  I'm going to try to focus on the positives, like my husband also suggested this morning.

I am a live.

I am here.

We actually have money so I won't just be stranded here.

I'm in a new place.

I'm doing something for me.

That doesn't happen that much anymore, really.

God is already stirring something great in my heart and has been for the past few weeks. I have more motivation to complete the tasks I have been too scared of for a while. I'm revisiting my religion and spirituality because I don't want it to be what my parents' have--I want it to be greater.

Here's to a great Storyline conference. I'm looking forward to starting the sessions today.Will write again upon inspiration/break time.