All the words I can think of are pretty much in here already.
They’re (we all know who they are) sacrificing a select, well-chosen few to incite (needed and necessary) revolution and they’re going to use those social movements as ‘justification’ for their next action.
I’m personally convinced that all of these violent deaths of blacks that are (finally) being documented in the media are a tactical step towards instituting martial law. Why did they build all those FEMA camps again?
My heart bleeds for the lives lost in the name of a wicked endgame.
Sandra Bland. Eric Garner. Trayvon Martin. Sean Bell. Amadou Diallo. Countless others that have been sacrificed for no good reason.
The people of this nation need to stand up, band together, stop being sheep, and act before they do something that will change the face of life for everyone.
If you have a relative who does work for a police force and they’re a good cop that doesn’t abuse their position, then you shouldn’t be offended by people who are putting the bad cops on blast.
You should be offended by the people who wear the badge that your relative wears that are doing horrendous things that are giving cops a bad reputation.
Saying ‘well, don’t call the cops if you need help‘ is ignorant and doesn’t solve the problem that plagues this great nation.
People should be able to call them if they need help, but it’s turning out to be a gamble, because you might get a good cop, like your relative, or you might get a monster.
I pray you get your relative, not the monster.
hate love talking to my friends who have kids.
I love hearing that my beast isn’t the only one who throws tantrums of epic proportions while screeching like a banshee.
I love discussing the difficulties of cloth diapering/breastfeeding/working at home while trying to foster an evenly balanced home environment for said beast to thrive in.
I love having the long-distance companionship of someone who appreciates how ridiculously hard it is to raise a well-adjusted/socialized little person who isn’t an asshole.
I also hate these conversations because, either overtly or subversively, these convos become an achievement competition.
‘Oh my baby’s walking! Is your kid walking YET? ‘
‘My kid loves to draw… oh…your kid can’t hold the pencil right?’
Just shut up.
I don’t need help feeling like my kid is behind because parenting books and websites do that just fine, thank you. He’ll do it when he’s ready.
Now we all have our opinions about what’s right for our kids.
I’m very open about mine: breast is best REGARDLESS; cloth bums instead of disposables because who wants to spend THOUSANDS of dollars to help pollute the planet? And yes, I co-sleep because it’s easier to feed my child at night, plus he feels the closeness that our ‘advanced’ society lacks.
But I won’t shame someone or make them feel even a LITTLE bad or defensive over their parenting successes or choices. (Not on purpose anyway; being opinionated and frank means there’s usually at least one individual who takes what I say personally. If you already know me, you know I apologized up front when we met, which is good until the end of said friendship.)
So, please, be proud of your kids. Shit, I’m proud of them, too. But be aware of how you compare your beast to mine, thanks.
It’s hard enough raising kids without being an unwitting casualty of ‘mommy wars’. Continue reading
They always say start at the beginning, so I suppose I should.
My only issue is knowing where it all began. My alcoholic father? My self-loathing, self-deprecating mother? The first man who took advantage of me? The person in the mirror who became the Hunter?
This isn’t intended to be bitter- even though there may be spots- it’s intended to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. I think it really started when I looked down to see you walk up from the dark of the basement steps.
This is part fiction, part embellishment, mostly truth, as is every memory.
It all started that day.
It’s a sad day in Trinidad and Tobago when you wake up to buy the newspaper and the headline for a philandering man is bigger than the one about yet another mother dying after a cesarean section, a major but common surgery. In the past two weeks, there have been three birth-related deaths. Being the richest island in the Caribbean, you would think that their fetal death rate would be the lowest, instead of the highest.
Paying $1.3M to a panel of people to examine what were found to be accurate autopsy findings instead of helping the mother whose child was butchered at Mt. Hope is ludicrous. More than a year later, and still nothing. Yet, a retired judge whose husband dies from prostate surgery is awarded $18M quite quickly.
Paying $100M to build and reconstruct religious buildings instead of reform the healthcare system is asinine.
People of this nation need call the government to do something.
Unfortunately, many don’t bother themselves unless it affects them directly, which is sad in itself. People are quick to protest WASA (Water and Sewage Authority) after not having water for two days, yet aren’t enraged while women and babies are dying at a rate that should put any medical system to shame.
I love this.
In my first post, Before, 3 years ago, I said “I’m not to After yet, but I’m closer to After than to Before.”
I now weigh 117 – 120 pounds (depending on the day), and standing at 5-foot 6-inches, that measurement means that After is very, very here. But, before you congratulate me, dear readers…if I have any…and dear friends and family who I know follow this blog… I have to come clean with you: I don’t feel like I’m at After. I’m terrified of being at After. And, I don’t like that After is here.
The tagline of my blog is “uncovering myself one pound at a time.” For most of this blog, I’ve spoken strongly about how my relationship with food and myself was what caused my weight struggles. I stand by that. The thing is, the symptoms have resolved faster than I’ve been able to…
View original post 542 more words