Dear Hospital

Dear Hospital,

First of all I would like to say that I am not pointing this at any of the staff that come to work every day like everyone else, hoping for a paycheck in this economy. I don't mean to make your day miserable because I am completely pissed off. I am sorry that you have to be the one that opens and reads this letter because I know there is nothing that you can personally do to change this autocratic system. But I have to be heard otherwise I sit here feeling like a victim, yet again.

I come to the hospital only when I don't have any other choice. I am one of those weirdos that likes to take care of things as naturally as possible, and yes, that does include drinking herbal infusions and taking tinctures. I also like to prevent sickness by eating well, exercise and sleep. Sure, I know that you say people should do those things but in reality if we weren't sick you would be out of a very lucrative job.

When I do venture in to a hospital, especially the ER, it really is an emergency. Unfortunately this last visit didn't have to be an emergency it's just that you haven't made care readily available in small towns at odd hours in any other form than the hospital ER and since I have no other choice other than to go to the ER you make sure that I pay for all the times that I didn't visit this year.

How in the world can you charge more than the sum of my house payment, groceries, internet, cell phone and power bill for one visit for an infection that I already told you that I had. Here is a direct quote from the RN "well we wouldn't have even had to test that, it was obvious what you had." all that while handing me the antibiotic that in the hospital they probably charged me $100 for when I went and got 10 pills the next day from Wal-Mart for $4. Am I the only one that see's something wrong with that?

When I called to complain about the outrageous bill you had sent me you said that that was only for the doctor and there was a second bill for me taking up space in the completely empty ER. The doctor worked for the clinic and they wanted their slice of the pie as well, my pie, my son's pie, my family's pie. And then they ask me why I don't have health care. Do you know what health care costs at my husband's job? $650 PER MONTH! We can't afford that. There is no way. I have been told that they have the "best" health care coverage in town. I don't know how anyone could know that because I don't know who in this small town could afford that on what they pay for wages here.

I have digressed. I guess this isn't your problem is it? You just want me to shut up and pay your bill. But I do want to know how a doctor gets paid almost $250 for spending less than two minutes with me. I mean I know that he is in his late 40's and probably would really like to pay off the rest of his enormous student loans and is probably paying one of his children through school right now but how do his costs get rated higher than mine? That RN got screwed. He spent all the time with me and I bet his paycheck wasn't half that.

Did I mention that I knew what I had? I even knew what I needed to take to get rid of it but do I have an option to purchase what I need or to get a quick checkup and prescription? No. I am forced to go to the ER. I am forced because there are no other options.

Something is terribly wrong. I know you can't fix it. I can't either. I can't pay your outrageous prices. What happens next time I need help?

Thanks for your complete lack of concern for the general populace.

Sincerely,
Jasmine

Music Awards

So I'm back. I finished my NaNoWriMo. It was fun. I was really ready to be done. Which is king of funny considering there are still five days until I can even submit the thing for them to tell me that I have actually written over 50,000 words. I guess I jumped the gun a little bit.

Just a little FYI. I started a new blog. Just because. Now that I don't have a novel to write I had to put all that nervous energy somewhere. So go take a look. I think that I need to do some sort of makeover on my blog so that I can link them up and such. Oddly enough I really don't like doing that. It reminds me too much of scrapbooking. I hate scrapbooking. I love other people's scrap books. They look great. It's creative. I hate it.

So on to the real meat of this blog. I am hosting a music award this afternoon. Right now. Sorry I didn't give you all any warning but this isn't up for a public vote. I give the award. You all read my rant and we all stay happy. Especially after I get this doozy off my chest.

We were recording earlier this week and since we were playing music the subject of music was buzzing everywhere. Musical opinions are almost as volatile as political opinions. And the subject of lyrics came up. Now I'm not going to tell you about this whole conversation but it did start me thinking and that is where the great idea was born to host this award. One song and one song only will win this afternoon. I bet you are wondering what it is. I am going to keep you in suspense for the next couple of sentences while I explain the criteria for winning.

To win the song must display lyrical power and a hip beat that makes everyone want to listen to it over and over it also must be the number one song that will push the average teenage right over in to having sex with his or her significant other after hearing played at this years prom (Has prom already past? Sorry, homeschooler talking here), anyway, it is important that this song just may make much older men and maybe the occasional pedophile also salivate over the fact that they could put their hands on a teenage girl. And before you all start freaking out let me first say that yes, I do know the lyrics of the song, and yes, I actually do have half a brain and I do know what she is "actually" talking about so you can forget leaving a comment correcting me. SOOOO... the moment you all have been waiting for. AND THE WINNER IS.... KATY PERRY singing "Teenage Dream". Enjoy.

And the tears dried

I have to take a break. This whole NaNoWriMo thing is getting to me tonight. Oh, don't worry I am totally keeping up with my word count. I am way too competitive to not have that happen. I just hope I don't run out of story before I get anywhere near my word count. I can feel a little bit of panicked frustration setting in. Anyway, this is the antidote. I am going to combat writing boredom by writing something. Something different.

I have always been a crier. My mom tells this story about me at when I was around five years old or so. I was sitting in a pile of laundry that I was supposed to be helping my mom fold. I was sitting there in the middle of the clothes bawling. Why? Because I just couldn't do it or maybe because I didn't want to do it which is very likely. But I can almost guarantee that there was this well of frustration bubbling up in that little girl. She was crying because she couldn't get it right. Never mind that this was probably the first time that she had actually tried to fold clothes in her mind she should be able to do it and do it perfectly, the first time.

I have carried that kind of attitude in to my adult life. When things are difficult I cry, when I am frustrated I cry, angry, sad... you get the picture. But these are not tears of some softy these are tears of frustration and disappointment. I am usually frustrated at myself for not being able to do something perfectly the very first time. There is a right and a wrong way to do things and if you don't get it right then you are wrong. That really has been the philosophy of my mind for as long as I can remember. I don't even know why. That is not what I was taught when I was young. I don't ever remember feeling pressured to be perfect at any of the things that have brought the tidal wave of tears.

I also cry when someone is frustrated with me or even if they are someone important in my life and they have a serious discussion with me. I can't help it. It's like the floodgates open up. They aren't floodgates of sadness they are floodgates of self-anger of frustration that I had not foreseen what I was about to be told and avoided it completely. The thing is there always has to be something wrong with me and if I could just figure it out and get it corrected then I would make everyone happy all of the time and I would always do things right.

Wow. I am actually getting tired just writing that. When it is all out there it sounds completely stupid. I might be able to see why a child would think that way but when it moves in to the world of adults it doesn't look quite as "right".

Recently I have been noticing something. My tears are drying up. Maybe it has something to do with getting a little older and (maybe?) gaining some maturity. Maybe it has something to do with being married for a few years now. Maybe it has something to do with having my own child. Suddenly I am finding some grace for myself. Oh, I am not saying that it is coming easily because it isn't, I actually have to trample over loads of guilt, sometimes every day, sometimes I have to get over guilt about not feeling guilty!

I knew something was changing the other day when I had had a few serious discussions with important people in my life and I didn't cry during any of them. As a matter of fact I didn't cry after any of them either. I took everything that was being said and looked at it for what it was, a conversation, an exchange of thoughts and ideas from one adult to another, they weren't doing anything wrong and I wasn't doing anything wrong. We were sharing.

I had an even more emotionally charged discussion tonight. Not once did I feel like crying. At one point I felt the frustration start to rise and settle at the back of my throat, it began to form a lump around which I was having difficulty swallowing. And then I realized how silly I was being. Why would I let something like a discussion dictate my emotions like that? Why would I start passing blame? Why would I blame myself for something that there was no blame in? Who in the hell am I anyway to decide that I am so powerful that I can direct the emotions and/or outcome of other people's lives and emotions. HA. When I look at it that way I actually have to laugh at myself. Which, believe me, is not easy for me to do but it is getting there.

I am leaving the clothing pile to the five year old and I am moving on.

A Big Blank

So that is what my brain is right now. I am attempting to do this whole NaNoWriMo thing and so far I am keeping up but seriously, it's only day 3, not real hard to do. The worst part of the whole deal is that you aren't really allowed to do any revision, you are just supposed to puke stuff out, I am starting the think that is just what this is going to be, a pile of steaming puke. That is what "they" say you are supposed to be doing, it's supposed to get your creative juices flowing, apparently enough that it regurgitates onto the page. I would like to think that there might be something that I can "use" out of all of this how's that for a capitalistic thought?

So here's to puking this stuff up for the next month.

Boys - To make or break

There is a very pretty song for girls by John Mayer called Daughters it tugged at my heartstrings when I heard it the first time and I had warm fuzzy thoughts of my daddy and what a wonderful man and father he is. But the more I think about it the less I like this song. I have recently been faced with the incredible injustices that are being done to our sons. For example, take the John Mayer song that I mentioned before:

"Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on..."

I have also heard these sentiments from mothers "I quit bathing with my son when he was a young toddler because he started asking questions.", "I quit breastfeeding my son or am having a difficult time because it just feels weird nursing a boy, too sexual.", "I don't know what to do with his "junk".", "It just feels weird being pregnant with a boy, I mean I have a penis growing inside of me!".
At first glance you might think that these are just comments from ignorant people but they are not, these are comments from regular, every day mothers.

From the beginning our sons are made to be aliens, strange that they are growing inside of us. Soon after their birth they are whisked away to have part of their penis chopped off, we mutilate them for life, violate their rights, without ever asking their permission. We feel strange about spending time with our sons not fully clothed, we don't know how to deal with their private areas and so we don't lean on our motherly instinct but instead we defer to those that "that have that kind of equipment". And what about breastfeeding? How is it that breasts have become such a sexual object to us as a culture we can't even enjoy nursing our sons without feeling like we are doing something dirty?

I don't blame mothers. I know I may sound blunt but I am not aiming to heap guilt on a group of people who already feel guilty a large portion of the time, mothers who are constantly worried about whether they are making the right choices. But I do want to point out that there is an incredible injustice being done to our boys! Boys are breakable! Boys tend to be hypersensitive to criticism and their mothers are emotional havens of safety for them, if they are allowed to use them as such.
This has all been germinating in my mind for a while but came to a head last night as my husband, after receiving pictures of his childhood, told me story of horrific story of his childhood. Now my husband is a fairly extreme case but under it all I saw the damage that had been caused in his life by him being treated as "unbreakable", I saw confusion, hurt and shame that he didn't do something to stop his own suffering and the suffering of others around him, the guilt of responsibility weighed so heavily on him. He had in some ways "soldiered on", he never told anyone his story, he became a good man but it hasn't changed the fact that there is a damaged boy there that hasn't forgotten his story.

So many times you hear boys called "mamas boys" and I say "But of course they are!" We are their mothers, they are our boys, we are one of the two most influential women in their lives. We have the power to make or break our boys.

Hope's Daughters

“Hope has two beautiful daughters: their names are anger and courage. Anger that things are the way they are. Courage to make them the way they ought to be.” St. Augustine

This is what happens when you have an unending cold that you can't seem to get rid of and yes, before you ask I have tried all kinds of things to get rid of it, sometimes you just have to settle in for the long haul, such it up, something. The worst part is that this is a whiny cold so there really is no sucking it up, all I do is whine, it's disgusting really, I can hear myself but I can't seem to stop, I probably sound something like my 2 year old, ok, so maybe not quite that bad but you get the idea.

 

I am sure that you are wondering what crying about my cold has to do with the awesome Augustine quote at the beginning of this blog. It has nothing to do with it honestly this is just a large open forum to whine to.

Hope. Anger. Courage. St. Augustine says it beautifully and with complete poetic power, I can almost see anger and courage, their hair a flaming mass, anger is dark as a storm and courage is bright as a flame, they are clothed in flowing clothing and their eyes see in to your soul. I'm weird like that, I always see pictures as I read words.

I am angry. You may have noticed. I mean, who names a blog "screed" something like a diatribe isn't really mellow, it is angry. My posts generally ring of something angry. It is not that I am an angry person per-se except that I am. Content and angry. Content with my life and how beautiful it is and angry at the way things are. 

Lately I have heard some things that have made me good and angry. People being degraded, that angers me. I listened to a story of a young girl stolen from her car and made to be a prostitute, held by shame and fear she will die a slave. I heard a story of someone who was abused by a social group, no one did anything about it, drowning in shame and fear it took her years before she told anyone. but she isn't the only one. I have heard stories of women who are afraid to have any more children, they think that their bodies have betrayed them and that they are weak they are afraid and ashamed. I have heard of women who quietly suffer as the struggle with feeling attached to their baby because of their rough start together, they are full of shame and afraid.  I am outraged. The list could go on. I am outraged because there are people holding other people down, destroying them, putting them under a cloak of fear and shame so thick that they can't even see the hem of light that Courage wears. 

And my courage? I am making things the way they ought to be. One day at a time. One person at a time. It doesn't matter that I am strange or that I feel lonely while I do it. This isn't just one cause or really a cause at all it is life. Courageous life.

A old fashioned feminists manifesto

So how is it possible to be "old fashioned" and feminist at the same time? Well first off lets just start with what it means to be feminine. To be feminine means nothing more or less than being female! Having female attributes and character. So in the true heart of a real feminist who loves the fact that she is a woman and embraces every (or at least tries to!) quirk and the full blown power that it is to be female... here is my manifesto of sorts.

I am a woman. I am powerful creative and beautiful. I am a safe harbor in society a nurturing shelter and a rampart for safety. How do I know that I house this power? Because it has been this way for thousands upon thousands of years! Women have birthed the nations, they have nurtured greatness and created monsters. And I as a woman state my manifesto here today because I was created to be feminine and will (try) and embrace all that it entails, every part, without shame.

I will be sexy, mystical and alluring to my husband, my one and only, who I have saved myself for, I will be his satisfaction and he will be mine.
I will use my vagina to birth my children.
I will use my breasts to nourish them and I refuse to hide when doing so.
I will use my voice and my presence to comfort my children and quiet my husband in their distress.
I will choose to raise my own child, my own way.
I will use my strong mind and will to block the barrage of questioning that will try and shake me to my foundations about the choices I will make for me and my family but I will stand firm and I will know that I am right because I am a nurturer, it's in my blood, in my DNA, I know what is right.
I will look at myself and I will see...
That I am beautiful and I am worth spending time on. I won't let myself fall apart or become frumpy.
I will choose to be pale in the winter because I am white and that's ok. I refuse to tan because I refuse to opt for skin cancer.
I won't wear a bra for any other reason than for the occasions that call for it for fashion sake and then I will make the decision knowing that it is fashion and there is no piece of fashion worth my health (check out the connection between bras and and breast cancer).
I will choose to love, a lot and laugh really loud.
I will choose not to be embarrassed about my foot-in-mouth moments.
I will choose to sing and run and cycle and enjoy having an active body.
I will choose to live in a community because I like it.
I will choose not to explain myself.
I will remain teachable. 
I will choose not to be silenced.
So help me God. Because He is the reason I can do any of it.


The end.