The tears, the prayers

The tears?

The ones on my knees, when I was pleading with you to let the baby stay?

The prayers?

The relentless, always-in-pursuit-but-unable-to-escape guilt?

The kind I couldn’t exorcise, no matter how I tried?

The feeling like less than a slug for decades?

I think it was “dirty menstrual rags” you equated my beauty to?

The believing I had only to speak the words and have the faith of a child to make my dreams come to pass?

The dreams which never, EVER came to pass?

Even when I was a child (therefore having the “faith of a child”)?

If it was in your sovereign will for me?

Without ever telling me what your sovereign will for me was in the first place?

Well, it never did me an ounce of good.

So, thanks for that kindness, too.

If you’d been a plain old debased human, I would’ve cut you off years ago.

Then again, I happen to have a fondness for brokenness.

I don’t get all mad and wrathful trying to beat the sin out of the sinners you so brilliantly and beautifully designed.

So: your goodness and mercy never cease to let me down.

If you’re as omniscient as you claim, I’ll assume you picked up on the sarcasm in my last sentence.

If not: go ahead and insert dark, jaded, broken-down, angry, disappointed, soul-crushed sarcasm all throughout the fabric of my last 3 posts.

It’s intentional.

I think it’s obvious, but:

I’m pretty sure, if you even do exist, you stopped caring about what we humans had to say centuries ago.

We haven’t killed enough people in your name lately, so I guess you moved on to angrier people.

That was your mistake.

Because I’m probably the Angriest Bitch you’ll come across for a long time.

In fact, I’m so angry, if you had the guts to face me:

I’d probably kill you myself.

If you weren’t already dead.

[At least to me]

And why…

And why…

In your Absolute Sovereignty,

Did you allow us NO sovereignty to help allay the constant suffering which marks the human condition?

While subsequently labeling any “human pleasures” which allay that suffering as

SIN-full and EVIL?

I played by your rules my Whole Fucking Life.

And mostly?

I’m just mad about all the years I wasted.

In fact, I’m:

Really fucking pissed off.





Teenagers‼️

Why does my heart bleed for teenagers when I never had any of my own? I try to give them (probably misguided) advice – see my reply to a young girl’s comment. I know: wisdom from the woman known as Karaoke Konnection on YouTube. It’s laughable.

Then, please tell me if it’s misguided. Because I really need to know. It’s profoundly, remarkably, achingly important to me that my words never damage these young people. I want them to excel and to thrive and to keep Humanity alive!

More than anything…

Please Watch if You Love a Teenager

I’m 54, and I feel like you’re telling my story. I know it feels like your father has betrayed all of you (because he did) and everything that once seemed so certain now seems terribly uncertain. And you don’t even get to be mad because you’re being such a little adult, keeping up your end of the deal, while the adults are abandoning their roles as if they never existed in the first place. I’m so sorry that the pressure has fallen on you during this time. My only advice for all of you teenagers who are hurting now is:
Please never bury the real and unique you that burns inside. You know your dreams and your passions and your heart in a way no other person does. Your circumstances will change frequently throughout your life, but your essence, your personhood, won’t. Please don’t EVER bury yourselves so much in your efforts to make others happy that you extinguish the beautiful flame that burns in each one of you❣️

P.S. Tell your parents a lady older than them said so‼️

I Thought the Traumas Aged Me

I thought my traumas aged me.

All the childhood crap, the losing of all my pregnancies, the searing betrayals, the fights with death and disease, the ongoing fights with death and disease, and the psychological fallout from all of the above.

Yada, yada, yada.

But no: nothing ages a person like wearing her (or his) heart completely exposed and unprotected on the prosaic sleeve; aware of the devastating effects of every tiny particle of dust and vaporous breeze that touches and then and has no choice but to scar it.

At which point you’re trying to fly low behind the radar, attempting to allude Cosmic Scrutiny and trying hard not to attract more pain than is unsurvivable.

Multiplied by the number of children you have.

That’s the Crucible that turns Ordinary Sitizens into Old Souls.

Jennifer, The Multimedian

My Introductory Post on Instagram:

MY INTENTIONS HERE

I tend to censor myself on Facebook because, in my head, I’m certain “Everyone” thinks I’m having a nervous breakdown when I attempt to express myself creatively. Maybe it’s because my mother and I share 107 Facebook friends? Or because Family Members and many Friends Since 8th Grade are there?
It doesn’t really matter since the problem is my own.

To tackle it, about 3 months ago, I started expressing myself emotionally on a [Wordpress] blog and physically, through Karaoke, on my [YouTube] channel…of 20 wonderful followers❣️

Both have been anonymous enough for me to feel free to put words to (writing)- and then exorcise (publishing)- the vicious lies and hateful slurs I didn’t even realize I was telling myself. Since forever.

I’m incredibly grateful to these social media platforms for helping me to rediscover my voice. By providing me with therapeutic outlets for energy and conversations too long suppressed, they’ve served as my freedom fighters, rescuers, and liberators.

So please, Friends, here on Instagram (where I’m a total newbie): if you know me personally, know my family, or have known me a long time, don’t judge me by the words I write. Sharing openly and honestly is a life-preserving activity for me. If I don’t do it, my body makes cancer. And I really don’t want to die! For the first time in a long time, I want to stick around. I’m having so much fun, and I feel like I have cried enough. I’m getting really tired of these tears, my Friends❣️

Please extend me the benefit of the doubt and don’t make any assumptions from my words. Some of my angriest ones could be directed at a disease or a traumatic experience.

I want and need to be my most authentic self for what’s left of This Journey. Having gotten a taste of it, I want to actually BE Jennifer instead of play her on TV. I just can’t play the “role you never knew I was playing” anymore❣️

#socialmedia #selfexpression #honesty #transparency #authentic #authenticity #facebook #conversation #creativewriting #writerscommunity #writersofinstagram #womensupportingwomen #women #mentalhealth #breastcancer #traumahealing #vulnerability

The Exquisite Flame

Beauty was awareness and clarity
Insecurity, Trepidation, and Innocence.
It was wide-open spaces, full of promise
Daydreams and night dreams of That To Come
It was humanity and anxiety and a blissful unawareness of the deeply-buried consciousness of Now
It was sleep from the touch of head-to-pillow to the alarm clock’s pre-dawn shriek
It was yesterday; and it was golden, and it was pure

And I didn’t even know.
I didn’t even know.

How I long for the fears of youth
And simple problems easily solved
I ache with the final passing of Thoughts-Future
That once roused me when I fell and propelled me forward,
Despite my child’s timidity that sought to hold me back
Time alone wasn’t the enemy,

Nor the immersion in grief

Instead it was the consequence of a poor choice, seemingly therapeutic at the time

to bury,
to extinguish
that Exquisite Flame
which took me to the Sun
and dropped me back again.

Autum, 2016, REPOST

Daniel Day-Lewis and Other Writers

I want to ask a question of The Writers here on WordPress. I don’t qualify as one because I only play one on TV, and even that’s just over on my own YouTube Channel with only 15 concrete [but who knows how many potential and therefore relentlessly harassed!] subscribers. (?)

So my question is this (and I already know you’re going to catch me in multiple “grammar fails” throughout the duration of this, so I’m just gonna save us both some time by going ahead and copping to it):

When YOU write, do you prefer the dark to the light, the pain to the joy, the HEAVY to the LIGHT-AS-A-FEATHER? Because it all comes down to just being human, doesn’t it?

And what’s our alternative to THAT, even with all the “slings and arrows” that come with said territory? We can’t become dolphins, after all. And honestly we probably wouldn’t want to: it’s terrible what happens to them when they get tangled up in nets and the next thing they know, they’re all cut up and part of your tunafish sandwich. So think about that for 1 or 2 seconds!

#startingtomaybeunderstandthis”kharma”biznessbutnotsureI’mthereyet

Anyway, I ask all of this of you because lately – and at a not-young age – I’ve noticed that ditching my feelings of shame and [reasonable? unreasonable?] guilt by writing about them on my blog has led to some strange feelings of nearly-unbearable lightness.

In fact, for my younger writers, there’s actually a movie about that very same topic from the early ‘90s featuring a SMOKING HOT 🔥 Daniel-Day Lewis. His name is Tomás in the movie, and he WILL try your patience, I can assure you!

I’ve never really understood what the movie’s about, though. And I’ve even read the book predating the movie by Milan Kundera. A couple of hundred of times!

I think it’s about LIFE getting so bad for the characters that they become “lite” as a way to cope. Or that everyone responds that way when they’re exposed to seemingly-unsurvivable suffering. Like I said: I honestly can’t remember! I was probably just looking at Daniel Day-Lewis, anyway. 🤷🏼‍♀️

So anyway, my point is I don’t know what Your Muse looks like. As for me and Mine, we kind of feel like we’ve [maybe? possibly? hopefully? please?] just finished 15-20 years of all that pain. And all that “seemingly-unsurvivable suffering”. All the time, or as I’m fond of saying: 25/8/9,162.

So I just kind of feel like it’s finally my time to be Lite in all Matters of Mind, Body, Heart, Soul, and Spirit.

And I’m having so much fun I can hardly stand it❣️ There’s something very inspirational in The Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Things to Always Remember

Journal from July, 2021

• I’m gifted and can’t lose my gifts.

• I’m physically beautiful, period.

• I’m worthy because I’m human – full stop.

• When I’m being hard on myself, I need to cease and desist and start describing myself as a friend. I must be NICE to her!

• Leaves on a Stream for 5-10 minutes.

• Breathe in colors and textures and life and breathe out rapacious, enveloping darkness.

• Engage by: how my body feels, what I hear around me, what I see around me. Focusing on the here and now and what’s in front of me.

• Practice mindfully doing things: I must do things I don’t like in a mindful way, do things I DO like in a mindful way (focus without “psychological smog” hijacking my mind and leeching my life of color), and practice doing everyday tasks mindfully.

Please don’t think I’m vain, you guys! I’d hate to think anyone thought that. This is my therapy I give to myself. I thought perhaps my notes from – and individual additions to – a few tricks I learned from Audible’s “Confidence Gap” book might make you feel better, too❣️

Why I Don’t Feel Guilty for Watching True Crime stories

I used to feel guilty about watching true crime stories on TV or listening to true crime podcasts. I think it came down to the idea I was receiving recreational entertainment from the suffering of others.

Then I had an epiphany that upended my views on the topic, and it’s this:

In society we honor the bravery of our survivors, but we do very little to honor the suffering of those who perished.

By the time we read the salacious headlines or hear the horrific details of a mass shooting, child abduction, or [violent, sadistic, evil; all redundant terms] murder, someone has already endured an agonizing death. Alone and Afraid.

I know it sounds weird but I honestly think it honors the victims’ memories when other people listen to how they suffered and feel an infinitesimal amount of their pain.

It’s the closest thing we can do now to holding their hands as they died then. It’s not a religious thing, it’s a “compassion for the victims and their families” thing.

So I never feel guilty for watching true crime shows: it helps me do my humanitarian duty to the souls who were forced to depart early.

#RIP, Heaven’s Favorites.

My Newest Suitor

I started up a conversation with God again yesterday. We’ve re-established a loose connection, but it’s by NO MEANS been anything regular. Yesterday, I feel like The Man had the GALL to suggest the lover I was looking for was Him. I laughed and gave him a ridiculous way to prove it, which himself opted not to do (no surprise there: it seems I always ask too much). Then he tells me maybe I should go to church today and I said: ‘Do you even SEE ME HERE? I am having an emotional breakdown in case you haven’t noticed (but I know you notice every fucking detail, so that’s not it). You’ll have to get me there yourself. Which you have not as of 9:29am, and I cried off my eyelashes yesterday and haven’t taken a shower in three days. So like: it’s not happening TODAY!” So like: foiled again. But I keep lowering the bar.

Then he says to me: all those things you wrote about in that sappy disgusting blog post you’re too embarrassed to post is how I feel about you.

I’m like: I call bullshit on that one! I’m waaay too “liberal” these days, and it’s not like I’m becoming REFINED BY FIRE here! No, your fucking fire is BURNING ME ALIVE!🔥😭🔥😶🔥

He somehow drops to His knees (kind of like a Disney prince, if I had to explain it) and he says: I’d wash your feet if you hadn’t gotten that pedicure on Thursday. But I can tell you how many hairs are on your head. [eye roll from me] 21,953. I said: how many DOWN THERE? He said: 10,291!! I shit you not!! The man actually said that! I personally thought the second number was a bit high, but who am I to argue?

So I said: I’ll be damned, I’d forgotten about your wicked sense of humor! He had the balls to say (after everything about everything): I adore every single thing about you.

To which I had to reply: if you want me to hear your voice by going to church, you have to get me there. I’m not going to make it. I knew you weren’t going to do it.

I knew I wouldn’t feel you today. I think I understand how the devil ended up down here. He started out good and got proud and betrayed you. I’m pretty sure I probably would have been the devil, too. It’s true. I would have probably been Lucifer himself if not one of the other angels who betrayed you and were also thrown out. Look at how much you loved him, and now you hate them all.

To which I didn’t expect a reply, to be perfectly honest. Because he’s already made his position known on the matter. And he’s pretty much always stuck to his story. But no, he pops back with: I still love the devil.

To which I said: I must call bullshit again, fine sir! What about those things that seem ridiculous over in Proverbs that say: “these things the Lord HATES”… something about a woman?

You say: I never stopped loving Lucifer. It’s possible to love and hate someone at the same time.

I didn’t have a comeback, but neither did he. We both know my down-here father died a year ago today. He didn’t need to elaborate.

I’m not sure how or if the conversation will progress.

Let me introduce you to my ghost: her name is Desiree

Desiree was the most lovely soul you could ever meet! Her name was Desiree Dalton Cedillo, and she was from San Antonio, TX. She was incredibly beautiful on the outside, but she was beyond breathtaking on the inside. She radiated life and love and family (she was a much-beloved wife and wonderful mom to 3 young boys). She was a devoted Christian and she had an especially strong bond with her father. He absolutely adored her: you could tell from the Facebook photos he posted of the family in pink “Team Desiree” tee-shirts. His name is Brad Dalton.

I had the serendipitous cosmic luck to meet Desiree through my volunteering efforts with other breast cancer survivors. Of course, I was probably 15 years older than she was and was divorced with no kids, but her spirit was infectious. We were spreading awareness about early detection at a local community college in 2015 (I think). She was so genuine and authentic. We both told our stories that day, me after her. She came up to me and said, since I was a two-timer: “Wow, I thought I had been through a lot, but I had no idea.” Can you see why I loved her instantly? I was going through my second divorce at the time. I was about to become a Nobody to Nobody. She became my Facebook friend after photos of that day were posted and tagged. *File this detail away for now*

I kept up with her through some of these groups, but I was going through some challengers of a different kind for a period and lost touch with her.

The last time I checked on Desiree on Facebook, I found out she was dead. She was in her early 30s, how and when did this happen? How could this happen? How could GOD allow this to happen? I still don’t understand why Desiree and Sarah JP (a fellow 29-year-old volunteer, newly graduated nurse who I last knew had metastatic brain cancer) were now Dead? They are both in the photo from that day in 2015.

Every day, I look at my surroundings and I say to myself: would Desiree’s house look like this? No way! She was so organized!

Next I say: would Desiree be wallowing in pity like this? No way! She was a True Believer until the end.

Throughout the day, I say: would Desiree be lying in bed because she’s in pain? No way, she was much stronger than that! And she’d be running after her three little boys and preparing dinner for her husband and selling those vitamins she sold on Facebook. And doing things with her Dad and family who loved her so much.

If anyone knows Desiree’s dad, could you tell him I’m SO SORRY!! I wasn’t even trying to survive, I didn’t even care and I still don’t. I would trade my life for hers in an instant if it would bring her back to you. She was so wonderful❣️ Please, please, please forgive me for still being here when she’s not. It makes no sense to me, either.

Self-pity or The Green-Eyed Monster?

I don’t have time to write much today.  I just wanted to ‘fess up that, after my lofty musings of last Friday, I’m now back in the thick of all-too-human emotions.  I found out last night that a friend of mine, who totaled his new and fully loaded SUV while driving drunk, has just bought himself a brand new one.  Meanwhile, my car is sicker than I am.  And she looks more beat up than I do.  I haven’t exactly provided her with regular facials (I don’t wash her very often, and she sits under a sap tree), her sides have some wrinkles from a few years ago (when I opted to keep the insurance money rather than get her the Botox she rightly deserved), and lastly, her face is broken due to a little fender bender I got us into last week.  To add to her and my worries, she’s VERY old (1999; practically a “classic” in today’s world).  But she’s “Old Money” – an Infiniti gal – and her parts are extremely expensive relative to her Blue Blood (Blue Book value).  

But enough about HER. My question is this: Am I wallowing in self-pity or have I been bitten by the green-eyed monster? Am I actually jealous of someone’s new car just 36 hours before I have a scheduled double mastectomy? If so, I need the surgeons to perform an “Attitude Adjustment” while they cut, prod, and do what it is surgeons do. At a minimum, I need to write up a gratitude list of all I’m thankful for…a list which most definitely includes my trusty, dusty, and rusty car. Even if she IS thirsty all the time, and refuses to drink water!

Monday, September 10, 2012 at 12:21pm CST from my original blog

P.S. I have green eyes, so I’m pretty sure both Self-Pity AND the Green-Eyed Monster have regular rooms in my hotel (2021).

My Devastation, 10/3/21

I don’t think I can adequately describe the devastation that results when an individual wakes up one morning to discover the Tightly-Held Beliefs She Has Clung To About Herself, Life, Humanity, and The Universe have departed. Packed up their party in hushed tones while she slept, in search of newer, fresher hearts upon which to prey.

In response and in desperation, she cuts and bleeds on the shards left behind, secretly praying for their return to her.

I don’t believe Humans are meant to survive this, though the Truly Unlucky often do.

I am sorry for bleeding on you. Writing is my own form of “cutting:”

I hurt, I bleed, I feel better.

A Child Cries, Unheard

If Grown-Up You met Little me,
Would you seize Opportunity
To Spend some Time Alone with me?
So you could have your way with me?
When Grown-Up You met Little me.

If Cunning You met First-Grade me,
And no adults were there to see,
You’d whisper that You dream of me,
Embarrassed, I would blush and freeze.
When Cunning You met First-Grade me.

If Evil You met Trusting me,
You’d kill the innocence in me.
You’d carve Your wounds of Pain on me,
And strip me of my dignity.
When Evil You met Trusting me.

Tell it, Sir, Please tell it true.
I pray there’s still some Good in You.

Please Mister, What’s Your Rationale;
What Made You Steal a Little Child?


You Swear that there’s a Voice to Blame,
A Voice Who Wears Your Face and Name.
This Voice Who Bound me to the Floor,
Is this the Voice You Can’t Ignore?

You think You’ve Gotten Rid of me,
But I’ll Haunt You Relentlessly
Expose the Hell Behind Your Eyes.
They’re all I saw before I died.

Revised 9/26/21

The Exquisite Flame

Beauty was awareness and clarity
Insecurity, Trepidation, and Innocence.
It was wide-open spaces, full of promise
Daydreams and night dreams of That To Come
It was humanity and anxiety and blissful unawareness of the deeply-buried consciousness of Now
It was sleep from the touch of head-to-pillow to the alarm clock’s pre-dawn shriek
It was yesterday; and it was golden, and it was pure

And I didn’t even know.
I didn’t even know.

How I long for the fears of youth
And simple problems easily solved
I ache with the final passing of Thoughts-Future
That once roused me when I fell and propelled me forward,
Despite my child’s timidity that sought to hold me back
Time alone wasn’t the enemy, Nor the immersion in grief

Instead it was the consequence of a poor choice, seemingly therapeutic at the time

to bury,
to extinguish
that exquisite flame
which took me to the Sun
and dropped me back again.

Autum, 2016

This Battle…Again?? 2012

“Women who are diagnosed with breast cancer at its earliest stages have a 93 percent rate of surviving for at least five years, according to the American Cancer Society. The survival rate drops to 81 percent once the disease has progressed to Stage II. If the breast cancer was at Stage III when it was discovered, the survival rate drops to 67 percent. Women with Stage IV breast cancer have a 15 percent survival rate. The American Cancer Society notes that every woman’s situation is different and that new treatments are continuing to improve survival rates among women with breast cancer.”

Thank you, Jesus, for bringing that little pea-sized pellet to my attention so early. I’m ready to war against this disease again, and I hope I learn something this time that will prove useful to others heading down the same path. I thank you also for the brilliant team of doctors you have assembled for me – even as I must depend on government assistance for their services. These men (the last time, in Dallas, you provided me with a gifted team of women) are truly a “dream team.” Knowing 3 members of this team will be diligently working on me for 6-7 hours next Wednesday confirms Your Presence in all things. I thank You that I am truly in the palm of Your hand – the safest, calmest, and most protected place I could hope to be. Thank You for giving me a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind. Anxious fear never comes from You, and though it tries to infect me with a vigorous and continual onslaught, I have only to praise You to obtain a blessed and calming reprieve. I know that you inhabit the praises of Your people, and I am proud to count myself as one of Yours. Please give me the guidance and supernatural strength to glorify You throughout this process…. let my words be Your words, and my steps those You have chosen in building a path for me. Lastly, Lord, I ask You to fill in for me where I fall short on this journey. For, even though my goals are high and spiritual, I am still bound by an earthly body of flesh and bone. And even though I want to resist the desires of my flesh, I am sad to be losing some very important (to me!) parts of that flesh. You alone can turn my mourning into dancing; You can bring addition from what is taken away; joy from loss and grief. After all, I’m just a girl – and a flawed one at that – but You see me as so much more. You’ve adopted me, justified me, cleansed me, and turned me into a much-beloved Royal Daughter. You gave up SO much more on the cross than what I am reluctantly parting with – and You did so willingly and absolutely! Thank you for turning me into a Princess the moment I chose You, despite what You know about me. For you have known me from my mother’s womb, even before the foundations of the earth. Still my fast-beating heart, Lord, and help me keep my focus on You. Amen and amen.

You’ll notice I don’t write about Jesus very much anymore. We’re not on the outs, we’re just taking a breather. 9/2021