Dear Roger: Always Look On The Monkey Side of Life

"Always looking on the bright side of life",It seems like good advice that would be something to get you through life with at least a hope of a smile a few times a day, but let me tell you, when it seems like life is determined to continually junk punch you with bad news, its kinda hard to keep that optimistic outlook.
More than a few folk wandering around the monkeyverse in particular have been having a hard time lately, myself included and I have come to the conclusion that we are in a protracted mourning period for a patient that, while not dead, is suffering from a dread disease that is really making them suffer and we are all feeling helpless because we want to cure them, we would even donate vital parts of ourselves to fix them, but the doctors are fucking listening to us, in fact, the hospital is trying to have security shove us all out the doors and lock them on us while they experiment like Frankenstein gone awry.
If that wasn't enough, many of us have other personal issues going on in our lives that pretty much trump the hell out of our one light in the darkness wavering and being in danger of going out, I personally, have a sister facing major surgery on in June where they will go in to attempt to make sure they get all the stuff out of her so cancer wont win. This will be the 4th damn time shes gone under the knife for that. It was the just  5th anniversary of my cousin passing the other day, I had a migraine storm to just about end all migraine storms that left me curled up in my bed hoping I would wake up with my vision back to normal and my eyeballs in my skull, while my kids worried and hoped that I would just wake up.
I have friends who have kids and loved ones facing surgery, or who have been through it, major job and life changes, poverty and health issues, political stress and relationship problems.
In other words, life is happening for all of us out here and some of it hurts like hell and without our sunshine in the darkness, its even harder, but we have to remember something...
They are all still alive. There is always hope. We have to have faith in the fact that young men grow up and things change and things that caused hurt and anger sometimes no longer seem so damn important anymore.
As I published my first book this last month I sat here in my living room and i realized that most of the people I wanted to be proud of me for it, that I wanted to see the moment I actually did something with my writing, were dead.
I couldn't call them up and say,"Hey! I finally did it! Are you finally proud of me?" There was no one to call.
I tweeted it out, spoke to a few friends online and that was it until last night when a friend from home who I have known for over 30 years talked to me about my second book,(the one I have dedicated to those boys), she reminded me that while we may wander away from things and places and even people that have hurt us in the past, they are a part of us and the roots go deep, and make us who we are. There is no escaping that, and that gives me hope for them.
I know things seem dark right now, but hold steady, hold the faith and believe in the power of good things and good people. Look on the bright side of things and know that they are alive and there is hope.

Dear Roger: Protective Streak

I lost my faith in God when I was 14 and I was told that my kind, sweet grandpa was burning in hell because he didn't go to church every Sunday and tithe 10%/ I also punched the man in the nose that said that to me. I have struggled with being lost in a sea of faithlessness ever since, its a lonely place to be when you believe that any superior being that might exist has it out for you and decides to take out their annoyance at you by harming the ones you love. I have lost most of the people near and dear to me and most of them have died young and unfairly.
Its been enough to convince me that I have really pissed off the big one, so I try to stay low and stay out of the way so I can protect the ones I care about.
I managed to regain some faith as I aged, in fact when I took my first oath as a Firefighter and went to fighting fires in the mountains of Nogales, it felt like a sacred mission. We were protecting people, homes and the beautiful country from destruction. I loved it and took my oath to protect to heart.
this is what I swore back then:

A Firefighter's Pledge

I promise concern for others.
A willingness to help all those in need.

I promise courage - courage to face and conquer my fears.
Courage to share and endure the ordeal of those who need me.

I promise strength - strength of heart to bear whatever
burdens might be placed upon me.
Strength of body to deliver to safety all those placed within my care.

I promise the wisdom to lead, the compassion to comfort,
and the love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.

-Author Unknown

and that is what I lived by until I finished my training to be an EMT for the Ambulance division of the fire department.then my oath changed a little, but the heart of it was the same, service to and protection of, others:even if it meant some sacrifice on my behalf. 

It was often hard, dirty, dangerous and sometimes heart-breaking work, but I loved it and I lived for it, for years doing it for free as a volunteer.My faith was in my work and the knowledge that I was making a difference for people, even if it was just a few, I knew that the strands of help rippled out. 

When I took my final oath, it became the one that most suited me, because I have a very strong protective drive. I don't know why or where it came from, but I can remember in the 2nd grade giving a tear wracked speech in front of the class about how wrong and horrible it was for the boys to have stomped the chickadee chicks out on the playground at E.C. Brice Elementary, and I have continued that streak of protectiveness, even trying to wade into a truck load of idiots who yelled the word,"Faggot" at my teen son up on Burnside when we first moved here. In typical Southerner, I was dropping my bags, taking off my jacket and trash talking, rolling up my sleeves, ready to fight, because I will back up words with actions, I protect those who matter to me, or those who are in danger. Its a vow I took, and while my badge may be retired due to my damned disability, my heart rages at the wrongs I see and I want to fix them, because I know what it is to be a victim and its hard to trust others to,"handle things" when trusting others in the past left locks unchanged and a sociopath with easy access. 

I know what it means to be stalked, I endured it for over a year. My sis got the life scared out of her when he tried to break into my apartment that I had moved to after moving for the 3rd time and he kept finding me because it turns out he had a cop friend who ran my information and gave it right to him whenever he asked. I trust no one, because people slack off and make mistakes when its not their ass on the line. People do things like put folders with the address and pictures of children in files that the stalker has access to and trust that he will obey the note to "Not remove tape" and view. 14 years of hiding for a reason. My ex hubs is a teddy bear compared to my stalker, and yes, my stalker was a man, but women are just as dangerous and deadly. 

It fucked me up what happened to me in my life. I am hyper-vigilant and I am off the scale when it comes to PTSD diagnoses. I have friends who help talk me down and without them I would be lost, because what had been sunshine and happiness has been pretty damn dark lately, with occasional spots of light, but there has been soo much ugliness that its had me pinging all over the place with stress and people keep telling me,"You aren't a cop anymore, stay out of it." but the thing is this:

I lived by these word in my heart along with my Firefighters and Emt's pledge for most of my adult life, they are my version of the gospel I serve no agency but my own conscience and moral code, and my moral code is that I pay my debts, I watch out for those who are in harms way, and I do my best to be a better person. I fail sometimes at the last one because I'm weak, but if I didn't act and follow my code, and someone got hurt, I would not be able to live with myself and maybe that makes me weird or foolish, but I have never been the normal. 

The stress has cost me pretty good this week, my back is wracked worse than it has been in years, and I would give money we don't have for a way to get the knots out. I had a flashback of the stalker last night, so Im sleep deprived in need of a hug, irritable, hungry and I want to hit something, My daughters answer to all of this? She climbs in my lap when i finally come home and says,"You look to sad today, you need a skinny monkey to cheer you up." She hopped off my lap and went to work and within 15 minutes I had a grinning, dancing, skinny monkey picture to add to my collection on the fridge along with a half dozen more hugs and kisses. It made for a much better night. 

Navigating around the things that set me off and stress me out is hard, I cant just shut off the world, and I cant just stay out of things, but doing minor things that make me feel like I have fulfilled my vows as a servant of the good and human being as well as just ensuring those who are evil are held to task for their transgressions, makes me feel much better.Loosing my religion at 14 was hard, losing my faith and what is left of myself at 43, would be devastating.

Dear Roger:For What It Was Worth, I Was Here

https://www.createspace.com/3859423    My book.
I'm not a very outgoing person. I tend to stand back and watch things happen, observe goings on, pay attention to what is said, listen to the subtext and just try to be prepared to duck and dodge when things go wrong. I never sought fame or even fortune, never wanted to be the top dog in anything. I just wanted to do my thing and be happy. It would have been nice to have been loved the way my grandparents loved each other, but I am not a very lovable person. I am stand-offish and cold and I live a lot in my own head. Its a big part of the reason that when my sisters best friend killed herself, that my sis called me for an explanation, she knew of all the people around, I would have an understanding of why she did it, because I have lived with the reasons to do it for years, but I have the reasons not to nagging me for cookies or Koolaid and reminding me I am needed, so I keep plugging along.
My writing is my solace, my only outlet and my driving force. I write every damn day and it burns out of me like a fire from a volcano some days. Its not earth-shattering, life changing, great, philosophical literature, but its whats in my head and it has got to come out or it makes me crazy(er). I didn't write for years and years when I was living in darkness, mainly because I was so busy surviving and ducking and dodging, I just didn't have the time or the energy. I had lost my muse and my will.
It came back a couple of years ago, in fits and starts, at first with a blog where I started railing against the misery I had allowed myself to fall into, and then low and behold my true muse found me again and he was a bit pissed to have been neglected for so long.
My muse is a visual creature and he has a pretty consistent appearance and persona that drives me and inspires me to write.I have pictures that help remind me of the face of my muse when he wanders off and the inspiration leaves for a bit, and those help, but I have found that I understand why most people find writers to be a bit insane, because I know I am.
I wander around with bits of scrap paper stuffed in my pockets with odd notes on them, my computer desktop is a disaster area of pictures of random people and things that have inspired stories as well as bits and pieces of starts of new story ideas. My son has fits when he looks at it because it looks like I imagine my desk would look if I were sitting with pen and paper again.
My son knows that I write a wide variety of things, from short stories that have people writing me to tell me that I," Ripped their hearts out and left them sobbing," to rollicking, awkward sex filled humorous, tales that my son wont even hazard to try and read, to flat out gay erotica that has prompted more than a couple gay men to write me and offer praise at a," Job well done"(pun fully intended), I kill people in my stories, beat them up, give them hardship, leave them hurting, make them poor and flawed and give them packs of kids that wreck havoc on their lives, in other words, I write what I know, (except for the gay erotica, I have no idea where the hell that comes from, my muse is a bit of a odd ball), I don't write graphic sex, but I get the point across without smacking you in the face with it, and I write like I talk, Texan/Southern. 
People have commented on my writing style, calling it,"Reality writing for Southern speak", but I don't know if I would go that far. I use colloquialisms and I use slang, and I chop the ends off words. Like my characters economic status, their way of speaking reflects where they are and where they come from;me.
I self-published a short story of mine that has never seen the light of day anywhere else. It was written over a few days and I sat on it for quite a while because it was so damn dark, and until my muse would cooperate and lighten it up, I just wasn't happy with it.
I don't know if it will do any good or if many people will buy or read it, Its sold 7 copies as of the writing of this blog, but its something tangible of what I was and what I did. My next novel is almost done with editing and its my pride and joy because its months and months of work that took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to come to life. I don't have an editor or an agent or anyone other than a long-suffering friend who pre-reads and looks for glaring mistakes and then reassures me I am not out of my mind to trying.
My dedication page is about the only thing I am sure of so far, and its to the men who gave me my light so my muse found his way home ,so that when I am gone there will be something that even if its half-assed with grammar to have my English teacher spinning in her grave, that says:I was here, I lived my dream even if it was small, it meant the world to me.

Stevie Rae's Commentary On The 100 Monkeys

 This is my 8 year old daughters feelings about the 100 Monkeys and her experiences at the concert that she attended at the Wonder ballroom this last year. She wanted to apologize for her handwriting, this was for a school assignment she rushed through so she could get her monkey out of jail,(long story, but her Jackson spends a lot of time in jail on school days), so in her words, you have how she feels about things:

Dear Roger: A Low High

What a month! Im not going to say a word about wondering if anything else is looming, after all, we all know that just incites the greater being to wind up on me again, or actually never on ME directly for some reason, that I would be fine with, he delights in picking on those I hold near and dear.
Right now he seems to be focusing on my sister. Tomorrow she is headed into Dallas Presbyterian hospital to meet with her team of doctors to fight the battle yet again. (To my anonymous commentator, Thank you for your kind comments last night, it was like a pat on the shoulder that was really needed), they are going to be doing a bunch of tests to find out how big and bad the mass is, and if it is all wound up into her gut and intestine. I wish it was me instead of her. I was supposed to have a biopsy of a mass two years ago and I chose to ignore it because I believe that no news is good news. I'm still walking around. I pretty much spit in his eye and dare him to take me out and I'm still walking around. I'm skinny as a crackhead and pale as a ghost, but I get by. She takes care of herself, she does what she is supposed to do and this is what she gets in return? She is a good person and I'm obstinate and misanthropic, prone to fits of pique and temperamental, devoted to my kids and a very limited amount of people that pretty much are found on the confines of my Facebook page or twitter feed. My sis has friends, shes got a business and all kinds of reasons to be the lucky one, but she cant seem to catch a damn break.
Yesterday should have been so happy for me because I finally took the step and published my first book. Its not one of my major stories, its actually a short story I wrote after hearing an interview and getting a case of the what if the greater being was asleep at the switch and not watching over drunks and fools for a moment? I have a very dark imagination at times.  I sat down and wrote the story out and then let it sit in a file on my desk top for a few months. I played with it from time to time, adding to it and changing things to suit what I thought would work best and then I made myself stop tinkering with it. I let a friend pre-read it to see what she thought and to my shock, she loved it best of all my stories and encouraged me to publish it so I decided to make it may sacrificial lamb of sorts. I threw it out into the water to let the sharks taste it, and if they eat it, then I will throw my pride and joy in next.
I am editing one of my major stories for publication. Its one that is near and dear to my heart and I wrote my heart and soul into it, so I have been really reticent about putting into the common market, but now, I think its time because I have hope that maybe if the folks who gave me the nerve to finally write it, see what they inspired.I am even putting a special dedication page dedicating my most prized work to the 100 Monkeys, Jackson, Jerad, Ben G. Ben J. Larry and especially Spencer Bell for providing the light and hope in the darkness.
 Working on it and trying to get all my grammar fubars has been a trial and a bit frustrating, but its also good for keeping me distracted from all the stress of what is going on around me that I cant fix.
That is the entire crux of my problem, I am a fixer. I was an Emt because I wanted to save people when they needed help and were hurt. I was a firefighter because I wanted to save peoples homes and lives. I became a cop because I wanted to save people and make the world a better place. I studied law and mediation so I could help people, but now? Now I just have to sit here, sit on my hands and watch and the world blows up around me and things fall apart and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Its probably the most frustrating place to be in the entire world.
As my book gets promoted tomorrow on Facebook and Amazon, I will be celebrating finally living my dream, and hoping that as my dream comes to life, I am not going to have to watch everyone else's die, because I would gladly trade places.

Dear Roger: Shock the Monkey

This past week was the week from fucking hell. Pardon the crass language, but let me tell you what, they say that swearing supposedly reduces stress and if that is the case, then I should throw in an expletive about every other word to keep things almost level.
Where do I start? Should I begin with where I turned 43? Missed my 25th high school reunion that I really wanted to attend because my ex cost us soo damn much money I really just could not pull together that amount of cash for that level of plane ticket.
Or perhaps I should mention the fact it rained for almost 2 weeks straight up until yesterday, and then, when it finally clears up, I have a rotten cold from hell, complete with fever and headache and sick stomach and the works? Yeah...that was great, laying inside on the couch feeling like my head was going to explode every time the sun shone through the blinds while the kids looked sad that it was yet another day they missed being out in a park somewhere.
Maybe its because yet another boss has been fired and I am going to have to deal with yet another management change where I not only work, but where I live. I had grown to like my last boss, so I not only lost a decent boss, I lost another friend with no rhyme or reason to it and now I have to try and figure out what the hell the new person is going to be like and what their motivations are. Yeah...good times.
Or shall we consider the fact that some scrote keeps raping my bank account? Thats a real fun one. They managed to get the account and routing information and they hit it pretty good, not that there is ever a lot of money in there, but its all we have, so to have some scumbag taking it and forcing me to have to spend time on the phone with the bank sorting it all out and changing bank account information is not a lot of fun for me. Speaking of scumbags and money, the ex still just cannot seem to come up with a dime for the kids or any of the money he owes me, so of course that makes life even more fun and he has the audacity to complain that I turned his daughter against him. I told him that he did that himself, and when I asked her what she felt about the matter, she said,"Hes never been around. He doesn't call me, he didn't get me anything for my birthday and he always lies to us. Hes mean. I don't like Ed every much." Harsh, but shes 8 and she tends to speak her true mind and say what she is thinking.
More kid related fun is trying to get the eldest to understand that his nerd game is not the most important thing in the world and he needs to be doing his schoolwork. The constant having to remind him to get off the damn game and do his work was over the top this past week and the bickering was fierce so I just put parental controls in place that let me shut the damn thing down completely and that is what I do. I need a nearly 6ft tall nerdraging walking hormone pissed off at me to add to the fun.
Lets then add in the fact that the little band I love so much lost the rest of their damn minds. They seem to be operating under the "Lets totally self-destruct and go out in the most memorable way possible" method of rock star excess, so they changed the name of the band to "Pink Fuzzy Animals" which immediately brought to the mind of most fans over the age of 15, "Furries" and no one I know wants to be anywhere near associated with that little bit of strangeness, but most of us just think that they are trying to see how far they can push the fans before we say,"Yeah, nooo....im out" I reached that point. I refused and dug in my heels and called "Bullshit Shenanigans" and while I love the music and the kids and I will support the hell out of their other band, I wont go within a mile of that mess, and my new background is evidence of that protest.
Of course when you dare to protest something that involves youngsters though, you get controversy because they expect everyone to be good little sheeple and fall into lockstep and just lap it up, and like chickens when there is one with an odd spot on it, the rest of the flock will try to attack and peck you to death for being different. I caught some crap for taking a stand and saying ,"Nope, not gonna take it." But I have found a growing group of folk who are starting to say the same. We love the music, love the kids, we love our memories and we will live in them until the boys find the minds they lost somewhere along the way.
But you know, none of this shit matters one iota compared to the biggest news that has had me stressed out and worried and full of dread. I am one of those frustrating people that will tell you that there is nothing you have that I want or need, nothing you can take from me because I have nothing. Im poor and I make no bones about it. I am buried in student loan debt, I have a dead beat ex and 4 kids I support on a shoestring, and I walked away from everything to escape my ex so I dont even have a car or retirement of anything. If someone sues me, they just would end up frustrated and in debt themselves. I dont care about anything except...my people, my little flock of family, friends and others that I live and die for. My children are first among them, my sister is next. My sis has been through a hell of a lot, including facing breast cancer 3 times. She wants to live. She has a great life with a husband who loves her and kids who love her and the storybook family. She is my partner in crime and when we get to see each other, its like my best friend in the whole world is by my side.
My sis called me the day before my birthday to tell me that she has a mass in her uterus, its looking like its infiltrated into her gut. Shes going to have surgery around the first of the month. For the first time since she started dealing with all the cancer bullshit, my sis sounded rattled.
I dont think there are enough cuss words to take away this kind of stress.

Dear Roger:Plausible Deniability

Today I turned 29 for the 14th time. Or in common folk speak, 43. All in all it was a pretty damn good day. It rained on me and I spent the day roaming all over the downtown area with my friend Chelsea. I got a replacement copy of my favorite book to go along with a few others, I got a vintage leather jacket that looks pretty damn good and that actually has pockets I can stick my frozen hands in, and I roamed through a sex shop and had a fit of the giggles when I saw plasti-peckers that made me step back and consider the fact that there can be too much of a good thing.
We ate lunch at a really nice place and for once I didn't get sick! Watched some doofy guy in flip flops fall on his ass and laughed like a mean heifer that I am, and then i stared inappropriately long at the butts of all the cute guys wandering around. I got recognized by some random chick for my brief acting stint on Portlandia and that actually made my damn day!
My phone was going crazy all day long with the birthday wishes from my kith and kin and friends from back home and it made me smile more than I have smiled in a long time. My kids behaved themselves and I came home to a clean house and no fighting for once.
I didn't come home to a cute lil fella duct taped and waiting for me on my bed, but I did come home to a clean, freshly made bed in a clean house that I didn't have to clean, so I guess its a halfway win.
I heard from the buzzsaw, and of course he had forgotten, but it wasn't a shock. The ex texted to tell me I" looked old as shit" and that's fine, I expected as much from him, but its all good.
The thing is, I may be lonely. I may not have gotten a birthday hug or kiss from a guy, and I may have bought my own birthday presents, but I am here. I am alive . I have slide into 43 like a dinged up and rattling old hot rod that has a couple of gears slipping, but I damn sure made it and I still am more than capable of spinning the tires and outrunning most of the new crap on the streets.
I will reread my favorite book and geek out to it, happy and content, feeling loved from all my friends that  took a minute or two from their day to make mine brighter and make me feel like someone knows I am here and alive, it really means a lot to me. Thank you all. Hope to see you for the 15th time.
I also hope to be a published author this time next year. I have finally, definitively, begun the steps to get there as of today. Its a scary and bumpy ride and I am sure to be freaking out most of the way, but knowing I am not really alone has really helped to encourage me to finally step out there.