Showing posts with label desperate for healthy friendships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label desperate for healthy friendships. Show all posts

Thursday, March 19, 2026

Six Sentence Story - Swing

 

click here to read all the entries!

 

 generously hosted by Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge

 

every week that I participate in a certain blog hop, I hope the members of that community will swing by to read and comment on my contribution, as I do theirs.  

I can see that they're reading my posts, and commenting on each other's entries while offering mine the silent treatment, leaving me with a momentarily bitter taste in my mouth - like they're hoping that if they ignore me, I'll go away.  

the sting of their betrayal shows how frail their sensitivities are, as they seem to lack the curiosity to engage with my subject matter, torn as it is from recent headlines.  

I grow restless over their silence, and my confidence would take a massive hit if I hadn't learned to strip myself of the doubts planted by others hiding behind a facade of righteousness, judging me from wherever they are in the world.  

I want to dare them to come to where I am, and learn the truth for themselves, but ultimately I don't bother with such petty foolishness.  

I will continue as I began; writing for me.  


*I wrote this on Sunday using the prompt words for The Sunday Whirl, and wanted to include it here too, so imagine my surprise when it turned out to be exactly six sentences!  I was planning on having to do some editing, but all it needed was for me to add the prompt word in a spot where it fit, and voila!  some of the folks over at the Whirl told me that the process of using a WordPress/Google account to comment on Blogger is cumbersome and problematic, so I took a look at my settings to see if there was anything on my end that was causing an issue, and there doesn't seem to be.  so, I guess the Universe only wants me hear from people who are willing to go the extra mile.  😉  

Selah ~

 

Sunday, March 15, 2026

Wordle 748

 

click here to read all the whirls!

 

generously hosted by Brenda Warren

 


 curiosity  restless  sting  hit  facade  hope  bitter  torn  strip  frail  massive  doubts

 

every week that I participate in a certain blog hop, I hope the members of that community will read and comment on my contribution, as I do theirs.  I can see that they're reading my posts, and commenting on each other's entries while offering mine the silent treatment, leaving me with a momentarily bitter taste in my mouth - like they're hoping that if they ignore me, I'll go away.  the sting of their betrayal shows how frail their sensitivities are, as they seem to lack the curiosity to engage with my subject matter, torn as it is from recent headlines.  I grow restless over their silence, and my confidence would take a massive hit if I hadn't learned to strip myself of the doubts planted by others hiding behind a facade of righteousness, judging me from wherever they are in the world.  I want to dare them to come to where I am, and learn the truth for themselves, but ultimately I don't bother with such petty foolishness.  I will continue as I began; writing for me.  

Selah ~

 

Monday, March 9, 2026

Wordle 747








click here to read all of this week's contributions

 


The Sunday Whirl is graciously hosted by Brenda Warren, and this week's words are:

 

 

 

still rattling hunch chains packages crunch life scan lose fits grasping colony

 

I have a hunch that the majority of the people still rattling their angry chains about events currently happening in Western Asia don't have ancestors who heard the crunch of Nazi boots in the streets they lived in, or suffered under the Islamic regime all their lives, where women are grasping towards a life that doesn't require them to dress like packages.  can you even begin to imagine being forced as a child to submit to a marriage to an old man or a terrorists, or be permanently scarred and possibly die in an acid attack - or endure the pain of surviving one?  what about the many people who went out in the streets to protest, even though they knew they may lose an eye for demanding justice and peace from their government?  a quick scan of who reads and comments on the various blogs/bloggers that participate in this writing challenge reveals a small colony of folks who are against 'war' in general (as am I), yet don't understand the wider implications of what military action in this region means for them in their safe little homes thousands of miles away.  now, I'm not pointing fingers, but, if the shoe fits...  I see a lot of anger on social media at the way ICE is operating, and opposition to the loss of many social safety nets for veterans and folks who live on the lower end of the 'socioeconomic scale', but would that online anger be seen in the streets if the consequences were the loss of an eye or an acid bath?  how many LGBTQAI+ folks would be waving their anti-American flags if it meant they would end their lives in a public hanging?  I don't enjoy sitting in the bomb shelter with my neighbors, but I do want to see more support behind ending the regime that targets both the country I grew up in, and the one I now live in (and many others around the globe, as well).  you can hate your government and what it does and still want there to be peace and justice in the world for all.

 

Investigation Finds Dozens Of Iranian Protesters Lost Their Eyes - Berkeley  Human Rights Center


  


Acid Attack Victims Need Love and Compassion
Acid Attack Victims Need Love and Compassion

 

Tuesday, March 3, 2026

Six Sentence Story - Fly

click here to read all of this week's stories!

 

the message was sweet, but she didn't really know how to respond to her friend's offer to fly her back to the States because of her projection of her own fears about the missiles currently being shot at Israel since they and the US had preemptively chosen to strike at Iran in what was definitely NOT a war, but rather a rescue mission for the people who have been horrifically oppressed by the current regime there for close to 50 years.

after deliberating for some time, she responded as gently as she could that not only did she NOT have any plans to leave her new home, but that the airspace was closed anyway, no airlines were flying in or out, and the only way anyone could conceivably find a flight out was by crossing over land into Jordan or Egypt, or traveling by sea to Cypress, all of which were just as - if not more - dangerous than simply sitting in her building's bomb shelter with her neighbors when the alerts went off.

(pause in the writing - there go the sirens now!)

she continued on to say that from her sun-drenched porch she could see grandmothers toting shopping bags full of groceries, mothers pushing strollers laden with babies, children playing in the street (schools are currently closed due to the situation), and that even though only essential businesses are 'supposed to' be open, the variety store, the pizza shop, the pet supply store, the little clothing store, the party store, the nut shop, the schwarma restaurant, and the small neighborhood market were all open, and that was just on her block - one block away there were several more markets and shops doing business, including the McDonald's in the central bus station where the buses were still keeping to their schedules (to say nothing of the rest of the city).

and people were singing and dancing out in the street, as well, since it was technically a holiday, though gatherings had also been prohibited, and congregations were forbidden from assembling to read their sacred scroll that is only read on one night out of the year - the scroll featuring the story of Esther (and Vashti) who married the king in order to save her people (the Jews) from annihilation back around 480 BCE.

she concluded by saying that she was in no way living in fear, that this is just the way things were there, and when the 'all clear' was sounded they went back to doing whatever it was they were doing before they were rudely interrupted by those who are constantly trying to kill them, such as dressing up in costumes to celebrate a holiday with their children, rejoicing at their continued survival, mourning those who were sadly killed by recent missile strikes, or writing a blog post about how they explain to their friends that they're never leaving their homeland again because they feel safer in Israel than they did back in the US where people they used to consider friends dressed up in Made in China keffiyahs (popularized back in the 1960's by an Egyptian terrorist) while openly calling for the death of all Jews/Israelis/Zionists, and pretending to know more about Western Asia (note the post-colonial geographical language) than those who have been doing this dance their whole lives.

 

Thursday, February 5, 2026

my first 'Six Sentence Stories'

found a new game to play - click on the image to check it out!


 the prompt is BRAND

 

"So, what your saying is that we don't have enough money to cover the rent, and you think that driving up to Montreal to gamble at a casino with the money we do have is the best option for getting it?"

She couldn't believe she was sitting in his car heading north, going along with this ludicrous and most likely ill-fated plan as they approached the border to Canada, passed through with their Vermont ID's, and continued on to the outcome she hoped against hope would work out in their favor.

Having only been to Las Vegas that one time, the casino still somehow felt familiar with its low-lights, lack of clocks, and wildly patterned carpet, and she quickly went to sit at the slot machines where she was the most comfortable, as the tables with their high stakes were intimidating and she wasn't that bold a gambler, never having had the kind of money it required to wear one's confidence like a suit.

On the other hand, he went straight to the tables, illustrating one of the key differences in their characters, and probably a good indication that the relationship wasn't bound to last, though that thought (which she had often enough to make her consider breaking up with him at least once a week) always made her think of Philippe Halsman's Jump Book, which seemed to indicate the opposite - that couples who exhibited similar jumps ended up splitting, while those who jumped differently appeared to have stood the test of time.

After an hour of their separate endeavors, he came over to where she was absently watching the virtual wheels spin with eyes that looked to be glazing over and turned her to face his newest idea as it had come to him, and with a contained excitement he began, "I think...instead of this aimless sort of searching for our fortunes on our own, we should team up, pick one game - like craps or roulette - and put the whole pile of what we have left on one bold bet, no regrets."

And so she found herself standing before a long expanse of green, broken by lines and numbers down its center that had no meaning to her, shaking two dice in her right fist muttering, "Come on, Lady Luck, mama needs some brand new shoes..."

 

(I hope I've done this right, and if not, I hope someone pops in to correct me!) 

Wednesday, January 28, 2026

so sick of white america

written November 17, 2020 ~

I could have gone to Mavis Discount Tire in Kingston on Saturday for two new tires, but I wanted to wait until Monday to give Walt (my regular mechanic) a chance to do the work, because I prefer to give my money to small local businesses rather than large corporations.  

I could have driven the 30 minutes into Kingston to sit in Mavis' heated waiting area (in a comfortable chair) while they worked on my car instead of having to walk a mile up the road in the cold to the closest country store (and back), where the only place to sit is outside, since their small dining area is closed due to the pandemic.  

I could have paid Mavis $150 to do the work instead of the $200 Walt charged me, because they can afford to drop their prices (several times) in order to appease me because I'm poor, and tires are expensive.  

I could have made an appointment with Mavis so I knew how long the work would take, and therefore have a window within which to schedule my day, but I chose to drop my car off with Walt at 9:30am, who still didn't have the work done by 11:30am after I had walked the mile to the country store, drank a cup of hot chocolate, walked around and looked at all the items for sale to kill time before walking over to the Dollar General to do the same, then walking the mile back to Walt's where all he'd managed to do was get my car up on the lift.  

if I'd gone to Mavis, the work would have been done in less than the two hours it took Walt to get my car up on the lift, after which I still had to stand around outside for at least 30 more minutes before he finally offered for me to sit in his office and read his newspaper while he and his buddies loudly spouted their pro-fascist political agendas and blamed 'those Jews' in the government for 'stealing' the election for Biden citing the "damn kids who have never worked a day in their lives and think they're so smart to have made up that mail-in voting thing" in order to overthrow their naked emperor.  

if I had gone to Mavis, I wouldn't have had to storm back out into the cold to avoid having to hear any more of it.  

when Walt presented me with bill, I looked him dead in the eye when I told him I would be paying it with my hard-working Jewish 16 year old's card, because I've been out of work for months due to his naked emperor's poor pandemic response that now has us in a third wave of hospitalizations and deaths (I was the only one in or around the shop wearing a mask, including the cop who stopped in), and that he might want to check to make sure there wasn't a Jew sitting in his office the next time he chose to spew his racist hatred.  

if I had gone to Mavis, I wouldn't now be sitting here regretting every single dollar I ever paid Walt, which is a considerable amount given the number of years I've been patronizing him, and wondering if I should simply have asked him to remove the tires, refund our money, and get Mavis to do the work (again) after all.  

would it have bothered me as much if I didn't just email my son's English teacher yesterday to address his use of the word "gyp" in a story he was telling the class?  or the woman in the fitness group who deleted me when I told her that her 'joke' about threatening to sell her children to the 'Gypsies' when they didn't do what she said wasn't in any way funny to someone like myself, whose own father was kidnapped from his Romani mother (Romani people don't steal children - in Europe, they often have their own children stolen from them by various government agencies for little to no reason other than being Roma)?  yes...yes it would.  

even as a provisional white person (acceptable to whites until they find out I'm a Romani Jew), it's a rare day that passes without some form of attack on my ethnicity/tribal affiliation/historic homeland (I think of myself more as a cultural Israeli/genetic member of the tribe of Judah than as a religious Jew).  when will this madness end?

Saturday, January 24, 2026

Aliyah-versary

 y'all, my artistic practice has been all pent up inside of me for most of a year now, and it's making me sad and angry.  I stare at the plastic bin filled with the art supplies I deemed too important to part with and dream about things I left behind, like the driftwood I collected from the Esopus River that came to live in a wicker basket woven by my son during a homeschool workshop.  I miss my pile of fabric and bags of yarn, yet don't write in my journal, blog, knit, or sew.  I did start a collage and immediately realized I didn't have any glue, so it's been on hold until I had the cash to buy the glue, and now that I have it, it's been sitting on the table waiting for me to find the time to use it.  and I can't even tell you how much I want to order loops to weave potholders with, but I simply can't buy another thing other than rent, electricity, and food until my finances begin to stabilize, which I don't see happening any time soon as I can't seem to find a job at which I can succeed.  

I've been here in Israel for a whole year now, and I'm living the same life I've lived everywhere I've been - in a small apartment, hopping from one relatively unskilled low-wage job to another, and existing paycheck to paycheck.  the only difference is that I have no people here, so it's extra lonely, and I don't speak/understand the language all that well.  I'm still living out of my suitcases and surrounded by unopened boxes of chachkis and decor that I have no place to display or store, and I'd really love to begin the process of furnishing my tiny space so that it can feel slightly less...temporary?  like I'm not just idling here, waiting for my real life to begin?  I want to feel more settled and comfortable so I can relax.  I did buy a bookshelf, which helped a bit, and I was hoping to invest in a clothes rack with my next paycheck, but...it's just going to have to wait.  

the first job I landed, a few months after I got here, was as an assistant in a 'gan', which is like kindergarten but the kids were younger, and my role was to help a little English boy who barely spoke a word of Hebrew to fit in and get along well enough to start learning.  when the school year ended in June I stayed on for 'keetanah' during July, which is sort of like summer camp, though I didn't see much difference in the way we operated - it was just another month at the gan.  then it turned out that all public childcare activities in Israel cease during August, so I scrambled to get another job quickly as not to be unemployed.  so I worked as a 'mitapelet' - a caregiver - for an English woman in her 80's, but it was only 21 hours a week and paid less than the gan, which I soon realized wasn't going to cover my rent, let alone anything else.  the agency I worked for told me I could add more clients and get more hours, but they didn't have any clients who needed me in the afternoons, as my main person claimed all my morning hours.  the fact was that the lady I was working for was going to need a live-in caregiver soon enough, so I'd be out of the job anyway, and to be honest, nice as she and her family were, it wasn't for me.  

so I got a job at another gan during September and October, but it didn't work out because the person I worked with didn't like me, and told the owner it was me or her, and seeing as how she had been there for 3 years, I was let go.  for the first two weeks of November I ran around to job agencies, interviews, and job fairs, and was quickly employed with a telemarketing company selling visas and job platforms to people who want to immigrate to Canada and the US.  while I'd worked in sales before - door to door, on the phone, and in art galleries - I neither enjoyed, nor did well at it, and this was no different.  I'd much rather be weaving potholder sets to sell at craft markets along with other cool arty things I enjoy making, but I don't have the money to live on while building up a business at the moment.  and I don't understand Hebrew well enough to go out on my own yet, anyway - the laws here are fairly particular, and I'm not currently equipped to start dealing with them.  back in the US, I was working in peer support in the homeless shelter system, which paid a livable wage - here in Israel, that's mostly a volunteer position.  I thought I had gotten lucky when the office of immigration here recently invited me to an advanced language class for social workers, but I chose to drop out of after three classes because it was above my current level of understanding, then the class was cancelled due to low enrollment.

adaptable as I am, it's hard for me to live in a city, even one I've loved all my life.  I do still hope that in the coming years I manage to find myself in a different kind of community - one that feeds my soul more.  I hope I can manage to find myself in a more rural area, doing a job I can believe in, though I realize I have a great deal of building to do to get there, and I'm not sure I'll survive to see that day.  I did manage to connect with a social worker who helped me get an appointment with a dental hygienist, something I've been trying to accomplish since a month or so after I got here and hadn't succeeded with yet.  I've had limited success in dealing with the health care system in general, and find it more frustrating than supportive (again - language barrier).  I still haven't quite managed to figure out the pharmacy though I do seem to have somehow been getting my prescription medication more regularly.  they'd like me to do more tests, see more specialists, and take more drugs but I'm resistant, so they have me marked down as 'low compliance' on my paperwork which I find hysterical, insulting, and problematic.  I mean, I think I have a right to have as strong a say in my own healthcare as my doctors, and screw them if they think I'm going to follow them blindly down paths that don't feel good to me.

I'd like - along with living in a more rural environment because I think they go hand in hand - to find where all the herbalists and natural healers are around here.  like, where is the alternative community?  skate punks, rock and rollers, musicians and magic makers?  where are my people?  I was recently contacted by a tarot group I used to belong to back when we were all in covid lockdown and it's one of the many things reminding me that all my little altar items that help me feel grounded, protected, and supported are all still boxed up waiting to have a place to call home.  and while the possible resurgence of the tarot group may be fun, they're all in the States and so the meetings will be via zoom at 2am for me.  and who knows how any of the people in that group feel about Jews and/or Israel?  does it matter?  should it?  when or how would it come up?  I guess we'll just have to see.

I did come across a women's group that seems to do some deep work around ancient Jewish matriarchs, our mothers from the bible stories, and I'd love to go experience one of their circles, but it's yet another thing I need to feel more confident in my language skills to navigate in a way that feels more connecting than frustrating.  if I could even afford to attend one of the workshops and manage to figure out how to get to the place where the events are held, I'm sure it will be another one of those moments of freedom and opening that reminds me how everything happens just the way it's supposed to, and we all get where we're meant to go...eventually.  there is some cosmic way that my years of wandering in and out of prosperity through various locales and cultures of academia and wage slavery while recording my journey in writings, sketches, crafts, jewelry, sacred objects, ritual spaces, photography, collage, and digital images will culminate in a series of writing workshops where people work together finding the many ways our stories are holy and how sharing them can uplift us all - I just haven't found it yet.

most days I just want to give up, lie down, and die already.  what Earthly good am I doing?  I've spent the last week and a half - including my birthday - basically laying in bed, watching old tv shows on pirate websites, ignoring the fact that I probably won't have enough money to cover my rent next month, let alone pay the bills or buy food.  and what will I do then?  will I be able to afford a storage space for my belongings, or to hire help to get them there?  and how will it be to attempt to survive on the streets, here?  how will my lack of ability to afford my prescription medication affect my health?  especially if I can't control what I'm eating, or when?  I'll guess I'll find out soon enough.  maybe I will die, then, so I guess I'll get what I want.  or maybe I'll just keep on living in more and more desperate circumstances for many more years until I do finally enjoy the sweet release of death, having experienced several more levels of hell before I get there.  like an 'if I think it's bad now, just wait and see how bad it can get' sort of scenario.

oh well.  at least I tried.  I guess... 

it hasn't been a great year, and I don't feel as if I've 'ascended' or 'risen' in any sense of the word.  sure, I'm in Israel, but it hasn't done a damn thing for me other than shown me that no matter how much I try to be part of a community and work towards the uplifting of said community, I'm just not really welcome, wanted, or needed.  story of my life, considering my mother wasn't really on board with having me.  I wonder what my soul journeyed here for, then?  why would it pick such a miserable and pathetic path for itself?  I hope I figure it out, because I definitely don't want to ride this ride again.  I can't believe my purpose here was to make another human with the same doubts and fears I have, who will end up in even worse circumstances than me unless he can figure out some way to find joy and happiness in his own life.  if not, than I will have failed in that, too.  and that would be the worst fail of all my many fails, because he didn't ask for it, and certainly doesn't deserve it.

what manner of monster am I? 

Saturday, August 23, 2025

Shabbat New Moon in Virgo Shalom

what do I even have to say anymore?  that I can't stand most people?  I think it's pretty apparent if you know me at all, or read this blog, though I'm not sure I've addressed it here.  so let's address it now!

1.  I'm tired of people who don't work, don't try to work, or contribute to their community in any way.  when I was raising my child as a single parent, I definitely needed help making ends meet, so I had to rely on social services (and child support payments) to keep a roof over our heads, and food on our table.  that said, I still worked, tried to work, and/or contributed to my community in various ways.  I didn't have family to rely on, though while my mom was still alive I could usually count on her to put a $50 bill in my annual birthday card, which I usually spent on myself because it was the only boost I would get for the year, and if we can't take care of ourselves, even if only in some tiny way, we can't take care of others.

2.  I'm done in with all the various 'diagnoses' and mental health challenges that people claim are preventing them from working, trying to work, or contributing to their communities in any way.  there are plenty of 'neurodivergent' folks out there who are making a living doing one thing or another without making their issues their whole personality.  I firmly believe that I exist somewhere on that 'spectrum' as well, but I've never been tested/poked/prodded to find out where, and at closer-to-60-than-50 at this point, I really don't care.  I manage to get along as best as I can, and that's good enough for me.  do I find it frustrating at times to not really seem to be able to 'get ahead' in this world for one reason or another?  you bet your bippy - but I've also learned that having a label to attach to my issues doesn't really offer any benefits that matter, or further my goals, so why bother?

3.  I don't care for people who use alcohol as their main source of 'fun' or release.  there's nothing wrong with a glass of wine/beer/liquor or two (or even three), but if it's all night every night - or worse, during the day - I think it's a problem for you, which makes it a problem for me.  by all means, drink your meals, boo boo - just don't expect me to join in, hang out, or want to be around you at all when you do, and probably not when you don't, either.  I have been a chronic pot smoker for much of my adult life with the exception of the times I couldn't afford to buy any (like now), and I don't feel the same way about people who indulge in that habit as I do about people who drink.  prejudice?  maybe.  but there's a certain kind of overindulgent pot smoker that I don't like, either.  again, if it's your whole personality rather than just one aspect of who you are, it gets a bit...much.  but like with alcohol, if you can indulge responsibly, we're probably good.

4.  I CANNOT STAND liars!  I don't appreciate being lied to, for any reason.  I would much prefer to hear a hard truth than to catch someone out in telling me something they think I want to hear.  and I will find out the truth, one way or another.  history has shown me that I can easily find out on my own if I dig just a little bit, or simply wait it out for the Universe to reveal, eventually the lie will be brought to the light, and I will distance myself from the source of that dishonesty.  

5.  I like people who are smarter and more well-adjusted than I am, though they don't usually care for the uncompromising mess that is me.  I can play along for awhile, but not for long, and eventually they will get bored of my issues, just like I'm bored of the issues of the people I no longer have patience for, so it all evens out in the end.  I used to know this guy who said the standards I hold people to are so ridiculously high, that no one can expect to tick all the boxes, and I should just get used to being alone and/or lonely.  I said that was fine, and it mostly is, because I do enjoy solitude/my own company, though it would be nice to be able to make friends a bit more easily, and keep them longer.  but the reason my standards are so high is because I'm tired of being hurt by people who lie, cheat, choose a party lifestyle over one of substance, live inside their own personal issues, or live off of others without making any attempt to contribute to their community.  

having recently moved to another country, I've been a bit fed up with only having the opportunity to interact with other recent immigrants with the exception of the folks who work in the stores I shop at, drive the buses I ride, or run the agencies I've been to in order to find work.  there are those who say I need to go to synagogue on Shabbat to meet people, but the synagogue most of the people I've met attend is for 'Anglos' who are inherently more religious than I am, and are probably not 'my people' anyway.  but you have to start somewhere, right?  the High Holidays are coming up, and while I don't think I'll be able to attend services ($$$), it might be nice to find myself invited to someone's Shabbat table sometime.  so, I keep 'meaning' to go to temple of a Saturday, but have yet to get there.  it's hard to make myself walk somewhere I don't really care to go during the the hottest part of one the days I get to enjoy the solitude of my apartment in the relative quiet and calm of an otherwise busy and loud corner of my city.

what brought this bitch on is the folks I find myself connected to on social media.  used to be, my fakebook feed was populated by people I knew and hung out with on a regular basis, or met during my travels.  or at least folks I was acquainted with through shared interests or academic connections.  but due to the rising antisemitism in the world, or perhaps the antisemitism that's always been lingering just beneath the surface of all my relationships, that online circle got much, much, smaller very quickly after October 7th, 2023.  so I tried to repopulate my feed with 'connections'...people who seemed cool in my other friends feeds, folks who left comments that made me laugh, or in some cases, people who reshared my posts without even knowing who I was.  problem with that is, we don't really have anything in common other than our Jewishness, and a shared love for Israel.  not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just that I seem to have ended up with a feed full of people whining about their disabilities, and where they are in their transitions, and I'm kind of over it.  uh oh...did I say that out loud?  well, I'm sorry, but it's true.  I am honest to god missing cis/het people in my life who have jobs that they go to on a regular basis, and simply vent about their issues and move on, not make it their whole story all the damn time.

there are people I've been connected to on there for years that have played the part of being my friend, with no actual commitment to the role, or follow-through on their part.  I did recently meet up with a few folks I met on there, and it was lovely - those folks I have no issue with.  there's one person who did invite me around, and I believe they meant it.  but then I had (yet another) bad day that I bitched about, and this one particular person sent me a message in an attempt to connect, which was kind of them, but they were someone I had been considering disconnecting from because their posts were not anything I found interesting, and didn't necessarily want to be confronted with constantly in my feed.  dude wants to be female?  go for it.  I don't need pictures.  chick wants to be a man?  go for it.  I don't need pictures.  I'm willing to accept people for who they are, whoever they tell me that is, but enough already.  at this point I'd prefer to connect with cis/het people like myself, and not have to hear about every damn flavor of human out there.  just be who you are, boo, and stop shoving it down my throat.  I mean, I'm not out here posting about being cis/het every damn day of my life - it's just not all that important.  

and I don't want to hear about how your anxiety is preventing you from getting a damn job, and forces you to live off of your generous family members.  pull up your panties and do something other than be a parasite.  if I can do it, so can lots of other people who are leaning too hard into their 'disabilities'.  or that you did sex work that you hated to earn a living once upon a time.  guess what?  I didn't like working at the video store, or the overnight shift at the 24 hour store, or as a janitor, but I Had To Pay My Rent, so I did the damn thing until I found something better, and it wasn't a husband/wife that paid all my bills for me so I could sit around and write poetry about the angle of the light hitting my designer furniture.  where's the accountability?  there are people in the homeless shelters I worked in trying harder than that, with less education and opportunity, and doing ok for themselves.  I knew a woman who had her hand chopped off and sewed back on who worked her ass off at every opportunity to keep herself off the streets.  respect, girlfriend.  it was tough out there for her.  it was tough out there for me too, with both my hands, and I've been out there enough to know I don't want to be out there again.  I guess some people haven't had to live on the streets for long enough to learn that lesson...or at all.  lucky them.

this isn't a rant about ALL disabled people, or gay or trans people, or single parents, or what have you.  it's about people who I've interacted with enough to know that I don't have an awful lot of respect for the ways they appear to be living in the world, and that's my prerogative.  I don't have to like everyone, I don't even have to like every Jewish person, or even every Israeli, but I do have to like myself, and in order to do that, I have to be honest about who I want to connect with, and how.  if you don't want to be my friend after reading this, then so be it.  is it my loss?  maybe.  depends on who doesn't want to be friends anymore after reading it.  there are plenty of gay people I love and respect.  there are plenty of folks with disabilities that I admire - some I've even worked with.  I'll bet there are trans people out there that I could get along with, too.  some cis/het people suck (lots of them do).  I'm just in a place where I need more women who understand the particular issues of having been women our whole lives.  or men who are feminists while still being manly men who aren't misogynist pieces of garbage.  folks who know what an endocrine disruptor is, and did their best to avoid them, along with other environmental dangers.

it is part of my soul's purpose here to make sure each and every one of us on this planet together is cared for, and gets everything they need, to the extent of my abilities, and I'm aware that in this 'window' of setting intentions, it is important to choose my focus wisely.  as we enter the 'wormhole' of eclipse season, we should expect chaos and transformation - and the ability to get back up from whatever happens to knock us down.  so maybe this is just my way of clearing the decks so I can tap into the hope and optimism I want so badly to connect with in the world that is also on offer just now.  while we may be headed into a complex maze of rising emotions, we are also being given an opportunity for healing, integration, and repair.  an astrologer whose work I admire speaks of planting seeds with faith, which is something I love to do, and do often.  the one picture I'm sharing in this post is of my latest sprouts, which are from a seed pod I picked up off the sidewalk, and planted, with only the vaguest idea of what they are (I think they're the seeds of the trees that made the gorgeous flowers whose petals would stop me in my tracks with a desire to paint their likeness, even though I'm not a painter).  alpha and omega, my friends.  selah ~

 

not a great picture - there appear to be seven little sprouts poking their heads through the soil, and I wish them the best of luck.  I will replant them as soon as I have more containers for them.

💙

Monday, March 3, 2025

Making Aliyah

I feel incredibly blessed to have made Aliyah on my Zayde's and my 'shared' birthdays - my flight from the States was the day after my birthday, and I landed in Israel on my Zayde's birthday.  there are so many signs pointing to this being the right thing for me to be doing, even though it's been HARD.  harder than I thought?  I can't say...I don't know if I thought about how hard it may or not have been before I left, just that going was the right thing for me to do.  and even though it's been HARD, I'm still so grateful to be here in Israel, and have no intentions of doing anything but staying, and figuring out how to make it work the way I usually do, and looking back at these HARD times from a place of gratitude and plenty.

 

 

Having booked an Airbnb for a full month, thinking I would find a job and an apartment quickly, I spent most of that time running around between ministry offices, the bank, the Hebrew school, the bus station, the health service, and various mini-markets and grocery stores.  there was a minute when I thought I had found a place, on my last day in the Airbnb, but after stringing me along for a week while adding more and more conditions to my renting the place, the landlady finally refused me.  first she wanted a co-signer, then a co-signer in Israel, then a bank guarantee, then bank records from all my bank accounts both here and in the States...it just got to be too much, and at that point, I was a week past my check out date, so had to give my hostess whatever money I had, and leave.  if I had a job, the mean landlady might have rented to me, but so far, no luck there.  I may find that to be the case with all the landlords here, but I still have to try, right?

 


 

I am proud of myself for managing to figure out the buses (in this city, anyway!), which may not seem like a big thing, but I've been living in mostly rural areas for decades, which pretty much requires a car to get around.  I sold the car about a week or so before I left, and it was tough getting where I needed to go for that time, even with my son helping me out with rides, and lending me his car when he could.  the car was also sentimental to me, as it was my mother's car that she gave to us right around the time kid became a teenager, and the one he learned to drive in.  I also lived in it for about 5 months when we first moved to Vermont, and I was having trouble finding an apartment due to the insanity of the housing crisis happening there.  I think it's fair to say the car saved my life in that particular instance, as the late Summer turned to Autumn, and I still didn't have a place by the time the snow began to fly, and the temperatures plummeted.  but that's a different story, and you can read about it in another post.

the state-sponsored Hebrew school is no joke, with classes running 5 hours a day, 5 days a week, for 5 months, and I was up for it.  I'm good at school, and even though I could only write in print like a kindergarten kid and started a week behind the rest of the class, I caught right up no problem.  I mean, my script still looks like a child's handwriting, but that will obviously improve with practice.  the issue I had there was this one highly disruptive dude in my class who was making me nuts - I know, I know, I'm an adult and should be passed such judgements or letting a thing like that bother me, but he was just so...predatory that it was making me angry that no one seemed to care, and even indulged his behaviors.  so after I made several complaints about him, I just decided to switch classes.  the new class only meets two days a week, and three days a week every other week.  at first I was bothered by that, thinking I wasn't learning fast enough going full-time, but it's also better because now I have more time for the other things I need to be doing, too.  there's a part of me that tells me I should and can be doing more, and there's another part of me that's saying what I'm doing is A Lot, and it's ok to slow down and take it in smaller chunks.  it all leads to the same place eventually.

 


 

the health service has proven to be a real challenge for me, and it took several visits to not really get anything that I needed done there.  well, that's not entirely true - my cousin did help me set up a follow-up appointment with the doctor after I couldn't make it to the one I had, and failed to navigate the phone menu in order to reschedule it, as well as scheduled an appointment with the dental hygienist after I had made one with the dentist who wasn't who I needed to see (things work a bit differently here).  the doctor's recommendations in response to the results of my bloodwork (and other tests) were somewhat disturbing, with the doctor not only insisting I double my dose of diabetes medication, but that I begin to take insulin as well, along with ordering an ultrasound of my liver and kidneys, a retinopathy, seeing an endocrinologist, a dietician, and throwing in a mammogram to boot.  it was all too much for me, so I did none of that...well, I did double the dose of the diabetes meds I already have, just because it seemed easy enough, though it has been rough on my stomach, which is already having a hard time adjusting to the poor diet I've had since arriving.  then the dental hygienist wouldn't clean my teeth because I'm diabetic, and she needed a note from the doctor, so I walked out of there, too.  maybe I'll get back to it when I'm better adjusted, but I'm struggling to get by at the moment, so I can't handle the additional stress right now.

my diet has been terrible since I've been here, and at this point, I'm subsisting mainly on cottage cheese, hummus, and crackers, with an occasional slice of pizza or falafel thrown in when I can afford it.  the kitchen at the Airbnb was outside, which isn't the worst thing in the world, even when it's windy, rainy, and cold, which it has been often enough to make it problematic for me.  it was also shared with the other guests in the house, so I couldn't always cook when I had the time to, and I didn't necessarily want to eat outdoors, either, especially when the weather was bad.  I wasn't able to plan meals that well until I found a decent grocery store, and even then, by the time I had figured out a routine for myself, my time there was up.  sad to say, I've ended up at McDonald's twice so far just for the simple pleasure of eating indoors on a cold, rainy day.  most of the pizza and falafel places have outdoor seating here, and even the slightly more upscale Italian place my cousin took me to did as well, though it was enclosed with glass so at least the customers were somewhat protected from the elements.  when I left the Airbnb for lack of funds, I ended up at the 'guest house' I'm currently writing from (for one more night) that only has a shared microwave and electric hot plate, both of which gave me large shocks when I touched them, so now I'm afraid of them both.  and the hot plate seems to come and go, as in sometimes it's there, and sometimes it's not, so even if I were brave enough to try and touch it again, I can't count on it being there when and if I want it, anyway.  but in doing my best to adjust to my surrounding, I tried to buy some microwave meals and didn't find any, though I did buy some frozen 'nuggets' - which turned out not to be chicken, but whatever 'plant based' ingredients they were composed of, and who cares, I ate them anyway - and some microwave popcorn.  ridiculous.  

 

if I could read Hebrew better, it would probably have been obvious that these weren't made with actual chicken, though when you're hungry, it hardly matters.

 

on top of that, I'm incredibly dehydrated, and my skin looks like crap.  I know it seems like self-centered whining, especially when there are currently still hostages being held, tortured, and starved by the enemies of my people, and it is.  but how am I helping them by not taking care of myself?  we 'can't pour from an empty cup', and when I feel like crap I'm no good to anyone including me.  four days ago, when I left the Airbnb, I called a bunch of contacts and organizations to tell them I only had enough money to book myself into the cheapest place I could find, and they offered to help me out by paying for a few more days, which means I'm out of here tomorrow morning.  I have no idea where I'm going yet, but I did meet with some social service type people, and when they asked me what I did for work in the US, I told them I did their jobs - working with homeless people, and the various issues that usually accompany that condition.  we'll see how far it gets me in terms of securing a paying job, and a paying job will definitely help with renting an apartment.  and an apartment would give me the ability to radically increase my water intake, and cook myself some healthy and hearty meals, which would in turn help to regulate my digestive issues.  one step at a time.

while I've been here at the 'guest house', I did manage to do the laundry that had piled up at the Airbnb, so at least the clothes in my suitcases are clean and neatly repacked, and I also got a (cold) shower this morning, which helped fix my head a bit.  also, the Airbnb was freezing cold, and the room I'm currently in has a heater, so I've been warm for the first time since I got here without having a hot flash.  I spoke with two people this morning who may have employment for me - one at the welfare department who had a decent suggestion and will get back to me after consulting with her supervisor, and another who has 6 hours a week for me at minimum wage helping someone out after their surgery.  it's not much, but it's something.  I also have a zoom meeting this afternoon with some folks from the organization that helped me get here, so hopefully they'll have some further helpful ideas, including where to stay tomorrow, and into the future.

 


 

when I get so down in the dumps like this, I tend to disconnect from the world - wanting to be alone, not talk to anyone, and wallow in the depression.  so I deactivated my Facebook account because most of the 'real' people I knew deleted me on or around October 7th, because how dare Israelis fight back when we're attacked by murderous terrorists, or during the following year and half (3000 years) of my shouting into the void about it with the only result being more disconnections.  it really kills you inside to face so much hatred, and seeing nothing but that hatred reflected back to me by the Jews/Israelis/Zionists I am connected to on social media is almost as bad as the hate we face from the rest of the world.  it's still beautiful, here.  there are still gorgeous things to see and appreciate every day.  there are plenty of positive interactions I have on the street every day, and I'm still So Glad I made the decision to come, even when it's hard.  I'll be ok eventually.  I always am.  and I'll figure out how to be of use here, because that's what I do.  I believe I'm on the right path, in the right place, at the right time.  I miss my son like crazy, and I continue to pray to my 'network' for his divine protection because that's the most important thing in the world to me - that he succeeds in walking his own path, and that I get to take some small part in it.  other than that, I'm here for my people, forever, in whatever ways they'll have me.  may I find that way soon.

💙

Wednesday, August 17, 2022

the landslide bringing me down

you know, I'm not much of a Stevie Nicks fan, though I've always liked the song "Landslide"...I kind of hold her responsible for millions of hippie chicks in lacy gowns thinking they can appropriate an ethnic slur against Roma people as a lifestyle and culture...but if she didn't know, she didn't know, I guess.  it's 2022 now, and we should all know better.  apologies are being made.  awareness is being raised.  it's not ok anymore (someone alert Cher, as well, please).

 

 

I watched a video this morning of Stevie singing "Landslide" in front of a video memorial for her dad who died in 2005, and of course it made me cry.  lots of things make me cry now.  used to be, I didn't cry at all, and was proud of it.  then I learned to not be such an impenetrable stone all the time and to be proud of the fact that I had enough heart and soul to cry.  then I had a baby and couldn't watch tv any more because the news made me cry...and commercials.  now, as I approach what I consider to be my 'official menopause date', I can and will cry about anything and everything, because my heart is simply broken completely open by the wisdom and humility of life (my personal Kabbalah). 


King Solomon w/birds
 

I'm dropping my son off at college tomorrow.  that's...huge.  on a number of levels.  first off, I've raised my baby alone from the moment of his conception.  I will not negate his father's contribution of the minimum amount of child support required to be in compliance with the current laws, but to be clear, his involvement truly has been minimal, for which I have apologized to my son profusely.  my son has very little family other than me - he didn't really get to know my Sapta (maternal grandmother) before she died, and has little memory of her, though he does have fond recollections of my Zayde (maternal grandfather).  my dad and his parents were long gone before my son was born, and though he had my mom in his life until she passed last year, we weren't always on good terms with her.  there was a brief minute when my brother allowed his three kids to accept their little cousin as a member of their family, but he cut what loose ties he had with me/us, irreparably damaging those relationships, and they will most likely take more work than most people care to do to repair them, so I don't have much hope that they will be.  my point is, this kid has mostly had to figure out how to be in this world on his own, with his closest non-Mom people being his guitar teacher, his show director, and his wrestling coach, in that order.  so...yeah.  a mostly solo project with some honorably mention-able supporters.

 

 

do you know how I got my son into the prestigious and expensive Paul Green Rock Academy?  I emailed Lisa Green and offered to do any number of things for her in exchange for a scholarship - write, edit, proofread, take photos, answer phones, scrub her toilet with my toothbrush.  so she agreed to a meeting with me where she explained that she had people doing all those things for her, except scrubbing her toilets, so she let me clean the building in exchange for my son's lesson and show fees.  and not only did I do everything in my power to go above and beyond for the Green's and their Rock Academy, my kid did, too.  when Paul and Lisa left, and Jason and Acacia took over the school, we didn't know if he would be allowed to continue, but they generously allowed him to stay with the program on a full scholarship until he graduated from high school.  I don't know who pulled what strings behind which closed doors in order for that to happen, but I will forever be grateful to them for that gift.

so here we are, after 18 (19 counting my pregnancy) years of this journey, in the same place we started - homeless in Vermont.  how did we get here again?  well...as a single mom making minimum wage, I can't afford an apartment anywhere in the United States on my paycheck, so I jumped at the chance to apply for a section 8 voucher, which has almost saved us from homelessness over the past decade, though not entirely.  a lot of landlords don't like doing the paperwork that section 8 requires, so refuse to rent to voucher holders, which is illegal, but there are a million ways around it.  one of which is to count on the fact that voucher holders don't have the money/time/knowledge to take them to court, and if they did, and they won, they still wouldn't have a place to live.  it's a lose-lose situation.  I had been living in Vermont for over a decade when my son was born, and when he was 3, I took a chance on moving to NY to be closer to my family...it didn't work out.  we stayed in NY for another decade and more, as we simply moved north near some friends of mine from the 'old days', though after not so long, I found myself regretting leaving Vermont at all.  

 

just one of many beautiful views in VT
 

Vermont was a dream I would return to after the boy was grown and didn't need me anymore.  Vermont was where I would go 'next', as with me, there's always a 'next'.  there were plenty of times I would have gone before now, but my son wanted to stay with his class in school until he graduated, so I stayed for him.  I cooled my hot feet and stayed put to the point of breaking, but I made it.  we still had to move fairly frequently as our rentals kept getting yanked out from under us by unscrupulous landlords raising the rent past my affordability, the State taking over the land through eminent domain, or other unscrupulous landlords taking advantage of the pandemic to sell their house/my apartment to an airbnb developer further adding to the issue of local workers not being able to find or afford housing in the communities in which they work and live...  but we managed to stay housed for a good stretch, and I did spend a good amount of time looking for apartments in VT before we pulled up roots in NY and moved, and though I wasn't able to find anything by the time we had to leave, I did have a place to land when we got here.  or so I thought.

what do you do when someone you've known for 20 years and more calls you up one day and says they're doing really well with their recovery?  that they're housed, in school, taking real steps towards getting their life back on track, and seeking employment?  what if they're really excited to hear you're coming back, and want to help support you on the way?  what if they see you not finding housing and offer up their living room as a place to call home for a minute, until you find what you need?  am I a poor judge of character?  do I make the wrong friends?  trust the wrong people?  well, let's look at my son's dad - 98% absent during the child's life, so much so, that when my young man screwed up his courage enough to ask his stranger of a father for a couch to crash on for a week (yes, dude lives here in Vermont), he wasn't overly welcoming, nor did he offer any financial help.  loser?  maybe.  I don't want to make excuses for him; I've been doing it for far too long for no good reasons, including my own pride, and his skill as a guitar player.

so our crash pad crashed and burned when it turned out my friend wasn't as in recovery as she thought she was.  she had a relapse, and used it as an excuse to behave in an abusive manner towards me.  the fact that she chose to take her relapse out on me when all I'd ever done was be a good and loyal friend to her was unnecessary and frankly unconscionable.  she's fooled me more times than it should take for someone with good self-esteem to walk away from.  and I regret letting the dreams in my head let me believe I could trust that someone was as loyal and honest as I am, though I know from years of experience that's rarely true.  I take the giving of my energy in relationship very seriously, and I'm often hurt by folks who enjoy more casual interactions, as I tend to connect pretty deeply, rather quickly.  and I'm finding that as I attempt to reconnect with folks I thought of as 'friends' here in Vermont, that I guess to them I'm more of an acquaintance, and there's been a 'no-show' of those I thought were 'my people' (some real help has come from unexpected places, too, I must confess).  so what does that tell me about moving forward here?

 

oh, these spiral paths we weave!
 

nothing I didn't already know, I guess - we're all just hurtling through space on this rock alone.  ever.  always.  and that's fine.  I'd just like to plant a flower garden, watch it grow and die, and come back again.  I want to write poems and prose, and create images.  I want to knit and sew and crochet - craft art with my hands again and be alone with the silence of late night/early morning hours.  I want to walk in nature, and be soothed.  I want to share my creations with others who create.  I want to hear from my son that he's doing well in school - that he's learning how to earn and manage money in a way that will bring him and his hoped-for future family more ease than his upbringing brought him.  "may he do better"...every parents' prayer.

 

from Isabella Rotman's This Might Hurt Studios

 

I used to travel when I was younger - just pack up my few belongings and my cat, and live on the road in my car.  it was a lovely lifestyle when planned for.  falling houseless because of broken systems built to keep women like me down is less fun, but again - can be navigated smoothly by people like myself who are wise in the ways of travel.  when I have to drag an unwilling and angry teenager and his fancy cat along?  it can get really tough, but I'm using All the tools in my kit to keep us buoyant in proactive ways, while doing my best to organize these experiences with my overtaxed mind to share with people in a way that encourages them towards helping me out financially.  I need help paying for gas, insurance, storage, cat supplies, and whatever my son may need for college that we didn't already think of, and for pet-friendly hotels/motels/b&b's/accommodations until I can find housing.  I'm really good at writing, editing, proofreading, and reading tarot cards.  please feel free to ask me to perform any of those tasks for you in exchange for any monetary donations.  we can work out a value together.  let me know how I can help you help me.

thanks ~

my paypal:  https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/mysteriamb

my gofundme, organized by some friends:  https://www.gofundme.com/f/miriam-mysteriam-and-teen-need-a-homehttps://gofund.me/835d9ce3https://gofund.me/835d9ce3https://www.gofundme.com/f/miriam-mysteriam-and-teen-need-a-home?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheethttps://www.gofundme.com/f/miriam-mysteriam-and-teen-need-a-home?utm_source=customer&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-shee