WHAT I CAN RECALL, RANDOM NOTES AND THE FIRST DRAFT OF THE BOOK I STARTED OVER A DECADE AGO
So let’s say I have flashbacks of my childhood. I do and some of them are not so good. My first recollections of childhood is me at about three. I know it takes place in Albuquerque, New Mexico because of the roof and the tree in the memory. The roof had white sheets spread across it and the tree was just over the top of the roof, I know because we used to climb that tree a great deal. Hell, we my sister Nona and I, fed our brother Keith worms out of it. Gross little kids we were. We were going into the cellar and there were bottles of things like peaches and pickles, big cans of tomato paste and pork -n-beans, paper bags full of potatoes. It was dark and creepy but we went into the cellar almost everyday, like a drill of some kind. The next memory is around the same age and the big people were glued to the TV and there was crying and news footage and a little boy saluting.
Cuban missile crisis and the JFK assassination.
I also remember being in a courtroom, my older brother was standing up front behind the fence, well it was a fence to me, and the man in black robes was playing with a wooden hammer.
Bernie, what did you do?
I remember being on an airplane and running up and down the aisles with my brothers. I remember the tater tots mostly oh and the overhead light switch we kept playing with. I remember some kind of hotel rooms and walking with my sister Terry to the forest with big black beetles in the trees.
I remember getting in the bathtub with my younger sister Nona and an armful of teddy bears that lost their fur while floating around in the tub. I also remember the spanking. And an old washer/ringer machine in the bathroom with us, because I kept putting the towel through the ringer over and over.
I remember Keith being there all of a sudden. And getting a spanking for brushing his hair while he slept in the crib. I remember getting teased mercilessly to tears by my brothers and my father trying to coax out of the room on Christmas Eve, but refusing to go to him. I believe it was the first time I wet the bed. It’s also one of my first memories of not liking any of my brothers except the baby Keith. I still don’t care too much for the brothers except Keith and he’s gone now.
I remember jumping out of a second story window and landing on the hands and knees on top of some kind of grate. I thought I was Superman and had a towel tied around my neck. It was yellow I think. I can’t tell you if it hurt but I’m sure of it. I still have the scars, faint but still there.
I remember getting my mother’s unbrella stuck in the sewer top and yanking on it until it came out all broken and bent, I didn’t want to get a spanking. Guess what, I got a spanking.
I remember being dressed in uniforms and running around in the fields with the Twins. We happened into the path of a man driving a tractor mower and were running just ahead of it. That poor man nearly had a heart attack when one of our shoes got mowed over and we finally ran to the sides. Phew.
I think I mentioned dancing on the table top at school, and climbing through a broken window. Still have the scar on my upper right arm from that little excursion. They say I had stitches but from the look of the scar, I don’t think so.
I remember a castle, Frankenstein’s Castle my Dad told us. It was a really cool little piece of ruin and we went all up top and underneath it. It was not Frankenstein’s Castly but it was a great place to let your imagination roam.
I also remember the ice cream and the cheese wafers from Germany. Yummy. I don’t remember Bernie, but I remember the Christmas I got the very first Barbie and the carrying case. I didn’t want the doll. I wanted the 007 spy kit that my brothers got. I was so jealous I swallowed the orange bullets that came with the really cool gun. Barbie did not fair well. On the other Mary Poppins did really well and I had her with me up until losing her in a mini storage in Garland, Texas in 1996 or 1997. I cried over losing my last remnant of childhood. I had left my husband and was in San Antonio, Texas. He promised to pay the storage until I got a job and well, enough said. Whoever got that storage unit discovered years of toys and comic book card collecting, along with an eclectic art collection. Breathe honey breathe and let go.
I remember being back in New Mexico, but I don’t remember the trip at all. Just there we were pulling into the driveway in the big station wagon from the airport. The adobe house on NW Virginia Street was stuffy and practically empty. Seems my Mother’s cedar chest was gone as well as some prime pieces of furniture that she brought into the marriage. I remember her crying. Then we Girls were all shoved into a tiny bedroom without a closet and only one dresser. It was ludicrous because the boys were put in the next largest room next to my parent’s . My parents said that girls were accustomed to closeness and boys needed their own space. Yeah Right. Then the closet was built and only Terrill got to use the thing because she was older and she needed her space. Um-kay.
My sister Terrie was not a nice person, I think I mentioned her before. She was really one fucked up bitch and that’s being nice. She could write though, and speak French and had high expectations of herself and Us others. That being myself, Nona and Michelle. I did like her taste in music though. And Bernie’s. My brother Bernie was always singing Angie by the Rolling Stones and always jumping hurdles and apparently always in trouble with the law. I don’t remember much else about him. Now Terrie was a different fish all together. She had the most gorgeous boyfriends I had ever seen, and she was not a cute person at all. No I mean that, she was not unattractive but to me she was just plain and short and ugly all the way around. She had a mouth on her too!! Especially when the parents were away. But my mother had a soft spot for her and pretty much looked the other way where Terrie was involved. Terrie had this one boyfriend that I just couldn’t help developing a crush on. He was tall, he was Native American, he spoke softly, had hair down past his ass and wow what a face. Total warrior. What the hell he saw in Terrie I never knew but I do know that he treated her quite well, the flowers, the pistachios, the diamond rings, the necklaces and the dream catchers and all those beautiful feathers all over the place. Hawaiians love feathers too you know. It was their currency. Anyway, one day he was just gone. Terrie took all the jewelry he gave her apart and put the diamonds in a little jar. One day she pissed me off so badly with the way she decided to beat my sister Nona, apparently expecting a six year old to stay still during a bible study with a cult like the Jehovah’s Witnesses was just not allowed, I swallowed that jar of stones and then danced in front of her when she asked about it. BITCH one meets BITCH two., I don’t think the old woman ever came back after that display. Can you blame her?
I definitely remember La Mesa Elementary, and not fondly. I hated that school. HATED it. I liked the burger joint across the street though. Best cheeseburgers ever. What I didn’t like was the teacher I had. Third grade, old bitty who had a problem with me being black, thought my dad was a worthless man and my mom a hooker. If you have ever seen Everybody Hates Chris, his teacher was my teacher only old and spiteful. That bitch would give me candy with the rest of the class and then make me throw mine away based on some bullshit she would come up with. When class went out to recess, I would go and get my candy out of the trash and thoroughly enjoy it. There was this little redheaded weasel boy who would always tell and then the teacher would be so surprised when I would tell her that it was no one’s anymore since it was at the bottom of the trash so technically it wasn’t stealing was it? She stopped that crap and the little weasel got cornered on the playground by the rest of the class for being a snitch, nobody in my neighborhood liked a snitch.
This school’s teaching staff was a nightmare and being the three only black kids in it was, needless to say, a hard heavy trip. This school is the reason that the twins and I all ended up in the same grade by the time I rolled into the third grade. One, we were all identical, except I was a girl. Two they claimed that one twin was too quiet and the other was behind in his studies. May be true, but I know that the math this school was teaching us had already been taught to us in Germany. My mother’s solution was to put the quiet boy and the gangly girl in the music program. Cool right? He got the viola. I got the friggin CELLO. That’s right, the cello. I walked to school and back with this monstrosity. I used it to peek over fences, to fight off dogs and bullies. It was a great shield against the cold winds of New Mexic o. And it made the most beautiful sounds I had ever heard. Too bad it was only that one year because I would have totally loved to have kept playing that instrument. I can imagine what sounds of sorrow I could have wrung from those strings. Maybe one day, now that I’m free and have reclaimed this half of my life back…maybe.
I told you that Barbie and I, when I was young, had a tumultuous relationship. When we played with Barbie, my sisters and I always treated her like the hostage. It’s true. G I Joe was the boss toy to have and we being girls were not allowed to have one. So we would take our brothers’ and they would be furious at first, until they got the hang of the pretend story we were playing. In war there must be hostages and since G I Joe was so bad ass, well none of those characters could be hostages. So a substitute was needed and tag, Barbie was it!! We didn’t have to do the fashion thing or carry all the little accessories or anything like that. You just wrapped a rope around them, tied them to the tree branch, stuck them in the ground and there you have it, prisoners of war. It was perfect. The rest of the boys in the neighborhood soon caught on and there would be massive war play in the backyard at Ft. Sam Houston on Forbush Street. Those poor Barbie’s were dragged through mud from the back of bikes and one or two actually had nails in there arms to hold them on after they were accidentally broken off due to mishandling. It was just as much fun as the mud bakery we created, or the Lost Boys of Neverland that we played in the mulberry bushes out in the field behind our house. We would chase the lightening bugs and hang out of those trees with our homemade lanterns and just whoop and holler like life was never going to end. But it did end.
The boy chasing my little brother down the street with a bat, calling him nigger was a focal point for me. I had dealt with racism but it was so off handed and so subtle. It was handled with class and dignity. This was just plain violent. He was five or six years old and the boy chasing him must have been about fifteen or sixteen years old. I know what hatred looks like, learned it that day face to face with a lunatic.
I pushed my brother into the house and took on this maniac, I was twelve. He never could catch me and I laughed at him and laughed and dodged until he put his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Then I told him it was my turn and picked up the bat and let him have it. It only took three strikes and he left, clutching his right arm, vowing to come back. By that time my brothers had arrived on their bikes and the stare down was on. Never saw him again.
Never saw the boys at the apartments in New Mexico either. The one's who claimed to have the Bonnie and Clyde car. It was similar to the one in the movie but that was about it. They were being mean to my sister Nona and I took offence. I just remember jumping from the top of the car to the back of the biggest one and chomping down hard on his back. It bled and his mom had to beg me to let go of him. We never went back there either and I remember thinking that we were going to be running out of places to play if this kept up. I also remember Ian drowning the guinea pig. I remember his setting my mom’s bed on fire, with her in it, and I already told you how he would go out of his way to make Michelle bleed. We were a screwed up bunch of little people, that’s what I’m saying.
We were spoiled ones, and neglected ones, and unstable ones, and worker bees inside the home and entrepreneurs outside the home. We played sports, some of well, and we all had a creative side that was encouraged by my mother and scorned by my father. My father was the type who would give the boys all he had because young men have to have these things to make it through life. We girls, even as we grew into our twenties, thirties and forties were pretty and expected to find men to take care of our needs. Yeah, uh huh. The males were MEN, emphasis on the capitals, who were to go out and make a living for themselves and then decide who they wanted to share those lives with. PUKE NOW!! I think I mentioned the confrontation over driving lessons that took place between my father and I. You see, three people were graduating that year. I had never failed a grade and excelled in the majority of my classes, especially reading. But the twins were young men and it was important to their image to learn to drive the cars that dad was helping to foot half the bills for. What the fuck was that mentality? I was not a happy camper over this as well as the wardrobe situation or the haircuts at the barbershop situation or the work programs while I took typing shorthand and home economics situation. Home Economics really, I had been cooking and cleaning and running after babies since I was six and my mother could sew and if I have wanted to learn that or crochet I would have buckled down and done so. But NO, no driving for me. Crazy Terrie got to drive but not Bobbie the babysitter, housekeeper, cook, laundress, reader and music lover. I got Modeling lessons and charm school. I got autographs from NFL players that my Dad met here and there, mostly at the NCO Club or the PX on base because you know most of these players’ parents were in the military, I mean look at Shaq, Robert G. Cole High School. I went there too. It sucked just like all the other public schools and with so many kids there was no way any of the girls was going to get near a private school. Even Nona's exceptional brain didn’t qualify her for additional education above that of public school. We just were not worth that type of financial expenditure.
I just remember telling Dad that he was a chauvinistic pig and went out with the friends from school and learned how to drive in their cars and proceeded to get my driver’s license at age eighteen. I may not have known a lot about gasoline but I did know how to pay for my own gas and how to earn my own money and how to spend that money on the siblings below me as there was no extra cash for them. The Twins, being in a work program, had cash and access to the parents’ credit cards whenever they needed something beyond what they could afford. We girls babysat, sold cookies, turned in bottles for the deposits, got real jobs and pretty much did it all for ourselves. Well not all as in paying for utilities or mortgages and stuff. Let’s be fair about that.
With Dad constantly on tour for the U.S., Mom make it work on a shoestring budget and whatever Uncle Sam and Dad sent home. Our medical and dental needs were free, groceries were not. It sucked sometimes but if she hadn’t shown me how to survive that way, I would not have made it through twenty seven years of marriage to a man incapable of letting go of his vices to take care of a wife and two sons. I lived the high road and the low road and I tell you this, It Made Me Strong. I had it and then lost it so many times that I finally got the Materialism is Fleeting saying that I kept hearing bantered about by my Mom, the religious shows etc. I know where to go, who to ask, when to ask, what not to do and I’m Still getting the scoop on other links to share and use, so life is good.
I like to work hard and I like hard work. Puzzles fascinate me and reading, well what can I say about reading. Just awesome. So is music. I like all kinds of music. Sometimes it fits my mood and sometimes my mood fit’s the music. Take these pages I’ve been writing for the past thirty days. The music, ADELE 21, ONE REPUBLIC Dreaming out Loud. No others will do, they don’t fit the mood or the sentiment. Well, except for the TING TINGS We Started Nothing which I play when I start to feel morbid and not feisty. If I still played the cello, I’d be hauntingly stringing my way through my depression whenever I felt down. But if I still played the cello, it would be in the pawn shop.
So I write and doodle and do a lot of thinking about art projects that I want to do. I have several in my head and some I’ve committed to paper for future fulfillment. I'm also thinking of trying my hand at writing screen plays. I see them in my head so I might as well try them out and see how they fit.
Random Notes from my spiral that I lugged around the shelter. This day in particular, October sixteenth was special for me and three other women.
10/16/11 @ 9pm 2007 The Burnt House ## she called Ivan from San Jose left a message. Raymond Holmes??? Marina Alfonse/aka Jello who killed Roseanne? Check out more by author Faye Kellerman.
Kids, the same kids are up again…Their parents marching around like they are above all the rules. Every freakin night since I’ve been here. WTF after 8 pm it’s the time we grown ups need to ourselves here. Loud ass, little fuckers running around all over the place. Nasty little hands touching everything they can reach, snotty noses dripping, no shoes on, UGH. And here come the teen lovers with their Momma’s in tow//how disgusting can folks be, truly!!! Breathe, oh just breathe….and still waiting for my ears to popl
Any minute…clickity click down the hall in the tiny pink robe “I Swear to God, For Real, Exactly, hahaha because I’m so beautiful”
The Kellerman’s/ Faye & Jonathan
The Ritual Bath Grievous Sin
Sacred and Profane Sanctuary
The Quality of Mercy Justice
Milk and Honey Prayers for the Dead
Day of Atonement Serpent’s Tooth
False Prophet Moon Music
Jupiter’ Bones Find Alex Cross series
Stalker
The Forgotten
Stone Kiss
Street Dreams
Straight into Darkness
The Burnt House
The Mercedes Coffin
(shorts) The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights
w/Jonathan: Double Homicide Capital Crimes
Also check on Laurel Hamilton’s Bullet
Plus George R.R. Martin’s 5th (A Dance with Dragons)
Research books on : composing a screenplay
Anti Christ/end of days
Already have JW bible
Need the find King James
THEOLOGY AND GOOGLE LATIN Version
Thanks Allie J
Carpe diem quam minimum credula postero means seize the day trusting as little as possible in the future
Mene from the book of Daniel
Tzarat-> Iashon harah
Spiritual lepresy -> gossips against his fellowman }manifests as body sores
Miriam against Moshe
Prophetess her brother
Otherwise it’s first warning sign is manifested on the wall
Criticized her brother
For not spending time at home ---à Immediate Tzarat-leprosy
KARMA is a naked bird!! J
Why do some people want to dye MY hair? I love my white hairs. Look, you take care of you and I’ll take care of Me J
Seven
Feast / festivals
Of Christ!!
Hashgacha Prostit---àGod watches over our every moment and our every movement.
The Sixteenth of October. Two really great ideas where given to paper. God was in my head and in my heart and the path was starting to become visible for me again, when I had lost it so many years ago. Murder mysteries still reign supreme in that they wrap your mind around logic by providing you with a puzzle. The woman in the tiny pink robe from the night before did indeed arrive talking to a different friend then the previous night, and she was badmouthing the previous friend to this new one. She alone was a character, one of many who would make an appearance in a group, on stage, all doing their parts simultaneously, like a three ring circus. Background music would be full of trumpets and chirping woodwinds and drums with symbals, especially the walk with the dancing pink robe and the click of those shoes on the ceramic tiles coming down the hall and across the dining room and then back out again. She certainly made an impression, with her micro braids, the skinny brows, the big lips with the mole on the dark chocolate skin, a plump ass at the bottom of her back, and the Jamaican accent. Oh and don’t forget the swag in the hips as she balanced on those tiny heels, phone glued to her ear.
There were so many interesting characters there. I said before and say it now REALITY SHOW OR MOCK YOU DRAMA OR STAGE PLAY . Exactly, I Swear to God, For Real.
And now for that little story I started back in 1992 or there about. It doesn’t have a title.
Monday at 7:42 am. There it is again, the pounding on the front door and the annoying repeated ringing of the doorbell. “Go away and leave me be” she whispers harshly. She’s not wanting to be heard, she’s smoking the pot she just bought, she’s hurting and just want to forget him. It had been years since she smoked the stuff and she was sitting yoga style on the floor in front of an old television console. She loaded the bong. She put the flame to the bowl and took a deep draw of smoke into her lungs and held it there. She could feel the expansion and then she exhaled the white cloud in a gust of coughs and sighs, watching the swirls.
What the hell was she doing, she thought. Pot, like that was the answer to the madness that was eating away at her head and breaking her heart. Again with the pounding, only she wasn’t sure anymore if it was her head or the door., She decided it was the door and that he would keep knocking for awhile longer and then go away but not for long. He would come back before 1 pm and start all over again. If I let him in I’m done, lost. He’ll touch me and I’ll crumble. Then the kissing will start at my lips to my neck and then the real battle will begin because he won’t stop there. She takes another hit and holds it in until she starts to turn blue as they used to say. She’s trying to be quiet after all, trying to pretend she’s not home. Silly, like the smoke is a dead give away. And he’s not going to like the smoke. He knows I gave that up years ago. Cigarettes and pot were no longer part of her life, She wasn’t a little girl anymore. Shecoughed. Damn!! He battered and beat on the door saying that she might as well let him in because he knew she was in there. Well she didn’t have to let him in and he could just beat away all he wanted. That was just so immature and so she put down the bong and went to the door.
As she walked across the room she could feel the cravings for him. It was torture to want someone in a frenzy like this, it was just too much. That’s why she left town, headed back home. That’s why she would leave him on the porch once he figured out where she was. He’s going to be so cruel to me, his kisses will be merciless. Then again, she liked the heat, the lust. How is it that two people burn so hot when they were together.
She stood at the window and took a breath. Then she peeked and melted,. So tall, his dark brown hair blowing in the wind, getting long about the shoulders…nice wide hard shoulders. She bites her lip. Large, tanned, muscled….not fair the way God put him together. Such a strong voice that he used so quietly. But the eyes, it was the eyes that would melt her on the spot. Almost black and fringed with dark lashes. Deep, dark, demanding, consuming…eyes that he would devour her with and they were looking at her right now. His mouth with such pretty lips, was set in a firm angry line. She turns the locks and then the doorknob and he pushes his way in like the hurricane that only he can be, reaches behind himself andcloses the door. She takes a breath, and then she shivers. She closes her eyes to avoid his and so she can’t see him reach for her. She feels those big vise-like hands capture her by the shoulders. She feels them slide down her arms, circle her wrists and move her hands and arms to the small of her back. He pulls her body hard up against his own and holds her tightly, resting his forehead against hers. She hears him take a breath, feels it on her face, all the while she’s holding hers.
He slides her wrists across each other and pushes her back with his head until she’s bowed, her hips pressing into his groin. “Look at me please”, so quiet, so gently said that again she shivers. “I need to see your eys”. She turns her head to the left, just a fraction. He continues to cross her arms behind her and lowers his mouth to the part of her neck she’s just exposed to him. He bites her and starts to suckle and nibble her flesh and she wriggles, the moan escaping before she can silence it. The more she wiggles the tighter he crosses her arms behind her, and he sucks and bites her neck and shoulder. The pain of it shoots up her arms and she tries to straighten her back but this forces her hips forward.
He brings her wrists up until her arms bend at the elbow. Her heads snaps back and he lowers his mouth to hers and he is cruel. He sucks her bottom lip into his mouth and then he bites. He forces her to part her teeth and invades her with his tongue. The taste of her blood mingled with marijuana only makes him press his mouth onto hers even harder. He sears across her face, neck and shoulders with an angry hunger, trying to consume every inch of her flesh before he suddenly releases her wrists and wraps his strong arms around her waist and back. He tilts her until her breast are at the right position for him to notice she isn’t wearing a bra. He can see the dark area of her nipples through her white t shirt, standing erect, beckoning.
She brings her hands up and pushes herself away from his chest, away from his angry mouth but he just tightens his grip on her. The more she resists him, the more he takes from her. Her shirt is in his teeth and he’s yanking, tearing. He releases her arms and takes handfuls of her shirt and pulls it up over her ribcage until her breasts are bared and lowers his mouth to the right and then the left, paying attention to each nipple until she, moaning, says “Damn you Taylor let me go”, a tear running down her cheek. She continues to beg but he’s lost his head now. He looks into her eyes and tells her “You know it’s gone too far now Sweets and I plan to be rough.” “ I will hear those sounds you make and I will make you call for me until we fall off that cliff together.“
THE BEGINNING
How the hell did she get herself into these situations? She had been working hard, long days and nights at her office, but no more than usual. It had to be that stupid book she was reading. Of course it was, how else could she explain the urge to go in search of her family heritage, the history and the mystery of it all. It was the weekend. She just wanted to go and check out the birth and death records at a neighboring town for the next two days. Then she would go back home with the information she had managed to gather and put more pieces of the puzzle in place. The entire drive roundtrip would have taken about eight hours. She just wanted to take it easy over the weekend, search at her leisure and not rush things. She had already called ahead and knew the place would be opened for her. She had to stop by the office manager’s place, a Ms. Rogers. She was expecting her and told her not to rush the drive and to just call when she was in town so she could make her some coffee. Nick liked her immediately and was looking forward to meeting her in person. Seems Ms. Rogers was familiar with some of the family’s history and was anxious to meet her too. She also said she had some pictures that might be of interest. Nick had secured a portable scanner and had two laptops with her and plenty of flash drives.
When she started tracing her family tree, it was because she was restless and she wanted to do something big to occupy her time. That was a year ago and she was so wrapped up in the Tree as she liked to call it, that her siblings were starting to get worried that she wasn’t “living” her life but history’s life. But Nick was wired like that. She would start a project and not stop until it was complete and she was able to stand back and say “Yes, it’s finally done.”
And now this. She stood beside the car, silently cursing the thing under her breath before moving into an outright tirade at the poor immobile thing. It was refusing to start and she had checked the battery, the spark plugs, she even kicked the thing. She still wasn't going any further in this car today. "I hate you and will scrap you first thing when I get home you stupid piece of" but she didn't finish that statement because she jumped when she heard a voice beside her say "Maybe I can help you." Nick hadn't heard him come up next to her. She wasn't even aware of him or noticed how close he had gotten to her. He was just THERE!!
Gaining her composure, Nick tells him she'll just call triple A and let them handle the thing. "I would appreciate it if you could maybe drop me off at a cafe somewhere near here." "I'm supposed to be meeting someone in the next town but I'm sure Ms. Rogers will understand." Why she said that out loud and to this man was beyond even her. She was rattled, he's startled her and she was taken by him. "Oh my God woman", she thought. "You need to get out more." She giggled and he just stared at her, studying her like a speciman under a microscope. She was trying to be subtle as she checked him out. Wow didn't cover it. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned, tall, and muscular. F I N E , wow! He seemed to be checking her out too!! She asked him if maybe there was a service station along the way. He was looking at her mouth and she started to wonder if she had something in her teeth.
He finally spoke again, quiet and firm, deep voice saying "I know of a shop." "It's probably something simple and you'll be on the road by tomorrow." "Besides, I know Ms. Rogers and she'd be upset with me for not helping you out." Nick turned to this man beside her and smiling said "Ms. Rogers and I both would be upset." He had his hair in a ponytail that hung past his shoulder blades and it sure looked soft. But his eyes, so dark you couldn't see a pupil, were staring into hers and she wasn't sure if she was imagining things. For a moment there she thought she glimpsed desire. "You're in trouble girl", she thought. And then he smiled and said "Come with me into town and we'll get you and your car all squared away."
Okay, I stopped there because I think you can get the general idea of the book. It 's kinda mystery, romance nonsense but I may roll with it again, depends.
So, back to my problem with this place that's supposed to be a safe haven. What it appears like to me is that Ms. Payne decides who gets what, when and where and IF SHE DOESN'T LIKE YOU, you get the boot.
It is my understanding that my blogs were printed and used to browbeat some of my new found relationships. It happened that November 17th of 2011, after my dental appointment and luncheon with friends. That's when Ms. Payne and minions watched my friends and one of these minions actually exited one of my friends while the whole INCIDENT put one of my friends in the hospital and another on the possible path back to her abuser. What the hell!! I wrote a complaint, I didn't receive a written response. The complaint ended up in Ms. Payne's hands not my case workers hands, which leads me to believe that one of Ms. Payne's lackey's in the Manager's office gave it to Ms. Payne. Ms. Payne didn't give me a satisfactory response withing five working days, instead she put me on the street. What a bitch. Ms. Payne already broke confidentiality agreements with me on October 28th of 2011. She created this mistrust and suspicion in me and then further complicated it on November 11th of 2011. Please do not give out information is not DON'T GIVE OUT INFORMATION. and since Ms. Payne is fond of violating my civil rights why should I care about Hers. I plan to distribute these chapters via internet, via handout and any other way I choose to get the point across to Ms. Payne, Her Supervisors Etc. that NO ONE TREATS PEOPLE IN THIS MANNER DISGUISED AS A HELPING HAND.
Today December the 8th of 2011 I find out that Ms. Payne doesn't want me on the premises. Fuck You Ms. Payne, go ahead a try to tamper with medical and dental provided to the homeless. Who the hell do you think you are. HIPPA baby. What are you gonna do, remove the clinic from your site? Gonna give back the donations from WellMed too? You are an arrogant piece of work and like I said IT'S PERSONAL NOW so pucker up the sphincter because I will not end it here. I will be writing for a copy of my file as is my right. I will be filing grievance after grievance after grievance with Community Based Counseling Program and Family Violence Prevention Services, Inc. and then I will go about getting this information to The Board of Directors. I will not stop until YOU are stopped, investigated, controlled, GONE!!!
So one day, when you're on Broadway, in the 7900 block and you see a tall black woman handing out her story, take one and pass it around. Take the words to heart, fight the injustice, get involved with these charities that are asking for your money, your sponsor ships, your time, your donations...check them out thoroughly...research them on the internet, take polls, DO WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO TO MAKE SURE THAT ALL THESE WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE INDEED SAFE AND GETTING THE HELP THEY ALL NEED. Read it, talk about it, discuss it openly, feel free to dissect it.
