Book Idea, Coffeeholism, & RICO Ideas

Well, the opening scene came to me today at the coffee shop.

No, I'm not hanging out at a coffee shop to meet someone. Believe me, I have zero interest in men or romantic relationships right now. It's the very last thing I need or want right now. And I'm far too sad.

But I'm blowing what little money I have, on coffee. Instead of blowing it all on alcohol at a bar, I'm sitting at a bar in a coffee shop, drinking coffee like it's going out of style.

Well, at least they say coffee can elevate moods, as it's a stimulant, whereas alcohol is a depressant.

Last night I had to smoke 4 inhales of weed, take tylenol, then get up an hour later and take Advil, and then take 2 Xanax at a time, to get rid of my quasi-migraine. Which was a real migraine, but on the other side of my head, and behind the other eye, and was more throbbing and easier to manage than my full-blown migraines.

I didn't know how I'd feel in the morning, but I still had an edge, so I drank coffee and then this woman gave me 3 of her Advils and it took care of everything. When there's a little weed, basically, I am able to entirely abort a migraine with OTCs, whereas without, there is no hope for me at all, for 3 days, unless I'm at ER getting morphine or ergotamine (which the U.S. doesn't even provide in IV form, so what the hell am I supposed to do to legally manage my migraine in this country?).

So I was sitting there at the coffee bar, and I had just read the article in the Post about the Amenah, who was disfigured (and tortured) by a rejected suitor throwing sulfuric acid on her face. After I read this, and after reading something the other day, in the NYT or Post, about the women in India who do all the work while the men get to play, my heart goes out. I thank God this hasn't happened to me, and can't imagine what they go through, but then I remember, oh yeah, I've had other horrible crosses to bear as well, and in the U.S. of all places, the "best place in the world" (supposedly).

So I'm still thinking about Amenah though, and I think to myself, "please let someone come forward for me and my son, please, please God." I am begging God to touch someone's heart and then I sit there thinking perhaps I will fast. I will go on a fast and not eat anything. There's no baby to eat for anyway. If I fast, will it make a difference though? I think about all of the prayers I've made to God, all the prayers unanswered. I could fast, but what would be my reason? Do I really believe it will make a difference? Am I just wanting to find a way to mourn? By not eating? Or do I really believe not eating anything will cause God to have pity on me and answer my prayers for once?

So I started to cry. I was just sitting there, at the bar, face looking out onto a parking lot and shopping center area, and right in front of me is this American flag, waving back and forth in the wind. Swallows rise up in swarms and transverse the powerlines, which criss-cross over the flag. Then come the black birds, and then one white seagull. A McDonalds to the right and a Taco Bell to the left, and on my right, a group of Ethiopian christian men with their Bibles, and to my left one quiet man reading a newspaper. I didn't make any sound, the tears just started to roll down my cheeks. And I wiped them away but I didn't even bother to get up and go to the restroom. I just sat there and cried silently, for about 10 minutes.

Then I saw myself walking out into that nothingness, by myself, into the concrete playground, and walking into a psychiatrist's office and I said, "I am going to tell you a story."

And I saw everything unfold, and flashbacks and pieces of my past, and I sat there telling the whole story, and when they first stop me to say I need insurance and an appointment, I tell them I am leaving the country and that I am entrusting this information to one person.

I am carrying my dead child around with me wherever I go.

I know my son is suffering without me and yet I know what evil is in Wenathcee--what cowardice and dishonesty and frank stupidity. I know what the traps are.

So I only get as far as the part where I walk in and say, "I am going to tell you a story" and I snap out of my reverie. The flag is still waving. I'm not crying anymore.

Yesterday I saw the words "Once, I was Queen," but (hahaha) I think that's a flashback from a preview I saw of that movie with Helen Mirren in it. ;)

I thought I was going to write sweet little stories about animals first. Or a funny collection of stories, or a collection of poems.

But all that comes to me now is a story of betrayal, corruption, and tragedy. Oh yeah, and the perseverance of the human spirit, but the giving up of the ghost as well.

I thought today, I believe I could become rich in Saudi Arabia or UAE, but although I would like them, and be safe from Catholic persecution, I don't think they'd like me. My "this reeks of patriarchy" and my history of being with men as an unmarried woman would make me out to be a whore or something. I'd have a terrible time with some of the women, who would think I was a tramp.

Then I think, "I know I could write from England" and I feel I could be inspired to write there, but I'm afraid it's too easy for weirdos to cause problems for me there too and if I want to research Diana, and MI5 or MI6 was involved, or some other group, I would end up being another one on someone's death list, I mean, think of how many robberies and computers were stolen, after she died, out of the homes of people believed to have information about her? That would be just what I need.

Then I think about Pakistan and I like them, but my only fear is that then it would be an excuse for someone outside of Pakistan to bomb or kill ME and blame it on a militant. "We didn't get Osama, but LOOK WHO WE GOT INSTEAD!!!" Yay.

I've already talked about Latin America. I would love the food and culture, but am afraid of some sect that would attack me out of someone's attempt to incite hatred against me, claiming I'm out to kill their "mother" (mary) and that she must be avenged.

I think about Denmark, which has a predominantly Lutheran government and population and think I'd be safe there, but they absolutely forbid marijuana, so what would I do about my migraines?

Yet I look out of the window, at the American flag, and I feel nothing but sadness. This has been a place where others were allowed to harass me, abuse me, and violate the laws of the country, and I'm still here, as they wait to stamp their final "BAD GOODS" stamp on me, with their fraudulent mental health eval, which would be as honest and fair as everything else they've done to me and my son.

I was thinking about it, and I have actual grounds FOR a RICO case, against law enforcement and people who tried to stamp me out after I reported things, from police who knew my name "from Oregon to Washington" and then from state actors, acting under color of law. The FBI is also required to investigate any RICO claim. Can they investigate themselves? Obviously not. They threatened me and obstructed justice by telling an officer not to press charges against their guys because "they" were handling things internally. So if I include the FBI in my RICO claim, who investigates THEM?

Besides which, I need a lawsuit simply to deal with the matter directly involving my son, and then a medical malpractice suit as well.

No one is helping me or my son. What can I be expected to think?

I pray to God, "Please put a country in my heart, and put ME in their heart too" and ask for someone to come forward to attest to what actually happened to me and my son. But after all these years, of harassment and false imprisonment, and then the taking of my son...

Do I really believe fasting is going to make a difference?

I am going to tell you a story, like Isabella Allende's character...Once I was queen, I hear Mirren say...and I stare at the American flag, crying, with my hands over an article about Amenah, who was left in a homeless shelter when her support system failed her.