IT WAS A MAD, MAD WORLD LONG BEFORE MAD MAX CRASHED INTO trump’s WALL

As with novelists, film makers express their opinions concerning where we've been, where we are, now and where we're heading.  As that's a primary premise of autobiographical works, as well, I'd like to offer my opinion about Mad Max: Fury Road in relation to the fact of our mad, mad world— crashing into donald trump’s dictorial presidency—exemplifies a closed minded, cold hearted, hot-headed, power-struggling egotist's determination to build a 5.7 billion dollar wall caring not a fig for how many families are torn apart, how many children are trumpified—I mean traumatized—or where reality suggests that 5.7 billion dollars is needed most—and once again, I refer you to the unmet needs of children, noting that the well-being of our young determines the future wellbeing of our nation as a whole.  It is not enough for poverty-stricken and middle class families, who make up the majority of our nation, to merely survive.  If America is to be great then a majority of our nation’s children must be well educated so as to thrive.  So, if life is made of choices then what speaks to you?  5.7 billion allocated to building trump's wall or allocated to provide an excellent education for our young and to aid our ailing veterans and mentally handicapped, who make up so many of those whose hopelessness leads to becoming homeless, etc. etc.—you decide.

Wikipedia
Survival[edit]

“The primary theme of Mad Max: Fury Road is survival and retention of humanity in the face of apocalyptic events.^[11][12] The theme of humanity is illustrated by Max beginning the film a feral wanderer, then rediscovering his former dignity by partnering with Furiosa. As the underlying goal for Max,^[13] the theme of staying alive has been carried over from the previous installments of the series that also highlight issues such as ecological collapse and moral decadence.”^[14] "Survival is key", explained Miller. "I think it's a reason why the American Western was such a staple for the better part of a century in American cinema. They were allegorical tales with figures in the landscape working these things out".^[15]  “Feminism is another theme that has received notice.^[16]   According to Mandalita De Barco of NPR, Theron's character, "Furiosa is ... a powerhouse ... a female road warrior." Throughout the film, Furiosa "is a character exactly equal to Max."^19]

Presently (Jan. 20, 2019) 34,000 L.A. teachers are on strike, affecting
500,000 students in one city, alone.
Many hard working parents can’t afford child care.
The top issue is class size.
Imagine one teacher ministering to the needs of 46 children in a class.
Reflecting back over my experience as a teacher of 5th graders,
20-25 students demanded my full attention and mental energy.
“This is the real crises, not the border wall.” states
Joanna Bellson, mother of two students

Our president insists—no delays on building the wall!
trump blames Dems for gov’t shutdown.
It comes as no surprise that disrespectful slurs are heard
spewing forth from trump’s power monger mentality, proving
time and again, that he is utterly devoid of anything resembling
a mature sense of self control as he rants that
“Nancy (Pelosi) and Cryin’ Chuck can end
the shutdown in 15 minutes ... at this point (he goes on
to say), it has become their and the Democrats fault.”

When (if ever, I ask) will our president as well as our lawmakers concede that
the blame game hurts one and all—most of all children, whose
welfare depends upon emotionally intelligent, mature leadership?

Quoting Mahatma Ghandi:  “A nation's greatness is measured by how it treats its weakest members.”

If only trump (who professes to make America great again) would listen up ...
Ha!  Fat chance of that change for the better being more than a pipe dream—right?

While trump declares he has the authority to use defense money to
build the wall by declaring a national emergency—I agree with
Joanna Bellson‘s opinion that teachers feeling need to
strike across our nation presents the real crises at hand, and—
As I’ve felt need to vent for several days so as to
clear my head of frustration before it layers up into
tightly wound coils of anger, thanks for listening ...

BOOK ONE CHAPTER 2—BULLY FOR ME Part 1 VICTIMS NEED VILLAINS TO BLAME WHEN PAIN JUST WON'T QUIT

Hi.  Glad to meet you.  My name is Annie.  I’m eleven years old.  And I’ve leaped off the time line to tell you my story.  However, before we get started, I'd better clarify this:  You may think me older than my years, because I’ll be talking through an adult, whose voice has a tendency to pop out and override mine.

For example, a kid would not say:  Don’t ya just hate it when you meet someone, and the first thing you hear is a story of woe?  I mean if misery likes company then why do people go on and on about themselves instead of letting you top their sad tales with a whale of a tale of your own?  In truth, misery just wants listeners to agree that life should not be so unfair to someone as caring, personable, hard working, and fun as—you.

I guess misery needs listeners to agree with 'woe is me' for this reason:  We know that life can be a slippery slope.  But when the person sliding downhill is oneself, we choose to believe that the reason for our slide is someone else's fault, because—

Every victim needs a villain to blame when misery just won’t quit.

       
When fear twists a child's self-confident voice into tongue-tied knots—Whoops—I forgot that this particular child wants to speak for herself.  So begging your pardon for the rudeness of my interruption, let's listen to what Annie feels need to say ...

At five, I'd patted crying classmates on the back, reassuring them that our moms would pick us up at the end of our first day in kindergarten.  During the 1940’s most of us did not attend preschool, and I believe that daycare was a word not yet coined. If Rosie The Riveter had children, they were likely to be seen at home cared for by grandparents, who‘d probably emigrated from ‘the old country’ in hopes of improving life for their families in the USA.

At ten, I'd stamped my foot on the playground at recess and refused to play until my friends eased up on bullying the new kid at school.  Though I’d been unaware of the compassionate nature of my budding leadership skills, Mother Nature empowers the voices of children to ring out loud, naturally, with whatever we intuitively feel at our core.  And clarity concerning my status with peers was mine until an emotional storm cloud blew in, darkening my pre-teen years in such a terrifying manner as to dizzy my mind once the emotional complexities of reality felt too painful to bear.  (In case you’re thinking:  Here starts the misery—I mean mystery—concerning the dizzying aspects of Annie’s deeply conflicted relationship with—herself, please stop and think again, because the mysterious nature of the deeply conflicted relationship that has persisted between my self confident traits and those that remain less than secure to this very day, had experienced sound reason to begin to develop in 1946 when I was not quite three.)

At eleven, I had no clue that the secure nature of my social status was about to lose its footing and slide down that proverbial slippery slope ...

The sky held no dark, foreboding clouds on that balmy, spring day in 1953 when my family moved from our third floor, two-bedroom apartment across town into the spacious, two story, three-bedroom-two-bath dream house that made Dad’s spirit soar.  And as my sense of adventure was always eager to hold hands with Dad’s (which proved so upbeat and palpably transparent as to feel contagious to me), my rosy future seemed too secure to fret over friends left behind.  I mean, creating a new circle of friends wherever I went had always felt easy-peasy to me.

Upon reflection, I can still feel the surge of positive energy buoying my sense of adventure when Mom, hugging Lauren and me goodbye, left her precious offspring with the principal of our new school, who, having greeted us amiably in his office, walked each of us into our classrooms.  I imagine myself hugging Lauren, my pretty, little sister, who, would have clung to me for several seconds before biting the bullet bravely, as she follows authority’s footsteps into her first grade classroom.  However, imagination bows gracefully to detailed memory upon recalling my new teacher smiling at me when it was my turn to come face to face (and hear myself introduced) to her fifth grade class.

Without so much as a worry as to what fate might write upon the next chapter of my life (even now, decades later, while these memories are spilling out across my screen), I can feel a cheek splitting smile spreading across my face, today, just as had been true, yesteryear, when eleven year old yours truly walked down the aisle so as to settle myself comfortably at my new desk in my new school.

As my eyes sweep around the room, I spy an uncommonly pretty girl.  Then my gaze lands upon a pair of blue eyed, blond, long legged, lanky ten year old—guys.  (As we're all in fifth grade, why will I feel kind of frustrated about the fact that most of the kids are ten while I’m eleven?  Patience, my friends.  Detailing facts takes time.  And the reason for that minor frustration, concerning our ages, is bound to turn up, sooner rather than later.)

Since children are egocentric by nature, I assume that the pretty girl with the brown, almond shaped eyes, perky nose, full lips (which will soon be considered sensuous), straight white teeth and long, dark ponytail will want to be my best friend.  However intuition suggests that choosing a boyfriend may take more time.

'Boy' am I wrong about that!

At the first sign of mischief dancing in one pair of blue eyes, my heart dances, as well, in a strangely pleasured way, and as the beat of my heart quickens, that contest is won.  As to the other cute, blue-eyed boy—well, Mr. Nice-Quiet-Shy-and-Studious pales by comparison, so in short order, he fades back into the herd once Mr. Mischief-maker’s cocky spirit wins my full attention ...

When the final bell rings at the end of the day, I collect my sister, Lauren at the door of her first grade class, and while walking her home (as had been my habit at our old school), she jabbers away while I'm cheerfully imagining myself stepping into the center ring of the fifth grade circus where the slender, almond-eyed, pony tailed creature and mischievous Leader of the Pack dub me benevolent Ring Master, over all.  Then, while imagining our classmates circling round, paying homage to we three, I feel all is well within this brand new little corner of my world.

As to my best friend at my first school, she and I will enjoy sleep overs for a time.  And feeling utterly enchanted for the first time in my prepubescent life by a pair of twinkling blue eyes, shooting sparks of mischief briefly in my direction, the boyfriend, whom I’d singled out as mine in my old school, is last week’s toast.

Oh my goodness!  Look at the time!  Once again, it’s flying by!  As my homework won’t do itself, let’s turn center stage back to the adult whom I’m bound to become— 

Alas, the egocentric nature of young Annie's unrealistic expectation is not to bear fruit.  You see, while her inexperienced mind is spinning day dreams based in what had been true in the past, fate is writing every kid’s worst nightmare onto the next several pages of my life.

When next we meet you'll watch a rude awakening take place that I'd never expected to slap my social self-confidence sharply across the face—repeatedly.  Ouch!  Then, as seeing is believing, I'll show you why my pipe dream is bound to go up in smoke.

Oh—one more thing—Once this mystery concerning the fact that my pre-teen social life is about to enter a maze so dark as to see me feeling as blind as a bat crashing into walls, a series of boulder-sized miseries will drop onto my head, each one being so confounding as to weigh so heavy on my spirit that you'll watch me unknowingly victimize myself—in story after story—until, I, having grown to be a mother of two (pregnant with my third), will choose to seek out a therapist in hopes of understanding why I feel so mixed up about certain relationships, which, as you shall see, mean the world to me—but I'm getting ahead of myself, so let's back up to the point in my prepubescent development, which offers us a retroactive perspective of a sweet young thing, who has no clue that she's beginning to wander down a dark, fearful path, which is about to turn into that tunnel-like maze where no window, door or exit sign will appear for decades to come until—lo and behold—strings of insight will begin to highlight dark spots of subconscious insecurity that will brighten my awareness concerning how best to leave this deeply conflicted, brow beaten path behind in favor of concentrating my energy upon carving out a highly detailed, existential existence of my own, which will inspire me to choose to leave the mind maze that my social life had continued to offer me in the distant past where it rightfully belongs.

In short, as you watch the naïveté of an eleven year old child develop, step by step, into the strong spirited adult, whom I freely choose to be, today, I believe you’ll come to see how all aspects of my brain have come to function in unison in hopes of gaining access to each next insight-laden missing key as I continue to identify my own narrow mindsets ever so patiently and cautiously while working toward regaining today's sense of clarity (which I’ve come to see as the holy grail that had been lost when I'd unwittingly begun to carry a cross too heavy to bear on my own as proves true of all children who, being innocent of unpardonable wrong doing, here, there and everywhere throughout history, are punished too severely by the uncontrolled temperament of authority figures whom they adore so as to grow up to become adults, who, having learned to behave as illogically as did their parents (who demanded perfection), must be reminded to accept that life, on one hand, is not meant to be perfect or fair, while on the other hand, those who have had the good fortune to acquire the lion’s share would be wise to hold themselves accountable for learning how to choose to maintain a line of self control when conflict erupts as well as gaining the generosity of spirit that proves necessary to freely share riches won with humility, dignity and grace—Hello, mr. trump—NOT!)

BTW:  From time to time, my frustration with leadership leading hopeful hungry minds nowhere good is bound to pop out of my mind.  And when that's the case, I'll change fonts so as to vent for a page or two in hopes of clearing my mind of frustration that's beyond my control to change for the better before offering my brain's storyteller center stage, once again.  Just saying ...

BOOK ONE CHAPTER 1—CATCHING INSIGHTS IN A JAR

As I imagine you're eager to ‘hear’ my first story, let’s pick up where we’d left off concerning the importance of readying our attitudes to absorb deeper truths concerning defensiveness that had remained buried subconsciously for most of my life (and maybe yours, too.).

Upon finding myself living alone and in hopes of clarifying why my marriage seemed to plunge from better to worse, I chose to dive into the deep end of my mind—not once, not twice, but repeatedly.  And as seeing is believing, I'm writing this autobiography to show you what comes up whenever I dive, here and there, year after year.  In short, each time I reflect over the past, a little more deeply than before—another school of classic insights swims straight into my ear.

As insights light up, like fireflies flitting around in the dark, I catch them in a jar—otherwise known as my conscious awareness.  And as these insights swarm round and round inside my jar, they swirl into a steady beam of light, like a sunbeam streaming through a clear, blue sky. which had been foggy before my current dive focused my mind’s eye upon a fear or belief that proved unfounded in the bright light of day.

Over time, as strings of insights continue to stream through the conscious portion of my mind, like sunbeams slicing straight through dark clouds of confusion—lo and behold—bigger pictures—to which I’d been blind—emerge.  In fact, let's visualize this:  Whenever I sit down to write with a bent toward clearing a foggy sense of confusion out of my mind, we can imagine each sudden burst of insight-driven clarity as resembling another sunbeam streaming through a bright blue sky.  For instance—one day, while writing, this insight popped out on my screen as though all on its own—Early in our marriage, during the heat of conflict, our problem solving skills were nil.  Non existent.  Nada.

You see, rather than mustering the humility to learn how to resolve conflicts in a self controlled, lucid manner, it's classic for families to fight, freeze, or flee the scene—repeatedly.  (This is due to tunnel vision.)  Rather than solving conflicts calmly, our defense systems are programmed to shut the door on logic, and in lieu of logic, emotional reactions tend to yell right out loud or run away as if in fear for our lives.

As a result of fighting (or shoving power struggles under the rug), resentment layers up, negative energy coils up inside, and at some point in time, explosive insults tend to boil over until burning retorts leave searing emotional scars, all around.  As defensiveness layers up and thickens, over time—sensations of friendship,mutual respect and love feel walled out of our hearts, which grow ever more callous, until, one day, we awaken feeling nothing, at all, numbed to every emotion other than zombie-like dread and despair, trapped in a frozen state of resentment that makes gerbils on wheels of our minds, most especially in the dark of night.  Not a healthy way to weave lasting friendships throughout the hopeful fabric of family life.  (Been there?  Done that?)

Once defensive patterns gain control over our minds, we fight, freeze into a feud or flee—forever—unless insight emerges concerning negatively focused attitudes, which, being in need of identifying, offer us sound reason to expand narrow mindsets in hopes of encouraging change for the better, all around.  (Been there, done that.  Thank God.)

Once our defense systems gain control over our thought processors, pleasers unwittingly ignore molehills growing into volcanic mountains of despair by moving their ‘baggage’ into Denialand, which results in shoving deeper truths concerning resentment under the same rug where power struggles hide out of sight so that we can fool ourselves into believing that emotionally volatile problems do not exist.  And thus does pretense, based in denial, push unresolved conflicts toward back burners where they simmer until inner tension, bottled up—suddenly—pops its cork, and pots calling kettles black release negatively focused attitudes, spraying suppressed (or repressed—there's a difference) resentment hotly, back and forth, all over everyone who cares—unless each of us consciously chooses to develop a Line of Self control balanced with a self-assertive voice—as in ‘balance in all things’..

As suppressed (or repressed) resentment bursts out, repeatedly, a wild ride through Crazyland devours all sense of logic on the front lines.  Then, if nothing ends up being openly resolved, we tend to stuff conflict back into Denialand, again and again, and as this broken record plays the phantom of the opera inside our heads,repeatedly, no fireflies brighten our conscious awareness with insights beckoning our processors to reflect less angrily, more objectively than ever before.

 In short when conflict remains unresolved, overlong, we tiptoe on egg shells while problems, festering within, grow quietly hard boiled, over time until eventually—Defensive patterns, which layer up around our hearts, are tough to peel away on both sides.

And thus do we come to see why this next string of insights reminds me to calm the gerbil in my mind:  Once a relationship feels too painful to bear, love grows angry, then numb.  Once love angers, it's fireworks time.  After love burns down, scars up and grows numb, it’s anyone’s guess as to when and where defensive resentment—too long repressed—may explode upon a third person's head in the form of displaced anger, next.  As in:  Side with me or you're next in line to become burned toast.  Pretty classic stuff—or should I say painfully classic—not pretty, at all.

Over many years, I’ve made it my business (literally) to understand the negative impact of hearts numbing up to emotional pain until tightly coiled, explosive responses burst out of thick skins when conflicts remain unresolved, overlong, and family members, who fall prey to taking sides, arm themselves to win a war rather than working patiently and respectfully to deepen their understanding of a short-fused, on-going conflict, lovingly—thus calmly.

One day I made mention to a cousin, who is a close friend, that I've come to understand how defensiveness darkens love (in spite of the fact that we believe we're busting our brains to cast sunbeams, here and there).  Upon hearing what I felt need to say, she coaxed me to send this series of stories—where one unresolved problem leads to the next—into cyberspace.  "Annie, families are hungry for stories like these."

Next thing I knew, a dear niece encouraged me to push the pedal to the metal.  Even so, I hemmed and hawed until readiness to bare my personal life online ignited from within.  So guess what readied me to scratch that match?

One night just before drifting off to sleep, I imagined each stream of insight turning into a lightsaber, which empowered the conscious portion of my mind to illuminate yet another dark spot of anger, fear, or resentment buried deep within my subconscious.  As I pictured myself slaying my own defensive dragons by swinging these lightsabers, glowing with insights, all around, laughter bubbled up at how corny I can be.

Then this insight dawned on me:  We laugh at the truth.  And once clarity was mine, inspiration fueled my desire to sit down and transform the never ending autobiography that I'd been writing for years into the first post in a blog (which is currently morphing back into the trilogy of my life) so as to offer you and yours warning signs, sadly missed by me and mine, in hopes of redirecting your processors away from crashing into head on collisions, which see all too many couples charging into divorce court, armed to the teeth to grind a person, once deeply loved, into dust.  Yikes!

Next thing I knew, a sweet friend got busy setting up my website, while this simple plan shaped up inside my mind:  As each story unfolds, you and I will stop to gather and assemble clues as though we're piecing a puzzle together.  In this way your sense of clarity and mine, concerning love gone wrong, may deepen, simultaneously.  And here is why this plan may make as much sense to you as it does to me:  Along with clarity comes peace of mind, and the fact that we're living through a time when the world we share is spinning off its axis to a dizzying degree suggests we can all use more of that!

*In fact, from time to time, I'll change this font to another so as to add my perceptions about current events as had been true during the years when I'd authorized myself to blog rather than authoring this trilogy, which has recently inspired my spirit with the readiness to believe that where I'd once failed, this time, success may be mine.

As one story rolls into another, I believe we'll gain insight into how quickly misperception sweeps loving relationships into the rapids with no life raft in/sight.  You see, when two people have no clue that they're trying to row a life raft through inner turmoil—against the rapids—they may paddle in opposing directions until confusion drowns logic, and once they start paddling each other's character traits, mutual respect slams into defensive rocks as tall as The Grand Canyon's walls, smashing their life raft to smithereens, leaving both feeling deeply wounded while swimming for dear life toward opposite shores.  Whoa!

As mutual respect comes undone, friendship turns black and blue—Once.  Twice.  Three times and everyone’s out!  Game over!  Tie score.  Zero to zero.  You go your way; I'll go mine.  Fine!  Fine!  No skin off my nose!  Bitch!  Prick!  Painful fear of rejection emerges as anger, all around.  Both blame the other for 'no fault' divorce.  Change partners, start the music and dosey-doe every bit as blindly as before until once again, lawyer's fees eat away at your nest egg, which had been set aside to pleasure kiss'in kin, and not until both sides awaken to smell the coffee will divorce court stop being a revolving door that devours your peace of mind and your paychecks, as well—Hhmmm

BTW—same proves true of siblings.  If one person seeks to educate his/her mind about the destructive force of negatively focused defensiveness while the other does not—stalemate results.  As no man/woman is an island, one side can't move a mountain of defensiveness that is not his/her own.  Even so, one attitudinal change for the better creates change, all round—given patience concerning time.

As a result of internal combustion, our life rafts splinter, smash or snap in half, and while strong swimmers may eventually set their compass on one shoreline or another, there are those who insist they can swim, but just paddle in circles, having no clue as to why they remain all wet in the dark.  (Perhaps with umpires or referees in our homes everyone would learn to make sound use of the light saber, stop fighting and 'play fair'.  But judging from basketball’s flagrant fouls, perhaps not.)

Once my stories shine spotlights on my toolbox, which holds a variety of creative solution-seeking techniques, you'll see why lasting love holds each person accountable for identifying and changing deeply ingrained patterns of negativity by consciously strengthening this set of traits: courage, humility, patience, self control, self respect and mutual respect, over time.  Why?  Because:  If love is to deepen and emotional support is to be extended freely when 'for better or worse' gets worse (and it will) then positively focused passion will be less likely to anger until it burns out and numbs up.  I wonder how many thought processors remain consciously aware of this fact:  A host of inner strengths must continue to develop throughout all four stages of life if emotional maturity is to heighten, over time.

In keeping with swimming through emotional rapids toward thoughts filled with clarity leading toward peaceful repose, I'd like to say this:  Our brains are hardwired to make spontaneous judgments, which is why we tend to leap to wrong conclusions, which distort stories (and loved ones) into villains they're not.

As my first story is about to unfold, please keep this thought in mind:  I’ve just begun to reveal essential details about my life.  Therefore, the little you know is riddled with holes.  So—in hopes of keeping misperceptions to a minimum, you may want to reread my introduction more carefully than before, because I purposely left out one important detail to exemplify how easily we make assumptions, which, down the road,  prove to be the direct opposite of the truth.

Once my stories get underway, you'll watch my brain fool me into believing that I understand what's going on in my life when, at times, I'll have had no clue.  By and by, you'll come to see that a defensively focused processor, which has not yet trained itself to differentiate between assumptions and facts, will be inclined to misread the thoughts, feelings, words, and actions of others to an anxiety heightening, self-alarming degree.

Two people, whose narrow mindsets misread each other, too often, may assume to be friends when in truth, they remain strangers.

So let’s say that your experience, fighting with a certain loved one, has capsized in rapids so often that you no longer believe a lasting friendship with that person is possible.  Or perhaps you’re still rowing through rapids with a loved one, hoping to find shelter in which to cuddle, together, around cozy campfires—forever.  Or perhaps you're still blind to the ways in which your processor continues to duck from confronting conflicts that just won't quit.  Any way you look at it, I'm about to clarify classic situations in which defensive thought patterns fool each of us into 'seeing' friends, lovers, relatives and colleagues in a distorted fashion.  And now that I feel eager to ready my sense of courage to bare the most personal aspects of my life—it’s storytelling time—

PS  

Once we reach the sad time in my life when my marriage breaks down, you'll watch me face up to this choice:  Continue to wrap electrical tape around Pandora's Box, where inner conflicts swirled the injured portion my self-esteem, round and round ... or pry open Pandora's Box, little by little, so as to courageously confront all of the furies (one at a time), which my defense system had( unbeknownst to the conscious portion of my mind) locked inside the subconscious portion of a terrified, deeply confounded (cheerful by day) child's mind ... 

The next time I pop up on your screen, we’ll jet back across the time line to those happy, rock-n-roll days of the l950’s, where a self-confident child has been waiting to welcome you into her life.  And if you’re intrigued as to how a cheerful, little girl may offer insight into solving that age-old, classic mystery of love gone wrong, well, the only clue I’ll reveal, today, is the timely title of her story: BULLY FOR ME.

BOOK ONE INTRODUCTION—ITCHING TO TELL YOU A STORY THAT TAKES COURAGE TO REVEAL

 INTRODUCTION TO BOOK ONE:
        
 Hello.  My name is Annie, and I’m itching to tell you a story that takes courage to reveal.  This true tale of love gone wrong is made up of a series of stories, extending over many years.  And each story relates to how I learned to repair my battered ego after having been emotionally brow beaten by a mean-minded band of prepubescent bullies—repeatedly.

My primary purpose in baring these stories (some funny, some serious, all deeply personal) is to highlight classic reasons why my husband and I broke apart though we'd vowed to love, honor, and nurture each other 'till death do we part'.  In short, I believe that with insight and hindsight guiding my intelligence, these stories may serve as warning signs for you and yours, which had been sadly missed by me and mine, as in:  DANGER—head on collisions dead ahead.  In short, I aim to show you what happens when defensive reactions drive two bright people close to crazy.
         
Having mentioned that every story is true, it seems wise to protect the privacy of those who've touched our lives.  So in lieu of writing a profile, I'd like you to get to know me as I've come to know myself, little by little.

Also as each story unfolds, I hope you'll keep this insight in mind:  A story is like a puzzle in that essential pieces must be properly placed.  When essential details are ignored or forgotten, misplaced or distorted, stories, like puzzles, remain confusing or incomplete.  However, if a storyteller works painstakingly to retrieve forgotten details with which to fill in a story's holes, the whole truth of 'the bigger picture' may be revealed to all who'd felt stymied by—human nature, which has two sides—one charged with positively focused energy while the other proves negatively charged.  And as we know, attitude (positive or negative) is everything—uh wait, let's make that close to everything, because timing and readiness factor into change for the better, as well.  So, though my stories will focus on the ways in which attitudes, timing, readiness and self esteem affect our relationships, this will not be a 'fix it' book but rather a bird's eye view of insights concerning experiences, which, as you will see, proved classic to human nature since families were seen fighting for space in caves.

*As each story leads to the next and missing details emerge, you'll see how bigger pictures transform darkly cloudy misperceptions into 'AHA!' moments of clarity that may inspire change for the better to take place, as though all on its own, for this reason:

With clarity, eyes open in surprise; perspectives expand and heartfelt (long-range) goals, which had once seemed unattainable, may suddenly dangle within reach.  And since thoughts of bigger pictures emerging from deep within our minds are empowered to turn lost causes around, I hope to entice you to ride sidekick through my stories by offering this glimpse of what's to come:

Once upon a time, my husband joked that people are born with a finite number of words.  And after we’ve used those words our lips are zipped—forever!  Then he went on to say that while I jabber away, he’s saving his words till every last one of mine is gone.  And once my lips have zipped—forever—he’ll say everything that’s ever been on his mind and watch me go crazy when I can’t answer back!
          
Knowing myself as loquacious, I laughed really hard and said, very funny.  Then laughter turned to tears, because his theory came true, and my words actually dried up.  Upon finding me speechless, this man of few words spoke his mind; a moving van pulled up; an apartment lease was signed, and everyone who cared—most especially our kids—felt rocked to the core to hear such shocking news.  If that was the bad news then here’s the good: Though my voice dried up, my core belief in myself did not, which is why—after we’d split, a whole new game plan for my life shaped up inside my mind.

THE END
(of book one)

PS  Oh wait—here's a detail that may be helpful right from the start:  Going crazy’s not my style.  So instead of losing my cool, I conjured up Walden Pond and dived into the deep end of my mind where memories, too painful to recall, float just beneath the surface of conscious awareness.  And though I’m eager to clue you in as to what happened once subconsciously repressed memories began to emerge—well, we’ve only just met, and I don’t want to outstay my welcome.  So thinking to give your ear (and my newly revived self-assertive voice) a rest, I'll offer up one additional insight before bidding happy trails to my family and friends, both old and new, until we meet, again—
Your friend,
😊Annie

One of many reasons for mustering the courage and humility to bare personal stories of my life is to show you how the blame/game hurts us, one and all.

PSS

As insights do not necessarily filter into conscious awareness as neatly as ducklings intuitively follow their mother's lead, it's become my habit to add insights to published posts, which I feel intuitively compelled to review.  As you shall soon see, back tracking through published posts encourages my intuitive intelligence to guide me toward heightening my conscious awareness concerning detailing events that have long passed.  So, if additional insights emerge while I'm rereading a previously published post and if my power of intuition guides me to slide this new set of insights in with those that had already popped out of my memory then that is suggestive of the conscious portion of my brain feeling ready to absorb a more deeply detailed version of factual information than may have been true before.  In short, our memories may be more shallow than we'd think at first glance.

I also think it may be helpful to note that intuitive trains of thought are naturally released from deep within my brain in a stream of consciousness, which does not care a fig about sentence structure or grammar, and thus, each thought may tend to go, on and on, as naturally as does a real train made up of many cars coupled together until my power of intuitive thought senses a rest station beckoning to me, directly ahead.

In short, each time I engage in the writing process, the conscious portion of my mind has little clue as to where each next intuitive train of thought may be taking me, because surprising strings of insights tend to pop out of my depths as though all on their own—as in—Wow!  I didn't remember that detail until just now!  And though most details are minor (like why my Dad's hair got curly) others, which tend to pop out as though all on their own, prove so monumental as to be absorbed as epiphanies, which expand a person's narrow 'frame' of mind.  I mean you may know a person, who had seemed kind of crazy until your closed mindset felt reason to open at least enough to wonder about details that had not been yours to know concerning life-changing experiences that had taken place behind your friend's closed doors, and though that's true of all of us, the negatively focused side of human nature may continue to point our minds toward making judgement calls that have not yet been justified by detailed facts, suggesting that the little we know is not all there is to know.  And as this very thing takes place in every person's mind, at one time or another, let's not beat ourselves up for being more judgmental than we'd think at first glance, because our brains are preprogrammed to make judgments before the most crucial facts have been considered, suggesting that we all have lots to learn about the complexities with which human nature can swirl a deeply valued relationship down the drain.

And hoping to have clarified that the writing process is cathartic, because strings of insight-driven details come to mind, I'd like to add one more detail, before today's train of thought pulls into a rest station where my mind will switch tracks from storytelling to doing whatever else needs my full attention, today:  Whenever a deeply complex stream of consciousness emerges from within the depths of my brain, I may feel compelled to review and add insights after having published whatever my intuitive powers had stimulated my thought processor to write—more than once or twice.  And as that has been true of the last lengthy train of thought penned before this one, you may want to back track, yet again, so as to consider insights that I'd felt compelled to plug into that post upon rereading it, today.

(BTW:  Most of today's train of thought was originally penned and posted on Feb. 8th, 2011)  
Your friend,
😊Annie    

BACK TO THE FUTURE—ANNIE STYLE

Short, sweet and to the point—
Insights added, over night, to yesterday's post request your presence
Please and thank you

BOOK ONE PROLOGUE— BACK TO THE BEGINNING—WALTZING BLINDLY THROUGH LIFE BY DAY WHILE WRESTLING WITH UNNAMED INNER DEMONS IN THE DARK

PROLOGUE
Though I feel no resistance while expressing my take on
Sexual morals that prevailed during the 1950's
Resistance arises, as though creating a moat (filled with
Snapping gators) surrounding murky memories concerning
The unhealthy nature of highly personal sexual experiences of
My own during high school, suggesting that it may be best to
Ease my way toward revealing teen-age stories by
Reviewing childhood stories (already penned and posted), which
May free my power of intuition to release
Additional insights that will naturally light a path leading us
Toward gaining a deeper understanding of several
Baffling periods of time in my life, each of which proved so
Painful as to see my itch deepen to such
A tormenting degree as to have offered sound reason for
All of my classes, during my junior year, to be moved to
The afternoon, offering me the opportunity to sleep
My exhaustion away during the mornings after having
Wrestled with unnamed inner demons throughout
The night—night after night after night—
Had that been true of a sweet sixteen year old girl, today
She'd have been diagnosed in dire need of therapy ASAP!
Hhmm ...

PS
Immediately after penning this post (in which I've barely mentioned
Experiences, which had felt so horrendous as to have invaded
My summer of fun preceding my junior year in high school) I became
Aware of the fearsome element of shock that had stimulated
My defense system, during childhood, to create
A mental block, repressing those murky memories from
Conscious awareness—and I say murky memories because
Once the torturous nature of a good little girl's
Horrified reactions had been subconsciously buried and
'Forgot', the intensity of my nightly itch to get out of
My own skin felt sound reason to peak, based in this fact:
These secrets, which my defense system had 'thought' best to
Lock out of my conscious memory, during my preteens, had
Layered up atop the unrealistic vow made by a good little girl to
Be the best little girl in the world, because she'd felt so bad in
The aftermath of her baby sister's death as to have subconsciously
Shackled her self image to a guilty state of mind that proved
Deleterious to my mental health for decades without end—Wow!

Circa 1947

See arms bandaged to keep me from scratching

No wonder why ‘they' say writing is cathartic, because while penning
Post after post, strings of insight continue to pour freely out of
My brain's subconscious pockets, filtering into
My conscious state of awareness, brightening my sense of
Readiness to concede that a positively focused attitude is
Necessary to achieve heightened levels of success in all of
Life's most significant endeavors, and since
My present attitude of resistance to reveal details concerning
High School Stories From Hell (to myself) must be based in
A negatively focused mindset, we come to see why
My power of intuitive thought is guiding me to
Hold my horses rather than charging ahead until
Additional insights emerge while we're reviewing stories that
Preceded my teen years, and hopefully, with the emergence of
New strings of insight a detailed version of misperceptions, which
Had influenced the ways in which my self-demeaning self-image had
Affected my participation in the dating game will surface, clarifying
Why my brain's intuitive sense of hindsight will naturally offer us
A less murky, more positively focused, clearly detailed
Version of ‘The Bigger Picture’ concerning yesteryear's
Subconsciously distorted impression of myself at each stage of
My life, and with that thought in mind, let's
Zoom back in time so as to retrace my steps (beginning with
Infancy when my self image was a clean slate awaiting fate to
Offer up a series of experiences that would imprint positively or
Negatively upon the development of my character traits), and
In this way will we develop an ever deepening understanding as to
Why loving support in the aftermath of a series of hard knocks
Makes one person 'tick' this way while a whole separate set of
Lonely experiences makes another person ‘tock' that way
And since opposites attract (as proves true since Father Time
Hooked up with Mother Nature during puberty when
The world was young) you, too, may begin to collect
Insight-driven details concerning circumstantial situations that
Had fated you and your mate to draw toward each other followed by
Collecting insights spotlighting unresolved insecurities that may have
Sadly torn your love for each other apart)—
Double Hhmm ...

Here are two photos conveying

The treasured friendship that developed between
My dad and I, which remains

Untainted by unidentified (thus unresolved) trauma
Eighteen years after his sudden death at the age of 87
(And soon you'll see why his friendship
Meant the world to me)

Circa 1944

Circa 2001

 In case you wonder how my dad's hair became curly once

He'd moved from the Midwest to the Southwestern desert

That detail (resolving riddle #1) will appear in a story not yet penned ...

PSS

Speaking of fate—

You can believe me when I say that

While I've been sitting in front of my computer

Penning today's post concerning revealing secrets that
My defense system kept from my conscious awareness
The program that I clearly hear airing in the next room on
Our TV is a story concerning a young woman whose
Character traits are strapped into the hot seat, suggestive of
Her being accused in a court of law of 'asking for it' while
Being raped by a gang of guys, who, in this case, will not get off
Scott free, because TV scripts are—scripted so that
The good girls and guys win over the bad whereas
All too often, real life offers up the fickle finger of misjudgment, which

Vilifies an innocent victim by pointing blame at a person who, being
Fated to show up in the wrong place at the wrong time, had need to
Fight off assault on the part of the uncompassionate, animalistic side of
Human nature, and speaking self-assertively as one who has felt
Compelled to delve into the painful mental work (that
Proves necessary) if a person is to grow emotionally past
A long series of unjust judgments in hopes of banishing
Latent anxiety from haunting my peace of mind so as to
Rejuvenate my spirit's childlike sense of joy— sans denial—well—
Speaking from personal experience, I can tell you that having
Strapped my psyche into the roller coaster that saw my spirit diving
Straight down from thriving to barely surviving after a series of
Inter-related traumas saw my self-image hit rock bottom until
My intelligent sense of clarity identified my subconscious need to
Work toward recovering from PTSD, and with that insight in mind
My psyche readied itself to leap off that coaster feeling fully
Determined to figure out how best to thrive through this
Last quadrant of my life, and since watching my intelligence
Working tenaciously to heal the injured portions of my brain (which
Had unknowingly carried a latent sense of emotional pain forward
Through every stage of my life) proved to be a personal feat that
I believe is worthy of widespread introspective consideration, thus
Did I decide to convert this blog into an autobiographical trilogy—and if
You ask why this sudden literary change in media does not
Surprise me, at all, I'll reply:  Previous to penning this blog
My days were engaged in writing an autobiographical trilogy of
My life; however, after years of writing for hours, day after day
I could not get a firm hold of where I was going, because there was
So much to say, and thus did the persistent suggestion of one of my
Cousins as well as a dear niece to write a blog begin to make sense for
This reason:  Whereas an autobiographical trilogy has
A beginning, an arc and an end, a blog remains every bit as
Vibrantly alive concerning change as is true of the life of
The author, so I, who had cautioned my classes to recognize and
Welcome opportunity—especially when it knocks twice—felt
My mind open so as to switch tracks from authoring
A memoir-with-no-end-in-sight to freely authoring an insight-driven
Blog, which freed my power of intuitive thought to direct
Each post toward readying my growing sense of
Wholeness to reveal secrets that I'd unknowingly kept from
Myself concerning the injured portions of my self esteem until
My sense of intrigue about the divisive compartmentalization of
The human brain paired my sense of heightened awareness with
Both sides of my brain (conscious and subconscious) thus forming
An adventurous partnership that saw me cautiously diving ever more
Deeply into a foreign, subterranean mine infested territory, which
Having existed within my head since the age of three, has been
In need of careful excavation over most of my life, and now
With clarity suggesting that my blog has recently been caught in
A bog, intuitive need for change for the better has beckoned to
My intelligence from the inside out—again, and thus does the time seem
Ripe to reconsider each post that I plan to republish (from here on) as
Being a page leading us to turn to the next page as
My power of intuitive thought pens a pager turner that will
One day, feel like a job so well organized as to have enticed you to
Ride sidekick along side of me, toward THE END—not of my life, but rather
The end of the true tale that the family communications instructor (who
Resides inside the positively focused side of my head to this very day) still
Feels compelled to send out into the baffling world, which we'd be wise to
Learn to share, fair and square, and as I can feel the last line penned
Pulling today's free-streaming train of thought into a rest station
My mind feels ready to switch tracks toward reflecting over
A mantra that I've written on the blackboard of every class I've ever
Taught, and since I plan to take my own advice, I'll end today's intro to
The autobiographical trilogy of my life, which has been on intuitive hold for
More than five years, by saying:
NEVER GIVE UP ON ACHIEVING YOUR HEARTFELT, LONG RANGE GOALS  

Your friend,
Annie

PSSS
If you're curious as to why Annie is my pen name—well
Just as with every riddle that's bound to pop out of my mind as
My power of intuitive thought re-writes this true story of my life
My primary reason for choosing to name myself Annie is
Sure to turn up in a story down the road and that's riddle #2 😊