Ya Hey

[Verse 1]
Oh, sweet thing
Zion doesn't love you
And Babylon don't love you
But you love everything
Oh, you saint
America don't love you
So I could never love you
In spite of everything

As someone who’s anti-religious
Neither Zion nor Babylon might love me
American Saint that I am, I’m loyal to no nation
So …

[Pre-Chorus]
In the dark of this place
There's the glow of your face
There's the dust on the screen
Of this broken machine
And I can't help but feel
That I've made some mistake
But I let it go
Ya Hey, Ya Hey, Ya Hey

Imagery Illusions
Alluded to Delusions
Concluded II
Thessalonians Two.

[Chorus]
Through the fire and through the flames
(Ya Hey, Ya Hey, Ut Deo, Ya Hey, Ya Hey)
You won't even say your name
(Ya Hey, Ya Hey, Ut Deo, Ya Hey, Ya Hey)
Through the fire and through the flames
You won't even say your name
Only "I am that I am"
But who could ever live that way?
(Ya Hey, Ya Hey)
Ut Deo, Ya Hey
Ut Deo, Deo

Yehowah can. YHWH, I Am.

[Verse 2]
Oh, the motherland don't love you
The fatherland don't love you
So why love anything?
Oh, good God
The faithless they don't love you
The zealous hearts don't love you
And that's not gonna change

Motherland is America
Fatherland is Isra’el

Because
I love you, I do.

Faithless, obviously…
Zealous, religiously…
Until death do we part.

[Pre-Chorus]
All the cameras and files
All the paranoid styles
All the tension and fear
Of a secret career
And I can't help but feel
That you seen the mistakes
But you let it go
Ya Hey, Ya Hey, Ya Hey

Secret Agency
Photos Shopped
Paranoia, dear?

CYA? Omnipresent Intelligence.

[Chorus]

YeHoWaH. Ye-ho-w-ah, Ye-ho-w-ah

[Middle 8]
Outside the tents, on the festival grounds
As the air began to cool, and the sun went down
My soul swooned, as I faintly heard the sound
Of you spinning "Israelites"
Into "19th Nervous Breakdown"

Scene: Burning Man in the Desert
Gabriel comes upon Angela Maria
beneath the dancer at sunset…

[Chorus]

True story.

[Refrain]
Through the fire and through the flames
You won't even say your name
Only "I am that I am"
But who could ever live that way?
(Ya Hey, Ya Hey)
Ut Deo, Ya Hey
Ut Deo, Deo Annotate

What else would you want me to say?

I know who God is, and I know who I am.

Ezra, got questions? No kidding, I won’t play games.

I’m @Ang @Baxley the @SpunkyGidget of @BaxleyGlass (among other means of contact).

Worship You, Vampire Weekend

Critical Analysis of the lyrics “Worship You” by Vampire Weekend from the album “Modern Vampires Of The City” (2013).

This beautiful song juxtaposes the waning faith of the religious in the end with the increasing hope of the seeker…

A Genius.com commentator offers: “Ezra echoes one of the most common gripes that people have with religion, especially Christianity. Worship is often tightly regimented and governed by some dogma, and Ezra seems to be scolding God while reminding Him that those rules are followed passionately by many people.”

While many have gripes with modern religion, especially those in the faith of Christianity, Ezra was a Hebrew scribe called “Ezra the Priest” in the Book of Ezra: he was also a prophet and was one of the primary leaders of Israel when they returned from exile to rebuild Jerusalem and Solomon’s Temple.

Only in the way you want it
Only on the day you want it
Only with the understanding:
every single day you want it
[X2] You, you

Ezra is speaking from a Jewish perspective of a Hebrew God whose laws could not fulfilled by imperfect humans, and the opening lyrics show the futility felt by those pursuing that religious course in vain: “For Christ has already accomplished the purpose for which the law was given. As a result, all who believe in him are made right with God.” (Romans 9:4, compare Hebrews 10)

City with the weight upon it
City in the way you want it
City with the safety of a never-ending blessing on it
[X2] You, you

A “Genius” commentator offers that this refers to New York City and the smog hanging over it… Others posit, one would assume correctly, that the reference is to the “city of Peace”, Jerusalem, which is referred to in scripture by similar descriptions.

[Chorus] We worshipped you
Your red right hand
Won't we see you once again?
In foreign soil, in foreign land
Who will guide us through the end?

Here I believe that Ezra’s imagery calls forth a “red right hand” which is an “ancient regional emblem [is known as] the blood-red right hand of Ulster” (Idrisyn Evans, The Observer’s Book of Flags , 1959, 1975, p. 28)—Ulster being the northern province of Ireland through which the high kingship was later transferred to Scotland. The Hebrew God is shown in scripture as exercising his power through his “right hand”. (Exodus 15:6, Psalms 118:16, Isaiah 48:13)

“Listen to Me, O Jacob, even Israel whom I called; I am He, I am the first, I am also the last. Surely My hand founded the earth, And My right hand spread out the heavens; When I call to them, they stand together.…

Inverse imagery to the Exodus from Egypt, Ezra now explores the prophetic return of the sons of Israel following Judah into the land… But who will guide them? Perhaps someone of the clan of the red hand? Zerah and Perez were twins born to Judah. Zerah stuck his hand out first and a red string was tied to his wrist. (Genesis 38:28) While Zerah was first born, it was the line of Perez which became the Kings of Israel eventually leading to David, Solomon and “Yeshua Mashiach ben Yehuda”. {Side note: Benjamin means “son of my right {hand}”.}

However, the “red right hand” hasn’t factored into the Jews, or Israel’s, history since the family was numbered in the Exodus.

Calling on a change, you want it
Calling on the same, you want it
Calling for the misery to always be explained, you want it
[X2] You, you

Ezra’s lyrics go from present tense to past tense in the following paired verses…

Energetic praise you wanted
Any kind of praise you wanted
Little bit of light to get us through the final days you wanted
[X2] You, too

God went from wanting a change prior to the end, the same in the millennial reign, and for misery to be explained thereby sanctifying his name to having wanted energetic praise, any praise, or just a “Little bit of light to get us through the final days”.

What “final days”? “…in the last days mockers will come, walking after their own epithymía, and saying, “Where is the promise of his coming? For, from the day that the fathers fell asleep, all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation.” (2 Peter 3:3,4, compare Joel 2)

Who is the “You”? This is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—the God of Israel: YHWH, transliterated “Yehowah”, the “I Am” of Genesis. (Exodus 3:6,14; Acts 3:13)

“Believing in something whether religious or political, putting all your faith in it, until you come to the point of questioning it. Worship, totally leaned on, it left you, went away, and you were back on your own for a second.” — Ezra on what the song is about.

Wifely Subjection—Mental Health Issues in Jehovah’s Witnesses Watchtower Women

This article is an electronic version of an article originally published in Cultic Studies Journal, 1997, Volume 14, Number 1, pages 106-144. Please keep in mind that the pagination of this electronic reprint differs from that of the bound volume. This fact could affect how you enter bibliographic information in papers that you may write.

Wifely Subjection: Mental Health Issues

in Jehovah’s Witness Women

Kaynor J. Weishaupt, M.S., M.F.C.C.

San Rafael, California

Michael D. Stensland

Athens, Ohio

Abstract

The Watchtower Society, commonly referred to as Jehovah’s Witnesses, exerts a great deal of control over the everyday life of its members. Women, in particular, suffer from psychological stresses in this high-control environment, as it is also a culture where patriarchal attitudes limit women’s personal power and predominate in their relationships with men. A group of women responded to a questionnaire about their experiences during membership in the Watchtower Society and after leaving. The results indicate that while in the Watchtower Society, women experience a higher degree of mental health problems than they do after they leave the group. They also report experiencing more egalitarian attitudes in their relationships with men after exiting the group.

Little research has been done focusing on the experience of women in “high-control” or cultic groups, despite the fact that women make up a large proportion of the membership of such groups. The type of group referred to here as high-control is defined by the degree of control and restriction the group exercises over the everyday life of its membership. Such a group can be focused on religion, politics, militarism, psychotherapy, meditation, commercialism, or simply a “special” leader (Tobias & Lalich, 1994). A high-control group differs from other groups in that individual behavior is excessively limited by rules and regulations, access to information is restricted or managed (especially information critical of the group), pressure is high to conform in thought and behavior to group norms, and members must put the group’s interests before their own. The leadership in this type of group is absolute and considered infallible; outsiders are generally viewed as dangerous or evil; and members leaving the group are generally punished or shunned. While all members of such groups pay a psychological price (as well as reap certain psychological dividends, such as a sense of belonging and purpose), women often face particular difficulties in groups that are patriarchally based.

This article explores the relationship between women and the high-control social climate of the Watchtower Society (WTS), commonly referred to as Jehovah’s Witnesses. The article reviews literature bearing on the Watchtower Society’s control practices and patriarchal organizational structure, analyzes psychological implications of WTS’s social climate, and reports on the results of a survey of 20 female former members of the Watchtower Society. The survey explored three areas: (1) the degree of patriarchal versus egalitarian attitudes subjects felt existed while they were members of WTS compared to what they experienced after having left the group, (2) subjects’ perceived psychological distress while in the group and after exiting, and (3) subjects’ perceptions of the degree to which the group controlled everyday life and isolated members from outsiders. The latter area included a comparison group of women from other religious backgrounds.

Continue reading Wifely Subjection—Mental Health Issues in Jehovah’s Witnesses Watchtower Women

Dear Heather

Heather Celli "O'Neill Furtick"

Chat Conversation Start

December 11, 2014 4:52 pm
It’s Angela but this will go to your other folder until we’re friends. Following you on Twitter now. I’m in the hospital, its the night they moved both of us. xoxo : @ang @baxley @spunkygidget @baxleyglass, etc.

December 21, 2014 4:32 pm
Are you… ??????

December 22, 2014 5:19 am
hello?

8 minutes ago
Dear Heather, are you still locked up — INNOCENCE INSTITUTIONALIZED?

You’ve lost a month now… You did not spend that “holiday” with your children, nor the “new year”…

Dear Heather, I fear for your life, for your sanity now that you are in their hands. Dear Heather, I pray for you.

Accidental Love (2015)

A small town waitress gets a nail accidentally lodged in her head causing unpredictable behavior that leads her to Washington, D.C., where sparks fly when she meets a clueless young senator who takes up her cause – but what happens when love interferes with what you stand for?

Director:

David O. Russell

Writers:

Kristin Gore (screenplay), Matthew Silverstein(screenplay), 5 more credits »

July 2, 2011 at 8:46:04 PM EDT

…starting to write you, it’s keeps being day after day of extraordinary days, even for me!… but now i’m up to more than a week and a half, and all intent and no action.

today i’ve decided i’m going to combine two intentions into one—if it doesn’t offend you—writing for my personal blog again, and writing you. The concept of writing you, which reality dictates that pen pal’s is about as good as it gets this summer (amusing, you would be one of those I’ll see more often in another town than in the one we share!—love it!), is a bit strange for me. I like the concept of sharing brain occupation, but putting that into practice is as odd as the description of the idea itself. hehe… yes, i amuse myself. seriously. i’m the one in the sun in headphones laughing out loud amused by my own amusement, a muse to the muse?

see, i love writing. i love the games of words and the way it activates our brains to struggle with them. there is beauty in simplicity, but sometimes i like to spar, to jab to whatever those guys in fencing do, with words. a dance around your mind, firing off synapses as you struggle along in my merry madness not quite amused, not quite certain, and not quite able to look away.

i think the uncertainty came from how very intimate and personal my desire of expression is, of late. when i first comprised of it, I imagined whiskey or wine, and the 80% of communication that isn’t written or verbal, but behavioral. i imagined progressive, levels of disclosure. i imagined getting to know you—literally. a process.

but each time i would start to write it felt more like giving you access to things too immediate for the brevity of our reality.

but you are my muse—my pen pal. and you inspire me to write prolifically and with bigger and badder and better words. to tangle words for my amusement, for my storytelling, for my own edification, others be damned, but dear, will you come along for the ride?

i sat this morning at Harry’s diner counter and to my left was a comfortable guy, probably my age, or just a little younger. poor guy, he had no hope—i was compelled to talk to him. His name was Todd, like the shoes, and he’s an Irish dancer who would leave me to fly to Nashville for a competition, though he actually lives in Solana Beach (what was he doing eating breakfast in La Jolla, pre-flight, then?!). he likened me to Steve Jobs. No, that’s me being modest. he said i have what steve has. only moments before had i sent a text saying that i think it’s time, I want to find my very own copy of the Jim Henson’s Kermit Apple Think Different poster. Advertising at times can be beautiful. It can bring me to tears knowing how the dear things of my personal culture have influenced me, from Judy Blume to Jim Henson (my female and male hero’s).

yesterday i looked around desperately, anywhere please!, looking for a place to sit in my favorite local coffee roasters… anywhere but next to that totally intent hot guy in the corner who happens to also be blocking my comfortable range to the source of power. the thing is, when someone compels me, i can’t ignore. not this year at least, this is the year for following myself. to sit near him would mean being fascinated painting the story… what is he doing, reading or writing or…, are his clothes and body type an indication of what he does (being incredibly fit and stylishly dressed in sort of work out clothes if Lulu Lemon were to make clothes for men (or maybe they already do?))? In the end all that mattered is that power trumped distractibility, and i took my seat a little closer than even my comfort allows. I asked him if it were okay, though I could see his unspoken acknowledgement that my violation was easily excusable. We were sitting nearly arm to arm, so close that I could have read each text as it came in, and that I could see that the WordPress post title was “Intention”.

that’s drew [redacted until I know that he’s okay with me using his name], an amusing name as he’s a personal fitness trainer kind of guy. it’s only about two sentences in, literally, where somehow he’s mentioned that he’s moving soon, he wants to live at the ocean (he’s currently downtown) and moves at the end of the month, though—I stopped him: I’m looking for a roommate, are you serious? To ask if he was serious was merely a formality, as was asking if I could sit nearly in his lap so as to be comfortable and powered.

the rest of the morning unfolded with people coming in to see him, until i was asked to join the cohort for lunch down the street. i’ll confess i’m given to stereotyping in as much as it’s a cluster of commonly associated characteristics… I just call them personas… this is all to say that i was so happy to see that the counter-intuitive instinct with this bunch of workout gym attired pals was founded, our lunch conversation was highly intelligent and aware, even better, there wasn’t consensus but debate!

drew earlier had asked to see the place as soon as I was ready to leave, so after lunch I offered my beach as their beach destination so Drew could check out the place. they were fighting over it (in jest, I think?) even as they walked up to the patio.

as we all walked the beach later I was pleased at how at ease I felt with these relative strangers, the ease of energy specifically between Drew and I, and even more so by the way that he, not I, was the one continuing to see the kismet serendipities or whatnots. thus it is that as two strangers chose seats at bird rock coffee, both vaguely aware of the mounting urgency of 30 days and counting, became roommates.

well, here my otherselfy muse, is where it was that i became distracted… it was my pal Hayes, and jesting about Facebook poking (that’s a story you can ask for in person, but not to be shared in writing). i realized there’s a feature you should build, if you don’t have it already. micro giving. tie it to facebook? let me hit a page, and click a button (Chrome Extension?) which allows me to give. but in a tiny little amount that means I can give freely. it takes some thought to give even $25 here and there… but I could give a $1 or $5 more freely… that’s just the cost of a Vudu movie. Bring it to the forefront where I interact with the experience (where ever that may be, beyond even the massively pervasive Facebook) and at the mention of Vudu, I think even to tie it to the purchasing experience of other online point-of-sale purchase moments… you’re buying a vudu flick? how about donating half that (just a buck fiddy more!) to your favorite charity too?

go save the world. i had more stories, but i have to pee and i have a date. it involves a famous person and a writer photographer, swanky hotels and a general feeling of noir. and that, doll, is for next time!

oh, don’t forget, the only response i sincerely desire is your thought on writing versus blogging. intent would be that it still be a form of communication, as my penpal, but to preserve it too though I don’t know why i feel such a strong inclination to do so (on my site)…? weird, huh? is it purely to diffuse the intensity of the intimacy while allowing access to the intimate? truth be told, my blog served as just that when it began… a letter to my best friend ryan. that one that reminds me of you, you darling bright eyed boston boys.

A First Rate Madness (Angie Baby & Kennedy)

A first rate madness, a book about my families genetic makeup...
A first rate madness, a book about my families genetic makeup…

OH via my momma: “No more social media until you have a plan.

What? A plan? Now?

What?
What?

About the only thing you can’t do is ignore them.

/push

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

{K+no-W} Fear

see also Woody Guthrie: “Two Good Men” (link at end to @rDio streaming)

The Ballad Of Sacco & Vanzetti, Part I

(Lyrics by Joan Baez, Music by Ennio Morricone)

“Give to me your tired and your poor
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me.”

Blessed are the persecuted
And blessed are the pure in heart
Blessed are the merciful
And blessed are the ones who mourn

The step is hard that tears away the roots
And says goodbye to friends and family
The fathers and the mothers weep
The children cannot comprehend
But when there is a promised land
The brave will go and others follow
The beauty of the human spirit
Is the will to try our dreams
And so the masses teemed across the ocean
To a land of peace and hope
But no one heard a voice or saw a light
As they were tumbled onto shore
And none was welcomed by the echo of the phrase
“I lift my lamp beside the golden door.”

Blessed are the persecuted
And blessed are the pure in heart
Blessed are the merciful
And blessed are the ones who mourn

daVinci: this was paradise —angela-marié-niblick-matthew-raymond-niblick-art-paradise
daVinci: this was paradise —angela-marié-niblick-matthew-raymond-niblick-art-paradise

Sacco & Vanzetti Executed

http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/sacco-and-vanzetti-executed

“Despite worldwide demonstrations in support of their innocence, Italian-born anarchists Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti are executed for murder.”

https://www.facebook.com/heather.celli?fref=ts

The Case of Sacco * Vanzetti—The Atlantic

For more than six years the Sacco-Vanzetti case has been before the courts of Massachusetts. In a state where ordinary murder trials are promptly dispatched …

Sacco and Vanzetti Put to Death Early This Morning—The New York Times

Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti died in the electric chair early this morning, carrying out the sentence imposed on them for the South Braintree

’62 Cadillac Coupe de Ville convertible

IMG_1965

This is my car, and that Audi in the background? Also mine. I bought the daddy caddy in Los Angeles, Marina del Rey—Hollywood Car Collection. Alas, William Byrd and Sid Blitz are two names which should have made think more than the triple take I took…

This is Adrian Stephen Glass, my son… he’s graduating soon.

Adrian Stephen Quezada de Glass wedding photo
Adrian Stephen Quezada de Glass wedding photo

This is my friend Woody Williams, known more likely by his stage name “FunkyGeezer.” He makes me look smooth like Jackie O. It’s all who you stand next to…
angela-glass-funky-geezer

this is my truck… Jimmy Wales knows all about it.angela-glass-tonka-truck

this was our beach wedding reception in north carolina…

Baxley___Glass___SpunkyGidget-2

this is my beloved husbandmy prince, philip darryl glass

baxley+glass-beta

The Ballad Of Sacco And Vanzetti, Part II

Father, yes, I am a prisoner
Fear not to relay my crime
The crime is loving the forsaken
Only silence is shame

And now I’ll tell you what’s against us
An art that’s lived for centuries
Go through the years and you will find
What’s blackened all of history
Against us is the law
With its immensity of strength and power
Against us is the law!
Police know how to make a man
A guilty or an innocent
Against us is the power of police!
The shameless lies that men have told
Will ever more be paid in gold
Against us is the power of the gold!
Against us is racial hatred
And the simple fact that we are poor

My father dear, I am a prisoner
Don’t be ashamed to tell my crime
The crime of love and brotherhood
And only silence is shame

With me I have my love, my innocence,
The workers, and the poor
For all of this I’m safe and strong
And hope is mine
Rebellion, revolution don’t need dollars
They need this instead
Imagination, suffering, light and love
And care for every human being
You never steal, you never kill
You are a part of hope and life
The revolution goes from man to man
And heart to heart
And I sense when I look at the stars
That we are children of life
Death is small

baxley+glass

we are trouble makers who like to @feastONgood….

this is photo of our family, before me—

Philip Darryl Glass and children: Melissa Andrea, Gianna Vanessa, and first born Adrian Stephen Quezada de Glass. (2012)
Philip Darryl Glass and children: Melissa Andrea, Gianna Vanessa, and first born Adrian Stephen Quezada de Glass. (2012)

 

this is me as a funny face, as I am a clown without makeup…

ængelæ marí? de nôb??ç-båx??ÿ g?æš — bAXgGl?sStudios :: "Alfred can't Rdio Muppets yet"
ængelæ marí? de nôb??ç-båx??ÿ g?æš — bAXgGl?sStudios :: “Alfred can’t Rdio Muppets yet”

 

I fight for stuff worth fighting for…

glassgidget-boobies-save-babies

I have inspiration

Screen Shot 2013-05-30 at 4.30.46 PM — Jamíe Vivia?a Glàss
Jamíe Vivia?a Glàss — @jamiglas

 

contribute? donate to Joyce Glass

here’s her bank account information…

#DonateToJoyceGlassAccountViaECH
#DonateToJoyceGlassAccountViaECH

 

this is Melissa Andrea Glass+Gagnon — she founded busybeesbodies.com.

melissa-glass

here’s is one last friend on my mind… before I hit “Send” on this post and shower instead. @mycle_wastman reminds me vaguely of macklemore.

mycle-wastman-angela-benson-baxley-glass

whatddya think?

The Ballad Of Sacco + Vanzetti, Part III

(Lyrics by Joan Baez, Music by Ennio Morricone)

My son, instead of crying be strong
Be brave and comfort your mother
Don’t cry for the tears are wasted
Let not also the years be wasted

Forgive me, son, for this unjust death
Which takes your father from your side
Forgive me all who are my friends
I am with you, so do not cry

If mother wants to be distracted
From the sadness and the soulness
You take her for a walk
Along the quiet country
And rest beneath the shade of trees
Where here and there you gather flowers
Beside the music and the water
Is the peacefulness of nature
She will enjoy it very much
And surely you’ll enjoy it too
But son, you must remember
Do not use it all yourself
But down yourself one little step
To help the weak ones by your side

Forgive me, son, for this unjust death
Which takes your father from your side
Forgive me all who are my friends
I am with you, so do not cry

The weaker ones that cry for help
The persecuted and the victim
They are your friends
And comrades in the fight
And yes, they sometimes fall
Just like your father
Yes, your father and Bartolo
They have fallen
And yesterday they fought and fell
But in the quest for joy and freedom
And in the struggle of this life you’ll find
That there is love and sometimes more
Yes, in the struggle you will find
That you can love and be loved also

Forgive me all who are my friends
I am with you
I beg of you, do not cry

ello Johnny…

For Doubting Thomas—daddy says watch the Maze Runner

December 11th, 8:35pm

don’t forget you know my memory

that was not what you guys were talking about

is Yahoo a cover for you?

or do you actually work there too?

I work for another company

ok

still in law school?

What do you think he meant?

Yes, UCLA

i will ask chadwick, he’ll decipher for me

gotta run, it’s bedtime in the ‘hospital’

ugh

Sleep well.

I love you, old friend.

i understand, but now my love is for my husband alone, and i’ll have to recall the other greek forms to appropriately refer to my affection for you.

unfortunately we both know i love thomas.

i will carry your son into eternity

hope you meet us there

love, the angel of the demons

Angel, of Bird Rock

Friday 9:02pm

When do you get released?

#Inn #THyme

Heather,
my dear sister,

I finished my contract unexpectedly early, and while we’ll have to figure that out, for now I wanted to do some of what I hadn’t been able to before. 

I’d love to spend time with you, both at your place and mine. I want to fix stuff up together. Maybe it seems like work or something to you, but to me it’s novel and unique. And it is what feels like “home”. 

Joyce has been nagging in the most Joyce way possible since I first showed my face to have her house pressure washed. At times I’ve gotten resentful wondering why Darryl doesn’t handle it in the middle of the week, and then I remember that some people have the ability and others have the stuff, etc. Meanwhile, I’m secretly happy. I LOVED air blowing off the roof. I don’t see why I’m not going to like wielding the power of that pressure washer and blasting layers of evil, grit and grime away!!! Muwhahaha!

Or not?

Well, anyway. I also have gotten over this holier than thou momma. Time to give her a dose of her own medicine. Want in on the plan?

I bought a collection of seeds from Horizon Herbs “Snowdown” (for fall/winter: https://www.horizonherbs.com/product.asp?specific=2730). I am ordering and having shipped the 20% off raised bed garden, and lastly — do you guys know where you’d get compost? I am measuring how much I need. If we’re talking bags, then I need 14 bags just to fill the raised bed. The raised bed is 8 feet long and 2 feet wide and just 10.5 inches tall. (Home Depot, Greene’s Fence) 

I would also like to add compost to the space outside the raised bed, another 8×4.25 space (more like a mound, won’t have the luxury to buy raised bed frames for everything — herbs go here) and then on back the wall we’d like to plant stuff where it’s barren — thus more mounded compost (it’s all clay) and probably plant sunflowers. We already have two hydrangeas we bought to plant out there too. Hopefully they’ll turn into huge ones like at the K.H. when we were kids. 

So basically before mom comes over — whenever that might be — I’d love to have my gardening going. 

Now, you know I’m weird. So the weirdo me is happy to be learning how to plant and tend food. Useful if the power went out and never came back.

I know gas is terribly expensive between our places. 

I want to come help you accomplish your tasks too. I’d love to drive up with Darryl midweek now that we both “have the day off”. He’s totally handy, we just don’t have a garage with tools for him. :)

Yeah, I’d love to paint, but that feels daunting and expensive (back to being poor). So I realized my heart is in making Joyce happy (she’s depressed and would rather just die already) and investing in the lovely things which are “real”. (I think paint is a BIG deal, but it’s going to be way more effort than painting your place.)

I found compost people who will deliver from Rock Hill or Fort Mill. I have no idea how much. Thought I’d check with my family first. 😉

all kinds of blues

On Sun, Oct 12, 2014 at 1:37 PM, Angela Marie Glass <angelamarieglass@gmail.com> wrote:

Hey and don’t you think this photo of Eilon and I could make us relatives? :) I think it’s the nose? 

http://spunkygidget.com/2006/03/19/grand-canyon-a-quick-helicopter-tour/

In other news, I finally told the truth about why I left Microsoft. The CEO made some stupid comment about women—at a conference celebrating women in technology, no less—and I lost it. I feel better. Lighter.

I’m telling you because you know Eilon and I are tight as blood but keep up like we have eternity. So he’ll hear somehow I’m guessing, but I’m sharing with you as my kind of dad. 

The story, if you want to read it, I can send. Otherwise, I just wanted to say hello and send some love to you and your family!

Hello to Shlomit! 

Love,

Angela

a ? cline'd U yet...

 

Begin forwarded message:
Reply-To: halipton@gmail.com
Date: October 25, 2014 at 11:15:44 AM EDT
Subject: Re: Thinking of you…
From: Howard Lipton <halipton@gmail.com>
To: Angela Marie Glass <angelamarieglass@gmail.com>

Dear Angela,

Please pardon my tardy reply. I am always delighted to hear from you, and I truly hope that all is going well with you and yours.

Like so many, I was astounded at what Nadella said. Even though he is Indian and only came to the U.S. as an adult, he has been here at least a quarter century and runs the 3d largest company in the world. He knows that women are woefully underrepresented in the coding sectors of his own company, and he certainly knows that teenaged and college women are as interested in the future financial security of their eventual families as are boys. He cannot possibly believe that a paternal attitude where the bosses will “look after the girls” will attract the brilliant women that Microsoft needs, even if he grew up in that culture as a child. Just as does everyone else, these women want transparently equal opportunities for advancement and financial security. While I do not know a lot about him, I am exceedingly suspicious that he actually spoke his mind and told the world what he really thinks. If that is the case, then regardless of his skills as a CEO, I would hope the board considers a change.

Yes, I am interested in why you left Microsoft and would love to read your story. Also, I briefly noticed the comment on your website about “walking after midnight.” While I do not know if that was your reference, that song by Patsy Cline is one of my all-time favorites.

Thanksgiving is approaching, and you know what it means to me. I hope D’ar’r’y’l realizes how lucky he is.

All the best,

Howard

 

my heart beats only for you

Begin forwarded message:

From: Angela Marie Glass
Subject: i’m sorry my love
Date: December 13, 2014 at 12:52:56 PM EST
Cc: Angela Marie Baxley Glass

To: Darryl Glass

TODO #Today #Publish

Begin forwarded message:

From: Angela Marie Glass
Subject: i’m sorry my love
Date: October 5, 2014 at 1:41:30 PM EDT
To: Darryl Glass

i have hit a very pragmatic point.

i haven’t got much grace left it seems.

i wanted to apologize and clarify.

yesterday i didn’t mean to imply anything other than i wanted to stop the automatic bill pay transactions.

maybe that upset you because you had just put $1,000 in the account so that they could draft that?

i’m open to that concept. i was looking to prevent another saturday morning race to the bank.

you can withdrawal $1,000 as easily as impressively put it in.

but you became upset. i was meanwhile stunned. i had just learned about Gianna’s $300/mth esurance.

my mind went blank. it felt cold. numb. blank. i needed time to process.

in the end the processing was simple, just hard from a cold start.

i don’t know your financial situation. i have no idea how much money you have and where, and i know that you are still in bed with your ex-wife financially.

but really it was quite simple.

your bills are your bills. if you want to pay $300 a month for insurance for your daughter and “buy her expensive things” then you are free to do so.

i don’t think this has to get much more complicated in spelling things out. i mean, there’s no money in “the” bank account, and i have no interest in getting a job.

it’s likely that i’ll get a job again just about that time i have house fever and have gotten bored.

but it’s really a good moment to take stock and reset our perspectives.

i feel like you’re living with a 1950’s ideal you don’t want to admit.

but we don’t have to look at the past as if we can somehow change it or fix it. look back if you want to learn, otherwise, face forward…

so, i don’t need to know your bills. i know the bills i am a part of, and know that i should contribute to the household in all manners, now as before, as always. financially speaking, i have very little contribution required, from what i ascertain, as i obviously am not expected neither legally nor morally to care for yours and Angela’s children, nor should i contribute to “the expensive things” you want to buy your daughter.

if you’re wondering about how i form such perspectives of you—for instance, of late we’ve talked about how over time my respect for you has diminished—it comes from things like that.

if you were my best friend, then i would tell you to stop being stupid. if you were my best friend and not my lover, i would say can you believe the idiot had the gall to say that to me? after I gave his daughter the largest financial gift i’ve ever made to anyone? it’s hard to keep a straight face when you grand stand your male ego of being the provider and paint this daddy’s girl idea.

it hurts because i realize you’re so wrapped up in this image that you fail to realize that you’re doing this daddy’s princess routine with a fatherless girl.

i marvel lately at how little you think of what you put out there and how it impacts what you receive.

i wanted love and romance with you, but ironically my husband holds the record for calling me a “bitch”. you’re steadily tearing my self-esteem apart.

i would appreciate a more upbuilding environment. i used to try to correct you—remember last year when we would fight so often?

back then the scripture just kept going through my mind, and you recall, i’d try to introduce scripture but you always found it to be my extracting straw from your eye, and anyway, after countless potty mouth or racist jokes, finally it seemed that “let no obscene thing be mentioned among you” had been accomplished by the sheer fact that you realized I’d heard them all already.

back then my heart hurt because as we’d walk the street a see a gay person you’d see someone worth mocking, pointing and talking about, and i see hurt and pain. you see my best friend, tobey, she’s gay. it seems god puts us in positions which force us to grapple with the hardest points if we’re able. i finally got to the point that i realized that it isn’t for us to judge, no, we were called to love.

maybe we’re different. maybe you regret running away in the night to marry me. i don’t know. you’re not very expressive and we spend the majority of our time talking about the negative.

but the thing is, i just simply don’t care. what does it matter at this point? are you going to pout because i’m naturally beautiful but not interested in the antics of your ex-wife? at least be thrilled i’m not as bad as your daughter. though, to be fair, i imagine one day she’ll snap out her wearing her constant workout apparel and will be every bit as beautiful made up as her mother. but that has nothing to do with me. i’m me. i’m not that type.

i’m just kind of sick of the way things are in this small cycle. i’m frustrated because there seems to be no exit but to declare it alone. i had hoped we’d work through things together, but I don’t even know what ‘together’ there is.

so here is my “i’m through” email. i’m through paying your bills. i cancelled the weekly transfer for Gianna’s child support. i cancelled the transfer for your wife’s home equity line of credit. i cancelled the transfer for the car payment.

i have not cancelled your mother’s meager weekly allowance because we both know that she’s on your priority list below your children and probably below me. So if I don’t take care of her, who will? Just being factual. So serious the capital letters entered again. (in other words, while you’re buying expensive things for your daughter, and paying for her $300/mth insurance, I think that I should be able to find a way to maintain a meager $25 for your mother weekly. At least until you have time to shift your priorities… or well, I guess I’ll just keep doing it, because your mom will be dead before your children stop sucking down your money.)

if things were different, well, things would be different. in a different day dream, mine, i day dream how you’d eagerly want to see the world full of color—instead of imprisoning me in your pale pallor of procrastination—and be thrilled the new girl wants to know what color strikes your fancy, resonates your soul, ripples your energy. maybe you’d even notice just how long she’d put off her own pleasure and happiness just to ensure that she can most fully take into account your own. maybe you’d notice how the girl procrastinates and hems and haws while she’s just trying not to move forward with him. she has the color. a color she could have picked alone, but now sadly there’s the color. picked the color, and then now what? how many more days, weeks, before the next step? she was already so heart broken she turned on her heel and said ‘let’s get out of here’ already exhausted at the prospect of either spending the time now to shop for the things which force action with a heart which says, he’s still not ready.

i daydream the beautiful blue wall with the fall’s brilliant light shining through. the warm golden sunshine color brightening up the bottom floor as if ever persistent sunshine hit the caribbean mind. the buttery ritz carlton color running through the neutral space up the stairs and through the hall flanked by bright white trim pulling you through the space.

i don’t like the new purple/blue colored sheets, i mention it because they jar my mind right now as i know that no longer does the bed have the serene beautiful set going i had, but has instead this mishmash of stuff. a curiosity you care so much but not about the things i care about. so we have sheets i hate, enjoyed picking them out with you. but don’t ever want to see them. i like my somber dreary gray dream sheets. the other set is similar enough. i like the dark drape of deep earth covering. i picture the gray blue of dusk the calming color of stress eased away, weariness not yet worn out. the color falls fading to the sand like floor beneath, rising into a shimmer which taunts you as you wonder if its even there, that glimmer of a star, that sweep of beautifully illuminated crystals of light captured in tiny water droplets in a fog of beautiful dreams crowning the ceiling.

i picture the bathroom. i have the hardest time there, because i find it uninspiring. i am reminded that it’s not a daydream, you did ignore every bit of what i said about the mold until now you agree it’s mold. go back to real day dream world and an actual ‘challenge’ meaning—something beyond what i can simply just accomplish and normally would have if i were alone—would be to actually put an interesting shower in, and figure out how to make the best of the elements that are in there (as it’s a resale unit one day regardless) while being that simple selling point. i could talk all the time telling you the story about the ralph lauren carpet and what others thought of my teddy bear carpet expense… or i could just tell you about how i’ve dreamed of showering with my feet on real water smoothed stones under my feet for years now.

i imagine that we stay for about four years. seems to short investment-wise, it should just be booming then, and selling is selling too early. i don’t expect you’ll have anything to contribute to a new home, because my bet is that you don’t have a financial divorce from Angela before she’s married, and since you will fail to do it before she’s married, then there will be nothing to start it happening, until finally Gianna hits 18 and is still living at home with her new daddy and mom.

At that point it will pretty much be too late for anything but for an interesting legal battle. I don’t think it matters too much all in all because it will just wait until some judge is stuck figuring out how to untangle your stupidity. The longer she lives in the home, the longer she deserves 50%. So all in all, as long as she keeps paying, then who cares until it hits her being there 13 years? Reality is simple—she can’t sell without your signature. Which means she can’t sell. When one day she wants to move on, then she will either screw you, move out, say it’s your problem, and then STILL refuse to split the house fairly, or she’ll want out and be forced to make a decision. She’ll have lost all rights. Having married prior to it being her property and that he already lives there and is investing his work —stupid woman, he’s a contractor!— in the home, means that he is now legally entitled to the house as martial property when he marries her. So like it or not, before she can pass it on to her kids—yeah, right—she’ll have to give him and his kids his portion. So your grand gesture buying into her stupidity means you’re betting she’ll survive the marriage to pass the house on to the kids. If he divorces her, as he invested in the material property and lived there with her as his home, then he’s entitled to half as martial property despite the fact that YOU own it. It’s HER asset to.

Her divorcing him is likely to be what prompts the sale of the house if they don’t go to buy their own first. For him to get his share he’d have to force a sale. Since we’re talking marriage and divorce, it seems it’ll hit about the same point in time when you might realize she’s sitting on your nest egg. As long as the economy stays good, and the sewer issue doesn’t ruin anything, you should have an appreciating home. Its in safe hands, as obviously he’s qualified to care for the home and would do so as his primary or part-time residence. But silly minded woman who doesn’t think he’s going to want his dimes and time back should the day come. It doesn’t matter. His portion comes out of her portion, not yours.

so basically it seems painting and the shower is about as far as i can get in the daydream of the NoDa townhouse. “daddy always had a yard,” strikes me through to the heart.

it’s been hard lately to keep my head any where near “up”.

you of all people know how very little other people know of my life. where one knows one bit, another another, there isn’t anyone who knows how it all adds up.

but i don’t need them to know.

i’m just expressing something to you which is limited to your observation—i have a ‘give up’ but its not like others. its when i give myself over. its something of the moment when you realize you’ve been fighting as if this is your fight.

this isn’t my fight.

i’m letting go. my heart is a bit numb. but it’ll come to life again.

i don’t know what ‘life’ is but waiting for the resurrection. in general, i find it boring.

in general, i find my life suffocating.

i’m not allowed to speak the truth, nor write it freely.

i’m working on changing that. if melissa can publish an award winning paper about her stepmother being an apostate, why can’t her step-mother write about the hypocrisy of the religion which would label me an apostate? the consequences of the writing is the same—on either side, we stand only to be disfellowshipped. ironically, only one of those DF’ings would be based on biblical principles. but isn’t that what she’s inspired me to do? or what it’s egging me towards? why should she have her freedom, and i not claim mine?

life was hard last fall as you ignored me and my mother. i was stuck protecting you from her—i never would have spoken to her about permanent birth control, nor would i imagine that the thought would ever enter her mind. so i was left with the ludicrous mother who hammers me for my birth control choices. she cut off her relationship with me until i remove the copper iud. could we stop pretending it isn’t your fault?

irony. i get reinstated so i can have my family back, but instead get married and lose her to the stupid copper IUD.

it sucks to be stuck. i hate the racing feeling. like electricity just coursing through my body most of the time. i feel amped and wired the majority of the time. i can’t recall when i’ve felt like i last could “come down”. it’s a feeling of tingliness like anxiety. tightness across my chest. i hate the irritability the most. the erratic mood swings. it’s like suffering everything i’ve heard about PMS and being a woman all at once. except that it was stored up for me for now.

its a constant heart break. each day not praying about it because what is that but to pray your husband has mercy on you and decides to take action instead of procrastinating? so i don’t pray about it. i tried to pretend it doesn’t matter. i try to smile when the hair starts falling out, i try to not mention the way the strings look flopping in the wind where my hair should be.

i don’t talk about how it hurts to prevent the very child you now secretly want. i mean, if you don’t want me, and you’re so wrapped up in your kids you won’t realize you don’t have a marriage, then maybe i could have a baby? no? a cat? no?

when did you become the guy who got to say no?

paul said that he advised women—

An unmarried woman or virgin is concerned about the Lord’s affairs: Her aim is to be devoted to the Lord in both body and spirit. But a married woman is concerned about the affairs of this world–how she can please her husband.

i’m still very much concerned with the “Lord’s affairs”, but i can’t say i have much left for being concerned with pleasing my husband. my husband thinks so little of me, and he makes me think so little of myself, i think it’s best i concentrate my efforts elsewhere.

so you’re not going to see a beautiful wife any time soon, unless it’s God’s gift. i will continue to fail to see myself in the mirror, but to be far to critical of my self introspectively.

i give up. or rather, i gave up. sure it’ll take me a while to get into action, to repair and recover my routines and things that make me, me. but at least i made the choice.

i’m putting myself in god’s hands. i’m in no hurry.

the other day it became simple to me. i don’t have any worries. i don’t need much.

there’s no reason I shouldn’t be happy.

i’ll try to continue to show love to your mother as i have.

it was ronnie who asked heather who asked me why you and your son weren’t carrying for your mother.

i don’t generally think of things like that. i saw your mom and saw a widow. it didn’t occur to me to look around for someone else to take care of her, why should I?

perhaps you realize i have a good clue now about your first marriage. you can’t kill the habits and i learned a lot about what you hid from me about your temper from your kids.

i have no desire to repeat your first marriage, nor my own. i’d much prefer to just be friends than to bear fighting.

now, you’ve been pretty brutal about how you find me to be mentally broken in some manner, and boring. So i’ll be brutally honest. Your depression is the worst suffocating thing I have encountered. You’re boring. You are all talk and no action. You put nothing of substance in your head. You talk about Ultimate, but you don’t play. Hey, I know the gig. I used to talk about running and not run. I realized it was stupid. I had picked up the habit from others. What stupidity. There are people who talk, and there are people who do. Those who do steer clear of the others. They’re obstacles, speed bumps, things in the rear view mirror, if you remember to glance back.

Man, to think of all i’d have accomplished with the day dream you. look at how much we did when i just forced you into a road trip on a whim. on a whim. and look at what it did. (do you even feel anything about what you helped accomplish?)

we’re on thin ice, but there’s no breaking the ice.

you have a mother you’d like to fuck, and Roma you never did, and a Heidi who you look at the way I wish you’d look at me.

please consider stepping back. i don’t know if i need to start wearing clothes around more often so you stop acting like i’m here to be touched at every opportunity. did it ever occur to you to NOT cat call me every FUCKING TIME you see me? it’s like having my own sexual harassment squad built in while i’m trying to tell myself i’m more than Tn’A while my husband points out that I’m Tn’A and not much more. I mean honestly. I’m suffering so bad here and I can’t figure out how to make it stop.

then there’s the slave thing. get a life. stop making me breakfast. it would have been nice but we’re stuck in some sort of a weird relationship where i feel like i’m just stuck in a routine with you that we have to follow because it’s the best shot at passing time forward safely until there’s again a safe space.

so that’s why i’m on edge. there’s not a job in my future if i can help it. i want to truly heal. i want to believe things like that i am loved for my mind, and appreciated for what i contribute. i’d love to be valued specifically for my contributions, and to be able to have my contributions acknowledged so i can feel appreciated. that didn’t happen. i got a job, started paying the bills, and you stopped contributing. you basically moved from house keeper and cook to who knows what and driver.

eight hours plus a day i used to work, while you would make excuses about not having the ability to make time to read the bible through. I read the bible through again cover-to-cover without you.

you see, you can pretend all you want, but i can’t. i really can’t.

i spent a year trying it the Glass way. pretending and such, but i’m not capable. i have always been fond of the truth.

someone once told me that the truth will set you free.

truthful.

start with your budget for your bills. then let me know how much I need to contribute to our household.

you know some of my daydreams, and if you want to mock them as being boring, then i’ll remind you that i scaled back my dreams significantly. i used to dream of inspiring people. now i just want a colorful home to hide in for the winter. my dreams are reduced to stupid impossible to accomplish to do lists.

My recent dreams—

see the dishwasher removed from the back porch
see the microwave removed from the bathroom
see all the chemicals properly disposed of so i can have room
see how long it takes him to install the shower curtain
move the bathroom storage mess behind the shower curtain when Darryl finally installs it unless i decide to do it myself because i always did it myself before and who cares how bad my job doing it is, no one ever complained before, and at least i will actually do it—but i find it disrespectful to my husband so instead i stew and stew and stew and wonder if he knows how he just racks up points left and right for being useful for … hmmm… what are you useful for?
see i get off topic don’t i?

Lets just say I am now praying for a woman best friend. Someone who is the kind of woman I met in San Diego and adored. She’s like my momma when I was younger—momma went down and rented a table saw, and she and her friend put up crown moulding and trim through out her home. My mom of course was just being the enabler who made it happen. She’s the kind who has a beat up rusty old tiny truck which we can put a ladder in the back. She happens to actually have one I can borrow, so we can get started already—the $200 I needed for a ladder to reach my dreams now saved for colors. We laugh and joke the whole time painting—kind of like I used to do with my girlfriends in the past. Thinking of Julie now. It takes a couple of days. The bedroom was the first we tackled knowing it was sort of easy and hard at the same time. The ceiling never was touched, as I always knew it was more the kind of thing that rich people can make happen, but is just a touch too little impact for a tad too much effort for my type. She’s not as wild out of her mind as my death wish bestie Tobey. So I finally have someone to go do stuff with.

Alison is promising, but Alison has also just found the ‘right’ drug for her depression and social anxiety disorder, so while you think she’s another perfect blonde who isn’t a mother you’d like to fuck all the same, since we now know and will never forget that you’re that kind of guy, whether you ever have the stupidity to humiliate your wife in front of your son again we’ll never forget… she’s not.

What I really want now is stupid stuff. I want to be able to hire someone to do the painting for me and do it right with the right colors. So I can start living instead of hating the place I live.

It occurred to me when I see you day in and day out wear the same clothes, that I was the same. But your clothes take up the entire master bedroom closet and then come into my own. Then I also have your ex-wife’s photos in my closet. I have your daughter’s memories. I never really want to say anything— I’ve kind of thought you’d retort that, well, the whole house is my stuff.

I wonder if you know that I’m not in love with my “stuff”. You are obviously failing to look through my lenses when you say some stuff—like why you would look around the place and comment on my books? Seriously, of all my possessions, what do you think is least likely to be done away with? What is most of who I am? Am I not but books, and boxes of memories? I awaited three things to arrive, books, boxes of memories, and wine. I got the two out of three I needed.

So I’m not sure who you think I am, but besides being partial to my actual high end furniture (my Baronet bedroom set) I don’t care about replacing everything else. But you can’t start decorating by getting rid of my books.

Meanwhile, I think back to when you first mentioned it a few weeks ago, and wonder, what do you think now as compared to then? Do you realize that it’s good that I am the way that I am? That I don’t go decorating like your ex-wife?

I don’t know, I just got to the end of my ability to pretend.

To pretend that 8 hours a day isn’t 8 hours a day.

You started throwing it at me that I said you couldn’t work. You make such leaps. It’s not really about you working, it’s about you being interesting, productive, useful. Christian.

What did you do, day over day, for every hour I worked? What did I accomplish, and how do you feel about what you accomplished?

I mean seriously, the house work is cheap work. It’s cheaper for you to go get a job and pay a full time housekeeper the minimum wage.

Speaking of, at minimum wage, you or your daughter needs to work 21.55 hours a week just to have her car.

Your son is a business major about to graduate.

You stood before me yesterday telling me how you don’t have any idea how much money you’re going to make.

You told me you have an account, but that you don’t even know how much you owe in estimated tax. i realized that i was doing it again. playing stupid so you don’t feel stupid.

so yesterday i didn’t say, um, there are estimated taxes calculators, and dates when it is due, and methods for all of this.

in my mind i registered again a loss of respect. either you think i’m stupid enough not to know business, either you’re stupid enough not to know and to ignore that i do, or you are just going along with my playing stupid which is just stupid because i’m not stupid and i have very little patience for playing stupid. i usually just end up exclaiming “this is stupid”.

so i don’t know, you’re a bag of excuses, and not much to show.

we keep having this same conversation.

oh and it wasn’t cool. the way you brought up my getting a job in front of your girls. you said something about me getting a high paying job. then it escalated to california. your poor kids. what must they think?!

the good new is that i’m pretty sure melissa is getting a better idea of how there is no such thing as the way it used to be. she needs to be able to take care of herself, and expect that her husband will need others to help him pretend that he’s taking care of himself.

i’m sorry i was mean to you yesterday. i was stunned and i couldn’t get past you turning on me while i was stunned. man, if you’d just given me a moment to process, i would have gotten there. but you kicked into gear before i could…

so it’s simple, this was a long email to say i was silly. paying for everything has given you a strange daydream world where you’re daddy warbucks and gianna is princess gigi, and you’re buying expensive things and such.

whatever. when you wake up, give me a call.

meanwhile, just expect i’ll be doing myself to stay out of your way, and to work towards being truly and deeply interested in you again.

for now, please act more like it’s not a given that you can do or say anything to me as your possession.

and for fuck’s sake. keep your hands off me. perhaps you should try reading cues a bit better. or at least just don’t touch me unless it’s romantic. and grabbing me when i’m bent over to pull my hips into yours to ‘bang me’ doesn’t make me feel like anything but hatred.

if you can’t look me in my eyes and make me believe you love me, then don’t even fathom sleeping with me.

i deserve better.

one day i have to give in. one day i will have to find someone to start talking to.

i always thought i’d have a marriage which wouldn’t require that friendship to be outside the marriage.

but the days are worn thin.

i mean if i did talk to a neutral third party, wouldn’t they say this last year as opposed to your perspective of it, is crazy? not mine?

maybe i wouldn’t hate you so much. or maybe i’d just turn into every other woman i’d ever steered clear of who just complains about her husband.

yeah, i want a friend for one reason only—to complain about you. to have someone to talk to about this.

it’s pretty much as miserable as i can imagine being.

what will it take to swallow my pride—my right to privacy—to become vulnerable and stop bearing it all alone?

I don’t know. i never have.

maybe the only cost of this marriage is my misery, and your stupidity for thinking you could marry me and have me.

I’m so sorry. I really am so sad. I’m fighting back tears. I mean I didn’t know you were such a loser. I mean kicked while you’re down, down and out, loser. The kind of guy who puts others down so they can feel better about themselves. The embarrassing scene yesterday. You trying desperately to cooly drape your arm over your girl. You insulted the woman by your comment—“not you,” you corrected—“I meant her,” referring to me. I raised my eyes the barest bit to smirk at her. You spoke of shame yesterday as if I don’t know it. I know it. It’s shameful to be shamed by your husband who doesn’t even realize that she knew it was you, not I, who should be ashamed.

no one said life was easy, nor did anyone say the girl worth having was supposed to be easy.

but could you at least pretend to try?

before you existed I ate cheerios and had no shame. i spent countless nights poring over volumes of scripture eating steamed vegetables with feta for dinner. you turn your nose up at my simplicity, but i cared for myself. i don’t need you to act like somehow you’re doing me a favor taking care of me as if i can’t.

i don’t need you.

i just wanted you.

is there a you somewhere in there?

i wanted to do stuff with you. i really did. i really do.

i am trying to not cry. i can’t do anything about it now.

the wedding is over. i missed the day. octoberfest will soon fade, and annually i’ll probably recall the friends who saw mine, but i didn’t get to see theirs.

i’ll keep hoping that my life as i know it isn’t simply over, and now some sort of fight to maintain some sense of myself in this land of make believe where we pretend that you and i exist in any meaningful form after you’re done setting all the proper boundaries up — you know, space to spoil your children, or whatever.

i once thought you might marvel at the ability to invite your children into your home. but you don’t have a home.

yes, reality brought us to the fact that you live where i live because simply, we are married.

you seemed to be shocked that i could be so honest. and here i am baring more honesty hoping that unlike at revolution, you won’t just consider this an emotional outburst and brush it aside as some sort of a tantrum as you did that night.

or maybe you will.

but you know? i forgot. my life isn’t yours. there is no guarantee that you belong to me. you make no move to ensure it is so.

so i have a freedom i am determined not to lose.

and should i ever find myself unmarried again, you can bet i’m not giving it up for any man again. and no, sorry honey, that’s not a romantic gesture for you. it’s reality. i was wrong. i gave up christ as my head for you instead.

anyway, i don’t know what recovery looks like, but i started reading and remembering and realizing that i used to be blissful and unencumbered by others trivial problems. I used to live each day believing that each day has enough worries (if you could find them) for itself. i used to not worry about what i would eat, or drink, not because some guy thought it was his duty to ensure i didn’t fall off the deep end due to some caloric intake protocol which makes him feel in charge of the drama he’s trumped up to be important and in charge of… no, i used to live alone. happy, and spending my days happily in prayer in my mind. music blocking out the sounds of the evil world—”fuck bitch, I don’t care! fuck bitch, I told you I don’t care”—lyrics you claimed you didn’t hear… out of my space and time.

i put the head phones down to let you in. i heard a lot of “no’s”. I heard a lot of blame. I heard a lot of bad words I hadn’t heard in a long time. I heard a lot of mean observations.

i’m quite sad. but i never lose hope. it’s part of the me that you don’t know, probably never cared to actually read about.

so it’s up to you. i don’t claim to be some great thing. i’m not sarah, no daddy to call me his princess—my dad called me a selfish ungrateful brat, and it’s little wonder under his tutelage that I didn’t end up being your bitch, huh?

but i do know this. when you insult me, i can recall that 2 years ago you didn’t matter. your opinion was irrelevant.

and now where your opinion should matter, it doesn’t does it?

i mean, is it good to know that you think I’m a bitch?

the cruelest thing i think of all, is for a moment, i actually felt appreciated by you. you were the first person who ever actually knew enough of my life experience to know what it meant to be appreciated for my intelligence. usually my intelligence is used as something to punish me with. and this time was no different. your appreciation last mere moments it seemed.

since i’ve been married to you, i’ve gone from thinking that i could be one of the members of the bride of christ — one of the 144,000 — to realizing that I have an uncomfortable conversation to now have with my God.

What exactly does he want me to do with you? How does this burden become a joy?

for now, i’m going to do my best not to think longingly of men who are vulnerable and men who cry.

strange world i live in now. these vaguely disengaged day dreams.

can’t hope for a friend when her only purpose it to be female so i can have her as a friend and so that i can escape you.

i just hope you wake up my friend.

angela marié niblick-baxley glass ? human experience design

WATER retention rates — RE-legions

Come Out of Her My People

The “De-Churching” of America

The number of Americans claiming no religious affiliation has quadrupled since 1990. Yet what religion had the lowest retention rate of any? Perhaps shockingly the Atheist “retention rate” was the lowest among the 20 separate categories in the study.

Still, in 2005 only 17 percent of Americans attended a religious service Sunday morning.

According to a study by Georgetown University’s Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate (CARA), “those who grow up in an atheist household are least likely to maintain their beliefs about religion as adults.”

"those who grow up in an atheist household are least likely to maintain their beliefs about religion as adults."
Only about 30 percent of those who grow up atheist remain atheists as adults.
  1. There were 1,387 atheists (weighted) in the survey.
  2. 432 weighted respondents said they were raised atheist.
    • Of those, 131 self-identified as atheist.

“What these findings reflect is that in the U.S. atheists are for the most part ‘made’ as adults after being raised in another faith. It appears to be much more challenging to raise one’s child as an atheist and have them maintain this identity in their life,” Dr. Mark Gray wrote at CARA’s blog.

Gray also noted that, “of those raised as atheists, 30% are now affiliated with a Protestant de-nom-i-na-tion:

{ sounds like
o-bah-ma nation
or “digg na-tion
> iCare vs. O… }

  • 10% are Catholic,
  • 2% are Jewish,
  • 1% are Mormon, and
  • 1% are Pagan.”

Jehovah’s Witnesses have the next lowest retention rate at 37 percent.

>> Jehovah’s Witnesses
{ sponsored by
The Watchtower
Corporation }
have the lowest
retention rate

of any religious tradition.

{ Editor's note : the atheist religion does not self-identify as a religious tradition or institution, at least not until the advent of the Flying Spaghetti Monster } ...

Only 37% of all those who say they were raised as Jehovah’s Witnesses still identify themselves as Jehovah’s Witnesses.

The earliest Watchtower magazines feature artwork with imagery similar to the Darwin pin above. FSM = Flying Spaghetti Monster.
The earliest Watchtower magazines feature artwork with imagery similar to the Darwin pin above. FSM = Flying Spaghetti Monster.
The study used the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life's 2008 U.S. Religious Landscape Survey.

Thirty-eight percent of those who grew up with no particular religious faith or belief system remained that way.

{ /chill up parents spine here }
Please Note: Pew's original report did not include some of the retention rates. Pew provided CARA with the original data sets for the study.
Keep Calm, and Carry On. Roma was already my home.
Keep Calm, and Carry On. Roma was already my home.

Follow-up on Smelly Cat email

From: Darryl Glass 

Subject: Follow-up on Smelly Cat email

Date: November 25, 2014 at 9:24:18 AM PST

To: Angela Marie Glass 

Angela my dear,

You have become a disturbance to the community, and the ban from Smelly Cat is a result of your recent behavior. I am here to support you, provide for you, and protect you as far as possible. Continue reading Follow-up on Smelly Cat email

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