Book of D: Reconciling with the Real American Tragedy: the Lack of Mental Health Care

Sue Klebold spoke about the day she gave birth to her son Dylan. Sue said she was "overcome by a strong premonition. This child would bring me a terrible sorrow." Dylan would prove to be a good kid and a joy to be around until that fateful day on September 11, 1981. It would take some 17+ years for Sue's poignant feelings about Dylan, on his day of birth, to tragically come to fruition. Dylan Klebold along with Eric Harris murdered their classmates and teachers on April 20, 1999 at Columbine High School. Was the Columbine tragedy a gateway for all the many shootings that have plagued the United States since that mass shooting in 1999? Or have we as a society just overlooked the very thing that has been staring us in the face all along: preventive mental health planning. After all, isn't prevention better than treatment? One would certainly think so, so why aren't we approaching mental health care maintenance in this manner? Yes, it's good to talk about risk factors and warning signs, but we owe it to previous and future generations to do better and instead focus on educating our children early on regarding good mental health practices. Our society has become so consumed at being reactive that it seems too banal to actually try to first be proactive. Yes, the "sleeping giant" is once again caught napping like the foolish "Gulliver" character it tends to emulate all too often. Wake the fuck up, America! As we keep focus on physical fitness, let's incorporate mental fitness via a mindfulness program that helps our children early on in their lives. Perhaps starting at the kindergarten level. If we don't do this, who the hell will.

Book of D: Houston, We Have a Problem

 Well, the time to be in H-Town has arrived. Our Ŧexas Ŧech Red Raiders earned a Bowl birth, so off we went earlier today for the 2022 Tax Act Texas Bowl. It will take place tomorrow (Weds) night, 12/28 at 8 pm versus Ole Miss. It is so oddly strange being in Houston. I was unable to explain it to my spouse, but something just felt off about being in this town. It felt both familiar and unknown, simultaneously. Like I was invading someone's space. Ughhh! Anyway, I am so excited that our Red Raiders won enough games (6) to get a Bowl invite. I was hoping we would get the Alamo Bowl, but that went to the nemesis team to the south. We will be meeting several friends to tailgate first. Our first night in Houston was spent with just my spouse and I going to dinner - nothing fancy as neither of us were really hungry. We drove around the Houston Texans NRG Stadium after we ate. We have been to Minute Maid Park several times; twice to a concert, one being the Madonna concert. But, this venture to NRG Stadium will be our first. Even that fact lends to my anxiety. I'll be honest, it feels weird knowing that my ex lives in the area of Houston. I miss her. I wish our friendship had outlived our relationship, but for whatever reasons, it did not sustain the ups and downs of life. I wish I knew why my ex decided to cut me out of her life. Not that I would try to bullshit myself out of anything negative that I may have done; not like I probably would have done in the past. I just want to know why I cut off like that after we last spoke following my own mother's death. When my ex's respective parents died, her dad in 2021 and her mom in 2022, I was unable to pay my respects properly. It is what it is. I wish I did not battle with anxiety and depression (with a hint of melancholia and a chance of meatballs, lol) because that only adds to me missing people in such a manner that it effects my mental health. I miss people way more than they seem to miss me. I guess I'm just stupid that way. I guess my inability to let go of things is my Achilles heel. All I know is that I am literally just a few miles from my ex, and as much as I would love to talk to her in person (phone would work just as well), I know she would more than likely not respond well, and I do not want to upset her. I wish good things for her. The last thing I want to do is to upset her - especially after the fact that she lost her parents, during back-to-back years. I am certain she is in a lot of pain because of that. So, I will eat my feelings. 

My cell 432-235-3841 . . . I'm leaving options open in case she's reading this.

Book of D: Not Even Santa Can Bypass TSA Security

Okay, so the other day santa was chilling at the front gates of the airport. He looked kind of shady, in my opinion. He looked like he wanted to smoke, but knowing he could not, he just looked perturbed. He was in the airport express ticket line but didn't have the proper ticket. He was getting upset, but he didn't yell at anyone. He kept right on like he knew what he was doing - even though those of us who had been keeping our eyes on him knew better. I'm not sure if maybe he was drunk or high or anything sinister like that, but he did look rather unusual. Even as the other customers got past the ticket area and made their way to the TSA area, they kept watch over this guy. For one, why was he even allowed to don the santa suit. It was funny but not funny. This santa thought he was going to be able to bypass the TSA security check-in procedures. He was made to take off his hat, wig, and beard - and he was getting livid. He really lost it when security asked him to remove his boots. And, oh, man . . . talk about causing a scene. He was a black person, so he used the race card to justify his claim of discrimination and loudly said, "if I had been a White santa, no one would have questioned me, but because my skin is dark, I am getting hounded. If my skin was white, I would've walked right on through." The TSA rep said, "no, sir. This has absolutely nothing to do with the color of your skin or your race." The man in the santa suit yelled at the rep and asked her why then were they holding him back, he was late to his gate. The TSA rep said, "once again, sir, we're not discriminating against you because of your color but you must know that are we not authorized to allow santa or any of his elves or reindeer to pass through the security area, regardless of color, or how many legs they have without first getting scanned and checked out thoroughly." Everyone burst out in laughter. I know I did. That response by the TSA rep was awesome! The guy in the santa suit calmed down and removed all the articles he had been asked to remove. He collected his personal belongings and proceeded to leave the TSA area, but he added, "man, santa can't even catch a fucking break these days. Only in America!"The TSA rep responded with, "Yeah, only in America does santa think he is special, too!" OMG. That was hilarious. I still don't understand how this guy was allowed to wear the outfit in the airport. Honestly, I was looking out for a boxcutter. No, not because the guy was black, but because he was being irrational. There's a time and a place to use the race card, but this was clearly not the time to use it. Santa is still expected to follow all the same rules and regulations as the rest of us humans. LOL. I'm just glad everything turned out okay, but I was especially glad that this santa was not booked on the same flight as we were.You can't make this stuff up, folks. I witnessed this first-hand. It was a daunting scene that played out that day, but what a story to share with my family at Christmas.

Book of D: I Believe in Santa Claus and Coach Mike Leach

I never met either one, but for reasons respective of each one, I believe in them. For the little kid that is supposed to live within each of us especially during the holiday advent or season, I still believe in old St. Nick. The meaning behind Santa is one of spreading holiday cheer after all, and I definitely partake in that. I believe in all the positive and loving things that "Father Christmas" represents. I also believe in the legend that is Mike Leach. He died much too soon last night following a massive heart attack from which he never recovered. I was sad to hear of his sudden illness and rush to the hospital. I thought about his wife and children right away - just as I do whenever someone I knew passes away. I immediately think of the loved ones. I was especially torn when I heard Coach Leach was being taken off life support and taken for hospice care. My heart knows all-too-well what that damn hospice care really means. I still remember my late Mom's eyes when hospice care was brought up following her blighted prognosis and how stupidly I sounded when I tried convincing her that hospice care did not mean what she thought. Boy, Mama must have thought I was ridiculous the minute those fucking words left my mouth. I was gut-busted when the news of Coach Leach's death was finally announced to the public this morning. You see, as I already said, I did not know the man; however, I still liked him and admired him and his [maniacal] coaching ways - mostly during his 9+ years as the head football coach of Ŧexas Ŧech U. He was called many things due to his aberrant playcalls, but after his death, the sport's pundits finally admitted that coach Leach was a football legend. Leach did for college football and our Ŧexas Ŧech football program what many before him had failed to do: he made college ball and Ŧech so freaking exciting to watch. He brought us a very different approach to the spread offense, and he literally designed "air raid!" I scarcely doubted our Red Raiders would lose under the mad coaching skills of Leach. Even if Ŧech lost, there was a reason for it, but I seldom blamed coach Leach. Leach always took the blame, and he often took others "down" with him with some choice (but funny) words for his players and coaching staff. His remarks always made me laugh and helped me to better brush off a Ŧech loss. I knew he would have the team ready for the next game following a loss. Coach Leach never pussyfooted around the media either; he called shit for the shit it was. He used humor like the straightman in a comedy duo would, and it would make one wonder, "did he really just say that?" and "Did he mean to say that?" Anyway, I will miss Coach Leach. I will always be saddened that the Ŧexas Ŧech admin fired him in '09. My spouse and I protested and marched back then to demand that the admin hire him back and to explain why they believed some whiny player and his arrogant father (who was an ESPN commentator at the time). Whatever the reason, Coach found a new home as HC at Washington State U (WSU Cougers). Eventually, he would grow his talents as a head coach and found yet another home at Mississippi State, where he was coaching when he passed. I always followed coach's career and would make sure to watch him coach his teams on tv as long as it did not interfere with my Ŧexas Ŧech football games. I am sure going to miss watching him coach Miss St. this year. He led them to a college bowl, and I was excited to watch him coach his Bulldogs. BTW, the Miss St. Bulldogs will face off against the Illinois Fighting Illini in the ReliaQuest Bowl on January 2, 2023 in Tampa Bay. This video was made for Coach Leach by our Raiderland family. I added the captions. Rest well, Coach (Captain Our Captain).

Book of D: The Menacing Dream: What Would You Do

What would you do? If you were having a menacing dream for three days straight, and you were at your wits end, what would you do? The trepid dream has actually been a lingering one for me for many years; it comes and it goes, and what it means, nobody knows. I know, I know that rhymed. I wasn't trying to go all Dr. Suess on you all. These dreams are just plain ole freaking me out. 

I guess that in the scheme of things, trying to figure out what it means to be dreaming these dreams is kind of pointless. After all, trying to make sense or even contemplating a fix would only lead to a rabbit hole. A dark rupture in all things sensical. I can see it work out, first you would seek to be the hero or the protagonist, but you would fail because in real life, no one ever really wins - not even the good guys or the heroes. In the real world, the question of 'what would you do' hardly ever bends to provide a clear answer. Seldom does life help turn a negative situation into a positive one. We're all humans after all, and we are bound to screw up something whilst trying to fix it. It wouldn't be broken in the first place if we humans only did better. Sometimes broken things, much like broken people, are best left alone.

Not everything needs to be perfect nor do we need to seek out a dystopian world because it really just doesn't exist. Humans were meant to screw things up. But, the question is: were we meant to try to fix everything we break?!! If we break a plate, do we fix it? There are many underlying issues that we must ponder before we decide if said plate is even worth fixing. For one, is it worth it, both monetarily and psychologically. Is the plate too expensive to replace . . . does the plate create innate satisfaction? These are just a couple of questions we could pose to ourselves that would make fixing the plate worth it or not. Okay, so omit the plate scenario and plug in a relationship. What if a relationship is broken. How does a person figure out if said relationship should be fixed or not. After all, there really is no monetary amount affixed to one's heart; actually, there shouldn't be monetary value when it pertains to matters of the heart. So, we move on to ask ourselves if the relationship holds psychological value? I'm sure the answer is probably going to be yes, so there must be other factors to input at this point because deeming a relationship as important is not enough for a person to want to fix it. Is trying to fix the relationship going to 'open Pandora's Box,' per se, or will the end result become a copacetic fix. Ugh, just trying to answer some of these questions is gnawing at my gut. I need to take a break from all of this pondering and wondering and just chill.

Ŧexas Ŧech Double Ŧs for Ŧexting

Ŧexas Ŧech University

Book of D: Let's Go to the Movies

The Menu (2022): It's a movie I have been wanting to see ever since the first promo trailer premiered. It stars Ralph Fiennes, who is one of my favorite British actors. Fiennes plays a world-class acclaimed chef who prepares a lavish tasting menu, along with some shocking surprises ala unexpected ingredients. TBC. Our UTPB's annual Celebration on the Quad awaits. I have volunteered to help set up the event, which starts at 6 PM. BRB!

Book of D: The Feels

Ughhh. Why do I allow myself to feel this way. I wish there was a magic pill that could make the feels go away. All these days of anticipation for answers about my workspace appear to be leading up to nothing. Nothing has changed. El jefe is still being evasive and nonconforming. Hell, he can't actually succumb to being a nonconformist if he hasn't even been around to hear my pleas and ideas. Hell, I'm not asking for much. I just want what my peers are getting: a nice office with carpet, ceiling tiles, new desk (sit-to-stand) and matching shelves and hutch. The shithole that has been proposed - last week, mind you - is pathetic. My colleague spoke to me about it earlier this morning. As usual, he and I were the first ones to work in the area where our offices are located. The other two cohorts had not yet arrived and neither had our student workers.

My colleague said he heard from the grapevine that I was being assigned an office sans carpet and tile. I said, "yeup" and proceeded to show him the pictures I had taken last week. The area I will be taking on as my "office" used to belong to the literature department; they used it as a library. The reason there is no carpet or ceiling tile is because they wanted as much space possible, vertically as as well as horizontally, that would allow the tallest shelves, and as many of them that would fit the circumference of the room, thus providing more space for books and such. It was a tight-fit according to the communications specialist who is helping me with the move by providing me with a phone line and access for my computer and laptop docking station. To revamp one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite romcom movies, "I'm also just a girl standing in front of 'her boss' asking him to 'get her a decent office.'" It's seems so elementary to solve the feeling of crappiness - or feeling crappy - but I assure you that it is not that simple. If it was easy, most therapists would be out of a job and the person who figured out the magic pill or potion would be more rich that Bill Gates, Elon Musk, and Warren Buffet combined.

Book of D: Crimes of Racist America

Till: Till is a 2022 biographical film about Mamie Till Mobley whose 14-year-old son Emmett Till was lynched in 1955. Till became an activist and fought for justice following her son's unmerited and abominable death. The movie is really good, and most of the time, it is jarringly painful and infuriating – as it well should be. Lest we forget.

The murder of Emmett Till continues to haunt the American imagination and tarnish the decadent southern reputation. Although Emmett was from Chicago, his visit to the Delta in August 1955 to visit relatives, will forever be nomenclature regarding the racist South. The younger Till was castigated for communicating with Carolyn Bryant in the store owned by Carolyn’s husband, Roy, in Money, Mississippi, where Emmett had entered to buy bubble gum. Apparently Till whistled at or spoke to Carolyn; no one knows for certain, but it was enough to infuriate Roy Bryant and his half-brother J. C. Milam to ruthlessly murder Emmett. It took three days to recover Emmett's body from the Tallahatchie River, where Bryant and Milam disposed of Till's body, by tying a seventy-five-pound cotton gin fan tied around his neck to weigh it down – after they had already cracked open Emmett's skull and gouged his eye out. Mamie insisted on an open-casket funeral so that everyone could see what had been done to her Emmett. Jet magazine and other media sources published pictures of his mangled body, which horrified the world. Adding to the infamy of their crime, Till’s murderers were acquitted by an all-white, all-male jury in Sumner, Mississippi, on September 23, 1955, and a few months later sold the story of how they abducted, tortured, and killed Till to William Bradford Huie for a Look magazine interview. Although justice was never served in the case, Till’s brutal death and the subsequent sham trial were a catalyst for the Civil Rights Movement. 

I dare anyone to Google "Emmett Till death photos" and not become indignant over the injustice nor to be able to refrain from despondency or commiseration over the severity of his savage injuries.