Right Now I Am Out of Evens.

…And fucks. I have 0 fucks.

Preface: I started writing this article in late August, and as I have revisited my feelings, I realized I have a lot to say, so I have decided to release this piece into either 2-3 segments, depending on how many more feelings I have. Why? Cause it’s my blog and I can bitches!!

Now enjoy!


I’ve had a deep-festering anger growing since September 11th, 2001. It was the day the life I knew up until that point, was over. My childhood innocence, what little was left, was robbed from me as a I watched two planes slam into The World Trade Center, one at a time, over and over again, on the news.

I was twelve years old on the day my world ended..

And I’m aware this seems over dramatic, but in my twelve year old mind, my world was over.

And in a way, it truly was, because the world that WE knew as a society was over. Bad stuff like that didn’t happen in America; it happened over there. The illusive over there.

I started to witness Islamophobia in a boy from Afghanistan, who was relentlessly bullied. And in evening programming like NCIS, which I see clearly in adulthood, was covert propaganda. These shows demonized brown people, especially men, as terrorists, and gave praise to torture and detainment in facilities like Guantanamo Bay. I say “facilities like” very purposefully, because there are illegal US detainment centers all over the world.

Real men were tortured through expected methods like waterboarding, but also cruel tactics like stripping them naked in a room full of other men, forcing them to stand exposed and vulnerable for everyone to see. Not only is that humiliating and dehumanizing, but in Islam, modesty is a key part of their beliefs. They are both psychologically and spiritually tortured. But (one of the most) horrifying of all was Rectal Rehydration. This is involves having pureed food being fed to detainees through a tube in their anus. Their anus!! That’s some shit only Stephen King should be able to think of. Sources are listed below.

This morning I read an article from Al-Jazeera stating the men suspected of being involved with the plotting of September 11. These men have been held in detainment for 20 years without having faced trial, which is a gross violation of human rights.

But we’ll get there. First, we’ll start from the beginning.

The day began like everyone else felt: a normal, nice day, that slowly unraveled into chaos. I was at school in orchestra class when the chaos began, and I have so many vivid memories of the day that feel unreal now.

I can remember the moment I stepped into the dining room of my kitchen, which was connected to the living room. I stopped to see the TV playing, in the corner of my eye, the footage on (probably) CNN. I watched the tragedy, and time stopped; everything else for the rest of the day is a blur; America and the world sat in silent horror as we all collectively understood what was happening.

I was only in front of the TV for a moment, but that moment was eternity. My soul snapped that day, and at that moment, at twelve years old, my soul ignited in a blue blaze. I didn’t know it then, but it was at that very moment I knew I was born to fight.

I am a fighter. I’ve been a feisty bitch my whole life. You can ask my momma.

I wasn’t born to sit and watch the world around me; I was born to fight for what was right. I didn’t (and still don’t always) know what right was, but I sure as fuck knew what it wasn’t.

When the detested Star Wars: Episode 1-3 came out, I was entranced by Queen Amidala. Mind you, I’m aware she’s a movie character, but I saw so much of myself in Amidala: she was smart, assertive, kind, but commanded authority. She saw corruption when others didn’t, and the moment I heard her utter, “So this is how liberty dies; with thunderous applause,” my world was again changed.

To this day, Episodes 1-3 of the Star Wars franchise have a special place in my heart, even if there was zero chemistry between Christian Haydensen and Natalie Portman, and the CGI was just terrible. Oh. And Jar Jar. Terrible.

These are the words I had been searching for since I watched the planes tear into the tower, literally causing an avalanche of paper, dust, soot, and whatever else, and when The Bush Administration declared war on Iraq.

And now, twenty years later, we have come full circle with Afghanistan. We have left the country in a complete state of darkness, with no line of defense, and no hope. We have fulfilled the prophecies of the Al Quaeda. The US government was only interested in the resources of the Middle East, which is surprisingly not just oil.

The US set up occupation in Afghanistan in the early 2000’s, and after 20 years, with zero aftercare planned, we pulled out (lolol) completely as The Taliban retook the government and immediately began implementing sexist legislation. As of 2 days ago, men are no longer able to teach co-ed classes, so once again, the education for Afghani women will be revoked, and they will be forced to live in fear, without education. For those who aren’t familiar, taking away the education of the people is an easy way for dictators to keep their subjects under a tight thumb.

EDUCATION = POWER

Part Two Coming Soon.

Setting Intentions for the Week

Thank you in advance for your time; time is our most precious asset, so thank you for investing your asset into my work.

My husband shared with me that I tend to bull doze over his needs. And Damn that hit hard. I don’t want to be that type of partner.

Thank you, Goddess, for giving Patrick the courage to share his feelings with me. I am profoundly grateful for his courage to setting the framework for boundaries. I’m so, so proud of him. I’m infinitely grateful to be one half of our whole.

Thank you in advance for keeping Patrick’s needs a fore thought until it becomes second-nature. Thank you in advance for forgiving myself for bull dozing Patrick’s needs; my needs were bull dozed as a child. It’s the only thing I’ve known my whole life. I’m doing my best.

Thank you in advance for a change in my career by entering the law field. Thank you in advance for the opportunity with B’s divorce law office. Thank you in advance for my sponge mind to soak up all of the information for experience. Thank you in advance for the practical knowledge of law, going into law school.

Thank you in advance for the double money during 21 DOB. I am grateful that K contacted me for that time frame, and that she’s willing to work around my schedule at the law firm.

Thank you in advance for allowing that extra income to fund my Maritime Tour. Thank you in advance for a Very Newfie Christmas in Nova Scotia, with Linda, Eric, Dave, Sandra, Scott, and Mayvis and Jade.

Thank you in advance for our safety during Cvd Delta. We are scared of being infected by this mutated virus, and are grateful for our health.

Thank you in advance for art and creativity, for laughter, and for love. Thank you in advance for safety, financial security, and creating a successful side hustle.

I’m grateful for self-awareness, and my growing self-confidence. Thank you in advance for setting the example of confidence and tenacity, for Patrick to learn by my lead.

Thank you in advance for a manageable menstruation, and for continuous efficacy of barrier BC. We have decided to remain childless, and thank you in advance for no pregnancy.

Thank you in advance for a marvelous week, full of knowledge, newness, and creativity. Thank you for my health; I’m profoundly grateful for all of your gifts, Goddess.

Blessed Be.

The Woman I Used to Be: A Tragedy

What if the worst were to happen?

Would I be forced to feed its parasitic seed?

At the end, when its seed is extracted,

It will have drained my soul, trust, hope, and joy.

Once the seed is planted,

You see,

My humanity has been ripped from me.

Or her.

Or him.

Or they.

I’ll be nothing but a wilted flower;

Dried from the inside out.

The decaying, fallen petals are my tears of melancholy;

What little of me is left will be a husk,

Of the woman I used to be.

Sometimes…

Sometimes I hate how stupid and shallow others are and how much they look and act like me… ☼ Sometimes I think I second-guess myself too much; but, …

Sometimes…

“Sometimes I wish I were transparent because I get tired of having to move when people want to see something behind me.”

So powerful, and so human. Highly recommend the read!

I’m So Grateful!!

After only a couple of weeks since the launch, and 50 views 🥰❤️‍🔥 Doesn’t seem like a lot on the surface, but side hustles start slow.

Haven’t seen my website yet? Check out Autumnal Beauty! I specialize in beauty education! Check out my portfolio! Stay awhile 🥰

Coming Soon: Cheat Sheets, Tutorials, Beauty 101 lessons, and brutally authentic product reviews.

Stay tuned 🥰🌈😘❤️‍🔥🦄💋

And I’d be even more grateful than all the gratefulness if you’d subscribe to my blog, and if you’re feeling frisky, Autumnal Beauty too! I post cool stuff, about people, places, and things!

Join the dark side. We have cats. And cake 😘

Reflecting For The Week

TW: Brief mention of r***, incest, and abortions.

Today was both a good, and a bad day. I started off with tender breasts, PMS, and a fuzzy brain.

I was supposed to go to a lunch of a family friend, but epilepsy said, “Nah.” Luckily my amazing husband went to the store upon my request and picked up my Diet Coke, Twix, and Starbursts. Then he gave them to me and hid in his man cave. Wise man.

Later, Patrick and moved shit around in the apartment, to both change the energy flow, and to organize and store shit. We got a lot of work done today, and I can feel it. I finally smudged the apartment, after “thinking about it” for weeks. I feel so light, like a plastic bag, floating in the wind.

Lately, though, I’ve been really emotional, but not because of hormones. In Texas, they are trying to ban abortions after 6 weeks, regardless of r*** or incest, and make it possible for ANY ONE to sue someone they suspect who’s received an abortion, or someone they suspect performs abortions. The person doesn’t even have to be guilty of the “crime” to be sued, just suspected. The State of Missouri is now trying to ban IUD’s, because they’re considered aiding in abortion.

I feel so violated and angry. I have never been pregnant, and actively avoid pregnancy, as it often leads to children. But what if my birth control fails? What if the worst possible outcome occurred, but I’m forced to grow that person’s seed?

These situations occur EVERY DAY. A woman from my past became pregnant when the manufacturer of her birth control filled the whole month of her cycle with placebos, instead of the hormonal BC. I’m sure she was one of thousands who unknowingly became pregnant.

The woman showed no symptoms of being pregnant, and all the while she was receiving heavy treatment for Covid-19 symptoms. She was 18 weeks along when she found out; the fetus was severely underdeveloped, and had the pregnancy gone to term, the child would have come out with horrifying side effects of this treatment. This doesn’t begin to unpack the trauma, excruciating pain, and worsened sickness for this woman.

Women don’t have abortions to fill out a punch card; it is a last resort when everything else has failed.

This has been weighing on my mind as heavy as 25 cats. For the first time in my life, I am terrified for my future. I live in America – the land of the free, and home of the brave. This isn’t supposed to be happening in America; these things happen “over there”. Where is my freedom? Where is the freedom for other women?

My real fear is, what’s next after abortions and IUD’s? Will hormonal birth control be next? And then, will we be too busy being barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen to have a job or be educated?

It’s not “just” banning abortions; it’s a slippery slope back to the 1950’s.

Pro-Choice ≠ Pro-Abortion

But. I’m at the point in my life where I know if I don’t speak up, and evangelize for us as women, that I’m apart of the problem, and I am done being apart of the silent majority.

I was not born to be normal; I was born and raised not run away from a fight, rather, grab my sword and beat it until it cries for its momma. I was born to lead, and I was raised to get shit done.

So that is exactly what I’m going to do.

My metaphorical pen will be my sword. I will share stories of women I’ve crossed paths with throughout my ridiculously traumatic and unstable life.

I hope you will join me by speaking your truth, or just sharing this piece; help start a larger conversation.

Let’s start a revolution. #SaveTheUterus

This Shit Is Hard (I, like, can’t EVEN)

So I have been actively avoiding my blog, and more importantly, writing lately.

I am not a person who can just put forth garbage just to have content. I take great pride in my work, and believe in living with integrity, even when it feels like I’m climbing Mount Kilimanjaro (cause everyone climbs fucking Everest). I am uncomfortable posting fluffy shit like all of the “Blog Babes” suggest; I give exactly 0 fucks about writing “10 Best Fashion Tips, and #7 is unbelievable!”

I’m a loudmouth, opinionated bitch. My life, up until this point, has not been fun and fuzzy. I grew up witnessing domestic abuse, and then I walked into an abusive relationship. I have epilepsy, and generalized anxiety disorder, and I’m recovering from a life-long eating disorder, and emotionally numbing in any way possible. At the age of 12, I called a teen hotline and told the person on the phone that I thought I had depression.

I had no bodily autonomy for most of my life; my body was the property of everyone else, and I had to keep it clean and pure for them.

During my first appointment with a psychiatrist, after I told her my whole story, she paused, took a breath, and stated, “It’s impressive that you’ve been suffering alone this whole time, and not in a good way.”

Translation: I am fucked up.

So. Hi again. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I know, this started on a really depressing note, but it’s my blog and I can be a party pooper if I want. So there! 😤

But I digress.

Because I refuse to put out fluffy shit, I hardly post. Pulling that shit from within and putting the shit on paper is hard as fuck.

Looking back at that trauma is extremely difficult, not only emotionally, but the more I remember from my early teens, the more I piece together more experiences with my illness. I, too, have to open the door to the loneliness and despair that I felt then.

I look back at that little girl and it hurts to put myself back behind those melancholy eyes, and experience that trauma all over again. It’s devastating, and so unfair that this little girl, at the age of 12, knew she had depression, and yet, the adults in her life failed her.

But, I have to unpack it. If I keep shoving it into the back of the closet, with the memories of my platform Spice Girl’s shoes covered in puke (I’m still waiting for those to make a comeback), I’ll never get better, and I’ll never completely understand myself.

I’m too self-aware and anxious to let that shit fester. I need to dig it out, explore it, and de-clutter it. Like Marie Kondo says, if it doesn’t bring you joy, thank the items for their work, and let it go.

So, Imma start letting that shit go.

But I warn you: this could be some Taylor Swift type shit going forward, but if I can also make millions using old diaries and hard feelings, then let the “Swifting” begin.

PS. I cuss A LOT. Like a lot, a lot. But it’s a scientific fact that people who swear a lot have a higher pain tolerance, so who’s laughing now, mom?!