Week 3 Post Dad's Death

 

                  And here we are, three weeks past his passing, to the day.

                Still no death certificate in our hands.

                Cremated remains were delivered to my house yesterday. So instead of going to the rally to fight against defunding my vocation, I stayed home and binged The Residence and slept and caught up on emails from work and waited.

                OPM still has not had a human answer the phone so we can tell them to stop depositing dad's postal retirement.  They're so overwhelmed, there is a simple message (I am taking liberties with subtext here)  that clicks when you call: "We're overwhelmed, nobody works here any more, God Help Us, you're on your own". They handle postal retirements and all civil servant jobs. Meaning as feds, they've been eviscerated and it's possible there's one guy left working there. I imagine an 80 year old Jimmy Stewart, stuttering through his poem about his dog as the one 1940's western electric rotary phone rings relentlessly.

                I was able to contact the VA, surprisingly, the first Monday after dad died. As the woman with the thick New Jersey accent walked me through the standard questions, saying she'd send a link for the death certificate I heard her keyboard clicking and she stopped "Oh, I see we've already received notification of his death. You need not upload the death certificate". Which is great news, as that was 3 March and it is now 21 March and we still don't have the death certificate. But weirdly the VA does.

              We assume the OPM will receive notification of his death at some point. 

              Circling back, without a death certificate we are at a full stop with the following:

                        * selling his trailer

                        * transferring the title of his car.

                        *finishing his life insurance claim to release funds

                        *finishing his investment claim to release funds

                        * change his mailing address

             We are assuming the one guy still working at social security--who may or not be Jimmy Stewart who is also at the OPM, maybe it's Katherine Hepburn----will find out about dad's death the same way the VA did. I've tried to call for days, and at SS I'm put on hold with music forever, instead of a recorded "Good Luck" message like OPM. 

              Digging out his trailer has been taken on by my sister, god love her. I can't spent too much time inside, it triggers my asthma, which has been exacerbated by three serious bouts of Covid. So.I have spent little time, I just dug out big stuff and called a Junk Guy. I'm usually the kid doing the heavy lifting, I hate making phone calls, but the tasks had to be split. So I did phone calls. 

              Also, I'm chronicling this because nobody tells you about this stuff. They tell you to have your documents sorted and filed and easy to find for your family. Cool. But What If your loved one was tied up with the government agencies that are now being shut down? What if they had a DNR but didn't know to put it on their fridge? What if they didn't have car insurance because they were a hooligan?

            We assumed once the coroner signed the death certificate and filed it, it'd be sent to us immediately, and EVERYBODY would know: the bank, the VA, Social Security, Insurance, the Post Office. There is so much spying and so many algorithms working overtime to determine our likes and political ideals and shopping habits and weakest spots undermining our autonomy, I assumed the government would have known dad died before we did. If you want to control pensions and social security, shouldn't you have a quickie system that picks up coroner reports daily so you can cut off funding?

            OH, RIGHT, Fusk is a private unelected citizen, wreaking havoc on our systems. Right. Yet, if he's so worried about 150 year olds receiving social security, shouldn't he have someone answering the phone to report a death so he can cease paying that individual social security? Wouldn't that be more effective than unilaterally stopping payments to every person receiving social security?

            But I digress.

            But do I?

            We are relying on the underfunded post office to deliver death certificates so we can change his address at the post office.

            Reminding everyone that my father was a retired mail carrier. So this is double the fun.

            All of this is business stuff. My other sister in Wyoming set up a celebration of life at his VFW post in Sheridan, Co. Those people are on top of it. They knew him, they liked him, they will provide food and space and drinks.  THAT has been easy. THEY answer the phone. THEY are a well functioning entity.

            The real estate agent who sells trailers in a trailer part that rents the lots was another rabbit hole I went down. It's a motor vehicle. You go to the DMV to change the title or sell the trailer. The new owner is responsible for renting the lot from the property management company---who, I forgot to mention, also does not answer their phone or staff their office on site. None of this requires a realtor unless you want to hire them to sell the trailer. Which we do not, as his neighbor wishes to buy it. But she wanted $3,000 to manage "the transaction". When I asked what that meant--specifically, if I'm going to the DMV and I'm talking to the neighbor, what is she doing for $3k?---she referred me to her Facebook page where she has successfully sold several hundred trailers.    

            Which did not answer my direct question, but answered my question. You get me. As much as I'd love to not have to deal with any of this and as much stress and number of conversations have had to happen to untangle how to sell the trailer to his neighbor, she was not going to do any of that for us for $3k.  I'm still not sure what it was she was going to do for $4k. She never answered beyond "the transaction".

            In addition, if she listed the trailer, she was going to ask the " market value" without walking through it. When she said "I sold a trailer with a hole in the floor for $35k" I stopped listening. This is not a person with a moral compass, as kind as her long winded "Take care of yourself, self care matters" voice message was. As much as her "Hopefully this will work out better than you imagine" text was intended to make me feel at ease, as much as her experience speaks for someone who has found a niche, as much as I wanted to like her...because she's the one who told me we had to go to the DMV. She gave me the maps to the hoops. That was nice. I liked her when I hung up the phone.

           Then I started thinking...and that's never a good day.

            So I called a friend who is a realtor to solidify that we do not need a realtor to sell dad's trailer. Because it is not real estate. He owns the trailer but rents the lot.

            Next week, after I return from a short vacay, I have to take the car registration to the DMV...IF I have a death certificate. Sigh. 

            I have no idea what happens if the loved one who you are digging out has property, a complicated will, a trust, or none of these. What we thought was simply digging out, sorting and making phone calls for a week has become three weeks of untangling the above because the traumatized children who are being asked "How much do you want for the trailer?" are unable to rationally math the math. 

            My sister just texted. The death certificates will be mailed out to us on Monday 24 March.

                                                SCENE

USPS

 

            My father was a retired USPS worker. He worked 30 years.  His route was Englewood, both residential and business.  He was bitten twice that I know of by dogs, not people. He was friendly, everyone liked him--even most dogs. A men's suit shop gave him a suit one holiday. He mentored new postal employees, showing them the ropes as well as how to get around the bureaucracy. When he retired, he was disgusted by how new mail carriers seemed lackadaisical, and how the system was clearly failing. Nobody was getting mail on time. I had to tell him to stop sending cash because nobody was honest any more, dad, you can't put cash in a card in the mail.   

            My father passed on 28 Feb, 2025. Since 1 March (it is now 19 March) I have called the OPM daily trying to tell them to stop his retirement payments. They are so overwhelmed they neither answer the phone or allow voicemail. There is a recording that essentially states "We're overwhelmed. Good Luck". I thought maybe, as a government agency, they would have been notified of his death. But they deposited his retirement on 5 March. Guess I was wrong. I understand they don't just work post office retirement, but also VA. God Speed, friends, I'll stop calling.

            His death certificate has been mailed "To the state and to you", meaning they mailed copies to my mom's address. That's the "You". I have no idea who "The State" is. Still waiting. USPS.

            His cremated remains are being mailed USPS Special delivery tonight, with a tracker stating they will arrive at my house either tomorrow or Friday. I'm going out of town Saturday, I hope they arrive before then.

            That's all. My dad worked for the USPS, retired from USPS and his final deliveries will be made by USPS.

                                                    SCENE

Demonstration 20 March

 

        Gathering, protest, assembly, rally...whatever.

        Polis has proposed a $14 billion cut for public schools.

        So teachers are going down to the capital on Thursday to speak up.

        They're going to have to fight for a spot, there has been an ongoing protest down there since 21 January, 2025.

        The kids were asking me about it. I told them why, and they said another teacher told them he isn't going to the rally because he's Jamaican, and he doesn't want to be deported.

        I know this teacher by sight only, and he's young, from Chicago and in his first few years of teaching. He's been very kind to me since my dad died. I did hear him asking about taking a personal day for the rally in the copy room, but that's it.

        I do now know his sense of humor. He has to be joking, right?

        What if he isn't? What if this young twenty something teacher, who is clearly in this country legally, honestly believes he'll be scooped up and deported if he attends a rally?

        And this explains why we must all be allies for our immigrant, trans, gay, black and female friends. With the bombastic bastard and buddies in the white house, ignoring the judiciary and all checks and balances, we are actually scared. It's a different kind of fear. We have never felt it.

        We were not run down by the HUAC as commies.

        We were not hanged because of our skin color.

        We were not forced to wear a pink triangle or yellow star and pulled from our homes, split from our family and left to be murdered.

        Yet.

        Which is why we're so scared. This hazardous dimwit is hell bent on punishing every single American, relentlessly going after those who investigated them first, making sure to destroy any evidence, then recklessly wrecking balling the forest service. Seriously? That was the Red Herring? Then the feds, the Kennedy Center debacle, the DOE---all seeming distractions from his real agenda. Defunding USAID---which had a case against Fusk's Starlink---which has already killed people in need of medical care. Defunding USAID killed people, not Starlink. Yet.

        The behavior isn't that shocking, I've worked with narcissists. What's shocking is that A) Nobody is doing anything to stop him and B) his followers truly are brainwashed. I am hated because I am female, a teacher, an advocate of LGBTQ and I am not compliant by people I have never even met. At least buy me dinner first.

        They cannot justify his behavior, seem shocked that it is effecting them and still worship him like a fat golden calf. They weren't invited to any of his fancy victory parties in January, I saw interviews with Frumpers who actually said they weren't good enough to go to the parties...yet they still support him. Tone Deaf doesn't begin to explain it. 

        When I asked my students if they understood why teachers are marching, or that there have been daily protests every day for two months, they were clueless.

        So I asked "Why do you think you're not seeing any of these assemblies on the news?"

        Vacant shrugs.

        "And do you think Mr. J was serious about being deported?"

        "I'd be deported back to Jamaica..."

        I silently shake my head at them as they laugh.

        They have no idea. They aren't scared.

         Yet.

        

        

Death is Exhausting

 

    Today is 13 March, 2025.

    Genoa's 29th birthday is Saturday, but that's not what's making me feel old.

    My dad died Friday, 28 Feb.

    And since then, in addition to just being sad, having to call family, arrange a separate memorial and family "funeral', contact insurance and investment jokers, talk to the coroner more times than any living person not in law enforcement should have to, cleaning out his trailer, trying to separate precious memories family members might wish to keep from garbage- I have to teach because there are no paid bereavement days, I have to use sick days and personal days and at least if I come in I'm distracted but not in a good way because while I'm teaching the coroner called and my sisters are texting plans and questions about phone numbers and whose making the document for the neighborhood and for the memorial so I come in but can't focus so I don't have to blow my sick days because I am gonna be hella sick when this is over but spring break is the week after next and we're going to Delta to see my cousin and when we get back we have my dad's VFW "life celebration" and I'm fine.

    I never leave my phone. I barely let it run out of a charge unless I'm at home and can plug it in. My dad, however, was World Famous for letting his phone die. He would also turn off the cellular data without understanding how he had managed to do so, and once completely forgot how to use it and contacted me on Facebook by commenting on an unrelated post---that he had lost his car keys.

    I have the screen shot. It's hilarious. It's two comments on a Trump post.

        "Krys, did I give you a key?"

        "I can't find my keys."

    So I called him, and he answered like he understood his phone. I asked if he was, in fact, locked out of his trailer. No, he just had no idea where his keys were. I promised to come over the next morning. The next morning, as I was getting a Torchy's Taco before adjourning to his trailer, he called me from his Facebook messenger. Again...what? He said he couldn't find the phone on the phone. But he found Facebook messenger.

    Upon arrival, I had to call my sister to activate his "FIND MY KEYS WITH MY PHONE" tracker, and the beep was so quiet it took an hour just to locate it. I found them-after tearing apart his spare room- in a pair of pants he hadn't worn in a while, in a clothes basket containing only the pants.

    Anyway, I don't fully understand my phone, either, but I also don't let it die. Or leave it. I do not believe I've ever left it behind in a building overnight. Maybe, possibly, at Littleton Back In The Day when I first got a phone. But not since then.

    The day my dad died, the alarm had sounded through my sister. We  take turns sounding it as dad habitually lets his phone die, and his tracker says it's in the trailer. We told him last time if he does this again we're just going to call the police. Karie couldn't access the tracker (turns out he'd turned off his data) and wanted to know if anyone had heard from him this week. I'd called twice, no answer, and sent several texts without a reply. I was supposed to pick him up Saturday morning to go get his hair cut at Genoa's salon. I figured I'd find out then what was up with the phone.

    We sent Harper to bang on the trailer. Our first clue was that the trailer was locked. Dad never, ever locked his trailer if he was home. It was so that his neighbors, or us, could walk in after pounding on the door and he couldn't hear (refused to get hearing aids) or was asleep. He did NOT want us calling the police if his phone died again. Harp texted the thread to say his lights were off, no answer and the door locked. 5 pm. I had our first Thespian Cabaret at 6, and while the school is only 15 minutes from his trailer, I had kids to be responsible for. Harp asked if she should call the police, and I screamed through the text NO. Why? Because I knew. And I did not want her to find her grandpa.

    My phone died shortly after, I did the show, and then left the building---without my phone. Because it was 8 pm, the building had been locked and I couldn't get back in. I was going to go by the trailer after the show, but without my phone...what good would that do? I couldn't call the police.

    So I went home.

    It's weird as hell not having ANY WAY to contact ANYONE. I just sat in the kitchen until Jim came home at which time I dove at his phone and called my sister.

        "He's not getting his hair cut tomorrow," she yelled at me. She yells a lot. It's OK. "He's gone."

        It took me a second. I thought he'd vacated and run away. "What?"

        "He's dead."

        "I'm on my way, stay there."

        I threw Jim's phone and ran down the hall to change out of my pajamas. He stared at me and I just kept chanting "My dad is dead, my dad is dead, my dad is dead---" I drove 80 MPH down Hampden to his trailer---why? He'd still be dead. I knew Ed was with Karie. But she shouldn't be without her sister. 

         I shouldn't be without my sister.

        I don't have much to say about the details. The trailer was able to contain four police officers, four paramedics (two who tried to resuscitate, who switched out with two to load), a Coroner, a Victim's Advocate two sisters a husband and a deceased father.

    Here is what I will say. If you have a DNR, display copies on your fridge,  your bedside table, your glove box. Because otherwise.. they will  attempt R. No matter how long you've been gone.

    When I got there, we had to scramble to find paperwork for Science Care. My dad---I believe in an effort to impress my mom, who divorced him forty years ago---chose to donate his boy and have it cremated. The police said we had to know what funeral home we were taking him to BEFORE the Coroner arrived in an hour and his paperwork was locked at mom's house---again, why?---who sleeps without her hearing aids. Karie couldn't get her on the phone, mom was asleep, but Karie said "Great, my dad is dead and my mom is probably dead she can't hear me."

    We decide to just call a mortuary and decide now to cremate him someplace. The VA would probably help with the cost. The only mortuary I know is Drinkwine, and Karie couldn't stop shouting and yelling about what a dumb name that was for us to follow through. I think it's a family name. Sorry, Drinkwine.

    It was decided they would ride like the wind, Bullseye, to Lakewood, terrify mom from her sleep, locate the  Science Care Donation and Cremation document and return before the Coroner arrived. But first,  they leave me her phone because mine is still locked in the building, and I didn't take Jim's with me because he can't be home without a phone and my dad is dead. When I tried to use it to call Jim, I realized Karie did not give me her passcode and had to run into the street to stop her car and get it from her. The neighbors who were already outside due to the ambulance and police cars-one with a beautiful German Shepard K-9 partner who barked at me to announce my arrival---were given more fodder to add to their story.

    They did, in fact, terrify mom out of her deep slumber and locate the paperwork. They called me with the phone number en route back, just in case the coroner arrived before them. I told the police, who said to call Science Care as instructed by dad's paperwork which begins '"When I Die Call This Number". And that conversation is another entire entry unto itself.

    Karie and Ed returned before the Coroner. Who was, in fact, a lovely small kind quiet human who told us we shouldn't be in any hurry to make any funeral arrangement decisions.

    I glared at the cop. He chose not to see me.

    We called my sister in Wyoming first. She was confused as it was Karie's number that came up and my voice. Then I called Genoa--- Harp was on a date and I insisted  that nobody call her or text her, I wanted her to be told face to face---Karie called Bob and we called Sharon after calling Lisa to get Sharon's number.

    Then Harp found out because my dumb ass nephew posted it on Facebook.

    All in all to sum up, I could see my dad's feet on the floor. Even though he died quietly in his own bed, snuggled up, he was removed so they could try to resuscitate him.

    I'm getting DNR tattooed on my chest.

    

    

    

An Awesome Dream

 

            I am a kid who puts A Lot of stock into dream analysis.

           This means I've studied dreams, and palmistry and Tarot as well as just having common sense and an understanding of our unconscious because  I took two psych classes. That's how that works, right? Now I know everything.

        Connections and History:

        On 17 Sept, 2009, I received a phone call that devastated me and changed my life. A former student of mine, Felker, had committed suicide. When I heard Kaylen's voice on the phone ask me if his sister had called me, I started to ask "Why would she call me---" and I collapsed. The only reason she would call would be his death.

    The dramatic scene that ensued is between me and the students I was rehearsing at the time.

    Felker had been the first kid to attach to me. The first of the group who my husband called '"The Lost Boys". He arrived early every day knowing I did as well, and waited first by the inside door in the hallway, and eventually by the dock door. I brought him orange juice from Starbucks, which he didn't drink but didn't tell me it upset his stomach. He didn't want to insult me. He stood maybe 5'2' and likely weighted 100 pounds soaking wet. He shaved his head bald, and had arresting clear blue eyes and wore heavy steel toed Docs. He was lost, he was sad, he was smart and he attached to me very quickly.

    Within  my first year, he had become my only stage manager. Kids respected him without any hesitation. I told him he walked quietly and carried a big stick.

    As long as I was at Littleton, I felt him in the theatre. I wasn't the only one. I had a future stage manager call over the headset that someone was under the stair unit of our Noises Off set, but when she investigated nobody was there. I was in the booth. I clearly saw a bald head. This was our second go round of the show, and the first production Felker had been SM and the stair unit had become unsteady half way through the show. He crawled underneath and held it up until it could be reinforced.

    There are a million more stories, but you get it. Techie, SM, short, bald kid.

    SECOND you need to know the Edward Albee quote "Sometimes a person has to go a great distance in the wrong direction to come back a short distance correctly."

    So I am not a job hopper, but this fall I worked in three different buildings. I chose to stick at Kennedy where I can rebuild a very small but mighty theatre department. I already played the powerhouse game, and I played the Rebuild and Have A Narcissist Shut You Down game. I'm in a building that is kind and supportive. Not all the kids want theatre and that's OK. I've spend some time wondering if I've finished my journey and come back a short distance correctly. No power hungry psycho principals, or stupid narcissists with no vision, both with dimwitted bull dogs to do their dirty work. Just regular people who want a nice theatre for their kids. Feels good. It's not perfect, it's high school, a title 1 and the kids can be rough. But it's heaven compared to my hell the last few years.

            The Dream

    Today I was out sick, and I fell asleep about noon. 

    The dream was comforting, comfortable and familiar. Felker and I were in a white room. There was a blue mic cord plug on the wall and a set of stairs leading "up" to somewhere. Everything was white and calm. We had "the right mic", which had a blue base. Plugged in, my voice was beautiful. I sang "Heroine" by Sinead O'Conner and The Edge, a song I've not listened to in probably 30 years, let along sang.  We just existed and I sang and it was beautiful and calm and perfect. 

    Then, there was a glitch, someone else entered and we no longer had the blue based mic. Felker was annoyed, looking for "the right mic". I found a white "Mr Microphone" machine whose mic had a blue head. It sounded just fine to me, maybe a little tinny, but Felker was unsettled because it wasn't exactly the right mic. I was aware of someone else, holding the mic with the blue base, walking up the stairs and away from us. Felker looked at me and furrowed his brow. He was mad that they had our mic. I didn't care, I had a mic, it didn't matter that it wasn't the fancy one. Who cares, they sound almost the same. I was debating whether I was supposed to follow the person and climb the stairs to retrieve the "right mic", or if Felker was going to do it.

    And then I woke up.

    SCENE

sometimes I say very logical things

 

            I just finished An Absolutely Remarkable Thing by Hank Green and, in the spirit of April May's lists, it:

            1. Pissed me off that I did not write it.

            2. Is truly an inventive and wonderful allegory for MAGA vs. everyone else (or any hate cult vs everyone else), as well as a lot of social commentary about selfishness and the pursuit of fame.

            3. Was not banned. I thought it was banned and I wanted to read banned books I hadn't read yet, and it's not been banned.

            4. Has a sequel I must buy tomorrow.

        It's been a long time since I ate a book. I am clearly very hungry as my stupid progressive lenses make it impossible to read, I just ripped them off and forced myself to sit in very uncomfortable positions so that I could read. That speaks volumes, dude.

        I read instead of binge watching Brooklyn 99. 

        I read instead of watching the end of Emergency followed by MASH when I got home from school.

        I read on the toilet instead of scrolling on my phone.

        Scene.

        Like autism, narcissism has spiked in this country. The difference is that autistic people present as narcissistic due to the way their brain signals, and narcissists know they believe they are godlike and untouchable. Autistic folks just don't always understand that other people have thoughts and feelings. Narcissists know and they do not care.

        Scene.

            Title 1 students are not devoid of talent. Their performing arts programs are always on the ropes, fledgling, fractured. Here are some guidelines for strong HS PA

        1. Adhere to deadlines, always.

        2. Attend all rehearsals.

        3. Be willing to fail.

    Those top three reasons are why Title 1 schools struggle with PA.

        1. The bar has been lowered  by "the quiet racism of lowered expectations" (Bush said that), school districts and buildings with "diverse" populations remove hard deadlines so that kids can graduate. Kids can turn in an assignment due in January in May for full credit because they are being allowed to.  They cannot receive lower than a  50% in a class they never attended. There are no deadlines in their core classes, why would they understand a deadline in theatre?

        2. One obstacle is that they have jobs after school, or they must babysit siblings. Second is they have a club they like to attend, or are already in other extra curriculars. But the biggest obstacles is, they don't attend class. They arrive late and are given credit for attending, leave early and the same because schools are paid per student, so they have to be counted present even when they arrive 20 minutes late. They spent Covid turning work in late and online from home, without leaving their phone or room, they are not accustomed to staying after school for anything. This is not just a PA problem, sports also see this, particularly when it comes to Saturday football practices. They expect to play but didn't practice, and then get baby bummed when they suck. They want to be the star of the show, but can't bother to attend rehearsals, learn songs or choreography, or take any of it seriously.

        3. Speaking in public is a #1 fear. I imagine if there was a spot higher than #1, post covid would have pushed this fear to that number. Kids are afraid to be seen and heard in Title 1's, in part because their families tell them to keep low due to ICE, in part because they're being raised by social media on their phones. But also, those who might want to give it a shot crash and burn after their first perceived "failure". Usually this "failure" is due to lack of focus during rehearsals, lack of dedication to learning lines or stepping up to become the character. The first time they step on stage they cover their face and laugh. "Miss, I can't I feel stupid." They fail before they can even fail. There is no attempt, they stop before they can fail, that's how deep the fear is. They fail at failing, and therefore learn nothing.                                                                                                                                                       

    Regular schools:

    1. Parents read to kids from day one, giving them the confidence to explore new ideas and a baseline for reading. The deadlines are also set : bedtime is welcomed with reading, lights off when finished reading. Chores assigned "Take the trash out every Tuesday", and if they don't, there is a consequence.  Misbehave in public: consequence. This is on parents not following through with consequences, which are attached to deadlines. If you don't know your lines when the curtain opens, the consequence is you look like an idiot. 

   2. Kids have already been to camps, music camps, theatre camps, soccer camp, piano lessons, voice lessons, tutoring. Parents give space and support for homework, even independent thinking and exploration. They've learned that continues work IE rehearsal is the key to success.

    3. Not every kid is a great soccer player. At some point they've lost -didn't get the choir solo, the starting position on the team, the blue ribbon at field day. At the end of this wave of unearned "participation trophies" we see the damage that has inflicted on kids. Well, it hurt performing arts as well. If they're not willing to jump in and be vulnerable and make big choices and possibly fail and learn from the failure, they are locked into a mindset that crushes growth. Pure and simple. And if you cannot grow, you cannot think or explore or develop a character outside of yourself and learn that failing in the process of creating art is an expectation, not a detraction.

        Scene.

    We blew it.

    We had the chance to change the way we do everything during Covid and we chose to keep on keepin' on: the definition of insanity. Keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect a different result.

    We blew it.

    Twice.

    We had the chance to keep evolving. Our Trans folx and women and homosexuals and black folx were all on a track to full American Rights.

    And you people supported the Fuck Twat, and it all got destroyed. Literally years----YEARS of work and protests and female engineers and delightful drag queens and trans folx able to work real jobs and women allowed to pursue anything they wish and black folx stepping up in law enforcement and politics---BLIP GONE.

    Because of course the government is corrupt and fuck the feds and why was I punished by the IRS for taking out my retirement early so I could save my house during the recession but none of y'all thought it through. None of y'all even suspected that HE had not thought it through. So here we are, Federal employees now unemployed, teachers, federally funded programs shuttered, food rotting on the docks because he cut USAID funding fucking farmers here and Americans overseas because....because none of y'all studied. Or ever heard the phrase "Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater."

    Or the word "Oligarchy" . Or believe fascists exist.

    It does. And it is evil. And the men who support it are evil.

    So here we are. De-evolving so fast we wish we could catch a ride with the dolphins and say "So long and thanks for all the fish."

    And you don't know that reference, do you?

    Look it up.

    Scene.

Some Monologues

                       When I write in google and then copy and paste the margins

make me want to take a hostage. Sorry they're off.      

                            Jr ROTC

        There are a lot of things on my mind right now, sorry. Hold on. I need to sort through

them.

Why the hell—-no, that’s a bad start.

How am I supposed to focus on school—my mom lost her job and I have to move to

another school to live with my biological mom and it sucks.

That’s nice and short.

It’s not that I don’t love my biological mom, I do, but she lives too far to drive me here

for school, and here I have Jr ROTC. Also I call her BIO MOM like she's a science experiment,

and she says it's like a Pauly Shore movie. Whatever. She's funny. But, I’ve already won for my

sharp shooting and I’m only a freshman!

My mom lost her job because of DEI.

Not that mom, my biomom has her job. For now. She’s a nurse. No, my mom. Ok…let me explain. My biological mom gave birth to me; my mom that I live with

is my biological dad. 

She served in the military for 12 years and had four fingers blown off by a grenade in

Kandahar. So she’s disabled, and was working at the VA as a secretary. Nobody cared that she

was trans until 21 January 2025, and suddenly she started to get the cold shoulder. She was

misgendered by a coworker she thought was a friend. She filed a complaint and they put her

on leave.

    Then her coworkers suddenly started writing lies about her performance and how she was a

poor fit for the job. Her ACLU lawyer  stepped up and  wanted to fight, but mom didn’t have

the energy.

        Why would she go back to a toxic job that clearly hated her?

So. That’s how that happened.

Now I have to change schools, because my mom can’t find another job here and is

going to  go live with her brother in Washington state. He owns a cool pub and is going to

give her a job.  And I could go, I'm invited, clearly, I’m 14 dude I can’t live on my own,

and there’s a good Jr ROTC at the school in my Uncle’s district, but my friends are here.

Even if I change schools here, at least we’re in the same state.

    But I don’t know that I’d really see them until I can drive. Biomom works long hours and

overnight at the hospital. She can’t drive me to this school, or to my friends over here.

If I move with mom to Washington my Uncle says not only is there a good JrROTC at the

school, but he lives near a shooting range and we can go shoot together. That’d be cool I guess.

    I’ve never lived without both of my parents within a few miles of each other. We spend the

weekends together. It’s great,  my friends whose parents are divorced say their ‘rents fight when

they’re together, and try to get them on each other’s sides. Like dad hates mom and here’s why

she’s evil, and mom hates dad and here’s why he’s evil. I don’t have that. My moms get along,

and they love me. I think they still love each other too, to be honest. We just all click together

on the weekends, it’s really comforting.

         No matter what I choose, I’m losing my family and this sucks.

Although, I am trying to get my biomom to apply to hospitals in Washington. She’s wavering,

but she’s been at this hospital for 15 years. She likes it. I was born there. It’s a Whole Thing. 

I hear about it every birthday. I was early, biomom was at the hospital on shift, mom

was at work across the street at the VA. It took mom thirty minutes to get across the street because

of a car accident, she couldn’t drive across. She had to walk, but the crosswalk had firetrucks and an

ambulance, the accident was right in front of the hospital. They tell me the story every year, and they

laugh about the guy with his chihuahua who was also trying to cross the street, and mom followed in

his path because he just bullied his way right past all the emergency vehicles like he was more

important. 

I don’t want to leave my biomom.

I don’t want to stay and have my mom move.

I just want my family together.

                                            Letter to Trump and Musk

Dear Misters...Co Presidents...

I am a student in Aurora, Colorado. I am a senior with a 3.8 GPA. I have plans to attend

college next year. I have letters of recommendation from all of my teachers and counselors.

I would love to explore philosophy and archaeology and contribute to forwarding science

through the lens of my hero, Joseph Campbell.

And I am trans, sir.

I am afraid my future has been halted.

See, sir, I am 18 years old and halfway through my medical transformation from female

to male. But your policies have halted my medical progress.

In addition to being stuck in two sexes, my mental health medications have been stopped.

Apparently my diagnosed body dysmorphia is not important- or "real"- to you, and you’d rather my mental

health shatter and I have my future is taken from me, in addition to my body.

Or, perhaps, your plan is to ship me off to Guantanamo Bay or El Salvador, where you do

not have to look at me or know that you’ve destroyed a human being.

Sir, I am not the only one that you have done this to. We number in the thousands, and

we are, frankly, your most vulnerable Americans.

We are Americans, sir. We are not your enemy.

We have jobs. We are in college. We contribute positively to our country. We pay taxes. 

We are human, sir. And you are attacking us for no reason that we can discern outside of

hate.

I leave you with a quote from Shakespeare, who knew a thing or two about being human. 

I will copy and paste it here for you, in case you missed it while reading the Cliff Notes in your

private school. Oh I'm sorry, did that sound snarky? We read the whole play here in public school.

Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses,

affections passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons,

subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by

the same winter and summer as a Christian is?

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh?

If you poison us do we not die?

And if you wrong us shall we not revenge?

If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew,

what should his sufference be by Christian example? Why, revenge.

The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better

the instruction.

— The Merchant of Venice, Act III scene 1.

Sir, I don’t think you need me to point out that all you have to do is change “Jew” to

“Trans”. Or “Homosexual”. Or “woman”. Just change out the noun to create the hate.

I also do not need to point out that this was written in 1600. Hitler took power in

1933. You took office in 2025. 

Hate prevails through generations. It is taught, it is not our natural state. Fight or

flight only takes over when we are threatened, like the Neanderthals. Can  you tell me

what I have done that is a threat to you, so that I can understand?

All I ask is that you think about what the trans population have done to make

you so angry, and let me know. At least I will have a motive for this attack on me, and cause

for self defense.

Thank you

An American Student

                 –kwmartin 9 Feb 2025

                                                Right Wing, Behind the Torm

             Stop looking at me.

 I didn’t ask you to try and find me.

I like it here. This is my safe place. Right here on stage.

It’s where I hid during the shooting when I was a freshman. Me and the rest of the cast and my theatre teacher. We started rehearsing. It was the only way we knew how to cope.

I’ve known how to get into this theatre since then, before then even. I’m not telling you how, but trust me. My theatre teacher used to just give me the key, and I’d come in but I can get in without it. I mean…I’m not a straight hooligan…I’m not even straight…but…maybe I am a hooligan. 

Right wing, behind the middle torm on a step ladder is my safe place.

I never really thought of myself as being tough. I’ve always just thought of myself as being more ornery than anything. My theatre teacher told me once that I had a horn on the front of my head, like a triceratops. She said every time she said something I didn’t agree with that I would give her a look and turn my head like this (she demonstrates)and it looked like I was a triceratops getting ready to ram her. I think she said triceratops ‘cause that's nicer than rhino. 

Dude right wing is where I am on stage, there are stage directions. I am not “right wing”. Context clues dude. I just know you’re looking at my dark curly hair and wondering how I could possibly be right wing. Also I’m 17 and can’t vote, latina and scared, bisexual and terrified. In case labels are a thing you need like everyone else, I have more: Short. Theatre kid. Choir Kid. Bossy.

Never thought I would need to use my horn. We've had some problems since my theatre teacher left, but that is nothing compared to yesterday. I live two blocks from school, and the school handed out red cards with our rights on them, and everyone is acting like the school secretary can actually stop an ICE agent with her broken English–she’s like 5’2 and wears heels, I suppose she’ll step on their toes. 

Anyway, last week my step dad wasn’t going to work. He said it was because our dog had puppies, but he’s undocumented. He has his own business, he does landscaping, and in the winter he shovels his clients driveways. There hasn’t been a lot for him to do, but we heard ICE was rounding people up on the street, so he stayed home. 

Then this crazy thing happened. My mom was visiting a friend in one of the apartments that everyone knows is sketchy. ICE came to her friend’s door and her friend answered with her papers. She showed them to the agent—---mom was shocked, they are fully armed and wearing tactical gear, masks,like a movie—and the guy took her friend’s papers. Mom said that she held her friend’s hand while he looked at them. Her friend’s work permit is expired, and she’s too scared to leave the apartment to get it updated. The ICE guy handed the papers back to her and said “Thank you. Please get those updated” and left. Mom said her friend passed straight out into her arms. She came home and told my step dad, who decided to go to work today. Which was great. They seem focused on the apartments, and we live in a house.

And then, I was walking to school today, and I saw ICE on the apartment building roof behind my school. Snipers. They look like snipers. I just saw snipers, right behind my school. They could shoot me from where they are if they wanted.

So I ran in here, ditched my first period and hid.

Every day I come to school and it’s so hard to think about my schoolwork. I’m a senior I wanna graduate, but I can’t focus knowing that there are armed men in full protective gear standing outside of my building. How is that supposed to be good for me and my learning?These guys have guns- if they decide they’re coming into the building they’re coming into the building. School secretary or not.

 I’ve been through a school shooting guys. I was locked down in the theatre for a school shooting. I know what it’s like. It is not fair that this is something I have to go through twice. I am not even 18 years old yet and I live in America and I’ve never felt safe at school. I've never felt safe at school. How is that fair?

So I’m here in this wing, sharpening my horn so I can get through the day. I won’t use it unless I have to. And I Shouldn’t Have To I’m A Student.

I’m so scared.

6 Feb 2025 kwmartin