Tuesday, April 8, 2014

Awakening the bi polar behind the walls

I've been describing the separation that continues to keep good people apart and in errant miscommunication. Constantly acting and jumping thru hoops of financial  ill design.

I"ve been tracking and logging my record of truth, whether it makes me look good or not, it's what has to be for me to carry on. I need to know where I am on the map before I can get to a destination.

For the last two months I have trusted others who have ripped off my possessions, stolen my house away, ruined my reputation, tampered with  my car, and basically set me up to be taken to jail by the Sheriff's department.

My car windows broken, car towed away, mace sprayed in my face, beaten up by law enforcement, but set upon standing again to walk the walk I have spoken of: Truth erring on the side of compassion leading to a free way to our real inheritance.

But I am back again to report I have lived in my car, seen the terrible nature of living in poverty, but still say it is the system, not this sister who only wishes to embrace a common wealth for us all.

To do this, I have looked at the language and found it is just more shackles and tricks. My eyes and ears are rigged by something to elude the things you others take for granted that you actually see and hear. It is a sensory shackle that has to be constantly manually corrected by me.

Anger almost overtook me, but I guarantee my real core is not seething it is breathing in more love and light, mixing it up so that I can be more effective. And less used by the angry torrents, more so blending them into my softness which is also at the core of my being.

I have felt a code and a song, and talents I never even considered I had. Always told I was wrong, or no to anything that questioned the common held beliefs, I am here on this day to say NO to those who have hidden their cruelty, torture, and cowardice.

Continue to beat a path to the front door, and want it opened to be truly free.

My truth only helps me understand more about what is happening. I will continue to share on facebook and the google community. And this blog is open to the public.

TAke care and would love to publish sincere submissions on this blog. I have books, "the Chronicles of the bipolar reporter, and "unacceptable behavior" to finish writing and publish so that anyone has access to the truly absurd world around us. And within some of us.

More to follow....

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

REmembering The Will and the way:sick degrees of separation

Wehn I was about 11, my sister and I were wating on my parents to select a Christmas tree. We chose to stand in front of some horses in a corral, and possibly pet these creatures.

My sister slipped away to pick some flowers while I whole heartedly went up to the fence to call these horses to come over to me. I grabbed the fence with both hands, and suddenly had my self stuck on an electric wire.

I was aware that I was sizzling with this power, but my grip was on this grid and my muscles were frozen out of my control. I seemed to suddenly have 360 degree vision, I could see my sister a few yards away, back turned. And the horses were backing away too.

I tried to remember the safety classes, taught to stay away from live wires, but it served no purpose. I lost track of time, my fear, just a roadmap of ideas of how to end my saddled soap opera of feeling caught and helpless.

Within a few replays, I gave up all the advice and warnings I had on record and went for full throttle will power. I focused my own laser tag on the right hand holding a hot line of separation. i kept that open communication with my limb, commanding it to release. Actually, the words I screamed silently to my body was "LET GO."

I urged the hand to pull off as I owned my fisticuff linked to the power usurpers linr deliniation. There was some focus pocus but I won. Suddenly I was airborne backward onto the ground, free of charge.

I got really angry, at both the horses and my sister for not aiding my helpless condition. Or I assumed helpless. But really I had the master switch and I only needed to know how to turn off the surge protecting the urge to give up to the forces between me and these horses.

Today I know I should be angry at the fence poster child for keeping kids from ponies and Fonies are internally and eternally a habitual response.

Who knows how many times I was surging in the control of the keeper of separations, distancing us from our own power.

Will it to be....And It will be.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Don't die or just lie in the ground....

Hello,
Maybe for the last time, but I'm out of jail, on the way to do nothing good I'm sure. LOL

On probation for 3 years in Kern County because I had my car sabotaged,  money stolen, all my belongings gone to sad sacks of shit who play for themselves.

It's going to get even worse for the badly played,. I"m going to relax for a week, then be bored, but know that I care about all of you. I've written these blogs: KVHD under FIRE, Your Government your problem: an owners manual, and The bipolar American, for all of us.

REad it or not, but I've had enough being the last to know, the first to see, the only one pointing out the flaws in all of this.

I forgive the creator of this horror called life, but I can't go along for the not so thrill ride.

You can at any time opt out and I suggest you should. If your driving a new car, sitting in a house, with heat or cool, then your a sell out. IF you think this helps protect your family, surprises await your perilous conditions.

I'm sorry, I only have what I have which is me? What is me? A love, a sensitive caring soul who would never hurt for the sake of hurting. I will die again and again, but if you don't notice it, what's the point. I've been dead before and you think it's the end?

Get ready to see the dead walk back into their jobs their homes, the hospitals, the nursing homes, they are here and ready for a repeat performance of the worst creation ever experienced.

If you n eed a picker upper, think of me, I'm always a friend to those with heart and soul. And my house is not a home, my home is near and I will welcome all who can handle the truth.

Let there be love and light days to come, right ways to go, and good folks to feel.

Love to all. Laura

Monday, March 10, 2014

What does an american expect when being put in Jail? A phone call. After 3 weeks, day of court, mississing my family, my court appointed attorney gave me that call.
You don't expect to get your rights. TAken a face full of mace, fire without the melting, but equally hot but not easy to get out.
Can't panhandle in Kern County as I was only asking for help.
Got trespassing, delaying an officer, and apparently a bag full of drugs in my pant pocket. that gets you a 10K bail.
There are people so harassed in there, and the torture was wonderful.
But I endured and plead out to these charges, but now I can't vote. I vote to stop the vote without all who have not enough money to really get legal help. Lots of women trying to get back to their children. Cages are not for bi polar americans, or dogs or cats and birds need to fly.
Stay safe as the side of law enforcement wants to keep their jobs.
Borrowing a pain pill from a neighbor can cost you $10,000 in bonds.
Heads up, and I'll be trying to get to my animals ASAP as no one knew where I was or what to do.
Americans, we are the TERRORISTS and they have our kids.
Ltoday, bail out the system, call them, keep this show of support started. AS I am predicting they will try to bring me in again too.
Aunt Laura

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Sick Degrees of Separation....Part one

As I get ready to exit my homeless car lifestyle, wipe off the marker and make a new start of it, I'm reminded that I must overcome the sick degrees of separation to get my message heard.

Yes, you may think you've heard it all, but trust me, you have not.

Everything a wall, is not an idea unfamiliar to those who read this blog. There are two other blogs which will continue as a spillway of information along with a series of short but robust thoughts on our current condition, and "Cuntditioning."

My first foray into street fighting writing, KVHD Under Fire, the perky and original blog dedicated to the game of old age pyramid scam bucks and life and torture itself. Elder abuse and murder. Brought to you by the "nobody cares" not Obama, certainly not California Governor, Jerry Brown--community as there are discounts for being old and not advantages.

Yes, I'm over 50 but just around the mountain but not over a hill full of holes in it's story.

www.kernvalleyhospital.blogspot.com

GEneratioN Gaps:

We can hardly remember or understand each other, as we have a language full of shackles, and generations of those who claim not to understand each others motivations and intentions. There is arrogance, Fear, and hopelessness, to trek thru to get to the other side.

Simply put we are sick from trying to communicate.

When I write, I write with my intended message. The reader, the reciever, has a whole list of reasons not to hear my hard, dark messages, couched in humor. And there is not much, except for repeated, rephrased, louder, clearer, writing that I can do to acheive a re pore with my friends, family and fellow prison mates.

But add a generation, a whole group of those who have lived and breathed rules, regulations, ideas of their formation, and you have a real challenge.

I'm getting ready to challenge it all, and my message is patience. lol

For me, this is big. But I truly care about what I am attempting to transmit and it is worth my effort.

CAN YOU HEAR ME?

Hope so.

Aunt Laura

Thursday, January 16, 2014

The newest Mascot: God B lessed America

Aunt Laura to Uncle Sam: It's time....
It is time to start thinking what it truly means to wear the stripes and stars. I am the free thinker only if I give up thinking. I am the model if I intend to walk the talk of the cock of the walk.

So, to those who truly have given up everything to play a game of "fake economy" I genuinely refer to as "Boring for dollars the Pyramid scam" I am in the game too. I have a job, it's being the kind Aunt to those who have been ripped off and apart trying to manage a shell game whose board is slanted to the side of those with no interest in anything but themselves.

No way, I am interested in playing for us all. I don't want for needing, but have recently been taken for every item I ever "thought" I owned. I own nothing on a dicey gamble called life. But found myself living in my car with the weary remnants.

We have been kicked in the teeth, our memories of a good dream, a good life, all haunting us now.

There are books to be written, and I'm continuing to write my fair share.

It's now time for Uncle Sam to meet and marry his new mail order Bride: Aunt Laura.

More to follow....



Monday, December 30, 2013

The Bi-polar American in the OC, Delighted

Hanging out in Orange County, California is full of mystery and excitement. Not really. It's rather bland as each suburb looks like the other. It's easy to get lost because of the lack of identity the place seems to have.

What stands out for me is the train track everyone rides. Residents jog or walk along the cement side walks off major streets ignoring the exhaust wafting at them at rush hour. The reoccurring fast food establishments. The bi-lingual signage. A college which hosts a major swap meet on the weekends. The same family park on every corner.

How do the ducks know where to park?

New Year:

This year is different. Done.

No, it's going to be a blazer as it's an election year, and I elect to continue to not just talk truth, but shout it, sing it, gargle it-whatever it takes is the motto. Protesting, petitioning, and propagating fair play are on the schedule.

Several new stories or continuations will appear shortly after I, ehem, (clearing throat) deal with the computer problems which started last year with Hughes Net. Pradman Kaul CEO of Hughes Nest, took one on the chin on my other blog: Your Government Your Problem: an Owners manual.

There are many blogs to write, much ado with the current adornment, hand written, on the 5150 mobeel I drive around with a sense of myself. Who else writes with markers on their car? If you know someone else please do let me know as they must be a kindred spirit.

Upcoming Titles:

Sick Degrees of Separation
The Good, the Bad, and the Unrepentent.
Social Security: the oxymoron

More to follow....Laura Hart The Bi-polar American







Monday, December 16, 2013

The Bi-Polar American in the OC-Delighted

A month ago, I set out from "festering wound" which is what I call the Kern River Valley, the area being invaded by politicians who have named the area unsafe because of a dam which they are supposedly replacing. But as I have described on this blog these problems are so deep as the water is murky, and local residents have not a clue what these Sacra-meanto leaders will be doing next.

My foray finds me in the Orange County area where I grew up, in fact, staying right behind the house my family lived in.

It's been a trying month, I can only describe it as akin to the Meet the Fockers movie. I wrecked my friends car, almost took out her new washer with my comforter wrapping around and choking the machine then went onto spill a dark colored soda onto the mattress staining it permanently. And wrapping up my accident file, apparently it's not common to have guests in the neighborhood drawing and writing on their car.

I apologized profusely, as we do when things are so over the top. My friend of forty years has forgiven me, even though there was no intention on my part to actually harm her belongings, or startle the neighborhood with my 5150 moebeel now covered in free advertisements drawn or written by me.

But there you go, it's a start, even fraught with the accidents, I had one more thing to do, which was to get myself placed into the worst behavioral facility in the State of California, according to my friend and research assistant. F-

I didn't know going into the unit it was the type of place which caused my symptoms to increase, my peace of mind to splinter, and before I knew it, the staff was attempting to control what I could or couldn't do when when I left the facility.

Mood ring was burned to my finger by the time I got thru the medical check and headed into the hospital. I could not even follow a few short requests, such as sit down.
"Oh yeah, why?"
Then the staff came out from behind the counter and grabbed me trying to push me into the chair. I shifted and shimmied until they gave up, threatening isolation for my recalcitrant attitude.
It was a tough beginning, as the phlebotomist arrived for a blood test, but I took a mouth full of water from the drinking fountain, held it in my cheeks, then spit a small amount in his direction.

"That is it, I don't need this," he yelled as he receded from the scene. I didn't actually spray him, but the threat was there.

It is tough to talk about certain actions I took in the hospital that should be discussed.

That first night, a woman in the bed next to me was snoring. I commented that I was short on sleep, and I would wake her to tell her when it was too loud. Then I went to the nurses and asked to be moved, but they still were not over the chair incident.

The woman snored and snored, and finally I woke her up. "Please to God roll over" is what I uttered thru clenched teeth. She didn't want to have any responsibility claiming she can't help what she does in her sleep.

Then she got nasty about it, and TRUTH, before I knew it I was pelting her with sweaters and clothing.

Shocked she got up and ran to the nurses, who came charging to her aid. Me, naked except for a hospital gown, found myself grabbing the nurse and going for it. He came up reaching for me so I grabbed him first, and the fight began. His eyes were shocked as to how strong I was so he called for back up.

But I was wound up, always when someone attacks me, so I aimed for the balls, and even told him I would do it. Bruce Lee style I did indeed kick him in the balls. The fight was over as there were multiple people holding me down.

Wow, I said it, truth hurts, but that is what happened. I was dragged down the hall, burning my knees and feet on the ancient vinyl flooring.

This was not the end, as I logged in two  more fights, and plenty of shots in the ass to put me out. I even faked a heart attack and stroke, when the word was they would be holding me longer than expected.

I told the staff, the truth that it was a panic attack, and that we are all responsible as they never even cared enough to check out my claims.

Ready to leave, I modified my behavior the best I could, so then the day came to leave. An hour away from release my anti-social worker told me I would have to get clean of all drugs or alcohol, attend meetings, go to a program daily which would replace what the hospital controlled.

I broke down crying, weeping for the loss of freedom. But I really needed to leave get back to my friend's place, I could not agree to these impositions. As it is I am under pressure to get a job and place to live, but this is unnecessary.

The tears streamed down my face, as I don't like life anyway, but to shackle me to the program was not an option.

"Forget it," I told them, "I'll just stay."

Suddenly the worker says,"well we can't keep you forever."

"Oh yes you can," I finished up with.

They took away my release and it was now all up in the air again. BUT...I had a Writ of Habeus Corpus in the court, and managed to remember to check on it. I found out there were some screw ups which made the hospital's position in less control.

Next morning, I kept on the trail to leave, but leave with my own agenda intact. The writ was in my favor, I left as a voluntary, so no extra hospital direction was needed.

Happy camper I was coming home the victor against such vicious control freaks. The cost of the program along with the time, is not helpful. But had I left that day I would be bound in a worse position of having to make meetings, group sessions, and a leash that if I didn't do it, I would be back in the hospital.

Oh yeah, these are the days, and more to follow. I'm at the library in Cypress, with two minutes left to write.
Laura Hart the bipolar american

 


Thursday, October 10, 2013

Bi-Polars With Wings....

Goodday,

I've decided to rename my project to springboard other polars, from the bi-polar Americans to Bi-polars with wings. Imagine that? It is rather daunting to see all these gifts I've been impressed to witness in young and old alike. Those who have set aside their passion, their gifts, and went the Regular, store bought, common path, mundane avenue, because there is no financial support for this type of radical creativity.

As I have spoken distastefully for the game of power, money, time and sex: "Boring for dollars the pyramid scam."

It's an unfortunate circumstance, one which I must face, to face, as there is always two faces to any "transaction" of money or time or skills. Nothing shared--only sold for sale. Even one's character, integrity--up for grabs much of the time.

I will continue to imagine that we could fair up this playing field, and I will continue to ask for the help of those who have a few missing bricks in their walls. Money isn't the only involvement. Help with mentoring, researching, etc.

It's tough as I've had this passion for so long, and yet so much static with my truth telling, to tell the truth. My  only modification is an infusion of some fun and chocolate.

Sometimes the worst days give way to the most powerful positive intentions. Walt, or "Dukeskywalter" my best dog friend, the only one who can tolerate me, is in surgery for cancer this afternoon (I'm waiting for a call). I looked at the Vet and told her with tears in my eyes, "I hate this life, mostly because it doesn't have to be this way."

What if you did not ever have to consider money in any decision: Would your choices change.

Hell Yeah!

What if we didn't have Time, and I'm not talking the propanga glossy seen at grocery store check stands?

It's all speculative, but I say it would be a "home." 




Thursday, October 3, 2013

Hellyo to all...

I've been experiencing the benefits of being a truth teller...lol Yes, you get to experience mind bending experiences and now an experienced mental contortionist, I go on.

As My content of tables of games they play, and the key players are holding the ring of power. I've recently understood J.R. Tolken's need to recreate the language...

And I have a new motto based on the ring of power, the revolution which never stops like a clock. Time traps and money power plays, this makes so much more sense to me. Even my sense of humor.

"Frodo throw away that dam ring of power into mount doom so we can go home to the shire--Your Friend Sam."

I'll be in touch on the facebook bi-polar american site....

I have had ID theft, been robbed of my own good senses, and outwardly threatened regularly. "Oh, are you still alive?"

I guess if this is considered alive then I am, but I realize my readers know I consider this my lie. Stage and players, this is beginning to get interesting.

Take good care, don't sell out to fear and loathing, and I'll keep my truth coming....

Laura Hart--The bi-polar American

Thursday, August 29, 2013

"Boring for Dollars"--The Pyramid Scam: Part one

As I begin to unravel the ball of string given to us kittens to play with as we wile away our "lives" I'd like to begin with the system which controls it all: Money.

It's not an equitable situation, nor is it supposed to be. It isn't real in fact, it's the worst board game I've ever played.

Let's start with who created the money system?

Someone with needs, I would guess. Big needs, needs to control the whole world, land, and seas, and all the inhabitants thereof.

Noticably money has all sorts of language ties to most everything. Meaning it is a part of everything that goes on here in life on earth.

As I examined or purged all the words tied to money right from my brain full of labels, I was quite exhausted as most words can be linked to laws, health, social hierarchy, all COSTING something.

Let's start with a few words that stood out, one being "trickle down effect." From where does it trickle and it appears to be going up, not down.

I question why we are missing the point that Time is Money, the reality we are expected to exist in and or rise above. I've never put money before other more important words such as compassion or fairness.

My friend who never agrees with me, questions me vigorously, so I asked her why do we have to have a system with Money?

Shocked, she said, "Good point, why not--maybe we don't."

The difficult part for many to let loose of, is that some people deserve more, or are better, therefore money and all it can buy, serve to show the worth or worthiness of people. Competition is the lowest energy, pitting people against each other, one winner and one loser. Half is expected then to be lesser than the other half.

Hence, the pyramid scam, which is to keep the top both in control of the most money, but all the resources, the information, the language, the accessibility to information or inventions which would threaten to EVEN THE PLAYING FEILD.

We all cannot have what the few are feeding from, but we can recognize a "scam" when we see one and proceed to do something about it.

Human value these days revolves around surviving the levels on which your money can support you. This can change in an instant as we vote in more and more players with their teams eager for more power. Laws change that aide certain industries or Friends or family of high powered officials.

It has become natural, unquestionable, our control system. Our language shows that we consider those on the low end to be deficient or irresponsible or even stupid. Money then has become a way of saying someone is "smart" or "better."

Let's take a look at the bottom of this pyramid scam, the American Dream, the lure, the hook and bait. There is a serious crunch going on the bottom as jobs, former avenues to stay above water, are being eliminated while humans die of starvation, the land and resources are horded, education or as I call it "conditioning conformists."

The pyramid scam seems more of a prison. Can't go or do or be anything without money. And all in a certain time frame. From birth to death, it's all about money or penalties for not adhering to the rules of the game.

IOU a further explanation with some drawings to illustrate this ghastly and cruel system. My theory of this false system, this prison, goes on. We will be discussing it as I enter the dragon of supporting this blog, the creative thinkers, on this slanted playing field.

Laura Hart--The bi-Polar American

Friday, August 9, 2013

Support your local Bi-polar

I"ve been waiting to begin my torrent of writing projects, but as we KNOW on this site most certainly, is money is the object.

I not only want to get my projects finished, or started in some cases, lol, so I am experimenting with the ideas of how to infuse money into the picture to release the people, tools, which had no backing.

TAlent is there, in all of us. Others need a hand up to get there projects off the ground.

There are so many ways to toy with one person's money. Chase bank and I are QUIT. A couple months of nonsense and it's over.

BUt Wells Fargo showed me the easiest way to fund this project "The bi-polar Americans..." There are checks, visa's, and cash, which can get tricky. Here's the deal, if you want to support this worthy adventure, this is how easy it can work:

My Well's Fargo representative said, "Anyone can come to a Well's Fargo branch and ask to deposit Money in Laura Hart's account.

Wow. Well's Fargo is everywhere.

You don't have to reveal who you are, if you don't want to. And you get a receipt which should correspond with my banks records. And I'll check it and report what the money bought.

For instance, my hacked to the bone computer took a shower recently, and a laptop with video editing is a must. This is just one of many things.

For more info email me: Muymala@msn.com

So, simply go to Well's Fargo and SAy, "Hey I want to deposit money in Laura Hart's account." 

If they say Laura who, they're lying....You say The bipolar American Laura Hart. (likely to confuse them, lol) 

Keep is simple, Laura Hart from Well Done CAlifornia.....@@@@@

 

Only send what you can afford......Thanks

 

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Deception specialist maximize dread

Learning the taste of poison and so forth has changed what I do. Not for the feint of heart? What did that mean when they said it.

It means I have a lot of language skills. lol

It also means it's scary at times....which times I say?

Just watch your local mind brain benders and it's all I need....ur, not really. Hences, the code, you have thus seen so far.

The code is long and a winding road. Gets a bit lonely but it's worth a while younger. lol

Laura: Atlast The bipolar american.......ized again.

Monday, May 27, 2013

Don't change a Thing! Spare Change

What would I change about me? Or you change me?

It's been a long time, I know, 50 years of great luck, and I've heard those words “I wouldn't want to change anything about you” people have actually said that to me.

Usually these people have known me less than one month.Either that or they were asleep at the time.

I seek to find the truth, but more so, the truth for and about me. Change would depend on what I find. Others however are ready and willing to change me regularly.

My friends even put up a plaque at their house which is a bit of a slap, and maybe the truth too: “A friend is someone who knows all about you, but likes you anyway.”

You see what I mean? A put down that makes them look good for having me as a friend. They put this up after a conversation about “me” and I see it all the time, and just wonder. What exactly would they want to change about me?

Specifically, this information could help me. I'll just become a conformist, learn to fit in, and die with no memory and no truth.

I was in the grocery store and some fucking song kept playing/repeating, “I don't want to change myself.” There was a lull, and I spoke out loud, “I want to change me.”

Everyone started laughing, which didn't make me feel good. Then they were, “aw, you don't have to change.”

Then I argued the case.

“You don't know me well enough to realize the breadth of change I am in need of. I'm really needing some change. Ask anyone”

“Give it a month and you won't be able to stand me. It's an ugly reality.”

They defended me against myself.

“Your not that bad.” (Could have been a better try there, but nevertheless)

“You're fine.” (What the fuck does that mean? Fine enough as in a “fine wine” or “fine chick” or “getting by” just fine. ?)

I vehemently argued against there platitudes, bored, still insistent on this changing myself thing.

Into what?

I suppose I would make my mouth shut for longer durations, without spitting out every thought onto the pavement.

I'm sure others would agree, but they also want me to stop being “unpredictable.” This is both what some call my “genius” and others my stupidity.

Never knowing what I'm going to do, or pointing out obvious truths to deluded masses, out loud—in writing, then you become like me: An urban legend.

Yes, it's impossible now to even fathom what some certain people would want me to do or where I should go, but it's also about things I never did and never would do.

I may be crazy, but I'm picky about my crazy.

Bi-polar chic, we call it around here.

Methodical would be the word. Not maniacal, though I can be, there is a method to my madness.

It appears though, that right now, it's time for some change. I was hoping to simply change the world, now it appears to be more of a challenge of doing something about me.

Since everyone I know seems to either want to change me without openly saying it, but definitely trying to impliment suggestions. Seeded with this corrected thinking, what would become of me?

And everyone knows I'm simply a riot waiting to start. Rodney King couldn't do it better.


It's true.

I was discussing the hospitals in Kern County, and realized I have had an “incident” at most hospitals. There is no where here in this county for me.

One hospital may-lee included being thrown onto a marble floor as I tried to leave. Grabbed and shaken, definitely stirred, a nurse woke me after I took a dose of my own medication. Security guards, police and finally Elvis got the hell out of the building. All Because I took my own meds.

Though I must say the Rural Health Clinic in town KRV, “cleared” me for a visit. It took a week of gut wrenching decision making, but finally they called and I was among the priviledged who are allowed to make an appointment.

Which I did.

I was precise that I was there to clear up the thyroid and the growth in my nose. Now, the growth is bugging me, and the thyroid is questionable, as those pills taste just like sugar. But I cannot take the Seroquell.

Oh yes, my recent secret weapon against my “abundance of energy” causes leg cramps and jumpy legs. Horrible stuff.

The Doctor at Rural Health yelled to the nurse, “StAt!!”

I just stood there kind of surprised. Wondering what was so important. He tells the assistant. “Get her in with a Psych immediately.”

Mind you, I had not said hardly a word, just listening. But apparently, my Urban Legend, had arrived.

He chose not to prescribe anything for the psych, rather to alarm everyone in the office that Laura Hart was out of viable Psych meds.

“Yeah, that's great.”
The doctor, who is a first timer, never seen or spoken to me, has put the whole health clinic on alert as if I've climbed a fence or dug out of Alcatraz.

So, I wonder what would he change about me. Probably everything.

He told me at one point, that he is a “woman's doctor—I”m a gynecologist” he declares. Like I give a fuck, and being a woman it should be vaginally correct--but he goes on to explain that he cannot satisfy all the needs of a crazy bi-polar. I swear he said it just like this:

“I take parts out and I put some back, it depends, I stretch or tuck,” he really said this. The point I don't know, but I am going to watch my parts around him.

So, I'm sleepless, restless, and it's true, I have nothing but street drugs, or marijuana, to help me “hold on” thru this stat crisis.

Have a great day and don't think the people around you are planning your change of life....they really are.

Laura Hart—the Bi-polar American


Sunday, May 19, 2013

The Lights in the sky at night: My attitude

I've been jotting down a few of the stories that come with a serious romance with the truth. IDK, but it's a jolly good thing I have a sense of humor. It's also best to really deconstruct the thinking tracks and lay a little fresh iron.

I have been filming, only for my own data finding tour, and reading and seeing all sorts of new items. New experiences, Charlie Brown. In the environment. Glasses to "correct" my fawlty sense, are no longer the only reality, or primary source of percieved info.

So, with that vagueness I proceed.

UFO: Road side assistance.

One morning in search of something unknown, but relying on faith and boredom, I set out in the 5150 mobile, up the side of a mountain. A long and windy road.

Earlier in the drive I had no memory of hitting a tree, stalks sticking out of the hood over the engine, Side view mirror gone.

Now I had a different issue, my tires were spinning in the dirt, becoming deep and silty. I got stuck, then backed into a ditch.

I"m sitting there, barely a moment, thinking, "oh shit, no one knows where I am, I don't have a phone, and I'll only bury the car by continuing the effort.

My destination seemed to be before me, a walk was possible, as I had become restless with the secrecy. I can feel this, whether I or anyone else cares, likes, judges. It's just happening, as in the famous, "Inspector Clouseau" movies, "The pink Panther."

I hadn't been stopped when suddenly a small truck was behind me. Guy, clean cut, just clean looking, told me I was in a ditch. I could feel the mindfuck.

"You're in a ditch."

I"m looking at him, "yeah."

Then he askes who to call, I say, "know one." He called the CHP. Got back in the car and suddenly they were gone. 

NOt a couple minutes later came the CHP.

With instruction and the use of a huge off road vehicle we pushed WAlter and I up on the road. Had us turn around of course, so we left, and drove around realizing, that was some dam good road side assistance.

If I were caught somewhere else, the CHP would not have came rushing to my aid out in the middle of knowhere.

But thanks. Really.

The truth is what it is. An ever ending series of questions, suggestions, causes, effects. If you ask me what I believe you'll find, "not much." This is Bi-polar country, riding these tsunami waves of existence, change a constant reminder of the flimsy bits left of a whole map or history. 

This blog contains bread crumbs, as we know that gosh darn memory problem associated with age and diet related causes, forgets simple items such as hitting trees with a car. Where does it end with memory, our own controls, or no control? 

Get me Some GINKO Biloba baby.

lol

Hope all who suffer with these ugly scenarios arising out there begin to effectively deal it a just a better attitude. The truth not a welcome visitor for most of us. 

It's my attitude that the truth permeate anything that remains false.

May cause stomach upset, or it did for me this week, when I say we each have to pardon ourself for mising the most obvious. Pride goeth before a fall or even pratfall, as it should.

Thanks to all those who attempt truth in compassion and communication.

Laura Hart, The bi-polar American