I didn't eat any fish 6.6.19

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I had to go to the mall today. Because I accidentally ordered two of the same hard drives and if I don’t want to pay return postage, I have to drop it at the Amazon store.

The reason I had two of the same drive is that I must have opened the first one, set it in my “study” and completely forgot that it arrived. When I went looking for it in my previous orders (I swear I looked!), I didn’t see it so I ordered another one. The next night - too late after super speedy Amazon already had it boxed - I saw the other one.

I just sat and stared at it. I had zero recollection of opening the envelope.

Today, I nearly walked away from my car with the door wide open. I did a few other things like that but have already forgotten what they are.

Because I had to go to Bellevue by June 8th (damn those return policies - this is one of many reasons why I don’t like buying stuff anymore - too stressful if I need to return it, takes up space, consumerism, I might be dead in the next couple of years so what’s the point - though I am trying to find new pajamas and sweatpants since my old ones are rags and fall off of me), a friend met me for a coffee in this new mall that has lovely drinks she’s been raving about.

I arrived and saw out of the corner of my eye, the last person I felt like saying hello to.

He and I have a complicated history. No, not that kind of history. We’re more like cousins even though we’re not related. We’ve known each other since we were kids.

We’d butt heads all of the time.

I was one of the few kids - let alone females - that would challenge him or call him out. He was rich and good-looking and of course, popular. I didn’t care. And it turned out, I think he appreciated it. I wasn’t afraid of him. I’m still not afraid of him. Disappointed yes, Frustrated definitely. But not afraid.

As I’ve mentioned here, growing up around so many boys, and their friends, they didn’t intimidate me. If I thought they were being a dunce, I’d tell them. They didn’t intimidate me then. And they certainly don’t intimidate me now.

I love love love all my boys. But I have zero hesitation calling out poor behavior. It’s not easy doing it in a way that doesn’t damage the ego, yet it can be done.

Somehow we ended up friendly over the years.. He lives near me now. Very successful business man, of course.

One day, while I was walking by his house, I saw Fox News on in his living room. And it broke my heart.

No, not him. That was around the time I started to realize that much of the island wasn’t helping me, or anyone else, or even acknowledging my presence because I stood for something they would not endorse.

Even if they did endorse it? They were scared or concerned about their social status to break ranks with their wealthy peers on the other side to stand up for me, and others like me.

Some days, I’ve thought about walking over to his house and begging him to call the doctors he donates generously to.

Other days, I’ve thought about walking over and chewing him out.

I’m still thinking what I’ll do. I keep hoping him or the others will initiate.

I hate always having the onus on me.

I’m sobbing now. Just thinking about how many men I grew up with that put money over lives, over and over and over again these past years.

How quiet my allies are.

My mom just texted. She took my dad to the hospital. His toe is cold and numb. It’s all going downhill so fast.

They just got in a room. Everything in the medical world moves like molasses so I will finish digesting soup and then drive over. She’s been so frustrated lately.

Even she didn’t realize how hard it’s been for me, and I live with her.

She said: I see what you’re saying now. They’re so cavalier, so whatever, you’re dying, we fucked up, ok, go home now!

I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep last night. Again.

I have these sores on my face. I waited too long to get another IV bag with all the minerals, trace minerals and a few vitamins. Whenever I get too deficient, my skin looks terrible, I get spacey, I lose my balance easily.

When I was walking at the mall today, I made sure to be very careful on the escalators. I have to triple check that I have my wallet, my credit card.

Well before my dad got so sick, I wrote down one idea for a video series called: Dying in America. Interview people going through it, talk about our family’s situation, whatever. Show the underbelly of America and how they REALLY treat their dying.

It’s sick. There is a sickness in this country that’s pervaded everything so badly, that even people I know who love me, and known me for my whole life, will turn away.

I didn’t just risk my life two years ago. I risked being turned.

I risked exile while at my weakest.

This is why I’m always so appreciative of the people who stick around.

I’m sure he knows I saw him. I know he saw me. My friend that I was with didn’t know him. They’re from different worlds of my childhood, but strangely enough, I met them both around the same exact age.

Very odd. Around 10 years old, two different camps.

The old friend, buying me a coffee, and I haven’t mentioned here because their generosity blows my mind but her and her husband bought me an ipad. I’d just been asking about best devices to draw on, because then I can draw my little comics. It’s so cool. It’s also great for organizing my photos which is a pain on my computer, and not so easy on my phone.

And there sits a male from my past. Someone whose known me since before I had boobs.

Of all the days to see him. I mean, it’s not that unusual. He’s in my orbit. You know how you always run into the same people from your past and then weirdly never see others, even though they’re technically in the same space?

Still. The day I told the whole world how I don’t want to live anymore.

When I say that my FB list could fix this entire mess, I mean it.

I’m not even sure how many billionaires I have on there. Definitely a ton of millionaires. Very, very well connected people.

But the desire has to be there in their heart.

They have to be willing to step away from the herd, at the least the first few.

If I had this one guy. This one man, who was there the day I got bit by the dog at camp. I think that was the first time we ever spoke. He was handsome and popular. I was tiny and nerdy, but he was worried. I remember that really well. He had depth, I saw that right away. And a big heart. I’ve told you.

I sense people’s real character. It’s nearly impossible to hide it.

He has a really good heart. That’s why it hurt so bad to realize who he was siding with. That’s why my heart sank when I saw Fox News in his living room like RECENTLY, in the last year. (Early believers that stopped believing are a different segment of the population.)

Because I knew if we didn’t have him, getting the others…I don’t know.

Fear.

I could be living in any other zip code in the country. A small suburb in Minnesota. A short drive outside of San Diego.

I think he admired the fact that I got hurt that day with the dog because I was trying to see the dog tags after my cabin mate was bitten on the cheek, or to make sure the dog wouldn’t take off again, whatever the hell I was thinking.

I ended up with around 7 or 8 stitches in my ear.

That’s me. I just jump into the fray, without thinking about the consequences.

A solider’s heart. Born in the wrong body at the wrong time, I always thought. When everyone else feels relaxed during peace times, I felt agitated and could never figure out why. It was a big part of why I felt different.

The last two and a half years, I finally got it.

Ahhhh, while everyone is hiding or running around or freaking out or crying or numbing or whatever, everything slows down for me. I can see all the different possible strategies, play them out in my mind, run down the track to assess consequences, pull back to the beginning and do that until the best strategy comes to mind.

One time, at a friend’s child’s birthday party in a park, one of the kids had their glow stick open somehow and he got some in his eye. He was probably 6 or 7 years old. I quickly bent down and said, do not move, do not touch your face. I yelled to my side, get me a paper towel. Wiped what I could. Then yelled, now get me a wet one now.

He stood very still as I administered the care. Meanwhile, the parents were running around freaking out.

Of course, I have years of experience being around small children who need help, both in the classroom where I often had them handling dangerous tools and elsewhere.

There were many times when it was my booming, but clear voice that kept them from burning themselves or cutting someone else. One little guy once said: you’re strict.

And I said: that’s because my job is to teach you but also keep you safe. He nodded as if to say: I got it. You’re that adult. You’re the adult who would run into a burning building for us.

They know. They smell it, the kids. They know which adults would act like that fucker security guard at Parkland, and which would have their back. Don’t take the job, ok? It’s fine if you’re not that person. But don’t take the job.

We’re a very small demographic. It’s fine if others don’t jump in. We need a balanced population. Everyone can’t be like me. Everyone can’t be like him.

Just don’t take the job, dude.

When everyone else is fleeing from the guns and the dog bites and the houses on fire, I don’t know how or why, but I see what needs to be done. And. I’m willing to do it.

I would have been a terrible ER doc, though. OMG, I don’t like blood. I’m very squeamish. I’m even squeamish about sharing my medical story, even though I know the people who are interested will find it. I’m just old enough that it feels weird. The millennials think it’s just what you do. You give it a try on the Internet, share what you got.

If I can get to answers I need, then I’ll share my weird ass story - and what an apt name for me! Weird ass story hahahahahahaa. I’m not really laughing.

I know I must sound arrogant sometimes in here. Whatever. I hate that if I was a man, I could say all kinds of blowhard shit and NO ONE bats an eyelash. If I can’t write these things about myself, then what kind of example am I setting for these kids? I get so tired of how women - no, let me niche down, * some * white women hate confident women.

I’ve inadvertently tried everything. Hiding myself. Playing the game. Being fat. Dressing frumpy. Dressing butch.. Dressing slutty. Being a party girl. Being a serious girl. Being a sad, lonely girl. Ignoring the men so they don’t think I’ll steal them. Not flirting. Flirting outrageously. It doesn’t matter.

I’ve fucking done it all, and the haters still hate, no matter what.

I see what people say when they say: haters are gonna hate.

They don’t like themselves so they certainly aren’t going to like anyone who likes themselves.

I don’t know if I feel like I like myself today.

Can I like myself and be profoundly sad at the same time? I need to think about this because I’ve been trained to not like myself for so many years, I’m still getting used to even thinking that way.

Yes, I can like myself and feel proud of me, and still be fucking sad as hell about my dad, the world, all of it.

Haters gonna hate.

Well, I can’t bend myself into a pretzel anymore. And hope that I’m liked, or loved or accepted.

The last time I walked by his house, we barely glanced at each other and said hello. He used to stand outside all the time, the unofficial mayor of Mercer Island. But slowly over the last couple of years, that hasn’t been the case. That, or I’m not walking as frequently outside, which is definitely a possibility.

The kids tell me it’s about half and half at school. A good half of the kids - mostly white even though half the school is Asian - have openly declared themselves Republican.

The other half Democrats. I hear that the Republican kids rattle off misinformation, clearly from Fox News, and as one kid told me “they don’t ever make sense.”

It’s not as blue here in Seattle as people think. Our roots our red, and add in the economic boom these past 20 or so years, and you’ve got a whole lot of people sitting on a pile of money they do not want to share.

It’s sad isn’t it?

The human race may cease to exist because some people in the first half of the 21st century wouldn’t share.

Or get off their ass.

I know I should give up on some. I know. I know! So many people tell me this.

I just have faith. I can’t help it. It’s why they love me, even though I drive them nuts. Because they know, without a doubt, that I love them.

They know, in the end, that if they called me at 3am freaking out about their kid or their loved one or had a gun in their hand and scared of what they might do with it, they KNOW. THEY KNOW.

THEY KNOW, I’d calmly say: what can I do to help you? What do you need? Should I come over?

And I’d be there for them. No matter what.

That’s why they stick around.

Especially my boys. The boys I grew up with.

I know their hearts. I know they are simply asleep. Money and creature comforts put them to sleep.

If they waken in time….

The thing that I can’t help but wonder: will they waken in time for me? For my dad?

(or will they stand there silently as I die? this haunts me….)

Not my dad, man. That’s not ok. I didn’t know.

He’s not an outwardly emotional man, I’ve told you. My mom used to instruct him to say I love you to us at night while we were falling asleep.

I’ve made sure that the boys are comfortable expressing that, and talking about feelings, and telling them it’s ok to hug, that men can hug and touch.

Our culture focuses on so much shit that doesn’t matter.

He’s actually a real softie, my dad. I think I wrote in here that he cries only at sad or sappy movies. For real, he LOVED the Traveling Pants Sisterhood movie - what the fuck is the name of that, I’m not wasting time googling THAT.

I learned a long time ago that the people who work the hardest to appear tough, are often the biggest mushballs. Need some protection.

It’s often the people who are cold as ice that hide in plain sight. Site? I keep doing that lately. I can’t figure out which word to use. That’s hard on me. Normally, I look it up, but I need to figure out if I have the energy to go to the hospital or need to walk on the treadmill since I just ate eggs.

Or, crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I really need to stop eating those awful trader joe’s meringue cookies. Oh gd the quality of the sugar must be horrible, they hurt my teeth. I need to be calm, and make herbal teas, and not be stressed out every minute of the day.

It’s been my experience, as a nutritionist with 20+ years in my pocket, that stress will kill you a lot faster than a shitty diet.

All right, I’ve got to stop. I don’t know why I can’t stop writing in here once I get going!! It just helps to get this out of my head!! There are worried people I need to text back.

I don’t know if I have the bandwidth to drive to the hospital. But if I don’t go, he won’t be admitted. If he’s not admitted, they’ll send them home at 2am again.

I’m not even sure my Hulk will come out, I’m so tired.

We used to have some sway in this city. The Negrin name meant something.

Not anymore. It’s all about money, money, money, money. And more money. And status. Based on money.

We’ll be the first to go.

I don’t know why people didn’t believe me the first time I said it.

I talk about why I don’t lie on my latest podcast. See, I’m really trying to pull it together here. Fuck it’s hard.

These boys I grew up with.

They still don’t understand the truth about power.

They think a pile of money will keep them safe.

People get very angry when you steal their livelihood, their home, their savings and their medical care. And then shove it in their face while in fancy cars, and fancy clothes and fancy vacation photos.

Very, very angry.

They think I’m mad at them. I am a little, but more disappointed and frustrated. Because I’m trying to protect them too.

I have to drive to the hospital now. And make sure they don’t fuck with my father.

These men in DC have no idea what they’ve done. This is just the beginning.

Much love,

Jules