Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues

I want to not decide

I want you to not find the one item in the freezer that isn’t labeled

I want to have time to digest my food before I go to bed, which means I DON’T want to eat at 1:00 in the morning.

I want to be skinny again, and I doubt that will ever happen.

I don’t like this world any more.

I don’t like a world where people think it’s okay to drive down a street and shoot at innocent people.

How do you teach people who don’t want to learn?

I’m at a loss.  I lecture, I make them do in-class work to reinforce the lecture and still they just won’t learn.  And I don’t think it’s that they can’t – they don’t want to learn.

Few things are more frustrating than asking, “what don’t you understand?” and getting “everything” as the answer.   How do I fix that?  I can’t reteach the entire course.

So much for a good semester.  😦

Can we have a national STFU day?

Apparently it was some national day to tell everyone who you want to sleep with.   I want to know who voted on this, because I did not get the notice.   I also don’t care who you sleep with as long as it’s not my husband or a small child.   Why does everyone need a label?   Why is it so important to be labeled bisexual, homosexual, asexual, transgender, whatever?   Why is it the business of the world to know?  I don’t care – I only care how you treat me.   Just shut up!

I don’t care if you’re black or white or purple, either.  Just shut up!

I don’t care if you’re poor or rich.  Just shut up!

I don’t care if you don’t like snow, or love snow, but if you have to post “bring it!” for every flake, will you please Shut UP!

I’m pretty sure that taking guns away from all the good people won’t stop the bad people and if you can’t see that, please Just Shut UP!

I really need a break from all this chatter.

Is magic

Taking the yarn in my hands, weaving it through my fingers, over the needle, under the needle, is a spell in itself

Counting the stitches, making the picture, is casting a spell

Love in every stitch

Or not

It’s magic – from the little kid who makes a string to the old woman who makes an intricate shawl – it’s magic

In the movement of my hands and fingers, it’s the casting of a spell

wrap around me and keep me safe

keep me safe from the world

shelter me within your wings

It isn’t a quilt

So stop calling it a quilt when it’s a comforter.   Calling it a quilt is an insult, a denigration of the countless hours I’ve spent,  hunched over a table, making tiny stitches by hand, in a piece lovingly put together – and sewing love into every stitch.   It’s an insult to the blood I’ve shed from pricking my finger.
Anyone can sew two pieces of fabric together with something in between.  It takes very little skill to do that.   To stitch those pieces together with needle and thread – that takes a bit of talent.   And perseverance.  And love.

Yes, I’m a curmudgeon.  But you don’t call a Mercedes just a car.

I am also a woman

I am married

I am 62 years old

I am the youngest child of five girls

I am no more ashamed of being white than I am ashamed of being a woman, married, 62 or the youngest of five.

I’m not proud of any of those things, either.

Were they a toss of the dice, a lottery win, as our president terms it?   Perhaps they are.  Perhaps I’m just lucky to have been born white, the youngest, to have lived this many years, to have the love of a good man.

What part of all that should make me ashamed?  And ashamed to the point that I need to make reparations to anyone?   I didn’t choose any of it, except the married part and yeah, I chose that with all my heart.

I am tired of the term “white privilege.”   I’m tired of being told I should feel guilty because of things I can’t control.   I’m tired of people trying to put a barrier between me and my friends, and yes, I have black friends, and gay friends, and young friends, and old friends, but I don’t refer to them as “that’s so and so, my black friend” or “that’s so and so, my old friend,” I refer to them as my friends.   They have Susan privilege – they’re lucky to be my friends.   And I have the privilege of having them in my life.

That’s a side note.  I’m tired of being divided.  I’m tired of watching people tear my country apart.  Maybe we should all focus on what we have in common, and start thinking of each other as people, instead of as labels.
And no, it’s now how I “identify,” those things I listed.  Nor are they who I am.   They are parts of who I am.   And those parts together, along with others, make up the sum total of me.   I’m not ashamed of a single part.  Not the white, not the straight, not the married, not one single bit.