D.A.D

http://www.change.org/petitions/the-state-of-georgia-create-a-domestic-abuse-database-for-violent-offenders

Last night my husband received a text from her sister: she was in the hospital.

Her boyfriend of about 8 months beat her up pretty badly. I watched my husband's fingers flash across the mini keypad, his breathing labored.

My sister-in-law was sent for an emergency MRI because they thought blood might be flooding to her brain. This is not the first woman in my life to become a victim of abuse. My husband's anger and worry has morphed into something we can all take part in: finding a way to reduce the risk of this happening to other women. My husband is starting an organization called "DAD or Domestic Abuse Database. Similar to that of sex offender registries because the crime is eerily similar in how it repeats. The objective is to create pressure on our leaders to enact laws requiring those who commit acts of domestic violence to register themselves with the state government and to require those state officials to maintain these databases."

This woman's story is a prime example of why a database like this is needed. Connie Nelson knows her life will change again once her husband is released--it has been 12 years since anyone has seen him. If he comes after her again, the chances are small that someone would be able to recognize him and to help prevent access to her.

Please, help begin the change that society desperately needs to reduce the risk of abuse.

Rather...uninspiring.

I've done something amazing. I left the small town of Thief River Falls to follow... what I thought was my dream. I love Savannah. I love the people I meet, I love my new job as a Video Production Assistant, I love AASU's campus. I love the weather, I love how different each part of Savannah is (just the other day I drove through what looked like Mexico, then straight through Hatton, ND, and then back into what I identify as Savannah). I'm surrounded by magical trees. I feel like if I climbed into them, I'd find my head surrounded by fairies and trolls beneath my feet. My campus is literally a plethora of flora from all over the world. I've seen seeds from plants that make me feel like understanding where shapes came from. I love sitting next to the water fountain watching butterflies float by my head, spanish moss dangling from branches shading me from the hot sun.

Yet, here I sit, frustrated, and uninspired. My teachers are definitely of a higher quality than what I've experienced (mostly) in higher education so far. But I've been spoiled. One high school English teacher and his influence nags in the corner of my mind. The word that floats around my head as I'm doing homework is: mediocre. I've never felt so inspired, so excited to learn and happy to be in a classroom than when I was studying under this teacher. I've had good professors in college, of course, but none that gave me the feeling that what I was doing with my education was so right.

So my baby comes home and tells me about his day, the characters he meets (I say characters instead of people, because they have literally transcended the idea of being a single human being and are now unique individuals with personality), and I'm sad. I'm angry with myself. Everything that I've done in the last three years of college feel almost worthless. I want to start over, but at SCAD. I hate how the buildings are in the center of historic Savannah (mostly because driving and parking is a god-awful nightmare and I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack from lack of space). I hate the idea of transferring all of my credits AGAIN, getting FAFSA to transfer...AGAIN. I hate the cost. I haven't written anything creative outside this blog in years. I've forced myself to learn how to write what a teacher wants, because that's the kind of English teaching I've been getting. It's lazy, and I despise it. Yet, here I am.

Now, there truly is nothing wrong with AASU. It's my first semester, so I haven't had time to find the amazing professors. But I don't want to have to search. I'm probably jumping to conclusions, but my husband has been encouraging me to stop selling myself short, to apply to SCAD, just to see what happens. My husband came home today and told me that he finally had professors that he knew would challenge him. Professors who have worked for the New York Times, taught at Columbia University, ect. I love the opportunities SCAD can present. I love how much help SCAD has given my husband over his PTSD disability. I love that the money he is paying is giving him an actual hand up over what I've experienced between my Financial Aid office and Registration Office.

Honestly, I'm tired of the education I'm getting. I'm tired of being in school. I don't want to transfer to another school again, but I want a better education. I want to be almost ensured a job outside of school. I want to make the connections necessary to advancing my career. It's not enough to work hard in America. You need to work smart. I don't know if I have that ability at AASU. I guess I'll find out by the end of this year. I'm just sick of hating something I used to love. I haven't picked up a pencil for anything other than to take notes because it's tedious. It's a chore, and all I want to do is watch Alphas  or Babylon 5 or talk to my husband. I've felt uninspired for so long that I've forgotten how to dream. This favorite high school teacher of mine used to tease me for being an idealist. I don't even know if I can be that way any more. John gets upset, telling me to stop being so negative, start dreaming, because I can do it. I can achieve these dreams. We've already achieved one of them: to leave Minnesota. That's a start. And yet, I can't stop being negative Nelly. I don't know what it's like to stop punching my dreams in the face any more. I encourage John to follow his dreams, because I KNOW he can do it. But because they are MY dreams, they feel unreachable. I don't know what happened, between 2010 and 2012. But dreaming isn't my thing any more. Idealism is a thing of the past. All I really want is to read Harry Potter without analyzing it. I just want to enjoy my favorite books. I haven't even been able to read a good book for hours on end like I used to. I get jittery, need to stand up and walk around, and continue feeling frustrated. I know I deserve to follow my dreams. Hell, I'm a decent enough writer that I know I could get into SCAD. The amount of scholarships is debatable. But I know I can do this. Or at least, I used to. I'm not sure what happened, but I want to be that senior in high school again. I've got the amazing and loving husband to get me there. Now I just need the will and the confidence to throw myself out there, despite every reason why I SHOULDN'T. I think the education system is trying to ruin me.

Plus size? Or normal?

This article on Yahoo News sparked a conversation between my husband and I on the issue of women's weight. He complained that men have it easy, that football has made being a bigger guy...'fashionable.' Whereas women have Victoria's Secret models to look at before staring in the mirror and thinking, "I do not have those boobs, those muscles, nor am I less than a size 6. I. Suck." Shopping in the 'Big and Tall' section for men is a complement. Just the words 'big' and 'tall' bring to mind giants with muscles, even if that isn't the case. Women get stamped with: Plus Size. To most women, this just makes them envision. . . fat.

One summer my family and I traveled to Minneapolis to do our back to school shopping. My dad and I wandered off and came to a store that looked like the epic all-female equivalent of Hot Topic. As I looked around, enjoying the ambiance, I noticed that every shirt I found was a bit larger than I was used to. I couldn't find a pair of pants in my size. Finally, I asked a passing employee if it was possible to get the jeans I was holding in a  10 or 12. She looked at me a moment before telling me that the store didn't carry anything under a size 14. Later, when I got home (ah, the days before wireless), I dialed up the internet and discovered the store I enjoyed so much was a 'plus-size' clothing store.

Today, a size 12, even size 10, is considered plus-size. As John talked more about the injustice against a woman's body image, I spouted something like, "Well, we're women, we almost have to have a bad self-image."

Now hang on a minute. I couldn't believe what had come from my mouth. Granted, I don't have the highest confidence in the way I look. Every time I glance in the mirror, I sigh and wish that I could be the weight I was in high school. That was just a few years ago, so why is that so much to ask? Probably because a woman's body doesn't stop developing until the age of 24. Also, probably because I love food. My point is, how many times have I heard friends, family, random women walking by talk about something they would like to change about themselves? About how they want to start going to the gym, but lack the motivation, time, ect?

There is a stigma out there, and it's called popular media. Every commercial break, every TV show, every ad campaign features the small percentage of people who have perfect teeth, spatially desired eyes and nose, waists so small that the man with the wavy hair and rippling muscles across from the woman has no trouble grabbing her and throwing her in the air to celebrate all that perfection. You get the impression that if they were to have children, those kids would be the next step in the evolutionary stage. Plastic surgery would fall out of practice. Anyone remember the car ad featuring women so skinny you didn't know they were pregnant until the camera panned in on their bellies?  Swollen ankles and double chins don't exist in that world. I'm not a fan of the idea of being pregnant, but when I looked at my sister-in-law with my future niece inside of her, I thought she looked beautiful in all her round and swollen glory. There's something to say about being able to create a human from scratch and expel it 9 months later as something more than the tiny cell it was before.
Media needs to get a little gritty. Plus size models should just be models. They should be the norm. After all, more than one-third of America is obese. Just think of how many more people out there are over a size 8.

Maybe it would help if women knew how to dress to fit their bodies instead of assuming the clothes that fit on that model without any body fat will suit every shape. I can't count the number of women and girls  (including myself) who has worn a pair of jeans or a shirt that hugs curves in all the wrong ways. Of course you aren't going to like the way you look if you are wearing the jeans oh-so-popular today. The ones that sit just below the waist, forcing you to wear a belt to keep it just above the butt crack line, squeezing all the beautiful curves out into a muffin top.

So, women should get educated on the real facts of life. I think encouraging companies like Vogue to go the direction of curves is just the first step. Maybe the next time a new TV show about a confident, ass-kicking crime fighter starts up it should feature a woman with a crooked nose. Or a balding man. Or maybe someone with a skin condition. Who says you can't fight crime with a pimple and psoriasis? And please, if it is a woman, teach her to wear sensible shoes. Ms. Kate Beckett, heels are not acceptable in the middle of a chase scene. Get some sexy Reeboks up in there. If you watch Megan Fox's feet in the first two Transformer movies, or Rosie's in the third movie, even they have multiple shoe changes. Come on, let's get real.