Conspiracy Theory

I saw today where the FDA approved Oxycontin for children as young as eleven years old. Oxycontin is a powerful addictive Opioid like Morphine. Morphine is so dangerously addictive it is often only used to ease pain for those who are terminally ill. And they approved giving something like that to children. WTF?

They know that adults often become addicted to these prescription narcotics and that it can lead them to heroin abuse. But now they're not going to wait till we're adults to turn us into drug addicts. They're going to get us hooked while we're children.

During lunch last night at work there was some talk of conspiracy theories. This year's upcoming presidential election has us all scared. And as the only woman at the table I was mostly quiet, mostly taking in what the guys were talking about. A secret government. Billions of dollars and gold just missing. That 9/11 was no accident nor a terrorist attack. But I have my own conspiracy theory.

I believe there are multiple exclusive factions vying for control of the world. These factions are made up of small groups of obscenely rich and powerful elites. And each faction is trying to take over the world in a different way.

The oldest way, religion. Some people are sheeple and need someone to lead them around by the nose. They need religion to tell them how to be good little boys and girls and don't know how to be good honest human beings without it. And I find it just sad and pathetic that you need to be threatened with hell fire just to be a decent human being. But that doesn't work with everyone. Some people reject all religion because it just doesn't make any logical sense to them.

Money is the root of all evil. Money is just another form of slavery. People have allowed themselves to be enslaved to this imaginary thing. And even those of us who see clearly that it's imaginary, are slave to it because you can't do a damn thing in our world without it unless you live totally off the grid and make and grow everything you need yourself. And not many of us can live like that anymore. We simply don't have the survival skills for it. Many millennials can't even fry an egg or sew a button back on. But there are people that reject it and live off the grid while others of us are looking for ways to eliminate it because it's not real any damn way.

The war on drugs. What a crock of shite. Marijuana with all the good it can do is still illegal. Still classified as a schedule 1 drug like Heroin and LSD even though it's not addictive. It can actually be used to help people recover from Heroin addiction along with many other uses. But you could grow it easily in your own back yard. They don't want that. They can't control that. But if they get you hooked on their prescription drugs, that gives them a lot of control over you. So they're looking for the best drug to get us addicted to and trying to figure out just how young we have to be to start using it in order to control us fully and keep us slaves.

Then there's trying to find a way to engineer a group of subhumans that will happily work their asses off for a little praise and a cookie. Plus, they know they're destroying the environment and these subhumans could also serve as cattle. Where did I pull that one from? Zika virus. They are trying to create people who can work their asses off but aren't smart enough to see they're just slaves and will just accept orders without question.

First faction to master their particular form of slavery wins control of the world!

Religion and money are the two oldest. Those two factions just need to give it up. You simply can't control everybody with either of those nor by combining them. Drug addiction will never work completely either because there will always be those who are drug resistant naturally while others will develop a tolerance to the drugs that will make them useless.

The last one though does have me worried. Because they have already done an excellent job of dumbing us down. Too dependent upon electronics, microwave meals and no real survival skills. Lots of children are being born with autism and now suddenly we have to worry about these babies born with the zika virus. They may finally succeed with this one because most of us have no desire to go live off the grid. We trust that the water coming into our homes is safe to drink. We're constantly breathing pollution. We're too lazy to hold onto a piece of trash until we find a garbage can. ADD, ADHD, Tourettes Syndrome, OCD and mental illnesses such as racism keep us from paying attention to the world around us properly. I think we're screwed.

I got off of work about six am and it's going on three pm. I need to get some sleep. But I often suffer from insomnia. As you see above I have a very busy mind. And I believe giving strong narcotics like Oxycontin to children is just wrong. And if a doctor prescribes such a thing for your child, you need to find a new doctor for your family.

What's In A Name?

For the first fifteen years of my life my maternal grandmother (my mom's mom) refused to call me by my first name, Renetta. She called me by a nickname that had nothing to do with my first name and there are still some very old friends and a few family members left on my mother's side that still call me by that nickname.

Renetta... I like my first name. I have never wanted to be one of the more common names people often name their children. Look at my picture. Do I look like a Susan?

Now my last name, I wanted to change my last name. I have heard just about every Corn-y joke there is. I wished it was more identifiable as Native. I wished I had gotten a cool Native last name like Eaglefeather or Flyingeagle. I spent most of my sixth grade year putting another word down as my last name on my papers because I was tired of my corny last name and all the dull corny jokes.

But I finally accepted it. Or rather I've accepted that I'm stuck with it because my father has never claimed me. And since I don't ever expect to marry, it seems I am stuck with it for eternity.

Renetta... I never wanted a new first name. I've always been comfortable with my first name. It is often mispronounced by people who have never heard it before. But that doesn't bother me. I know it's not a common name. But it's not a new name either.

But I was hurt that my maternal grandmother wouldn't call me by it. Her reason? She believed it was a nigger name.

My maternal grandmother was raised to think of herself as white even though that's not true. Her father was German, but her mother was Native. Except we don't know what tribe she was from. It was not discussed. He taught my grandmother and her siblings that he was white so they were white and what there mother was didn't matter.

I was one of those nosy kids who had to know everything. I never just accepted things. I always questioned them. I know it was something that the adults on my mother's side of the family found annoying or at least the ones that would allow me to be around. Because most of my mother's side of the family wouldn't have anything to do with me and my brother. They called us Sheila's Nigger Kids. And no they didn't wait for us to be out of the room. They didn't hesitate to say exactly how they felt about us right in front of us because in their eyes we weren't entirely human so our feelings weren't real and didn't matter.

I'm sure it isn't hard to imagine what this did to my self esteem. I valued myself very little when I was young. For a long time I was desperate for someone to love me despite the fact I didn't deserve to be loved because I was interracial. My father is African and Native American. But in the world I was being raised in that African part made me worthless. Sometimes those feelings of worthlessness still haunt me.

As a result I got pregnant young, very young. I'm not quite a whole sixteen years older than my son. I turned sixteen a month after he was born. I never once considered having an abortion, but my mother would have taken me for one if I had said that's what I wanted. And I didn't consider adoption an option either. I had no guarantee that someone would love my not so white baby as much as I would. Plus, I needed him.

I had finally found purpose in my life. I had a reason to live. I had someone to live for because I had trouble living for myself. I may not have loved myself properly, but I loved this baby I was having. I was going to do everything within my power to do my best to be the best mother I could possibly be for that baby. But that baby needed a name.

I knew from my experience with my own name that names are very important. I spent hours pouring through baby name books because I didn't know the sex of my unborn child. I needed a name for a girl in case I had a girl and a name for a boy in case I had a boy. And while going through the girl names I found my own name. There in black print on the off-white paper was my name. And according to the info provided for it, it was a German name.

I was happy and pleased to share with my maternal grandmother that it was okay to call me by my name because "Look Grandma. See??? It's not a nigger name at all. Renetta is a German name." My grandmother never called me by her nickname for me again.

I remember the look on her face when I shared happy and excited that my name wasn't bad like she thought. I know she realized at that moment that she had hurt me. And I know she never meant to hurt me. I know she loved me. But she wasn't the kind of woman to admit she had made that kind of mistake and had been wrong. So she said instead, that I had become a woman. I was having children of my own. And I was too grown up for that baby nickname.

I have learned more about my name since then. And while never a popular name it has been used widely across Europe. Its root is Latin and means "reborn." Yet the question, "What's in a name?" is one that haunts me.

I know that if my grandmother believed what she did about my first name that she's not the only one. And your name affects your whole life. People have perceptions about certain names. People expect anyone named Marilyn will be a beautiful blond woman. Certain names can make it easier to get a job. Make is more likely you'll get a job interview.

I wonder how many times I have been dismissed and didn't even get an interview because of my name and the perception someone has of it. I wonder how many times my resume was tossed aside because my name was at the top. I wonder how many negative thoughts ran through someone's head about me when they heard my name for the first time.

I've had people state shocked after getting to know me "wow, you're a hard worker." All I can think is, why wouldn't I be a hard worker?

I don't know exactly what's happening in other people's heads except that I am getting judged without the opportunity to prove myself, without attempting to get to know me. And I know I'm not the only one this is happening to. So if you're someone who thinks negative thoughts when you see or hear a rare or unusual name, you have something you need to work on. Because you just might be passing on someone who would be the best, best friend you ever had, would make an excellent employee, or who might be the love of your life and you're throwing away your one chance at Happily Ever After. And why? Because their name sounds funny or strange to you. Sounds really immature to me.

But hey, what do I know? I'm just Renetta. ;)

Omnie-poe-tent

One of the best things about being a parent are the things my children say. My daughter always knows when she's either said something incorrectly or inserted the wrong yet similar sounding word by the giggle fit I burst into when she's trying to have a serious philosophical discussion with me.

It is my opinion that if she ever gets to attend a college that she should study philosophy since things of that nature are her favorite topic.

Last night my giggle fit was while she was attempting to have a serious philosophical discussion with me about God and whether or not there exist a truly omnipotent being out there somewhere. She mispronounced the word omnipotent and instead said omnie-poe-tent which sent me into a giggle fit. She immediately recognized that she had pronounced it wrong and tried to salvage the conversation and put me back on track by telling me I knew what she was trying to say.

Yes I knew what she was trying to say, but she had lost me to my hilarious thoughts and I had to inform her that her omnie-poe-tent being had created an image of an impotent being inside my head that had me giggling. At that point she realized she had lost me because then I reminded her of the time my mother had a vasectomy.

My mother actually had a double mastectomy a few years ago. And while sharing this with some associates visiting us at home Cherokee accidentally used the word vasectomy instead. That one had me declaring we were going to be rich along with my giggle fit because my mother was the first woman to under go a vasectomy.

I thoroughly enjoy being a parent. I look forward to things my two special needs children will say. Occasional one of them will actually say something very profound. I am totally at a loss when people tell me they're sorry that my two children are both special people because I'm not sorry. I'm blessed. My two children are beautiful human beings who are accepting, tolerant and without the petty prejudices many people have.

Even my son realizes the men running around in white hoods are just "stupid."

And as I continue to enjoy being the mother of my two very special individuals, I'm still waiting for our generous wind fall from my mother being the first woman to have a vasectomy. Perhaps that omnie-poe-tent being will cut us a check. :D