To Amber on her Forty-First Birthday

Yep I’m forty-one. Officially not young anymore…and my life is falling apart the way, I guess, your life is supposed to fall apart when you are no longer young and everything is all complicated and you’re asking yourself, where am I going and where have I been? And then there is this part of yourself that is freaking out a bit saying, girl if you don’t know by now…
Well my life is falling apart. Let me give you a visual. You know how Tom or Jerry brings in that box of TNT with the lever on it and they push it down? Everything explodes, leaving Tom or Jerry all pathetically and racist-ly black-faced? And the room or the house they were in lies all around them in pieces? Yeah, my life is falling apart like that. Like everything is going all at once, all of a sudden, and luckily on my forty-first birthday, I’m all cool Buddha Zen about it. Seriously, I’m all Jai Guru Deva, ommmmmmm, cause nothing’s gonna change my world, nothing’s gonnachange my world as I calmly examine the blown to bits pieces of my life. And I accept full responsibility, without accepting any fault, if that makes sense. Which it wouldn’t unless you too are all Jai Guru Deva, ommmmmmm.
I wrote a book The Way Through Lessons Learned on Life, Love and the Journey that I worked on for ten years! I poured every ounce of my blood, sweat, tears and chi amberlisaness into that book. In a way, it was like climbing the Mount Everest of my life. I don’t really feel like I have to prove anything to anyone else ever again. (And it’s a damn good book, if I do say so myself. It really is.) It’s not a stupid person’s or coward’s book though. You have to be smart and courageous to deal with it; and I’m sad to say, some people just ain’t got the heart for it.
So anyway, back to the pieces of my life. I think that this book is the reason my life can completely fall apart and I’m totally cool with it. I don’t even know where I’m going to be living next year…but I’m cool with it. I ain’t got no “job” in the very technical sense of the word, even though I put in work every damn day, and my life moves at a crazy pace. Still, I’m cool with that too. I don’t even think that I want one of those ever again…jobs suck. They really do.
At the fake job that I do have, teaching as an adjunct at a Community College, I get zero respect from that institution as a professional, and even less money. Seriously, if you work at as an adjunct in any college or university system your paycheck will be less than zero. Okay, no it won’t. But it will be pretty damn close to zero. If your pay check is like that, there is a huge component of our very capitalistic, insanely materialistic society that strongly believes they can, therefore, treat you as if you were human trash. I mean think about how twisted our world is. It is one where you can make a million dollars because you have children working for you as regular slaves or sex slaves around the clock and you’re a sociopath who (in addition to the whole child labor/child prostitution thing) eats human babies daily and yet, even in spite of all of those sins there will be hundreds, if not thousands, of people lining up to kiss your ass.
On the other hand, if you happen to have a job doing something really meaningful and decent like teaching or healing (as a nurse or in the alternative health professional) or doing some other kind of valid community work you will typically be making pennies on the dollar, while being treated like shit by all of your obnoxious and usually sociopathic superiors, who will typically be trying to force you into being really sucky at your work, because in general, it seems that sociopaths are always running things, and they just like for things to be f*cked up because they always end up making more money that way.  How twisted and backward ass is this??????
But, at forty-one, I’m even cool with all of that. (Making pennies on the dollar and getting no respect from sociopaths who are ruining the world.) Well, I’m lying. It pisses me off…but what can I do, really? Run my mouth, talk my ish, and write my books and I’m doing that. There’s my contribution, world.
It’s like one of my colleagues recently said to me, “Amber, I’ve crossed a threshold and I’m like Thelma. There is no going back now.” And you know, I too, am feeling that, (although I’m definitely Louise)  on my forty-first birthday. (I thought of reminding her…you know Thelma (and Louise) drove off a cliff. Then, I also thought of asking her, is that where we are headed?)
But all I know is I am forty-one years old and I am not going back to no f*cked up situations; and I’m not kowtowing to anymore sociopaths, I don’t care how rich and powerful they might be, I’m just not. (Not that I ever did; and I guess that’s always been my problem. I’m too damn Dr. Zhivago, always thinking that I’m gonna do my own damn thing, even though the guns been pulled out and put to my head. I’m still on my own other ish. And I am not changing another thing about me,  ever (unless I want to.) I am perfect and beautiful and brilliant as I am, and I dare anyone to tell me otherwise.  And I don’t care if I have to drive off a cliff just to avoid taking a bullet to the brain. It’s gonna go down my way, from now on.  And my whole entire life can just fall apart. And that’s fine. Cause I wrote a book. And it’s dope as all hell, and even the pieces of my life can attest to that.