One year, but who’s countin’

I’ve been asleep mostly for days. I downloaded a virus onto my computer at work, had to drag myself in but then my car battery died — and fucking LawyerBoy was too busy to come jump-start my fucking car. It’s been a week around here. Is tomorrow actually Friday?

I’m now trying to figure out what I’m supposed to file next for court since we’re supposedly going to have a trial now maybe. Or perhaps they’ll do another one of their midnight meetings and just decide the case without letting me say anything. Who fucking knows with these people.

I did get the terrorist report on myself. Again: I said nothing threatening, and yet it’s backdated to two days after they asked for my info from NSP. So they found something I said after they had already started investigating me to justify investigating me. I seriously said I was going to start coming to every campaign event — which apparently is enough to earn a counterterrorism file — and it also explains why I can never find the damn events listed anywhere. I’m going to have to donate five dollars to that motherfucker just to get on the goddamn mailing list. I am still on his list to ask for donations from. 

And through all of this, I’m still supposed to pretend I’m a functional adult. I’m still showing up to work (barely), still answering emails (poorly), still pretending I’m not one minor inconvenience away from have my a nervous breakdown. Trauma doesn’t ask permission; it just shows up, kicks your nervous system in the teeth, and then expects you to go back to your desk and act normal. Meanwhile half the state government has apparently decided I’m some kind of political threat because I said I’d attend campaign events. Imagine fearing me — the woman who can barely get her car to start and who downloaded a virus like a goddamn Victorian child getting Scarlett fever  

The court stuff is its own special brand of bullshit. Every time I think I understand the process, someone in the legal system says or does something so bafflingly idiotic that it sets me back three months emotionally and two hours legally. The promise of a “hearing” is now basically code for: surprise, we’ve all gathered at midnight to pretend your case doesn’t exist. I swear these people do cosplay as competent professionals. Meanwhile I’m over here designing interrogatories like it’s arts and crafts time, because if I don’t do it, nobody will. But who the fuck doesn't want some glitter in their interrogatories. 

And let’s not forget the State Surveillance Fan Club — the Counterterrorism Unit, NSP, Ford’s people — all tuned in like they’re watching an HBO drama. Loyal readers. Consistent page views. Probably taking notes. I should start selling merch. With glitter. Lots of glitter. Honestly, if they’re going to monitor me for a year, they could at least have the decency to leave a comment or click the little heart button. Parasocial relationships go both ways, bitches. You gotta fuck me in the ass without a reacharound. Or glitter  

I mean, if you’re going to label me a threat, the least you could do is give me VIP access to the political events I apparently can’t find without sacrificing five dollars to the campaign gods. I'm regretting being a democrat with or without glitter.

A celebration is in order, though. With Glitter. This is the one-year anniversary of my very first blog post. Rapeisrape.org is officially one year old today. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Good that I’ve kept going and kept pushing. Bad because I’ve had to keep going and had to keep pushing.

I don’t know what the next year holds. {D} will at minimum be effectively disbarred in another state. We’ll have been through a year of hearings. I’m already working on the interrogatories for that. We push forward. We add glitter  

This is going to be an election year, so I’ll be heckling and causing a ruckus among the campaigns of my foes, who will in turn continue to surveil me without use of glitter  

Another year from now I will have at minimum a new AG and hopefully a new DA. Honestly I’d prefer a new DA, because then I can go through Metro and maybe they’ll bother to investigate — unlike fucking NSP. See, I knew this was going to fucking happen. Now I’m hanging all my fucking hopes on Metro and Wolfson getting ousted, which is never fucking going to happen. He’s been DA too long regardless of the fact everyone knows he is incompetent and pleas down everything. Murder? No, that’s a parking infraction! Rape? That appears to be a misdemeanor because I, Steve Wolfson, cannot argue it, but I sign it with glitter  

I begged the fucking police to just try to get him charged with misdemeanor assault and battery and they told me no. Fucker’s all.

So that’s our year in review. I have my one-year surveillance anniversary coming up shortly. I’m going to send flowers or an edible arrangement to the counterterrorism guy and Ford himself. I’m big on always sending flowers. There will glitter, oh yes, there will be glitter. Fuck with me and I'll make your office so glittery you won't be able to escape it for month. No amount of vacuuming will rid you of the glitter. 

So here we are: one year in, still screaming into the void, still being surveilled, still dragging an entire state’s worth of incompetence toward accountability by their ankles. And yammering about glitter because Funsies and glitter makes everything more fun. I don’t know what the next year is going to bring — victories, breakdowns, hearings that may or may not exist, another round of filing bullshit that nobody explains, maybe even an Attorney General who doesn’t treat rape like a customer service complaint. But whatever comes, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve survived everything they threw at me this year, including their failed attempts to label me a terrorist, their refusal to charge my rapist, and their Olympic-level negligence. And lack of judicial glitter. 

If they thought year one was loud, they’re really not prepared for year two. I have glitter and am not afraid to share the heroes of crafts with these people. I already have the rubber wristbands designed WITH MOTHERFUCKING GLITTER  

Til next year!

Hohohold on — you forgot to charge my fucking rapist, you assmonkeys!

note all mentions of glitter refer to actual glitter. Store bought glitter. Glittering in all it glitorious glitory.