It’s Not Easy Being Indian In February 2024

Centuries ago, I was a disco kwe. I’m feeling more at ease sharing my very shredded life with you because we share so many similarities. My guess is that you’ve all had some funny, goofy, odd, or traumatic events in your lives, and I’d like to listen to you and share my own.

We Shinobs have a lot to talk about. “Shinoberry” is hilarious! I just coined a new term for those who claim to have indigenous Anishinabe DNA. I’m still disgusted by the “Insta-Indians” who spread filthy lies until they reached the cap, or “Indian Benefits.” Hah! Am I bitter? I consciously try to get a duck’s back, but it is and will always be bile when I emerge from my fog and face the truths, which always depress me, and then the cycle repeats itself. Hello, anxiety. I’m still in therapy, and talking to someone who has probably heard it all feels safe and refreshing to me.

I’m about to offer unsolicited advice to Yooz, my dear ones. Indigenous families all over the Milky Way have been violated by those who worship money. Make of it what you will. If someone with privilege believes they are not racist, think again. My advice to my Indigenous relatives is to look for a therapist with whom you feel comfortable, who will listen to you, and who you like. I now feel free to be myself.

My own journey to self-healing appears distant and difficult, but I am confident that I will complete it. Who knows, maybe I’ll be able to go outside again without being carried out on a gurney. Life is strange. It’s tough!!!

Now that I’ve mentioned it, I scheduled dental and optical appointments to alleviate some of the physical aspects of becoming a better me, so to speak. I feel embarrassed now when I moan and groan about my back. I’ve had two spinal surgeries, and the most difficult part for me was the recovery period.

I just want to dance again. I lost two inches a few years ago, from my tallest height of 5’6 to 5’4, which is very upsetting to me, as I have always wished I was taller and now suffer from osteoporosis and am shrinking, as she writes. The bread, peanut butter, and honey will now have to be stored on the kitchen counter.

Anyway, I have a dentist appointment coming up. TBT: I’m nervous because I’ve always wanted to die with my own teeth (story for another time).

I put on my only pair of stretchy jeans to leave the building and a clean T-shirt (why are they called pairs when the object is clearly one piece, like glasses?) to wear in public. I even have a brassiere for cuddling my kittens. There have been no blizzards in Rezberry yet because it has been unusually warm.

It makes me wonder because Rezberry and the surrounding areas last experienced a drought followed by a flood in 2012. I have yet to hear any stories from that time. When I start talking to any Nort’Lander, I immediately go full southern Canadian, so I just nod my head and say, “Yah,” while looking down at the ice and snow, wanting to say, “Well, g’wan den!” Surely their countries of origin will accept them back, right?

I’m hoping to get new eyes soon, too. After venting about my problems, I failed to schedule an appointment. Not only do cats have cataracts, but I also do. The optometrist (aka torture master) said I was a good candidate for cataract surgery, so here is the information. I take responsibility for my decisions.

COVID-19 hit around that time, and suddenly, the United States ran out of toilet paper and hand sanitizer. The Rez dental office asked me to take a picture of my tooth damage. Despite my age, I had no idea I was an amazing contortionist until that request.