I know you don't want to hear what I say!

Excuses: Almost Visible, Barely Audible

I received this from a dear friend who took this complicated journey over almost one year to the day. Thank you, Mya, for taking this journey with me.

As for excuses: your enemies won't believe them, and your friends won't need them.

It was in my darkest hour that I first met Mya.

She changed my life. As night rolled in and the fear of having no place to go, she helped me to see that I was not alone. As I tweeted through the dark shadows of night feeling barely audible, it was then I realized I was @almostvisble.

With much love and gratitude,

@ElyssaD

The Roof is On Fire

The APPEAL had given me for the thirteen months I actually believed somebody was listening. WRONG AGAIN! That false strength I kept in reserve to keep going was the part of me that needed to believe that I haven't lost everything. It gave a false sense that somebody was actually listening.

I WAS WRONG.... THE APPEAL WAS NEVER REVIEWED. AND NO ONE SEEMS TO GIVE A DAMN THAT THIRTEEN MONTHS HAVE PASSED, AND MY BENEFITS ARE MORE SCREWED UP THAN EVER!

So listen carefully, my friends. It was not too long ago that I had almost everything a young person needs to succeed in this world.

Or maybe not.

As for my most current insurance dispute... I feel that I have done everything humanly possible to be sympathetic towards health care provider who is NOT providing care. I cannot sacrifice my own well being for every bright eyed bushy tailed wanna be who is too stupid to see that I am far from.

I had such a battle this week. It culminated in the end like every other battle I have taken on. I only won because ultimately but we are all losing.

For every underqualified, health care provider who has NOT provided the adequate, there are many more like me. Alienated just enough to give up on fashion, etiquette and social norms; but not enough to walk away from it all.

We are keeping watch. We are taking names, and I for one do not give a rat's ass about "keeping the peace."

Having been on both sides if the proverbial couch, I have the perspective is both enlightening and scary at the same time.

I look back and want to say shout "told you so" from the nearest roof top.

Crazy is crazy does... out loud. I may be enjoying this just a little too much.

Sometimes I try to look at this fight, (I meant to say this life) objectively.

I can see my own future, and I can see where it is taking me. I know how it will end if I don't keep up the pace.

It is amazing at how far we will go to have nothing at all.

I have come this far, and on some level I almost enjoy the dance. No. On some level, I actually love the dance.

But then there are days like this.

Because without this turmoil, this exercise in futility, absurdity, government waste, bureaucracy, irreverent disregard for basic human kindness, decency and humanity-- and all long to go to the kind of place I hear about ain Fairy Tales .

He speaks of a place called Neverland.  You see, I don't know the story of Peter Pan, Captain Hook, and I have no idea who Wendy is. Of course I've heard of Tink (though I hear she is a pain in the ass ;) but only because I like glitter pens and fairy dust. I don't know these things, because I don't know the innocence, the purity, the make believe world of childhood. I never had one.

I knew cruelty... and though I am not cruel, this is who I am at this very moment: Dark, discouraged, and deeply disappointed.

What if this is all that there is for me? If I can never break free from this cycle of insanity, and trust me when I say the insanity I speak of is NOT in my head. We have all heard the expression insanity is the sane response to insane surroundings; let me assure that there are very few cases that rival mine. I am the stuff psychologists, sociologists, and the occult speak of behind closed doors. My sister and I were raised this way. She may be a lawyer, she may have good credit, she may have a lot of things, but while my father took me to see the same shrink that treated Danton, Milken, Masrtronardo and more, he took her to see a psychiatrist who specialized in serial killers.

So I wonder, and you should too... did he take us there to be healed or did he take us there to create our futures? I will never be good enough for him. Thank god jesus allah and the power invested in this little stupid wifi device... his vision of us, his vision of U.S. is wrong.

I know this now. I didn't know then. I have proof now. I hardly even need it. It all out in the open and I am glad. Never again should the FBI create hatred, men so indoctrinated by power that they have such little regard for human life that they treat their children the same way they treated John Africa and the thirteen members of MOVE the day the Powers That Beat decided it was long overdue to take John Africa out. So what if thirteen people died with him... who cares about the 5 children who died alog with him?

The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire. We don't need no water let the mother fucker burn,  Burn, mother fucker, burn. 

And they did.  And they died. May 13, 1985.

Burned forever in my mind, and it should be in yours too. OUR COUNTRY. OUR PEOPLE. OUR GOVERNMENT.

FUCK YOU AMERICA! FUCK THE US FOR FUCKING US ALL!  And thank you daddy, for letting me in on the secret.  Now what? 

What else would call if not the City of Brotherly Love? ON A MOVE...

I do. Because my daddy told me to shoot them ya know... just in case. Daddy lost his first and only trial and the CITY of Philadelphia decided it was time to take him out.

No. I won't give up now. I could be next! (As I laugh my fucking ass off!!!!!)

What if I have nothing left? What if the Hook does NOT bring me back?

This demonstration and project in futility and determination has defined me for so long, that without it, I'm not sure if I am anything at all.

fuck that... yeah... Reality Bytes. But I won't play dead, and I won't pretend my name is not Elyssa Danielle Durant. My Daddy changed his, my gold-digging bitch of a mother changed her name 5 times, now with $250K invested in it, her face and her body are quite lovely too.

Mumia is STILL on death row. The 39th District is corrupt to the core. The MAYOR dropped the bomb. May 13, 1985. No longer sealed, and I am no longer hiding, Now I know, why my life stopped when it was about to start. I know the truth, and the feds know I'm certifiable. So you decide...

~~~~~this where I must break~~~ all in due time my friends~~~~

I can't lose what I never had. I won’t be another sell-out... mostly because I don't know how.

I am then the voice of perseverance. I am one voice of perseverance. I am one of 47 million Americans. And today I am I am still fighting the good fight.

This battle; this challenge; this half won war this fight has come to define me. And without that, I am not really much of anything at all...

As someone once told me, if you don’t stand for something, you will fall for anything. I've already fallen, but I sure as shit stand for something.

"...so for now, I write. Maybe later read.  I am always listening. But if there is any justice left in this world, maybe someday, I might actually live."

That's a;; for now, folks. I think I'll tweet a bit.  I think I've earned it the right to play a little.  Can't go anywhere anyway.  License suspended (thanks again dad! You can manage to moved 1.3 million dollars into two separate trusts within one hour of TRO, but you it takes 22 days to hand over the $4.50 I needed to avoid eviction and 6 months homelessness?)  

You must be so proud. I'm finally doing you ordered me to do long ago. Fighting for myself, because you made it clear you will never do it for me.  Lesson learned. Bring it on. Again.  This time I know what t expect.

Elyssa Durant

Nashville, Tennessee

[Parts previously posted at United Professionals under: An Appalling Appeal]

What Makes Me Feel Beautiful

I was in danger of falling in love with being in love.

This love is the shallow conditional "love" I grew up with as a child. The kind of love that I came to believe was for other children. Children less difficult or better behaved than I could ever be. The kind of love that used to scare me because it was so unfamiliar.

It existed only in titles and words; is dependent upon an ideal that can never be met.

The additional danger in that for me, is that even the ideal ideal is so incredibly foreign, that I can not seem to grasp.

I needed a self worth in and of its self so that I can go into a relationship knowing that I bring as much if not more than I can take. In my loneliness, the thing I "need" and feel tempted to take, is time.

This is the time where I can find myself lost in my words, or in their absence. I find myself needing something, anything, from anyone capable of diverting my attention from the realities I would rather not see.

In my work, I can forget about everything else. I can feel strong, and I can feel whole, I can feel beautiful, and I can feel love.

You once asked me what makes me feel beautiful.

I don't know what the "right" answer was to that question, though I remember the clear
distinction of the physical, external beauty we see in magazines and soap operas, as opposed to the inner-beauty we hear of on Oprah. I told you that I feel most beautiful in the Theatre class I TA'd for last spring.

We discussed the association between beauty, knowledge, and power. And although I am unsure if I could express the sentiments at the time, I can now clearly see that sitting in front of that Theatre, I didn't need to rely on the external.

"This is what a grad student looks like" Our first acquaintance at lunch during the summer of 94. you commented how the boys would eat me up at law school. Isn't that the point.

I do not wish to compromise your peace in any way. Whether you realize this or not, 1 write these words mostly for myself, as they clearly reflect my self I have tried not to define myself through and by my relationships with others, since 1 believe that reality and identity is something that comes from within. Perhaps that is why I am so intrigued by the social context of evaluation, since it is in perpetual conflict with the belief in subjective reality.

So to learn of your incredible distaste for me, which from my understanding is quite strong, is the exact same reasons you were drawn to me in the fist place.
in the relationship we may have had at one point, and your subjective interpretation of events.

Though I need no clarification, I will not pretend as though there is no motive beneath this contact. So in the world of business where there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch, you have something I need, I am willing to pay for your time, but not your love.

[note pgs 3-300 may show up someday... or maybe not]

My Own Dirty Little Secret

Harry and Louise: Adding Insult to Injury?


(Draft—because I have a welfare appointment I need to prepare for)

My first spring back in New York, we used to joke about J-School: Were they trying to tweak our skills turning us into experts in public journalism or public relations.
I took my first graduate level class in public journalism on the 4th floor at the infamous J-School located inside the cool steel gates separating surrounding Morningside Heights. 116th street from the homeless and the winos’ asking everyone all the passer by's for money just before we walked through the iron gates leading to the Ivory Tower.

The blocks surrounding 116th-120th where only the young and the talented get ready to take their place in society.

We would pass the men living on the streets each day, enter through the solid stone doors that were 12 ft tall, and write about them. With such eloquence you would hardly know they were homeless at all. We exploited them.

Just like Tuskegee exploited the Blacks, and the Army exploits the young and the rudderless, we exploited the sick irony of paying more per credit than they earned in one year on Veterans benefits or disability. We disgust me.

But Karma is a bitch, because less than 2 years later there I was, sleeping in the law school stacks; showering in the indoor pool... gym because I “looked good enough to pass through the gates.” I had that Ivy League pedigree. The would-have-been Harvard Law student—maybe even have had it paid in full had I been a boy or born to a different mother.

What the fuck did they know? That cute little Jewish Girl from Long Island, the one from a "good" family... the Harvard Legacy with the beautiful mother always dripping in jewels and fur from her latest boyfriend or husband—that little girl was me.

I should have been the perfect example of how a power player in the making the benefits from good breeding. No one ever needed to know that beneath it all I worked my ass off to get into College and ultimately get a scholarship into the top ranked program in Sociology and Social Policy to effect change. The fact that I dropped out of high school at 16 could remain my dirty little secret.


And to this day, no one has ever come forward to expose that little truth. Probably because so few people know—Maybe three or four So would I reveal such an embarrassing little detail of my life and risk my reputation on something I should have left behind me over twenty years ago?

Because it matters.

No one needed to know. I can get by well enough on my looks, I speak quite eloquently, and usually appear normal to most, but it is an important little factoid because people constantly judge ME based upon who they think I am – either the girl with the wealthy parents, or a lazy too stupid too get off welfare.


It matters because what appears to be and what is are often two very different things. I am in fact, an Ivy League Alumnus. I did in fact get a full scholarship into the PhD program in Public Policy at a leading University.

I am in fact unable to find employment and live on SSI (Supplemental Security Income) the lowest of the low. I am so far beneath the poverty level (already ridiculous) that I often wonder how I manage to live at all.

So that "legacy," the access I once had to the Ivory tower on the 4th floor we wrote is now gone. Not because they didn't like my work-- they loved it! Solid A in Public Journalism.

Well if I were in New York today, I would most likely be one of the people o the streets. Actually, I would probably be sitting across the street at the Bookstore just so I could stay close to the vast amounts of wisdom and philosophy within the hollowed halls as classes break for the summer. I would be watching people go in and out and be envious that they had the one thing that I don't: access.


So I made it through the very Same J-School where Pat Buchanan refused to speak to his Alma-mater because he once punched someone in the face on the 5th floor. I made it through despite the fact that I often times slept in my car in the middle of winter because I could not afford gas for the commute and eventually lost my apartment. I made it through having no electricity and frozen water pipes.

The question is: can I make it through this? I paid my dues. I deserve a chance. Dammit, I deserve a do-over. I deserve a job. I deserve a little credit.

Will our policy decision be based upon our need for reform or the ability to perform?

We used to joke about all the sell-out Journalist who gave yup on reporting the news and became speech writers for politicians. How their idealism was tarnished and they decided to go into PR.

I am not one of those people. I care enough about the issues to take the time to examine them from all angles-- and I fell that the massive amount of money being spent by agencies that I hold in deep respect launching a counter-attack on the insurance companies and their ad execs will have serve to damage their reputation. I chose to volunteer with these agencies because I believe they are well informed and do a great job to involve the everyday average Americans like myself in the political process.

By spending $750,000 on advertising, these groups now seem to be on the same level as the Insurance Industry and others who exploit the poor and infirm at the mercy of the Healthcare marketplace.

So I take issue with this campaign. Let Rick Scott be heard. Using such tactics will make the good guys no better than the Insurance Companies that exploit us all.

Are these ads showing us: how to reform or how to perform?

The large amount of funds being thrown (public or private) being spent on media fluff, and emotional being spent on media propaganda and 'skittles' on both sides of the healthcare debate.

I am offended by the huge amounts of money being spent on propaganda and skittles by both sides of the healthcare debate. Excessive, exorbitant monies being spent to manipulate the public through misleading ads, expert analyses, media alerts~ this is insulting at best.

Real dollars being used to manipulate the public about real issues: the sick; the poor; the ignorant... We are selling bad data and information to those who need it the most.


Talk about adding insult to injury? I do hope HCAN, HealthJustice and others will reconsider this campaign. I am one foot soldier who is unwilling to participate in this one.


Bottom line is this: we need to stop manipulating images and perceptions about the reality of healthcare, education, and social welfare in the United States. All is not well in America. Not well at all. And I am here to prove it!


Elyssa Durant, Ed.M.
Social Security Recipient
Anytown, United States of America

Elyssa Lies

I am so glad that there are at least a few people out there who remember me from when I was a kid people, and a few people who can identify my body without three DNA blood tests to determine what medical facility would accept me as a transfer. Ever heard of EMTALA people? Ever heard of HIPPA? Ever heard of Patient Dumping? Ask Jim Blumstein, Professor of Law at Vanderbilt Law School or take his course Law 734: Health Law & Policy.

Yes, I ASKED to be committed. I called for help. I said it every single way I knew how, without asking people who were most able to give it.
I never forget a slight, and I am extremely grateful to people who didn't ask questions or doubt my intentions. I will hold them in my thoughts, and can safely promise that I will never again call upon you for help.

There is something to be said for paying it forward. So to people who actually took the time to physically see if I was okay, and to two very special ladies who brought me clothing after everything I had in my possession was taken away from me... and to the photographer who actually observed my injuries, thank you. I can honestly say that I took one for the team. For the tweeters and twackers who let me know I was alone in my journey... you're right I wasn't. You can tweet for peeps without being certifiably nuts. That's not to say I am not certifiably nuts, but I thinks it rather pretentious for y'all to think that you know my mind better than I do after 36 years. I want to believe that this feel connected to a world filled with hatred, bigotry and violence.... I made it through. And I already paid it forward.

It is pretty clear what I need, and I so tired of people asking why I can't find one. Have you seen the news? What I need is hot water. What I need is a safe place to go. What I need is the idiot who fucked up my computer to fix the damn thing. I wouldn't mind having a safe place for Spotty, and a little bit of acceptance. So out of respect for people that I once held in high regard, I chose to take the proper channels. I fed them information without claiming ownership... I sold a news story for $1.00. Kool... I made a dollar last year. That will pay the bills.

There were people I respected and admired, and now see as shallow and insincere. People who are afraid to be associated with someone "like" me? What exactly does that mean anyway? Aren't you impressed that I'm a Harvard Legacy? Am I not one of the "Chosen People?"

Do you think I am living on a total income of $615.00/month because it is fun?
If you can do better, pleeeeeze let me know...

If I can see somebody else doing it, then maybe I could figure out how to do it myself. I am willing to learn from anyone. Just think of all the valuable lessons Hitler taught us??? Yes, people are sheep.

I learned even your mistakes, so is there nothing of value that I can bring to this community???

Would you like to try going on welfare for three months or so? I think you would enjoy the application process. After all there is nothing quite like it in the world.

So, I was "ordered" not to volunteer, not to call the police if I hear gun shots, because only crazy people call 911 several times in one day. Only thing is, "crazy" people exaggerate the situation, so clearly if I have lived for three years, then I can certainly wait another few months. Really?

I am only allowed to use than 100 words or less in my written correspondence. Thank God for Twitter, it is good training.

BTW (by the way ;-) The Gettysburg Address was only 267 words. Less than two tweets. Granted, I am no Lincoln, but every once in a while, I do say something important.
There is something to be said for brevity, but there is also something to be said about honesty, isolation, and the value of technology for people with disabilities. So let this be my project for "Save The Internet" because Legal Aid thought it was kinda funny when I told them that my Internet was scheduled to be disconnected.
Who needs the internet anyway? Who needs information, access, a forum, a voice??? And even if some tweets make me laugh, is that so bad?? Maybe even a small diversion from reality? Am I not worthy?

I foolishly believed that by volunteering in the community, I would come across a real job with real wages and real benefits. Yeah, that was a great idea.
Don't worry... I learned my lesson. I will volunteer no more. After all, why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?

Let it be known I'm a pretty quick study. I am cursed with an exceptionally vivid memory. My cortisol levels have been running low since '95. You figure it out. (Robert Sapolsky: Why Zebra's Don't Get Ulcers)

I am truly offended by the events that led people to call my family half way around the world and the country, when all they really needed to do was ask me. Not all "kids" are lost... some don't want to be found.



Yes, I am reckless, I am loud, I am always right, and I am "out of my mind fucking nuts" also known as "OTWFN: Off The Wall Fucking Nuts" and that is the presumption. Don't forget, I am very much father's daughter, and am very much my mother's alibi. So thanks. Points!

All the better for them because the crazier I am, the less embarrassed they feel. How about some extra credit for their excellent parenting skills.

Crazy? Loud? Different?

Guilty, as charged. I am sooo embarrassed... how dare I post crazy shit like this online? Don't I know how bazaar that seems? Don't you? Because let's face it... there are two possibilities:

(1) I'm telling the truth, and it's serious,

~or~

(2) I'm NOT telling the truth, and it's serious.

So for everyone who told me to go home... did you actually think my parents would rush in to rescue me? Sorry, but no. Not my family. Now I'm stuck here, and you are stuck with me.

And for the record, even suggesting that there is "home" to go to... well than YOU haven't been paying attention.

Don't you realize I am home?

I find it so hard to believe that after all this time people find it easier to speak around me and actually think that is in my best interests? Sorry, but no.

And, you need not worry-- I don't need to be told twice where I'm not welcome.

I am less than 20 miles from several people who called Philadelphia, only to find that they don't want me either. Why would they possibly want to have me in their pristine, well-decorated homes when you paint such a lovely picture?

Guess what-- I' have never even seen my father's home... nor do I expect an invitation to Thanksgiving or Christmas.

So to all the people who "phoned home" to complain about e.d., job well done, you're stuck with me now.

And since I can't get a get a job, and I can't really afford the gas to go anywhere, I don’t think you need to call in a crisis team. I am perfectly happy sitting here by myself listening to my favorite YouTube videos and thinking about everyone else tucked safe and snug in their Ethan Allen beds. Good night to you all... you don't need to read this, and of course, you can ALWAYS hit delete.

That makes me sick. I never was really was a child, and it is really odd that people would start treating like one now. That is such bullshit, because child support was terminated on August 15, 1988. No other provisions were made, and I earned more money at 14 than I did in the last 10 years out together.

I miss the Barge. I think it is ridiculous that people would complain that I am "embarrassing myself.” At least I'm willing to take ownership of that one... was it less embarrassing to find out my mother contacted my professors and withdrew from classes because I was "too ill" to go to school.

Is any less embarrassing then being left at the airport on Thanksgiving Day? Or told that you do not deserve to go the dentist; that you can't sleep in the guest room if you have nightmares because you I might ruin the furniture think I actually give a shit about embarrassing myself? Do you think for a second they are counting on it? Did you think for one moment that there might, just, may be a reason I do not want to go home.



Is it less embarrassing than having your mother finds you "housing" at a long-term state psychiatric hospital, or being told that you might not have a fill on your soda because it cost $1.00? Is it any less embarrassing than finding out you have a new two months after he was born?

Yeah, I am embarrassed. Send me to Canada PLEEEZE!!!

Yes, I can act crazy. Yes, I may be crazy, and I sure a shit wish I was because there might be a possibility that created all of this "in my head.” It is not normal to have 43 addresses on file. It is not normal to care more about a cat than any single human alive. So, no, I am not normal, but does that make me bad? Does it make me dangerous? Does it want being told to "leave town" or take my own my own life so that society is not burdened by caring for me financially? Well, guess what-- I do not really care anymore, and there been many times in my life where I would rather not be alive, I refuse to let "them" Not like that.

So for so many people who have silenced me before, keep in mind I am NOT psychotic. And I am definitely mot "normal"

I am done. I so "over it" by now that if your embarrassed by my actions then you are giving me way too much power. I can own my behavior, and I can accept my feelings. And I think you need to do the same.

But I will not live in fear for the rest the of my life. And if I do get evicted tomorrow, so be it. It won't be the first time. And if you’re really lucky, there will some great new books donated to the public library. Yes, I AM ANGRY. Anger is a very strong emotion that is key to motivational theory. So yes, I am angry AND I am motivated.

According at my mother, the lovely little creature that she is for blameing for all her her failed marriages, and uses me as an excuse trying to get sympathy from others. She also was evicted from childhood homes in Cherry Hill, Lawrence, Great Neck (North and South) and yes, of course, that was somebody else’s fault too.

Apparently it was all my stepmother's fault. Nice. At least their mother would not allow them to be thrown away with each new boyfriend, tummy tuck, Jaguar or diamond ring.

So aren’t you guys glad you called my parents because now you’re stuck with me, my medical bills, and student debt. Isn't that special? I came here to WORK. I came here to be a part of something. I came here to leave the past behind me. I filled my long nights volunteering at the Family Shelter. I spent my days sleeping in four-hour shifts, and hoping that my oh-so-vivid dreams might actually be pleasant for just one night.

But I've been keeping notes. I'm paying attention to the rules and I'm paying attention to the news. It is not so random, and it not so crazy.

Yes I have filed appeals, but that'd getting old since no one bothers to follow up. What the ~ is wrong with THAT picture?????

All I can say is this, I tried. I tried damn hard. But ya know, crazy is, crazy does.

Aren't you guys lucky to have me? This is my home. This WAS my home. Thanks for making me feel so welcome.

e.d. over and out.

Chapter II: Older & Bolder

I first started posting this blog shortly after my 35th birthday. It was a gift to myself so I could live my life without being too scared that I might be discovered for being a little bit crazy, a little bit lonely, and making a whole lot of noise.

I started by disclosing my deepest secrets, often exposing to my deepest fears. Initially I chose the motto: "Too old to start over, Too young to forget."

Eventually that moniker evolved into something a little more challenging and inspirational, "Too old to start over, Too young to give up."

Now that my 36th birthday is just around the corner (actually, more like an intersection) I plan to spend the last few days I have in this demographic bracket uncovering some the essays I have written that still need a little tweaking, and a whole lot of twacking! So be prepared to find a few typos, a few disconnected thoughts without making an obvious transition. Because I am naming the next phase of my life, you know, the "35 and up" phase, "Chapter II: A Little Bit Older, And a Whole Lot Bolder."

I have enjoyed the feedback I have gotten from so many people from all walks of life who have written in response to something I have written. Women I have never met, from places I do not know.

Women like Joy and Cat who encourage me to keep writing even if they disagree with some of my core values or excessive use of profanity. Women (or men) who have somehow managed to stumble across my writings in one of their many raw forms without realizing that just by contacting me, much of the fear and hesitation I once felt about publishing my collection of personal (and professional) essays have been replaced with a new found sense of pride and accomplishment. Fear and uncertainty have are quickly evolving into confidence and proliferation.

Personally, professionally, and spiritually, I hope to continue "kicking ass and taking names," because at this point in my life, I may actually start doing that a little bit more.

You will notice that I am reclaiming my name and uncovering the many aliases I have used over the years... I am done hiding.

I'm am not perfect, and I will always struggle with my obsession to find just The Write Words, but I'm guessing it is probably good enough. Probably good enough so that most people will won't even notice if I forget to capitalize a proper noun or if I end a sentence with a preposition. So be it.

You may also notice that I am reclaiming my name, and will be using try to cut down on the number of anonymous postings I listed under an alias because I was afraid I would be embarrassed if my work was not well received.

I am ranges from the less obvious accounts I have created to maintain a bit of distance between myself and my classmates, peers, and colleagues, but in addition to "Miss Elyss" or "Lyssie D." I am even willing to admit that I have created so many login accounts and user names to post anonymously, that I have forgotten most of the passwords to access my own content. But I am rather proud of the creativity I demonstrated when I came up with two of my personal favorites, "I.M.Phobic" and "EyePhobic." I never could get into that whole IM thing, webcam or chat rooms! The way I see it, it is bad enough i need to put on clothes and make-up to leave the house-- I'll be damned if I have to put on make-up to send an e-mail!

Yes, they were all me. They are a pert of me, because like so many women-- no... like so many people... I'm a little bit of everything... so for those of you who are listening and even to those of you who just wish I would shut the fuck up already; be careful what you wish for! The more content I create, the easier it becomes to let go... and the more I let go, the more I can heal. The more I can heal, the more I can focus on the academic issues that will always be my first and primary area of interest. However, it seems rather obvious to me now that the only way out is through. So, I will continue to write through the dark and hope that it I can become more present minded rather than being trapped by memories from the past.

To Joy, Cat, TA James, and a few others, thanks so much for the gift. I hope I can make you proud!

The curious can find anything and everything! I often wonder why it is so much easier for others to to get my information about me than it is for me to get about myself!

I'm a digger. To be clear, that is "digger." I never use the "N" word, and I'm way too proud to marry for money.

I'm a digger. I love information. I love to find, I love to collect it, but most of all, I love to use it.

I love to dissect it, analyze it, formulate new questions and ponder the answers. I love the journey of natural inquiry... never knowing where my racing mind will take me, often surprised surprised by the answer, but always, always intrigued by the things I encounter along the way.

So I set out to find the answer to one question, and instead I find myself asking a million more. It keeps me up at night, and allows me to avoid the day.

My life is not unexamined, and my thought patterns may be far from typical, but the things I have learned along the way are by far the most intriguing and most unique. I am not afraid to ask questions, nor am I afraid that I don't have all the answers.

As a digger, I do know that it is the path least taken: the creative, atypical mind; that is riddled with creativity, tangential thoughts and questions that often deliver the most interesting answers. But sometimes, it is the answers that deliver us to the most interesting questions.

We often think that questions drive the inquiry-- at least that's what they tell us in school. To use the "Scientific Method." And of course, to never, ever color outside the lines. But aren't the best discoveries the ones we weren't searching for? The unexpected gift... the non-occasion.

The beauty is in the every day. The challenge is in the unexpected. Call me crazy if you like (and many have) but I can assure you that there will come a day when all of that R.A.M. will come in handy. I am definitely asking the right questions... and maybe one day you will too.

Finding my voice has allowed me to appreciate the silence. The hours between dusk and dawn where the rest of the world sleeps and I dig. I dig and I write. I fill the lonely hours with my innermost thoughts, and my very best friend. So as the rest of the world sleeps soundly, surrounded by loved ones in a sanctuary they call home, I fill myself with books, journals and information. Lots and lots of information.

Who would have thought that loneliness can become a family in it's own right? It is always there and it is always familiar. That solitude can become our greatest companion and that strangers can become our best friends.

I miss New York. I miss Dr. Stu. I miss Jefferey and I miss Todd. I miss my wild, brilliant friends plagued by curiosity, insomnia, and creativity.

Hey boys-- guess what? I'm coming home!

Let's go to hot and crusty at 3 a.m. when everything really is, yes, "hot and crusty!" Lets go the Internet cafe across from the Hello Kitty store and wake up old friends that actually dare to sleep when it is dark out???

WAKE-UP TODD! I've been calling you for hours! I have a joke to I want to tell you!

New York, New York... The "City" that never sleeps?

See I don't think it was ever really about the city, I think it is more about the anonymity. Someplace you can be yourself, and never worry about being judged by your in-bred hillbilly neighbors who are, in all honesty, much more focused on raising hell then raising children... To them, I am "strange." I am "weird." I am "Italian." or "Jewish" or "something!" because I talk really really fast!

You are all wrong: I'm from New York!

So while you sleep, I dig. I learn , I question, and I write. But I do it alone, and I'm starting not to like so much.

So for all of you out there who are insomniacs: "writers," "consultants," "perpetually un and underemployed yet overqualified" computer geeks -- please enjoy my video blog below.

I chose a few songs have keep me company at night. Just loud enough to drown out the drunk couple outside my window having yet another domestic dispute, but low enough so that the neighbors downstairs won't complain. Hopefully, you will know some of the selections that have kept me dancing in the living room into the wee hours of the morning, and can learn something about my favorite word if you are paying attention...

You'll find all of my favorites in one place. So enjoy the trip my friends, it's getting early for some, but late for others, and I've got some shit to do before the world wakes up, because to quote John Cougar (or is it Melloncamp?) I Ain't Even Done With The Night!

http://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=04EA65F6BD91E91B

DESCRIPTION: Everything from my favorite word to my favorite website. There's something in there for pretty much every mood-- songs to make you cry, videos to make you laugh. Political ads that make you sick and some that will give you chills-- but at least they make you feel!!! Finding my voice, and hearing those of strangers has given me the strength I needed to move on.

So for so many of you who have contacted me lately, via the web, via your cell phone, or even by way of a nasty website-- stand tall and stand close because much like fear, courage also rubs off on you somehow when you are surrounded by the right people. So a big shout out, and a sincere word of thanks to all of you who have helped to find my voice once again and the courage to say whatever is on my mind... Say it loud, say it proud, just say it!

I will not be ignored and I will not be forgotten. But guess what, Here Comes the Sun. I made it through night and now it's time to go, because that was SO yesterday! Thanks for giving, good luck forgetting!


Elyssa D'Educrat / Elyssa D. Durant
Nashville, Tennessee / New York, New York



http://www.youtube.com/user/elyssadurant

Alyssa Lies: Elyssa Cries