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(draft) The 3 remaining designs out of thousands not entirely stolen, Steve Jobs’ deathbed didactic, and Coreys’ GET BACK UP!!!

Okay, I am waking up, getting my fight on. “Get Back Up!!!  Said Corey-________, preaching at Grace, which before or when this international bestseller right here, that you are reading the draft of right now, gets published and goes global, this preaching at GRACE FELLOWSHIP by ministers Cory______ and Shea___ needs to go global.

I’m getting back up after havin been pummelled down so long I’m a country song.

Today marks the birth of at least three things:

  1. My nonprofit, Women Without Lawyers, –in my dreams for a dozen years–
  2. ideas for finding Board Members,
  3.  product lines again bigtime: 1)  handcarved wood nativities, 2) silver and semiprecious dragonflies and one silver cross, 3) my fun-button sweaters still being copied after 20 years, 4) my Yoga Toga line of clothing back in production, 5) my Zen garden gates available custom, made In U.S. —  I can make intothese into a profit center for nonprofit, Women Without LAwyers  I attend law school for civil rights/ etc., running Women Withut Lawyers
  4. oversee a portion of production of books/blogs/lawsuits/articles  into a more relevant genre.
  5. The beginning of the realization of a dream–to drive for LYFT–that was not possible when I began writing this, but due to an international best friend arriving (one of my five besties) today, Is. Because God Is, and Always Has Been. Right here. Starting with a car. Then a updated vision test. A dental exam. A veterinarian. Physical therapy. Surgery on my right hand. Getting back in the flow, having a plan, being passionate again about what I’m Put Here to Do.

You may say “that’s a lot” after you know how I’ve been sidelined,and since you never saw me spinning plates in bothe hands, on my nose, and toe-spinning cotton and wool with my feet, while waiting for sampling of wood, metal, paper, clothing, sweaters, teas, spices, essential oils, weavings, custom pashmina blankets, custom handbags out of magnificent textiles, more. The more the better. And for how long. Call me unrealistic, call me crazy, call me bipolar without my meds. Call me anything. It won’t matter. I put my makeup on today, I ordered a wig last week so I can get through this hair loss thing, I didn’t worry about the new 11s betweenmy eyes or the fact my neck is sagging or how many places Ihyrut and that I cannot get to physical therapy for too too many months.

BECAUS I’m GETTING up. I am beginning by rewiting my bestseller to be.

I am getting my voice back, finally, at 60, stolen from me at 48.,if only on this blog i won’t let anybody see just yet.

I am taking the products I have remaining that I designed–a nativity of carved wood with a frame in the style of ancient Bhaktapur window frames–with the beautiful unexpected anomoly: ASIAN SERENE faces and a fully-erect Christ, arms and legs akimbo like a baby doll, big-hearted. The Joseph, Buddha-lobed. Mary, the cow, the angel.

Only twelve were ever produced for my former store, one I gifted  to a former minister (thinking I was gifting it to the church but oh well. See? I needed MORE!) Apparently, ten sold easily. When I went to check on the display, they were all gone. In a flash.

DESIGN NOTES The rectangular style came from seeing THE FOURTEEN STSTATONS OF THE CROSS.(. The original had a suspended wooden star) Plus it’s the size of a piece of paper from the yak and Yeti Htel in Kathmandu, where I drew this, using the cow profile from a magaz1ne, and my three-year-old daughter’s baby doll for the Jesus.

The Mary and Guradian Angel I drew exactly as shown.

Having three months ago lost everything in storage, after losing my home, aftr seeing my daughter kidnapped by my ex- and his accomplice wife after losing my mind finally and running off the the West Coast

–computers, photographs, sewing machine, my brother’s and other collectible paintings, my clothing, furniture, Isoazke museum-worthy table and chairs, every shoe, bra, knife, fork, dish, plate, artifact of dailiness that represented “home”– these are left.

I would negotiate, speaking for myself, countersuing the moving company, doing the research,opposing a lawyer–their lawsuit of 35,00 down to 1647. Then after court have the pissed off lawyer running to me to offer that things will even be moved back to Baltimore free as I has asked, if I wouldn’t please take them back to court to get the whole case heard. (I was jsut getting strted with my evidence).

Boo hoo. What’s one more loss?

. I’m GETTING BACK UP.

STORY OF THIS NATIVITY The sun hit it one day wle I was wondering if I would ever GET BACK UP> Hmmm. That slant of light on the Asian serene faces.

Marketing: Fourteen stations of the cross: Catholic. Any culture in the faces, andy tribe, or a mix of world faces.

Marketing: Christial Global Community. So many tribes to represent in the faces: Global Christian.

Except this time in GETTING BACK UP I am going back to what I call “The Beauty of the Limit: One theme in wood: one in silver/semiprecious> Small samples, relatively inexpensive. the two dragonfliy motif I designed in Coral draw in 5 minutes after thinking about it for two years, then to sell like crazy in black and whte discharges and reverses of moss crepe jumpers and dresses, slfluid slacks and chemises, has only been stolen once before. It came back to me handily at a five-star japanese restaurnt, formerly in khatmandu, with an agressive goose that terrified my little daughter, and a noisy bowling alley near the entrance. But there, when one entered, making the way past the confrontive goose and gander, it was a Venetian, floating world once making it past the guardians.

And there, after festing on some of the finest cuisine, ther, just there–no here it is–comes the check.  In hand-made paper with my two dragonflies on the check cover.

i steal it back, creating signature papers for A People United, calendared, in every possible vibrant humming color, pls g large rolls of ecru for wallpaper. While I am at it, I creat calendered notebooks for the Maryland Institute of Art students of every nown paper weight and type, selecting strong covers from another type of plant. ‘

Branding is big with me, or was. or shall be again, and ideas multiply like crazy. i have the kind of mind like Steve Jobs–well a trillionth of it. People don’ see what i see in possibilities, in so-called “accidents” . That’s a gift. Plus nobody ever stole this from me: ETNTHUSIASM< SALESMANSHIP<LOVE OF PEOPLE. Yes, passiondied for a decade ec=ach stime i stumbled further down, each time I fell on hands and knees, each time I fell from grace, each time I fell from lovingkindness.  But beware: because  I’M GETTING BACK UP!

 

 

chocolates,

Granted, I have been living, sort of, on 1100 a month for maybe seven years, and can never seem to afford both shelter and transportation, food, and clothing and medicine. Or, like today, transportation to my doc when I have had sciatica for 13 months in my right hip, and increasing tndone jumping in the fray of painful ambulation sisnce the tendon replacemetns surgery 13 months ago. From the slip-and-fall, one of many since Mr. Wonderful broke my athletic, well-trained left ankle when I was brushing my 4-year-old (now 18 and estranged with –Sndrome no doubt) daughtr’s long, black hair before taking her to the gym while I would work out and go to yoga, havin gmade a beautiful breakfast downstairs for the three of us., showered, bathes and dressed her, helped brush her teeth, and was now smiling , tlellin her how beautiful her hair raven black hair was, in case she was ever dissed for being Asian, was, and brushing.

And he yanked her, toppling athletic, in the gym for 21 days three days a week, formerly married to a trainer who went to chiropractic school when we wer so healthily together, former dancer and athlete, me. Running out of the room with her arm and shlder in tow toward the stairs in the Roland Park hallway wide as a room.

“I’m going to the gym,” Mr. Wonderfu’s voice trailed in his bustle.  He had appropriated my adult yoga class too, and liked to take her there, ut her on a mat, and wait for admiration.  (some men OWN their women).  typically, I checked her into   in the Meadowmill Racquetball Club nursery, where she had fun project, young friends, and adoring caretakers, who welcomed her by name.

“No, you’re not” wow I said something firmly. Imagine that, people-pleasing me.

“You’ll take me to Union Memorial emergency first, then you can go. I can’t. . .walk.”

I didn’t think he would just drop me, but in fact he did. I filled out “domestic” on the intake card. Not knowing it was called domestic violence.

And was misdiagnosed as a sprain, Crutches. physical therapy, a soft cast. I would fall on my hands and knees for eight years due to that bad ankle, always misdiagnosed again at Union, until Mr. Wonderful broke the rght ankle too, which of course I waled on for a long, long time. since I was used to these “sprains”. Finally when a friend had to peel me off the street when I was headed to the food stamp line and a black man immediately helped me up, tonald pitched in too. I hobbled in, not wearin rags, not hiding my intelelct, not belonging there by any resonble stretch of the imagination, but of necessity. A master;s degree in Writing from ohns Hopkins, a sterlin resume a fortun 500 company  might have been interested in, 10 year of international development, 30 years of management and leadership, two hands and feet full of skills. White. In the food stamp line, taking, as I felt, resources from others. I jsut wanted a job again, where I had formerly been a Maryland jobsmaker. Hw, withut ever winning an interview? How with even DORS, paid for by the Stat of Maryland, supposedly helping me find work, small business resources, interviews, etc? I had bedome, in my own view, a liability to the state of Maryland. but I couldn’t kill myself, I had a daughtr. I was a Christian.

that year–2011- I o in to emergency one more time–finally find a doc who puts me in for immediate surgery. “Not only is your foot broken, it’s been broken many times!” says the tech reading the x-rays to me in emergency. when I get in before surgery one morning, I ask Dr. ___ to look at my left ankle too. ” What? It’s more messed up thatn this one. Okay we’ll get this right one done today, then move on to the other one.”

“Not only has your left ankle brken, it’s been broken many many times! says the next tech, excitedly.

Meanwhile, I fell on hands and knees from 6-8 times a year for 8 years. I had thumb surgery in ___. Now I need thumb surgery on my rght hand. The tendons, too, are tightening, but I moved my desktop mac ouside out of the airconditioned cold off the kitchen talbe that is starting what feels like carpal tunnel in both wrists at onc, plus I know this is going to be another thumb surgery coming up, for the right hand this time.

I have because thank God the screen was cracked and I could not sell it Cameras all gone, but I have this to take selfies with, including the pproduct shot above.

I am now late , ten minutes for Dr. Nassar, since I could not get in to Union Memorial . Again. Like I could not get into the dentist, the eye doctor again, for lack of transportation money for LYFT. all cancelled, dut to not having nmoney for LYFT. Not willin gto ask for mobility due to my disabilities because I have a dream: to get a car, then drive for LYFT, to sell/market the products bigtime, the dragonflies in several sacles, seights, and gemstones: dragonfly earrings, the pair of dragonly pins/pendant option astonishing on the back of a little black dress, or landing on the shoulder and collar of a business or evening blazer, smaller ones for earrings, a tie clip, a tie, oh my getting into fashio again. But stay focused, dear: these will be a profit center for Women Without lawyers, which will change your little corner–and other little corner, perhaps–of the world of women without voices, without civil rights, without rights to know what is happening in the courts, who face claims of mental illnes when they speak u about abuse, when they sp up for their abused children, when their businesses are stolen from them by greedy spouses, when everything they hve is appropriated from them, from an early age: sex, talent, products, homes, intellectual property, children. When Libel stops them from being able to feed thme=selves and house their children. , wthout lawyers. I”M GETTING UP FOR ALL OF US. At what cost? Hell, I’ve already paid the costs, seventy times seven.

Hello? Omar? ARe youreally here? In U.S?

“Yes I am on my way home (breaking up line)  from airport.”

I was jsut. . thinking. . well, writing about you TODAY, and your culture, like you asked me to. . because well, I am finally writing again. After losing my non-fiction novel  of ten years and my play on Alzheimer’s in that storage container”

“What about you? Oh I’m good, very jet-lagged, but I wanted to call you straight away.”

“Are you still living with that family?”

“Yes. they’re wonderful. What did you do overseas?”

Singing, i did a lot of singing like I planned to, three motnths, and saw my relatives. They want me to come back but I need to stay hers, buy a condo.

Wree/ i wil halp you find one. Condos, though, why not rent before buying? Attend the board meetings? You nw, I signed on for 500 a month codo fees when I boutght mine. first payment was $650. Thereafter, next month, and for all remaining years except when somebody was trying to sell, it was $70 a month. they change things. ”

Sorry, you know what you want, but please think twice about  unsecured debt?

“I am loking fto pay just 10 percent down

You know I sold my car  before I decided: the way TO GET UP  is tdriving for LYFT. Plus I cannot get to my medical appointment and I really need them, for past three months. I want to drive for lYFT. So I can start Women Without Lawyers. And start designing again. So I can pay for law school.

Good! Finally! You sound so much better! Where do you live?

A couple miles south of Wegman’s. You can visit one Tuesday, then we can go to the group meeting!

” As for LYFT, Maybe I have friend can help you find a car. He has a lot.”

Answers, answers to prayers, long-tested faith. long-practiced gratefulness for every little thing–and a clear desire to succeed in my passion, rather than suppress my resentment for twenty years of trauma–to change my little corner of the world, for the better.  Once again, as a social entrepreneur, for the rights of women and children in marriage, in family courts, in business, for the better.

To know what Stever Jobs talked about on his deathbed–nothing else matters but what we leave behind. How he wished he knew it sooner. Not material wealth, not things, not status.

Here’s that link:

 

I am so fuortunate to have been homeless, in the food stamp lines, in the courts unlawyered, villified, abandoned even by so-called advocate for the abused women, House of Ruth–misdiagnosed, raped, concussioned, misdiannosed again, villified, assaulter, insulted, theived, bankrupted, living in a portland shelter, libeled by a newspaper cutline while I helped get a Maryland law passed that 11 other states would follow but it ruins me even more along with my ex so my condo association now ostracizes me, calles me a newspaper theif, taps my phone, wont’ clean up the asbestos of the flood damage, has me follwed by police, breaks into my bank account, keeps me out of meeeings illegally, places false liens on me to ruin me financiaqlly, further impeding my job search.

me by inferring I was a debtor, not a victim of identity theft from an employee when I fnally started a thri Baltimore Business, A Bit of Zen, and Bank of America called staff not me to tell them of it, preventing an arrt for Grand larceny–e

I am so grateful to become the wounded healer.

I couldn’t have oasked for better in-the-dugout in-the-line-of-fire training.

Thank you, Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. Thank you for Steve Jobs. thank you that I can walk. Thank you for Omar, Jan, and Rick: three people in the world who do not judge me for my disabilities. thank you for the experience of having been a mother. Please watch over her, because. . .I know. It was then you carried me. It is now you carry her.

And thank you for Celeste, My Angeldog, and Mr. Beans her walking buddy. And for nephew, Andrew,that not-heard, not-seen, not-loved child who only ever wanted to be a landscaper,  now growing medical cannabis and doing a great job of it.  I still want to be of some use to his development and awakening.  It’s never too late, right?

Thank you Jesus for the love-one-another idea, for the throw-the-first-stone profoundness and jsut now, for the statement

“If you have the faith of a mustard seed, you can move mountains”.

You were the First, you are the Always, the Only, the Ever, the Right Here, The Right Now, The Because of and Despite Everything, The Hope, The Truth, and the Light.  Amen.

“All you need is love”—the Beatles

 

 

 

 

 

including when I had half-time custody of my daughter until the ex- stole her too on an Easter vacation when she was 16. to avoid a nominal child support, and control her more. To further traumatize me as he had ten years in an psycholigically, emotionally, socially, and physically abusive  marriage, and a decade past divorce. Him a lawyer, able to manipulate the courts, hiring his own laywer, telling mine I was crazy, until I had no lawyer, and the child abuse heightened. And I–unwitting still of the inequity of law for abused women and children–had the audacity to call police while he was concurrently breaking my second ankle, but at least he stopped the first- and second-degree assaults to our adopted daughter, then only 6, thinking it was going to be a fun day with Mommy, going to gymnastics, where she was the rolly-polly little Asianstar, with her intensely infective vibrancy and enthusiasm.

Till that day, when our lives both changed forever.

Let’s say these are the two products he did not steal–he called all my products worthless, but stole them anyway, never giving me the deisgn history and my specs from my 1.3 million clothing design business in which I designed every knot thread, every fabric weave, dyed all the colors, created all the shapes, designn even the buttons from my drawings.

I’ve gone from international traveler, with a job that was irreplaceable, created by me from my god-given gifts and vision and marketing and photography and knowlege of knitting, of weaving, of quilting, of fabric construction, of shape, of the female body, of the many complexions of women, of cotton, of viscose, of silk, of hemp, of wool, of yak wool, of pashmina, of flax, orf rayon, of handwoven ethnic textiles, of display, of marketing to local press as a former editor, of sales sales sales. I created new logos, new concepts, new shpaes, new fabrications, new ways of lving in one’s clothing, new ways to celebrate color and one’s shape.

The job he wrongfully fired me from as 50/50 partenr at A People United, and the office he wrongfully evicted me from in our 50/50 owned office building where Daniel and cAthy Canzonerio sold it to us because of the remarkable way, they said, I went on from that terrible rape to build such a beautiul star on the cityscape of Baltimore–to clearing out the generations of rubble in the basement to making it an dINdo-Asian furniture Gallery–i arrived to my office to find it locked, rented to another person, and all my furnishing on sale in the furniture gallery, and all my files, and production samples, and notes of a decade all organized–all  stolen. Already having PTSD–this just added in. Already having lost a lawyr who formerly told me, oh my yoYOU ARE THE WHOLE BUSINESS> HE IS JUST THE ACCOUNTANT, then tellin gme he kept getting calls from the ex, who then said he retained no lawyr because he was a lawyr, berated me, saying my  producers in India and Nepal dislike working with me. it was the opposite: they respected me when I travleed there 10-15 weeks(2-3 times) per year, of course! I was the golden rooster. I could lay no bad egg. Everything I touched, back then, turned to gold. For all of us. And for twelve regional reps gained when I recreate didentity around my clothing collection from “A People United” which sounded political to “Tribe by Marie Payzant”, to “Sweater Girl by Marie Payzant”, to “Yoga Toga” to “the Great White Shirt”.

Anway, after years of poverty, of marginilazation, of not being able to take my daughter to a show, to a store, to a bookseller, anywhere, of not being able to attend school function that required a fee, of fasting so I could feed her well on my food stamps, of selling the furnishings from under us and the clothing off my back for $5 a piece and the shoes from my closet, and our instruments, books, toys, cookware, dressers, bookshelves, dining table, chairs, sofas, you get the picture. Meanshile I self-applied for admittance to Union Memorial Day Center–the vitriol from the ex, who would arbitrarily keep her from me, or send police on some premise I could never understand–so we would dine in dark in the cande-light–meanwhile the condo association lawyer having turned up the perjury in the courts–OPEN FOR TEN YEARS for the pblic to see–and had begun to confront me with libel and slander, shunning and vitriol of their own–breaking into my checking account stealing mylast 100 for the month, reserved for food budge, keeping me from meetings illegally, aasaulting me privately and insulting me for being unemployed in front of my daughter (while I was disabled from the PTSD now of abuse, court abuse, slander, liberl, grand felony, child abuse, spous abuse, House of Ruth not even helpng me due to I-knew-not-what–all while a prof from Johns Hopkins decides it is a fine time to stalk me in email, sending SPAM to my mac–which is nheard of for a Mac. asking me to join him on a holdiday. . .all while not knowing how to help my darling daughtr thrive. I would dream of, as a fromer fanturned friend-turned employee once said “Sometime i dream of not waking up”.

My middle brother, who did not know me as the others had but who knew my sould–my only frined until last September when he died in my presence, after handing me his cross–at times like this would say “Marie, wouldn’t you miss the colors on a rainbow trout”? And his sweetness and love would keep me alive, plagued by so many assailants. All because i called the police on child abuse JUST HE ONCE, nt even reporting Mr. Wonderful also phycholigically, illegally, subjected our daughter while he and I were still married and in co-ownershipp of the family home of seven bedrooms where he roosted while he sat on both our businesses–had subjected her to the sorrow/and stopping up of her emotions, again/and steamrolling, neglecting her psychological health, again–by having his girlfriend and her two daughter sleep over the Vaigrqaed night before.

And yes, give Viagra to a man with Aspbergers and it ccan result in domestic violence.

lack of sexual interest–and I was then a beautiful, fit, charismatic woman who could wear red negligee that would get any bull to fight me—-is one trait of a man with Asperger’s. I had guessed, rightly, that he needed testosterone, and he did, years earlier, he began wearing a patch. I had guessed, quietly, that his form of intimacy was contentiousness, shutting down the women at the family table of his childhood. And making himself bigger in mhis mind by challenging and interrupting and crowding and even lintpicking me in public when I would try to make converstaion with a yoga teachr or student, or employee, until I no more went out in public, near him. And no more went to our operations, but worked and studied and marketed and gardened and painted and designed from home, anything but be near him. That cluelessness. That being alone when with him. that constantly being told I was not okay. that constantly overhearing him tell the guest I fed at our table, telling the police who responded to my call of chid abuse, that I was bipolar, off my eds, and not at all sane.

After

 

 

 

 

 

 

so I could teach college. He stole those too. He stole a lt when he stole my good name. he stole my ability to get work in a lifetime of workaholism. He stole my community, my ability to come back after dvorce, my ability to thrive as a single mother

with a 100,000 resume as an executive with 10 years international experience, with a natural PR and marketing ability and sales–you name it! cAle Carnegie graduate–“A person’s name is the sweetest sound in any language.” A great listener–truly interested in people, able to envision what they want and find it for them, plus additional ideas , whether it was in clothing (Jung’s “persona” identification) photography (a great eye for the right photo, font, page design, coaching models in studio and headshot photography, having self-taught Irvong’s style of lighting, and modeled headshots for photographers who would teach me their camers, lenses,

film know-how and twenty-plus years in management across three industries.

A workaholic since age 14, a true entrepreneur since age 9. Maybe even–since I had secretly promised God if I were forgiven for having been appropriated for a brothr, not knowing then I was also raped on a bathroom sink by the eldest–maybe even a saint. Back then.

 

 

 

 

1) Publishing/writing/editing fpor magazines and newspapers in L.A.,

2) retail ataffing, training, retention and development and sales management since high school at age 16,

3) ten year taking an international start-up from 40-k a year to 1.6 million, which after my ex stole bothe whlesal and retail from me when I filed for divorce, also stealing my intellectual property, clothing brands Sweater Girl, Tribe, and Yoga Toga, went immediately back to 40k.

can I start over at 60? Can I enlist anyone to help me sample again as i did when I build a 1.6 million business from my outerwear, sweater, sportswear, dresses, activewear designs? I think I can. I think I will. I know I must. I will sell my books, movie rights, anbd build my foundation, Women Without Lawyers.

 

(wood carving of a my nativity and two different  silver-and-semiprecious samples of my popular dragonfly fornerly rendered in fabric design and hand-made paper, wallpaper: Twenty years of abuse (10 years past divorce, court discrimination, lawyer abandonment, libel, slander, perjury, three unnamed counts of grand felony of my intellectual property and two businesses, kidnapping to avoid nominal child support, court, national, international libel that cause unemployment, shunning isolation, poverty for 10 years, and resultant disability from PTSD, homelessness: can it be mine at 60? The will to begin again?

disabled from trauma from the ex, his violations of law even in getting the courts to keep me out of courtrooms, me without lawyering, because of what he put on record, theough I never knew what. In a nutshell, medical malpractice after I suffered PTSD and given a military-style head beating, then raped and nearly killed, then robbed by a just-released co. I was in a Chrles Street, Baltimore store with the doors open on a Thrusday night, back when Louie’s Bookstore was the place to go for a cool tepid cup of coffee surved in wide white cups with saucers, and it had the vibe of San Fransisco, the 70s, or any college town when college towns had bookstores with timework oak or pine floors, terrible lighting, neauveau=pseudo-oct-ovo-intellectual books, and  a great vibe for days.

(move to book)I was new to baltimore, having met Mr. Wonderful while prepping a documentary show of photography that would be featured in Baltimore City Paper and in Baltimore Magazine. hile my former boyfriend, Mr. Wonderful was out for a walk in the park. Negligent to this employee. then he has the idea to marry me, because his parents are coming and –looking back I see, it was not passion except for my talent and his Dad’s money, who constantly held to to Mr. Wonderful that t 48 he wasn’t married yet, relatives thought he was gay, he wan’t going to meet another girlfriend Mr. Wonderful couldn’t get to marry him, and

In my dreams my books, “The Season of Mangoes”, and “The Cost:”

costs for having married an abuser, and for being medically misdiagnosed and mismanaged as “bipolar” afer a terrible head-beating and rape by a con who just got out of jail, while boyfriend/husband to be is neglectful of my safety alone in a store with the doors open on Charles Street–when I had, and was never treated for, PTSD and TBI.

Meicated in the days big-pharma was hadning out cruises and bonused for more and more sales of Class ____ drugs, (show pharmacy record of medicines prescribed here), all Ambiened up to the point of forgetting where I was driving at times–yet uilding a company from nothing to over a million, to make my goal for submitting it to Success Magazine–which Mr. Wonderful laughed at–but I did–to 1.6 million before he stole everything.

 

filing for divorce, and for being abandoned by alawyer in court, for being incourt without knowledge of process, and for being deprived of justice, for information, for being libeled in court documents iI could not see without a lwyer in a way that would prevent me from getting any lawyer ever, at all, for 12 years–

that   perjuror, a liverler, a slanderer, a double ankle-breaker,  a child-abuser, being female, attractive, intelligent, polite, a caretaker, an advocate, a star-maker, a workaholic, an incest victim, a lover, a visionary, a mother, a sister, a dutiful daughter, and so on (small type this) ” and “B”are  published together, internationally. I design every page of font, lay in every image. Real photographs–that haven’t been sold in storage of every single thing I had after winning a suit against a moving company and its lawyer from 35,000 to 1547–and I had nothing to sell but a fur coat which I had no audience for any longer–losing for the fifthe time my camer and their photos, phones and their photos, computers and their documentary photos, storage of my novel ten years in the making, “The Season of Mangoes” which I had only to market–after that, divorce cost me again.

after 10 years of selling down my estate after divorce to live and feed my daughter, pay my condo fees and mortgage. Having been a self-taught international clothing designer/marketer/wholesaler/retail concept designer/sales trainer/merchanddser/gift buyer/ model selector, photo director, catalog creator, o and on–I took a company from 40,00 a year to 1.6 million in a decade. When my ex- stole both when I filed for divorce from continuaous discrimination as “bipolar without her meds” with my own staff, friends, relatives, while I was the engine, the vision, the steam, the social entrepreneur elling through to 4,000 U.S. boutiques and catalogs such as Coldwater Creek, California Style, Orvis, Art& Artifact, internationally, I co-direct the movie

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