Coloring with the Catholics: My Story of Criminal Mental Health Care and Higher Ed Gaslighting in Larry Nassar’s Michigan (New Part Fourteen), Losing the Lakehouse: It Only Gets Worse

by Gina Fournier

UNDER CONSTRUCTION. THANK YOU! October 2021.  This storytelling requires some elaborate time structure. And documentation when falsely accused of hallucinations and psychosis. This is not a memoir. This is me still trying to save my life from retaliatory criminal (not forensic) psychiatry.

I would greatly appreciate public support and acknowledgement for my claims. Murdered with Catholicism and psychiatry by the Livonia, Michigan Catholics of my youth and monster sexist William MacQueen, of Oakland and Macomb Community Colleges, with help from bully teachers still working as public servants.

New Part Fourteen Chapter Titles:

• It Only Gets Worse
• Rape and Murder Threats Ignored by Michigan State Police
• PR Bonds Are Not Free
• Rocky Ballerina Springs Little Witchie From Jail
• Losing the Lakehouse

Chapter: It Only Gets Worse

I was released from jail on a PR bond, on September 28, 2017, without any idea what might happen next or when.

~ * ~

The District Health Department #10 could arrest me for using the gravity flush and remaining in the condemned lakehouse, after my denied appeal August 11, 2017.

Without a doubt, the actions of the District Health Department #10 were intent on harassment, not public health, because being technically condemned did not stop the sale of the house less than a year later.

~ * ~

The restrictions of my bond were not clear.

Standing inside my home, I could be within 500 feet of the Land of Motown Lying Cop #2.

~ * ~

I was trapped in a #metoo era hell like no other I have ever encountered in the media.

I still am.

~ * ~

There are more outlandish details to report about Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2, and his behavior.

But you won’t believe me. 

~ * ~

A couple of creepy observations.

I knew the Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 had arrived up north when at home on my property or inside my house not able to see any activity.

I knew he’d arrived because he announced his arrival with a chain saw, regularly.

~ * ~

After I got my eyes on Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2’s face for the first time in court during the PPO hearing, on May 8, 2017, when he whipped me with his big cop stick, I finally starting seeing the guy, ironically and uncomfortably.

Though I did not seek contact, I started seeing him around Lake Miramichi when I walked the dog, and he drove his ATV.

Same thing for lying wife.

Funny, Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 didn’t drive by me on his ATV as I walked the dog before the PPO hearing, not that I can recall.

But he and his wife did circle and pass me on Miramichi drive and Modoc Trail both before and after jail August 25, 2017-September 28, 2017.

~ * ~

Time moves back and forth, like the action of my saw, which was very comforting in itself, for me, like stirring a cauldron of soup.

Time moves back and forth.

It’s not just this story and my telling.

Day Light Savings Time.

Fall back.

Spring forward.

In garish display.

~ * ~

My “I was not seen by Dr. Andrew Muzychka 2.22.2013” sign was stolen, after the PPO hearing and before my bogus arrest, during the summer of 2017.

The Lying Cops were present for at least one weekend during which signs were stolen, as I recall.

One night, I watched a posse stop in front of my signs from inside the lakehouse cabin, through the bedroom window, facing the road.

There were no lights on at my house as I called out.

It was after 11 pm.

I called out to the marauders, which did not immediately alert a male drunken belligerent group.

I called out again.

The guy who going to take one of my signs said nonchalantly, laughingly, intoxicated, to his crew, who were riding around the lake in in a small car and large ATV, something about hearing a noise.

I had to stand my ground, no gun, using my voice, before the aggressive males left and continued circling the lake.

~ * ~

I have more police reports regarding stolen signs.

But I think I will reserve them, not post them, due to length concerns.

However, if I meet Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop again, say in civil court, and he produces additional witnesses not seen during the PPO hearing, these interludes and my signs will be brought up.

Of course, I assume lying cops have friends who are willing to lie, too.

Cops support Trump, and he’s the biggest liar around.

~ * ~

Another time.

Either it was summertime of 2017, between the PPO and my arrest, or it was in the fall of 2017, after jail, on bond, or it was after June 1, 2018, on probation, during my last summer at the lake.

The Land of Motown Lying Cop #2 drove aggressively an ATV pointed directly at me.

I was standing in my driveway, well inside my property, into which the road Modoc Trail directly emptied.

He was driving on Modoc Trail and smiling like a maniac chain saw murderer.

He aimed and drove hard, coming straight at me, while he stayed on the road, and I stood my ground, on my property.

We were too close for my comfort.

I may have given him a power fist.

His face looked like the faces of psycho killers in blood and gore movies, movies I don’t watch.

Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 harassed me.

And his expression said knew he was lying to the authorities and happy to get away with a crime.

~ * ~

My mind was under siege when I was released from jail in the fall of 2017.

And it remains under siege now in the fall of 2019.

Why won’t anyone help me end this hell is my main mystery

But there are others.

~ * ~

Who installed the plastic iguana under my bedroom window?

The markings under properties on my computer say I took this picture on February 16, 2017.

Right before the fourth anniversary of my illegal looney bin lock up.

When very few people were milling around Lake Miramichi.

Who will beleive me?

I found this plastic iguana, as is, in the dirt on the tree-shaded south side of the lakehouse cabin.

Someone can attest.

I first spied this plastic iguana, seemingly crawling out of the dirt, by the low light of growing evening shadows.

And I must admit, stupidly, at first, I actually thought it might be real.

At first, I thought it might be one of the salamanders that the neighbor, Jim, who was a middle school science teacher, said lived in Michigan and could be found in spring.

~ * ~

My assistant, Google, tells me that salamanders are amphibians, like iguanas, not reptiles, and that the Eastern Tiger Salamander is the largest in Michigan.

According to the website, http://www.herprman.com/, run by herpetologist David A. Mifsud, the Eastern Tiger Salamander can grow to 13 inches long.

But the species is not doing well in Michigan.

Mifsud explains, the Easter Tiger Salamander “can occur in large populations where suitable breeding habitat is available,” but it “may be uncommon to rare elsewhere, especially to the north.”

Furthermore, the creature’s MDNR Wildlife Action Plan Status is “species of greatest conservation need.”

I know the feeling.

Me too.

~ * ~

I discovered just now that Michigan is home to a couple of lizards, too, which are reptiles like the iguana.

Behold the five-lined skink.

Which is not large.

I’ve seen five-lined skinks scurry away for cover up north.

~ * ~

Okay.

A human being installed this plastic iguana.

Who?

Why?

Who was messing with my already messed with mind?

~ * ~

This time period, the last days of the lakehouse, is coming back to me.

~ * ~

Out of chronological order is order in one’s memory.

~ * ~

I took a video of the plastic iguana after someone else, another hand, not mine, moved it before I could.

That’s the truth.

I don’t expect anyone will believe.

~ * ~

I decided to visibly respond to the prankster.

So, I nailed the plastic iguana to my civil rights protest display, closest to the names of my chief attackers.

Nailed through the heart.

And balls.

~ * ~

People have been messing with my mind for a long time.

~ * ~

Funny.

Any readers may wonder regarding the next tidbit: is the crazy lady sure if it was late winter 2016 or late winter 2017?

That fact that Trump for president signs are part of this little story inside the story does not decide the issue.

~ * ~

Later people, if people survive on earth, will have special ways to name and describe the last days of the United States and global democracy, when Donald Trump supporters lead the world down the toilet with ignorance, sexism, intolerance and greed. And shortsightedness. Helped by Cambridge Analytica and Russia.

~ * ~

Timeline.

Trump was sworn in on January 20, 2017.

I was harassed on a hostile unneeded welfare that day, for which the Osceola County Sheriff’s and Meceola 911 Dispatch reports do not match, suspiciously. Why exactly was I hassled that day? Who really instigated?

Bad King Trump became the Republican nominee in July 2016, and before that he declared his candidacy in June 2015.

Reviewing forward and backward, because I am trying to be facutal accurate, Trump signs were still posted after the November 2016 election.

Still posted in February or March 2017, after the January 2017 swearing in.

I’m sure lots of us were cursing the new president.

After review, I do think it was definitely 2017, around the same time of year and in the same year as the mysterious installation of the plastic iguana.

~ * ~

In late winter, when all beings hunger for spring, and the sun climbs higher in the sky above the horizon, a white human couple, male and female, drove around Lake Miramichi Drive.

On the Day of the Fake Plastic Iguana?

I don’t know.

~ * ~

I was outside every day for many hours, and I saw a lot.

This interlude was not the only suspicious drive-by I witnessed, but one that has stayed with me most strongly, though the details I retain are not conclusive.

I wrote about the encounter on Twitter or Facebook, or both.

~ * ~

I think the couple was faking it.

They stopped me as I was walking Hunter home.

The woman in the passenger seat, a fake blond, asked me about houses for sale, with fake extra-friendliness.

Up ahead, Jim’s house had been for sale for years, ever since it was built.

However, I never trusted the woman’s question about available real estate.

The couple was driving a dark blue sedan, a nice car, new-ish looking, ruined in appearance with a bumper sticker that pretty said, “I’m with the pussy grabber in chief. Smirk!”

People who drive nice cars know about the internet and how real estate for sale can be shopped online without driving around.

People out joy riding did not happen upon Lake Miramichi.

Delivery and work crews had trouble finding the place.

Theory. I think the man and the woman were not shopping for real estate, but perhaps spying, doing dirty work, for whom?

If I recall correctly, we were stopped next to Jeanette’s roadside Trump sign, still erect.

And the guy had a Trump sticker on his rear bumper.

~ * ~

Call me sexist.

The guy, who wore a baseball cap, was much more culturally attractive than the woman.

Her naturally brunette hair was not dyed blond well, her nose was too large for modeling or Hollywood, her face shape did not follow a fahionable form.

Sorry.

They were not a couple, but they were pretending to be a couple.

She was not a good actor.

Neither was he.

Theory. These two were faking being a couple, randomly, without preparation, only pretending to be shopping for real estate, around Lake Miramichi, in winter, in remote mid Michigan, on a weekday, maybe looking for me.

Why?

~ * ~

I quipped a bit snottily about politics, purposely, to test the fake couple.

They quipped back, maintaining a fake veneer of civility, like professional Republicans, which equaled way too much effort.

~ * ~

We soon ended our in-the-road conversation.

They weren’t shopping for real estate.

So what were they doing?

I wished I had taken a picture of their license plate.

Immediately, I thought of the crook state attorney general, Bill Schuette, who had denied equal protection in writing on October 7, 2015, who sought to cover up what really happened to me February 22-28, 2013.

He sent Michigan State Police to harass me on November 19, 2015.

Why not send staffers or associates in 2017 to snoop? to mind fuck with a plastic iguana? NO ONE WILL BELIEVE HER.

Bill Schuette was preparing to run for governor in 2018.

At this time, with me still talking about my Land of Motown Community College story online, Bill Schuette was perhaps likely less than thrilled that I had not taken his hints to shut up about my Larry Nassar at Land of Motown Community College in rich Republican Oakland County, land of top donors.

Immediately, when this interlude started, I wondered if Bill Schuette was sending his people to spy on me.

It was not the first time.

He sent Todd Parsons and Norma Naylor of the Michigan State Police with his calling card.

Why not repeat his play?

~ * ~

Another unsolved mystery.

Who sent the note-card with a twenty dollar bill and a Baby Jesus prayer card?

Right before the Land of Motown Community College Lying Cops geared up.

~ * ~

Actual suicides have occurred as I have been suicide swatted.

No one can imagine my particular pain, which adds more pain.

~ * ~

Anthony Bourdain, Jeffrey Epstein, Margot Kidder, Robin Williams.

Suicide rates are up, talk of suicide prevention is all over the media, but I can’t get anyone to pay attention to my story of suicide swatting and suicide Gaslighting.

You can’t imagine how incredulous I feel.

How the hell did this all happen? Why did it happen to me? Why won’t anyone listen to my story and help make it better? Why are the press ignoring me? Fox News is propaganda, “niche media,” I just heard a familiar NPR voice say.

~ * ~

Isolation and loneliness are not the same thing. Combined they destroy like developing cancer or getting hit by a train.

~ * ~

When will the world be safe for female artists?

A long time ago, before my molars were pulled and my teeth were stained, before I started limping, when I could afford to have my hair dyed brown, I was still a community college English teacher. I wrote a sample book review for my writing students with that title, When will the world be safe for female artists? About a biography of French sculptor Camille Claudel. She was locked up in a looney bin for thirty years by her Catholic hostile mother and brother essentially to silence her in an even more sexist world, Paris, late 1800s. She had an affair with Rodin, an abortion, free will, talent, so she was doomed.

My too-similar story minus the talent and deserved fame blows my mind.

~ * ~

All lives are comprised and contain tragedy.

The particular tragedy of my life, called crazy dangerous bitch maliciously to lock me up twice, first in a looney bin then secondly jail, denigrated, cast out, impoverished, mentally abused, isolated, made lonely, terrorized, all these facts of my story make me reasonably terrified about my future as things get worse, not better.

~ * ~

The attack was launched so long ago.

Seven years in a Twitter/nano second age is like seventy years, or something.

~ * ~

These are short term short sighted times, while my story is so long.

~ * ~

Just the opposite of suicidal, for over seven years I have crawled forward.

~ * ~

As Judge Tyler Thomspon denied my request for an extension on my back taxes, and I was forced to recognize that my court appointed lawyer sucked, I turned to new imaginary friends, which I drew for myself.

I invented adult cartoon characters during the overlapping double hells of my personal life, in place within the larger big picture of the failing United States of America, our democratic experiment dumped by Trump.

From left to right back row: Super Mary, the first religious super hero, Tutu Jesus (hey Zeus!), the first trans Christ, stuck forever on a cross, Little Ira, talking chicken radio, and my alter ego, witchunt witch, provided me a place to put my rage for revenge.

Don’t talk to me about self empowerment.

I can’t fix this problem alone.

~ * ~

Everyday people can’t stay with me as I fight for justice and public acknowledgement of what really happened, what really was done to me.

~ * ~

One neighbor at Lake Miramichi was kind to me, gave me food, talked to me, invited me into her home, but her affections wore thin over time.

That’s the pattern I’ve come to know.

~ * ~

Most people do not want to hear my story, for whatever reasons people might hold individually.

Unrecognized sexism, a recognition that they could be next, vindictive Christianity, unquestioned acceptance of psycho babble.

So this woman was nice to me, but as long as I listened to her, and not the other way around.

~ * ~

This woman was a very nice person who was very nice and generous with me, at first.

But she was gullible in ways she did not seem to recognize.

You may be seeing this Lake Miramichi neighbor accurately as a white rural senior citizen Trump voter from mid Michigan, one of the people from three targeted Midwestern states who sent Trump to the White House.

A retiree, this woman went to see Trump in Cadillac, Michigan.

Afterwards, she said Trump was going to dump Obama care and simply replace it with something better, just like that.

She made this declaration in a voice that was not her usual voice.

Maybe it was a voice one uses to convince themselves that unicorns exist.

~ * ~

Research shows Trump did not even talk about health care at the March 4, 2016 event, nor did he talk about the environment or locking up Hillary.

Because the event happened before the primary, when Trump was beating up other Republican primary contenders.

~ * ~

A woman in her 70s, who did not like her husband, she reported that Trump was a handsome man.

I said nothing about my anti-Trump views.

I was sitting in her kitchen not telling her anything from my story or life, because out conversation was one-sided.

Meanwhile, her husband was silent sitting in front the television watching portly men like himself ride small antique tractors in circles.

Swear to dog.

I said nothing about my anti-Trump views, and she did not ask me my opinion.

I said nothing and just observed because she was feeding me.

~ * ~

It is impossible to talk about the pain of suicide swatting and the danger of my suicide swatting story without talking about suicide.

But no one wants to here about Jesus rape and suicide.

Only Trump can use “witchhunt” and be heard and believed by his short-sighted base.

It is so difficult to grow old and unattractive, as I am crushed and discarded, on display, while people know but don’t, can’t or won’t help end my hell.

~ * ~ 

After the 2016 election, when Mexico certainly did not pay to build any wall, tragedies in this woman’s life mounted.

One son was diagnosed with cancer, then the other son died of a heart attack.

Then a grandson killed himself.

The neighbor pulled away.

She was in a great deal of pain.

She had to wonder why I couldn’t just die instead of her loved ones.

She definitely stayed away after I was released from jail.

~ * ~

Because I am forced to discuss suicide and fight to SAVE MY LIFE from suicide swatting, I must bring up the following information.

To me, within my story, the most ironic still tragic suicide is that of Sean Brosnan, husband to Maureen Miller Brosnan.

We three attended St. Mikes school together.

Tomorrow, November 5, 2019, Maureen Miller Brosnan hopes to become the first female mayor of my shitty sexist hometown, Livonia, Michigan.

Today, November 6, 2019, she is the winner and in January 2020 will be sworn in.

Currently, she is the chairperson on the board of directors for St. Mary Merciless criminal human trafficking mental ward.

Both the city of Livonia and St. Mary Merciless have received or will soon receive formal civil right complaints about their 2019 bad behavior, which concurred, not coincidentally, with the writing of this document in the sections about February 22-28, 2013, involving Livonia cops and Catholics.

Livonia cops and Catholics would prefer to not have the false record about me corrected because it would involve admitting wrong doing.

~ * ~

I am being thoughtful, careful as I can, on a difficult to move Monday.

Livonia Catholics could not identify Sean Brosnan as suicidal.

Apparently his wife could not either.

Catholicism did not save Sean Brosnan.

No one knows who is suicidal.

~ * ~

I have endured mental torture and retaliation, but I have not acted violently toward others or myself.

In my full frontal attack, needing to tell my story and control my story, I have reached to Maureen Brosnan Miller.

I have shown my indignation and wounds.

I have shared the gruesome details of my sexist murder.

She has ignored me.

~ * ~

Sean Brosnan killed himself.

I am still not dead.

Is this that thing karma at work?

Only a strange coincidence?

~ * ~

No one has the right to use suicide as a weapon against another, not even God.

I ask Maureen Brosnan Miller to imagine herself or her daughters in my position and to take a public stand on behalf of fair resolution.

But we don’t live in that kind of a world.

~ * ~

Feel free to prove me wrong.

~ * ~

After I got out of jail, I needed to find a way to fix my plumbing and stockpile wood for winter.

Someone gave me money, but not enough to fix my plumbing.

Still, Someone was very generous.

~ * ~

I started calling plumbers in the phone book.

I did not tell people who answered the phone that I did not have any money.

~ * ~

Problem other than poverty: very few plumbers worked in the area, and they all were swamped.

~ * ~

One guy came out and in seconds got my well working.

Got my own well working!!!!!!!!!

In seconds!

I don’t know what he did.

He turned or pushed some little button.

He had the magic touch.

But he was too busy to work on my plumbing any time soon.

He charged me nothing.

Thank you, eternally.

~ * ~

Trust me.

I had tried to pump water out of that well.

I don’t understand why the well did not work for me.

For sure the pipes under the house and the water heater burst when Chris last shut down the house for winter badly, alone, before he died, in 2012.

I guess I kind of thought that the well shaft or something was broken underground, near ground level, due to winter freezing.

Or I guessed that the well pump under the house was broken, though it was new.

The well wasn’t a winterized well, meaning I still needed to use Jeanette’s well in winter in order to fill buckets of water for the gravity flush.

Or I would have felt extremely stupid.

~ * ~

I still have reason to feel quite stupid.

I hauled water daily a considerable distance for two warm seasons that did need to be hauled.

Well, the well chapter ended well.

Except maybe for the delayed wear and tear on my body

~ * ~

Kristi Barron of the DHHS office in Big Rapids kept harassing me and wasting my time, solely about my plumbing, at least ostensibly.

Kristi Barron was the DHHS agent who first appeared with my case worker and Mecosta County Cops on August 25, 2017, the day I was later arrested by the second posse that descended on that date, from the Michigan State Police, including Norma Naylor’s third appearance in this story.

August 25, 2017 was the first time I think the local authorities tried to maybe take me away to jail or a looney bin for being hopefully belligerent in response to their unneeded presence.

The second time I think authorities tried to harass me into a frenzy and take me away was in the winter of 2018, during my post jail bond period, on the fifth anniversary of my illegal looney bin lock up, February 22, 2018, while I was on bond, not making headway with my case in 49th District Court against Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 and his lying wife.

On February 22, 2018, the same players descended, sent by the Mecosta County prosecutor, Brian Thiede, who refuses to explain his behavior.

~ * ~

Kristi Barron showed up at my house all of a sudden and over time explained that she needed to see me monthly in order to fix my plumbing, which she never paid to fix.

Why the special harassment, really?

I made clear she was treating me like a zoo animal, which I did not appreciate.

I made clear repeatedly that I needed the state to prosecute Dr. Andrew Muzychka and St. Mary Merciless human trafficking mental ward, but Kristi Barron ignored my needs and continued to treat me like a caged animal and ward of the state.

~ * ~

Similar strange behavior continued when I FOIAed the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services recently in 2019, from Bay City.

I wanted the name of the person who sent DHHS to harass me up north, beginning in the spring of 2016, with Marty Froman.

I wanted to know why Kristi Barron harassed me August 25, 2017 and February 22, 2018.

The FOIA response consisted of a supervisor’s phone number, a private number, which is not a public document, as the law dictates.

When I reached Maria Spedoske, she was on vacation.

Over the phone, she managed to harass me and suggest I had serious critical mental problems.

I had to back her way off, so I told her slowly and loudly that Jesus took out his big cock and raped the fuck out of me at St. Mary Merciless.

That shut her up, so I could hang up in greater peace.

As a result, a civil rights complaint is being levied against DHHS currently, too.

~ * ~

Back in the fall of 2017, at Lake Miramichi, Kristi Barron of DHHS said I sent her too high an estimate to fix my plumbing.

She sent a plumber.

His estimate was lower but still too high.

Meanwhile, Kristi Barron withheld the budget number she had to offer, which was a grand, it turned out, after I finally got her to tell me.

With the help of another neighbor, I got a couple of guys willing to do the work for a grand, but Kristi Barron would not pay up front for them to purchase supplies.

~ * ~

Finally, I got St. Tim the plumber and his right hand man Gabriel to do the necessary plumbing work, using a reconditioned toilet and water heater.

I traded both scooters for plumbing work, even though neither were running.

St. Tim and his right hand man got the plumbing working, cold water and flushing toilet, inside the house, at the beginning of November 2017, just in time for winter weather.

Phew!

I could warm water on the stove.

In April, on April 1, 2018, St. time and his right hand man Gabriel installed a used water heater.

I could take a hot bath for the last few months I was lucky to live at the lakehouse cabin.

The Lake Miramichi retreat had been past to me through my dead husband, and his deceased parents, who I never met.

Thank you, eternally.

~ * ~

Most of my civil rights protest signs were stolen while I was in jail.

My civil rights protest sign display was dismantled with force.

A hostile driver must have purposely taken out my mailbox.

After the destruction, while I was still gone, someone rigged my mailbox together with cinder blocks and nautical rope, which is how I found things when Someone drove me home.

~ * ~

A nice woman neighbor with boys who used the row boat to fish, the one who connected me to St. Tim the plumber, gave me wood to boost my supply.

Thank you, eternally.

That fall, I spent my time working the plumbing problem and working my wood pile during the day.

I painted with watercolor on paper at night inspired the scenes outdoors around me.

Chapter: Rape and Murder Threats Ignored by Michigan State Police

Getting the plumbing fixed was great news.

Indoor plumbing!!!

But otherwise mostly things did become worse overall.

I discovered on my cellphone while riding the MOTA bus home from the library in Big Rapids that an e-mail troll, “Jeff Morgan,” threatened to kill my dog, Hunter, by name.

That fall, I received rape and murder threats through e-mail.

Michigan State Police were informed but preferred to totally ignore the harassment aimed at me. 

~ * ~

Michigan State Police were too busy falsely prosecuting me for stalking Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2.

~ * ~

Yeah, for real.

Yes, I have proof.

~ * ~

Proof has been been shared on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube, all along.

~ * ~

“Jeff Morgan” is the name that appears on the e-mail harassment and threats I received.

Messages were sent to me, messages intended to make me afraid, in violation of the same state law used against me, I believe, erroneously, in retaliation, for not shutting up.

I became the actual victim of harassment on Halloween, October 31, 2017, after I was released from jail on bogus harassment charges.

Halloween was Harry Wyscocki’s birthday.

On Halloween, after jail, as if to spook me, I became an actual victim of online harassment.

I became an actual victim of online harassment in contrast to the claims of Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 and his wife, who claimed disingenuously, I argue, that I was a perpetrator of harassment, including online harassment.

I never sent them any messages.

~ * ~

I received five scary e-mails from “Jeff Morgan” between October 31, 2017 and November 10, 2017.

~ * ~

Remember the name “Jeff Morgan.”

The name “Jeff Morgan” will come up later, during probation, after losing the lakehouse cabin and moving to Bay City, Michigan.

“Jeff Morgan” will reappear when I try to make my return to community college teaching at Inside the thumb Mid Michigan Community College, but I am stopped again by hostile outside forces.

Those forces include a Facebook troll named “Christine Heikkenen,” who will name “Jeff Morgan” in a Messenger message to me via a cellphone screenshot.

~ * ~

The local authorities who wanted to lock me somehow got their hands on these Facebook Messenger messages, but covered up how they did so.

~ * ~

PREVIEW: Somehow the Osceola County prosecutor and the my probation officer with the Michigan Department of Corrections will obtain hostile messages sent to me by “Christine Heikkenen,” not read them well, not question the source, and name “Jeff Morgan” in a probation report asking for me to be sent back to jail for probation violations that did not occur.

The authorities in mid Michigan representing the state and Osceola County will accuse me of probation violations, but they really just wanted to silence me, especially once they figured out they were spanked by an internet hack.

Judge Kimberly Booher holds no probation hearings in the fall of 2018, in contrast to purposely misleading paperwork pushed by authorities.

The judge thus covers up “Jeff Morgan” and “Christine Heikkenen” and does not let me speak on record before early sentencing.

She slaps me with a stalking misdemeanor that prevents me from passing background checks and obtaining needed employment.

At the time, “Christine Heikkenen” on her Facebook page liked both Oakland County Sheriffs and politician Adolf Hitler.

I wrote Judge Kimberly Booher myself with these screen shots to try and stop her stupidity.

My efforts did not work.

She preferred to save face instead of admit the authorities made missteps.

Yes, for real.

Proof, of course!

But does that count in this disinformation age?

~ * ~

Similar.

A Catch 22 double play.

Being the actual victim of harassment while falsely accused of harassment.

Like Trump voters manipulated by known forces about which they refuse to read, hear, see or think.

~ * ~

Especially disturbing is the idea that Michigan was targeted for extra special Russian interference during the 2016 election, because racists, sexists and intolerant are gullible, but also unlikely to read, listen, see or hear the facts.

The same Trump supporting gullible racists, sexists and intolerant/ignorant types, targeted by foreign actors with misinformation, inhabit heavily Republican Osceola County it is fair to assume.

~ * ~

Painfully, this interlude is coming back to me now.

I received the murder threat from “Jeff Morgan” on a Friday night, November 10, 2017.

First, I contacted 911 that night, after dark.

I was not happy with the way I was treated.

I ended the call.

I called back during the day on the following Monday.

That second call, on Monday November 13, 2017, I recorded.

At times during this call, I am waiting, on hold, talking to myself.

Otherwise, it’s fairly clear when the 911 Meceola Dispatch it’s talking.

At the end of the seven minute call, 911 Meceola Dispatch gives me the number for the Michigan State Police Cyber crimes unit, which I called next.

~ * ~

As instructed by 911 Mecoeal Dispatch, on Monday, November 13, 2017, next I contacted the Michigan State Police cyber crimes, first by phone, about the e-mail harassment from “Jeff Morgan.”

I used the phone number given to me by 911 Meceola Dispatch.

I taped the phone call, because the Michigan State Police had proven themselves untrustworthy beginning November 19, 2015, when Bill Schuette sent Todd Parsons and Norma Naylor from the Michigan State Police to rough me up, just after I escaped Garden City and took refuge at Lake Miramichi.

~ * ~

Now, admittedly, this video of me calling the Michigan State Police is very rough.

Apart from the context and long history of my story, maybe no matter what, I sound stressed or plain nutz.

Though I say instead I was driven mad, especially at the beginning of this video, when I am talking to myself.

It is more difficult to hear what I hear in this video, compared to the previous call to 911 Meceola Dispatch.

~ * ~

At this point in my endless ordeal, I was pretty pissed off a few thousand times over, about the Marx Brothers’ meets Keystone Cops nature of my life.

~ * ~

I was working two phones, one to call, the other to film, while standing practically in the road, Miramichi Drive, because of persistent crappy reception.

My phone rarely worked inside the lakehouse cabin.

I was constantly running back and forth from the road to the house for, say, a pen to properly play secretary in the street.

Even in the street, the phone connection constantly broke up and cut out, and made me start all over again, adding to my considerable frustration.

But if you hang on, or fast forward, this video shows, though uncomfortably, that I did stay on the line long enough to connect to some guy from the Michigan State Police supposedly cyber crimes unit.

The name I caught was David Plouchard.

~ * ~

Do I wish this video was in better shape and more professional sounding?

Sure.

Do I need to speak more softly in sound bite-size sentences, not booming pissed off and traumatized paragraphs?

Sure.

Do I need this unbelievable hell to end?

YES!

~ * ~

At the start of this recording, I think I was maybe put on hold, when I talked to myself in panic out loud.

At the start, I think I respond to what I hear on hold from the Michigan State Police.

I think I was transferred, put on hold, then fed some nonsense in my ear about how great and helpful police are, which upset me and restarted my panic attack.

I had the sense, correctly, that I was going to be ignored, not out of paranoia but reason, because the state of Michigan attorney general was not on my side.

And I was right.

The Michigan State Police were still not interested in my civil rights or equally protecting me.

~ * ~

In the sixth minute of this video, David Plouchard mainsplains and tries to give me peace of mind by saying most people who make threats don’t take action.

Which is a sentiment that does not support Land of Motown Community College’s Lying Cop #2’s claim that he was afraid of me, based on me saying I was afraid of a cop from the school living nearby online.

~ * ~

I had to correct David Plouchard.

I told him the police upset me more than the death threats: “I am not afraid of the e-mails. I am afraid of the police and the courts and Bill Schuette,” I told him, not softly.

~ * ~

In the seventh minute of the call, David Plouchard reprimands me for yelling and not answering questions.

Then things get super strange.

Instead of asking me the name that appeared on the e-mail threats, David Plouchard asks me the name of the Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2, which is really odd.

Then a neighbor walks by, a guy who made his living as a magician in Las Vegas. The former magician and I share a quick chit chat, including an apology from me for conducting personal business in the street, which was an interruption I needed to explain to David Plouchard.

At that point, three voices appear on the recording.

And then conversation further derails, mostly because David Plouchard only wanted to talk about Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2, not the threatening e-mails I received.

~ * ~

The call lasted fourteen minutes, but nervously I stopped recording at around 11 minutes because I thought I was running low on power.

In general, I was afraid to let my phone go dead in case I needed it to document more in-person police harassment.

~ * ~

David Plouchard of the Michigan State Police never asked me about the threatening e-mails.

I just sent the Michigan State Police a FOIA request to see if David Plouchard wrote a police report, which I doubt.

Ten days later, I just sent a follow. No response yet.

~ * ~

In 2017, I called the Michigan State Police cyber unit phone number back a couple of times.

No one ever answered.

I left messages, but I never heard back from David Plouchard

~ * ~

I followed up my phone call to the Michigan State Police cyber crimes unit with an e-mail, containing the threatening e-mails I received from “Jeff Morgan,” although I was not asked for a copy of the e-mails by the Michigan State Police and sending e-mails on my phone from the lake was a task difficult to complete.

~ * ~

I didn’t leave things there.

I contacted my court appointed lawyer on November 20, 2017, through e-mail and phone calls, which were routinely held up by his secretary gatekeeper.

I was ignored.

~ * ~

I continued to push in order to advocate myself and to redress the Michigan State Police for equal protection.

On January 3, 2018, I resent the information to both the Michigan State Police and my court appointed attorney in the same e-mail transmission.

I was completely ignored by both the Michigan State Police and my court appointed attorney, the guy who was supposed to defend me.

~ * ~

Instead of equal protection for receiving death threats, which I had supposedly made to the Land of Motown Community College Lying Cops, in probably December or January 2018, I received a notice through the mail, without any warning from my court appointed attorney, that I was to report to the state of Michigan’s maxim security nut house downstate in Ann Arbor on January 22, 2018, my dead husband’s birthday, for another mind fucking, which I did not attend.

Oh, yes, for real.

Real retaliation.

~ * ~

Chapter: PR Bonds Are Not Not Free

The back woods legal system out of the 49th District Court held me under the restraints of bond for eight months between about October 2017 and June 1, 2018.

Among restrictions, I was to stay in the state, but not get too close the complainant.

Don’t drink; turn in your weapons.

My only weapons were paintbrushes and metaphoric pens, keys on computer keyboards.

~ * ~

I am still trying to decide as fairly as possible if I committed a crime.

Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 and his lying wife took an oath to not lie and then both lied during the bogus PPO hearing they requested, May 8, 2017.

They lied about many things, I know, but specifically, documented, about calling the police for an unneeded retaliatory welfare check on September 4, 2016. The phone number listed on the 911 Meceola Dispatch report matches the phone number for the lying wife as confirmed by a Google search, and as well as confirmed by my Michigan State Police arrest report, August 25, 2017. The same phone number and the lying wife are connected. The lying wife’s phone called the police that day, and both husband and wife lied knowingly and purposely about it in court in order to obtain a bogus PPO hearing.

Is it possible to commit a crime against a lying complainant and a lying witness, confirmed liars, documented?

I was arrested August 25, 2017, based on a few Twitter comments, which I thought were allowable, and based on their subsequent lies, about August 12, 2017, when I was not standing in their driveway, as they told the Michigan State Police. On that date, the Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 and his lying wife harassed me, from their driveway, as I painted civil rights protest signs in front of my own home. The lying couple harassed me, showing they were not afraid of me. They harassed me with nonsense. Lying husband shouted that I poisoned my husband five years earlier. Without a doubt, but minus witnesses, they harassed me, and they set me up, again. On purpose, the pictures lying wife took were used to say I was getting close to them, that I was standing in their driveway and yelling at them, which is not the truth. The picture included in the Michigan State Police report, though suspiciously grainy, shows I was standing next to my mailbox, my signs, my dog, my house.

Bond. “Item 12. Not harass, intimidate, beat, molest, would, stalk, threaten, or engage in other conduct that would place any of the following persons or a child of any of the following persons in reasonable fear of bodily injury: spouse, former spouse, individual with whom the defendant has a child in common, resident, or former resident of defendant’s household.”

These people were never afraid of me.

They wanted me, my signs and my dog gone, so they lied.

~ * ~

PREVIEW: After bond, beginning June 1, 2018, probation was originally slated to last one year, twelve months.

But that’s not what happened.

Ultimately, Judge Kimberly Booher cancelled my plea deal, not based on a bond or later a probation violation, but based on the misbehavior of authorities who wanted to silence me.

I was designated to carry the burden for their misdeeds. 

Of course, I did not trust a plea deal with ambiguous edges connected to a bogus charge and a lying cop from my criminally abusive former employer. 

~ * ~

Mailing date: 10/02/17

Notice to Appear: October 20, 2017 for a pre-trial hearing.

Which never happened.

My lawyers statements to me swung like a swing and were difficult to absorb because they would not stand still.

First, he said he would get me released from jail and have the charges dismissed.

Then he said he would have the charges reduced.

Mail date: 10/23/17

Notice to Appear: December 1, 2017, for a settlement conference.

Which never happened.

I still had not met the judge, again, regarding the charge against me.

Was that the point?

Mail date: 10/23/2017

Notice to Appear: January 9 and 10, 2018

My lawyer said . . . he was so wishy washy I don’t recall what he said, but he had changed his tune dramatically, and was no longer promising to have the charges dropped or reduced, so I said let’s go to trial, and he said okay.

But these dates did not see a trial.

Mail Date: 1/30/18

Notice to Appear: February 9, 2018

Settlement conference/status conference re defendant’s failure to appear for forensic evaluation.

Despite what I was told by my court appointed attorney and his gatekeeper, my court appointed did not officially cancel the court order to appear in Ann Arbor at the state looney bin on January 22, 2018.

January 22 was Chris’ birthday.

There was no way with one false looney bin lock up that I could go visit on a day pass to the state nut house.

How could I trust a lawyer who did not understand this fact?

Chris helped me stand strong.

~ * ~

I was required to go to court on February 9, 2018, in a very nervous state, worried about being jailed for not visiting the state nut house for mind fucking.

My court appointed lawyer talked to the judge that day.

I did not.

I did not even make it into the court room.

I dealt only with my court appointed lawyer in a conference room. He said he smoothed things over regarding my non appearance at the state nut house.

Was Booher hiding?

Mailing date: 2/09/18

Notice to Appear: Two-day Jury Trial April 3 and 4, 2018.

I took the notice seriously.

But I noted my court appointed lawyer did not seem to be preparing to go to trial, not at all.

Should we meet to discuss and plan? What about witnesses? What about my civil rights signs? What about August 12, 2017, when the complainant and his wife harassed me? There’s a police report. I got the 911 Dispatch recording. I was prepared to prepare to go to trial.

My court appointed lawyer?

Nothing.

I got little but the run around from his gatekeeper.

~ * ~

Full time line.

February 22, 2018 fits in here.

I think the local authorities were conspiring to try and stir me into a frenzy and hope to arrest me or take me away to the looney bin, falsely, again, like February 22, 2013.

They Mecosta County police and DHHS knew about the actions in Osceola County, I’m sure.

Kristi Barron had visited me in jail back in September 2017 in order to harass me.

~ * ~

I was dissuaded from going to trial by more than my own court appointed lawyer.

~ * ~

There was no reason for DHHS and the Mecosta County Sheriffs to harass me at home, February 22, 2013, but they did.

There was no reason for the Mecosta County prosecutor to send DHHS and the Mecosta County Sheriffs to harass me at home, but he did.

There was no reason for the Mecosta County Sheriffs to come to my house with DHHS Big Rapids Kristi Barron and to harass me, and to not write a police report to cover up their steps, but they did come to my house with DHHS and harass me, and they did fail to write a police report, to better cover up their steps.

There was no reason for the Mecosta County prosecutor to order a hit in February 22, 2018, and then fail to explain his actions, but he did order the hit, according to the 911 Meceola dispatch, and then he did fail to explain his actions.

The Mecosta County prosecutor is Brian Theide.

Did the Osceola County prosecutor talk to the Mecosta County prosecutor?

Someone talked to the Mecosta County prosecutor and encouraged him to order a hit on me.

Who?

~ * ~

Mecosta County Prosecutor Brian Theide explained to the newspaper in Big Rapids, Michigan, that the 49th District Court, shared with Osceola County, did not have the resources to let all felony cases go to trail.

The same is true no doubt for Osceola County.

~ * ~

February 22, 2018 was the fifth year anniversary of my illegal looney bin lock up.

Land of Motown Community College intended to silence and crush me on February 22, 2013 by suicide swatting me, knowing calamity would likely ensue.

I could have been shot dead.

Instead, I was abducted from my home by sexist Livonia cops who royally botched an unnecessary retaliatory welfare.

I was taken to the Livonia Catholics of my youth, who I would not trust with a dead hamster.

I was locked up for a week without evaluation or need to human traffic me for medical billing purposes.

I have been in some way harassed or jangled every year during the anniversary of the week I was abducted, taken, held, gone, dead, murdered, in Catholic Siberia, St. Mary Merciless human trafficking mental ward, February 22-28, 2013, due to the Land of Motown community college sexist suicide Gaslight witchhunt. 

Facebook Memories helped me see this fact that I documented on Facebook.  

As if to purposely mark every year February 22-28 rolls around, since Bill Schuette targeted me in 2015, either I have been graced by unnecessary welfare checks, like the one in 2018, forced to defend myself in probate court against home seizure due to owed back taxes and hassled by the District Health Department #10 as in 2017, and/or kicked off social media by trolls, as happened often. 

Every year up north at Lake Miramichi the occasion was marked with outside harassment.

My attackers don’t want peace like I do.

~ * ~

Mail date: 3/15/18

Notice to Appear: March 23, 2018

Rearrainment / entry of plea

My lawyer did not spend much time talking me out of a trial.

Because he avoided me.

When I finally got him on the phone, he told me I had to take a plea deal.

He said the prosecutor would not budge.

Budge from what?

~ * ~

Oh gawd.

I just found a news report stating that the year I was arrested was the prosecutor’s first year on the job.

Fu-u-u-uh-uhhck. (edit later)

A new prosecutor, in a poor white conservative middle of nowhere county.

A new prosecutor, with something to prove.

~ * ~

The Press: “Badovinac said emphasis for 2018 will include the curtailing of property crimes, and putting a check on the use of illegal drugs. He encourages neighbors to look out for each other and points out nearly 70 percent of all successful  prosecutions come from citizens reporting of unusual activities.”

Whether citizens are telling the truth or lying when they report ‘unusual activities’ or acting in retaliation, the new prosecutor did not show concern, not in my case.

~ * ~

Well, this news does give my court appointed attorney a better excuse for not knowing which political party to which the prosecutor belonged.

~ * ~

Feeling self-righteous.

My white male court appointed attorney had a facial tick.

The white male prosecuting attorney sounded like he gargled razor blades and acid while inhaling helium.

But I’m the one with the brown fizzy hair they keep locking up!

~ * ~

Details and meaningful communication were scarce between me and my court appointed lawyer.

Mostly I dealt with his gatekeeper.

She became the guard, the moat and the flame thrower as I tried to enter the castle.

~ * ~

Eventually, my court appointed attorney changed his appraisal of my case again.

And he began speaking to me again, briefly.

~ * ~

My court appointed attorney began talking up how great a plea deal would be, before we ever discussed how a trial might proceed, which never happened.

By the end of a probationary year, which sounded like a long time to me, my court appointed attorney promised the judge might erase everything, or reduce my charge to disturbing the peace.

Yeah, right.

His spiel was not believable, but I had no leverage or recourse.

~ * ~

I had one meeting with my lawyer prior to Friday March 23, 2017, my next required court appearance.

Sitting in his office for the only time, I took notes.

~ * ~

My court appointed attorney’s body language was abhorrent.

My court appointed attorney’s bedside manor was abhorrent.

Meanwhile, the gatekeeper was smiling and nice.

Academy award level performance?

~ * ~

I came with a list of questions.

My court appointed attorney processed me rather than meaningfully address my concerns.

~ * ~

My court appointed attorney was cold, brisk, and pretty much abrasive as I tried to get my concerns addressed and questions answered.

He was evasive and instead aimed to sell the plea deal while trying not to appear evasive, cold, brisk and abrasive.

~ * ~

I had my back up against the wall.

I noticed my court appointed attorney’s behavior, took paper and mental notes, was impressed by his poor demeanor, but I had to file my worry behind my hope.

He never answered my question about what words I could and could not use online about my story going forward under probation, if I took the plea deal.

I tried. I tried. I tried.

I tried to establish the clearest understanding going forward, about words that were okay with the court and where the line was that they wanted to draw, about what I could say and what I could not say, as I talked about my larger story.

But my court appointed lawyer continued to ignore my story.

He continued to ignore the full female client before him.

I told him I would need to keep talking, keep telling my story, keep redressing the government, keep using my right to free speech, to save my life from the Land of Motown Community College sexist mind rape witchhunt, so I needed answers and clear shared guidelines.

The only term he suggested, at another point, I think, was “minion,” as in the ‘many minions’ of my Larry Nassar, William MacQueen.

If I have used that word, “minion,” it was because of my court appointed attorney’s suggestion.

~ * ~

According to the local press in Cadillac, no big surprise the cliche about court appointed attorneys being under-paid and overworked is accurate.

In this January 2018 article published two weeks before my early sentencing court date, the Osceola County prosecutor who “would not budge” in negotiations with my court appointed attorney, admitted the negative affect of a court-appointed attorney on an indigent person’s defense.

Based on the Osceola County prosecutor’s calculations admitted in the article, that anyone who does not admit fault in the system is lying, the Wexford County prosecutor lied to the press when he said, “I honestly believe public defenders do the best they can based on their resources.”

What nonsense, like seeing unicorns.

Was someone running for office?

The Wexford County prosecutor claimed, “It is the client who elects to plead guilty or go to trial. Public defenders serve their clients well regardless of profit. Public defenders are public servants because they, like prosecutors, believe in the mission.”

Welcome to Donald Trump’s Huge Age of Lying.

~ * ~

I don’t think my body was required on March 23, 2018.

I am trying to recall my body inside the court room.

I don’t think it happened.

~ * ~

I mentioned that when I was arrested, Michigan State Police Norma Naylor found a pot pipe in my pocket, as I was being booked.

Ironically, at that point I was smoking shake of shake of shake, of some homegrown pot, that was grown a couple years before, downstate, with almost no THC.

I asked my lawyer to consider the fact that I was found with a pipe, not pot.

But my lawyer sucked.

And the prosecutor was trying to prove he had steel balls. (edit later)

The Osceola County prosecutor is smiling in The Press newspaper picture, but I never saw him smile in my presence.

~ * ~

As part of the plea deal that forced on me, the new prosecutor erased my misdemeanor pot charge, about a year before pot became legal, when actually, I was not found with pot.

My pipe was empty.

~ * ~

As a former English and writer, I give these people, in the court and related offices, very low grades for the documents they create.

Of course, it does not say anywhere officially that I was not actually found with pot.

It does not say anywhere that I was only found with an empty pipe.

The pipe was not scientifically tested.

Nor was it returned to me!

(That’s a joke, by the way.)

~ * ~

Ironically, on probation, I was allowed to obtain and renew my expired medical marijuana card and smoke pot, which took some doing, but I persevered.

~ * ~

Here’s what happened, I think, instead of a court room meeting between me and Booher on March 23, 2018.

On March 29, 2018, in exchange for me ‘accepting’ a forced plea deal and a downgraded stalking charge, felony turned to misdemeanor, the Osceola County prosecutor signed a motion of nolle prosequi, meaning, Google tells me, “refuse to pursue.”

How cloying.

~ * ~

Painfully, as part of the plea deal I was forced into, I was required to report to the Osceola County corrections department and fill out a very long questionnaire.

The Michigan Department of Corrections took my responses and spat out a biased summary.

Writing Grade: NGY.

No Grade Yet.

Revise or fail the course!

~ * ~

The guy who had wanted to tether me when I was released from jail worked in the building where I sat and filled out the tedious questionnaire.

~ * ~

The questionnaire contained stupid questions like ‘if someone angers you, do you feel you have the right to physically hurt them in response?’

~ * ~

Through the duration of my servitude to this stupid questionnaire, the grumpy tether guy got up from his desk, went outside and had a cigarette very frequently, many times per hour.

~ * ~

I was very uncomfortable and soon very pissed off sitting in a folding chair getting re-traumatized by stupid invasive questions about my family, my work history, stupid invasive questions about my personality, and extensive coverage of my entire stupid life.

Pages and pages and pages I was asked to address in pencil.

Many more pages than the many pages of re-ordered summary prepared by the Michigan Corrections Department.

~ * ~

This is all still so very painful.

~ * ~

I am reminded by reviewing this Michigan Department of Corrections summary that my court appointed lawyer down played the amount of potential jail time attached to the charge I had agreed to plea to, agreed to through an uneasy game of telephone, not any court appearances: I had agreed against my will to a possible two and half years in jail, which was a surprise to me.

~ * ~

Immediately, I asked my lawyer to get a copy of my actual responses to the stupid invasive Michigan Department of Corrections questionnaire, which never transpired.

The Michigan Department of Corrections said “No!”

The summary they created greatly downplayed my story about the Land of Motown Community College sexist mind rape witch hunt.

~ * ~

Who the fuck, based on what, decided I had a history of substance abuse? (edit)

Paula Garver, supervisor, who I have never met, decided I had a history of substance abuse, according to this fourteen page document.

The Michigan Department of Corrections report suggested I was restricted from ‘contacting’ Land of Motown Lying Cop #2 and his lying wife.

I never ‘contacted’ those assholes!!!!!!!!!! (edit later)

Later, on probation in Bay City, I will lose my job at Delta College over this issue of what constitutes “contact.”

I will lose my voice on social media, which helped me deal with all the many strong negative emotions, over this issue of what constitutes “contact.”

I will be threatened with jail and forced to consider all my options about how to proceed, over this issue of what constitutes “contact.” .

~ * ~

The following brain fucking from the Michigan Department of Corrections, in 2017, on top of brain fucking at St. Mary Merciless human trafficking mental ward February 22-28, 2013, on top of brain fucking by Land of Motown Community College hack shrinks in 2012, is not okay.

(Today is the first day of public impeachment hearings regarding the deplorable actions of Bad King Ttrump. Republican Devin Nunes is making me sick with his misleading rhetoric designed for Fox News sound bites. I am having a very tough time. I am breaking down. edit later)

The Michigan Department of Corrections used a point system.

I never used a point system in the classroom.

I used concept based letter grades instead.

And all written work could be revised an unlimited amount of times for a higher grade.

The Michigan Department of Corrections wanted to put me on probation for a year or put me in jail for more time, to total three months, if I read this report correctly.

~ * ~

Mail date: 3/23/18

Notice to Appear: May 18, 2018

For sentencing.

Since my lawyer was useless and I was poor without a car, I had no choice but to take a vague plea deal.

But this date didn’t happen either.

Court delay.

~ * ~

On May 14, 2018, I mailed an extensive cover letter and pounds of documentation to numerous state officials, desperate for my real story to get out.

I mailed packets to government officials in the state governor’s and attorney general’s offices.

I mailed a packet to the Speaker of the Michigan House, who was supposedly interested in improving mental health care.

I mailed packets to the Michigan State Police and DHHS.

And I mailed packets to the press, in state and nationally.

~ * ~

Until now, my story telling in search of justice has been piecemeal, both advocacy and diary, angry and calm, and perhaps hard to grasp.

And I have been ignored, like the trumpeting elephant in the room.

~ * ~

The packets I mailed to press and government contained documents including police reports posted in this narration, which I accessed through the Freedom of information Act.

~ * ~

Use of the Freedom of Information Act helped me find definitive proof that Land of Motown Lying Cop and his wife lied under oath.

~ * ~

FOIA and the Open Meetings Act are extremely important. 

Michigan FOIA laws are among the weakest in the nation.   

As well, Michigan scores poorly regarding the ethics of elected officials, who have blocked new legislation to include all lawmakers within FOIA laws.

The Center for Public Integrity recently featured Judge Kimberly Booher and her former state senator father as the cover photo for an article on conflicts of interest and lack of integrity.

Father lawmaker voted to give daughter judge a raise, after saying he would recuse himself.

He lied.

~ * ~

Mail Date: 5/18/18

Notice to Appear: June 1, 2018

Sentencing, rescheduled.

As I recall, the last time I had seen Judge Booher was a over a year before at the the bogus PPO hearing on May 8, 2017.

~ * ~

I showed up at the 49th District Court on June 1, 2018.

To my surprise, I saw lots of children in the courtroom and Judge Tyler Thompson presiding.

~ * ~

Previously, Judge Tyler Thompson had denied a request to give me more time to pay back taxes and later refused to let me speak in probate court when the deal to sell the Lake Miramichi lakehouse cabin was made official.

~ * ~

Judge Tyler Thompson and the children were discussing the behavior of Goldilocks during a mock trial.

Elementary students had bumped 49th District Court action to the Osceola County Building probate court a few building down the same street as courthouse and jail.

There’s definitely a rejoinder or a metaphor here.

Were any females invited to play judge or lawyer, one wonders looking at these pictures?

~ * ~

I came to court prepared to read a statement, a very long statement, the back up of nearly a year not be allowed to speak.

I have heard that most defendants are not encouraged to speak in their own defense.

This was not a trial.

There was reason to hold in one’s heart contempt and distrust for the proceedings.

I read most of my very long statement, until Judge Booher interrupted me.

She reprimanded me.

She said something about not letting people take a plea deal who believe they are not guilty.

Which sounds like total bullshit. (may edit later)

The 49th District Court does not have time to hear all cases and must push people into plea deals, and I was pushed into a plea deal.

~ * ~

Land of Motown Community College Lying Cop #2 and his lying wife were present in court on June 1, 2018, but lying husband got up and walked out leaving lying wife alone in the court room while I read my very long statement.

Lying wife sat there alone looking exposed.

And guilty.

I turned and look at her eye to eye to apologize for saying Jesus should rape her too online, if that truly hurt or scared her (which I honestly doubt), but I added she should not have lied about what happened.

She turned her head away.

~ * ~

Two documents labeled “Order Delaying Sentence” were mailed to me.

This second follow-up “Order Delaying Sentence” allows medical marijuana.

add Chapter: Rocky Ballerina Springs Little Witchie From Jail

Up north, I created the adult imaginary friends Super Mary, Tutu Jesus, Little Ira and Wicked Witchie to help me handle my adult thoughts.

At the same time, because my witchunt story took me back to my childhood, which was overrun with forced Catholicism.

In part, my story has infantilized me, so during this lakehouse cabin period also I created a child character.

Rocky Ballerina.

Go ahead and make connections.

~ * ~

As an adult, heading quickly for my doddering old age, I was inspired in part by my neighbor Jim and a swing he hung for his children.

I watched his kids play and wanted all kids to have green lawn, trees, a swing looking over a lake, space to play in the sand and water, and the free time to find frogs.

Rocky was born in the spring of 2016, during my first year up north, during my first spring, before the Democratic presidential primary, when Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders were duking it out.

Miraculously, Hunter, Louie and I had lived through our first winter.

Swans ushered in the season.

Super Mary visited Rocky Ballerina when she was young, when she was suppose to be in bed asleep, but instead Rocky was dreaming.

Super Mary took Rocky Ballerina flying around the universe with Jesus and a funky priest to go see God while a space ship watched.

I was trying to strike peace in my own way.

The pope’s people did not think I was funny.

Catholics love a crucifixion.

They don’t want peace with me.

But Rocky was not deterred.

~ * ~

After jail, I needed Rocky’s goodness and unadulterated power.

How could I use Rocky to help me with my plight?

I wrote and illustrated a children’s book retelling my story through metaphor, on a child’s level, minus anger, with a message or two.

I had come to understand the denigrated fairy tale witch too well.

I saw how sexism created the crone.

And I wanted to free the trope of the ugly inside and out old lonely woman.

Rocky Ballerina Springs Little Witchie From Jail was created.

Chapter: Losing the Lakehouse

I tried to keep the lakehouse cabin, for which their was no mortgage, but failed.

Without a car or income, I was doomed.

At the last possible minute, a Good Samaritan from the Evart business community paid my back taxes.

When Fuzzy, the local real estate agent sold the house, the Good Samaritan would be repaid.

Everyone wanted me gone.

~ * ~

I had to clean the place and allow to have it showed.

I had to obtain a driver’s licence again.

My previous license had expired.

I had to buy a car, which is difficult to do without a car.

I ended up buying a 2002 Ford Explorer, which was built before 9/11.

~ * ~

I had to find a place to live.

I had to get a job to get probation off my back, or try, and I had to get a job because everyone who is not independently wealthy needs a job.

I had to figure out where to go, in which direction to move, and what to do next.

I felt like I was being tarred and feathered, run out of town, again.

I had to accept state sanctioned dog whipping, negotiate and scramble all summer long, like I had been doing one way or another ever since the onset of William MacQueen, April 13, 2012.

~ * ~

Fuzzy, the real estate agent, found a buyer willing to pay asking price, which seems lucky, but also made me suspicious.

How often does someone make a full asking price offer?

I discovered the buyer was from Oakland County, which did not sit well with me.

~ * ~

Because I was still trying to get a job and have a definitive direction in which to move, I needed to not move out when the buyer wanted me out.

As a result, because my name was not on any mortgage, I was evicted.

But I moved out before the court date.

I moved out and left the Lake Miramichi lakehouse cabin before my birthday, at the end of August.

~ * ~

I had no choice but to say goodbye to the lakehouse cabin passed to me through my dead husband from his parents, who I never met.

More loss.

Another house worth less than 100K taken due to outside attack.

Leaving the house was hard.

Leaving the land was harder.

~ * ~

Things only get worse after Jesus rape in still sexist corrupt Michigan, America.

~ * ~

That summer, I had resurrected my civil rights protest signs, what was left of my signs, those that weren’t stolen while I was in jail.

Despite the sale of the lakehouse cabin, I resurrected my civil rights protest signs for the same reasons that I painted and erected them in the first place.

To maintain my constant fight for justice and to create a barrier between me and cold cruel world.

~ * ~

To mark the end, I burned the remaining the signs.

And of course I took pictures.

Part one.

Burning down the house.

Part Two.

Burning down the house.

My favorite civil rights protest signs had been stolen, so I don’t have a shot of a hand painted Statute of Liberty or Felician nun on fire.

The signs stolen include my main signs naming witchchunt players, the school, my two-time suicide swatter, Terry McCauley, my Larry Nassar, William MacQueen, the human resources attorney who planned and executed my murder in order to silence me.

Also signs were stolen that named the attorney general Bill Schuette and Governor Rick Snyder.

Bill Schuette protected my criminal attackers instead of me, officially, documented, for political gain.

Rick Snyder knew but kept quiet.

Land of Motown Lying Cop #2 had named William MacQueen and Terry McCauley under oath during the PPO court hearing as he and his wife lied.

I would not be surprised if that proud crooked cop was connected to the theft of my signs.

Neighbors at Lake Miramichi never asked me about what they might demand government investigation.

“Thank you” plus Michigan geographical symbol the mitten became “help” after a neighbor sobered up and reneged on a check she gave me to buy the two scooters.

Part three.

What one does without a television.

Burning down the house.

The finale.

~ * ~

Goodbye. Goodbye. Thank you so much. Goodbye.

~ * ~

I cleaned and emptied the place in good faith.

Though I stayed a little longer than the new owner wanted, I left for him my favorite saw and gardening tools like shovels in the shed.

I wrote a letter giving a brief only good stuff history of the house and its owners.

House empty, car packed with Hunter and Louie, the dog and bird, I printed the letter and tacked it to the wall, threw the printer in the car and took off without looking back.

~ * ~

I passed the lakehouse cabin to the next family as best I could.

I was sad, but resigned, in the end without malice for strangers who paid the asking price, a grandfather, a widower, with grown offspring and grand children.

Goodbye and good luck, Triple-tree!

Grow tall, big and strong. I so wanted to watch and help you grow. I hope the new owner hasn’t cut you down.

Thank you, eternally, for your sentry.

~ * ~

Like they use to say in yoga, and Deepak still says during free meditation sessions, namaste.

Grace has not always stayed with me, but I am not a bad person.

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