In one of those freakish moments when I don’t know what buttons I pressed on my phone, a Messenger chain from 2011 popped up.

This was between me and a man who was a litigant in California. He was Northern Cal, I was Southern. We never met in person. This was our last communication.

HIM: Do you still have a friendly contact at the CJP? If so, I would like her contact information. I want to file another complaint about Tulare County Superior Court.

ME: The more they [the court powers that be] figure I’ve been right since day one, the nastier they get with me. I used to talk to Charlene Drummer. Now everything needs to be in writing for me. That’s fine. No one can say “gee, we didn’t know that.”

HIM: That is precisely what is happening over here. It is easier to keep burying me than to acknowledge that I was telling the truth and therefore they acted more like a mob than a court.

Thanks to the little green men that live in my phone, or God, or whoever caused this random decade old message to appear. I feel like I just saw a billboard at the side of the interstate that said, “DON’T GIVE UP! The harder they push back, the more you know you are right.”