Strong. Real. Undeniable. Safe. Impatient. Kind. Humble. Selfish. Unconditional.

Notice!

2010-08-31T21:25:24Z

Given that nobody uses LJ (my current RSS feed supplier, yes, you're seeing an embed :D) I've decided to switch to blogger (blogspot, etc.) - I will be screwing with the RSS feeds and some HTML, so if the page messes up on you, I apologize. Deal. Thanks!

dreams, dreams, everywhere - but no escape, I think.

2010-08-11T21:42:21Z

I don't remember how this sequence of dreams started.

It's odd - unlike the description of a dream in, say, the movie Inception (good flick for those of you who find the kid from 3rd Rock hot - I do - I can't help it, he's adorable); where you can't ever remember how you got to 'this place in such dream' - I usually remember every sequence of events, whether it starts by me waking up in my own bed alone or waking up in some other odd location. This one, I don't remember the starting point.

I remember seeing Abigail. Dressed in pink. Duct taped like a baby burrito, arms taped to her sides, tape over her mouth, she was crying so hard she was bright red and could hardly breath. I was making my way to her, and our captors were telling me it was good for her. That I should let her struggle out of it. They hadn't threatened violence yet, but somehow I knew I had to respect them, or bad things would ensue. I made it to her and began untaping her while she struggled, and when she finally pulled free and started sobbing in my arms, my short, heavy-set captor said "See? Builds character." - I was instantly pissed. Ferocity like only a mother has lit me from the inside out, and I turned to glare at the taller of the two - who promptly pulled out an 18-inch long flat screw-driver and stab the guy in the face. I watched it in slow-motion sink into the guy's cheek and exit his chin, watched the flesh crease and give, and blood begin filling the open cavity. I was so shocked, I didn't even scream, I just watched it. The man with the screwdriver turned to me, and I knew he wouldn't hurt me unless I misbehaved. Instead, I bundled Abigail up in my arms and began analyzing where we were held, looking for a way out.

The next segment began as I was escaping. Now Abigail wasn't there - she never had been, she was safe! - and I was wandering through a large stone labyrinth - it wasn't underground, but it was covered, and every few yards was a big fan drawing air out of the labyrinth and replacing it with cool air. I was with a huge group of people - Mom, a few other women, someone very familiar to me - one of the men in my life but I can't remember who. Not my husband, though. Anyway, there was this colony of yellow jackets that had made it's home in one of the fans.. We needed to get past them, but the way they were swarming, we didn't dare move past them. My mom shifted closer and reached her hand up - stuck her hand up into the fan blades - and I had to yell at her and jerk her hand away, reminding her that she was so allergic, it'd kill her if she was stung.

John gave me a boost and I was walking across the tops of the stone slabs that made the labyrinth, analyzing it from above. We were trying to figure out how to block off the section the bees had taken hostage and bypass it. I was in the middle of figuring this out when suddenly I was back into my childhood home, the one my dad sold after the divorce - and the man with the screwdriver was there. A little boy was coming down the three steps to the split portion of the house - the man was in the far back - and I grabbed him, dragging him into the guest bedroom. I asked him what he was thinking - the man with the screwdriver would kill him! - and the kid shrugged me off like I was a gnat, heading back for the door. Hauling him back in by the scruff of the neck, I threw him in Truckie's dog kennel and locked the door. I unlocked one of the three chains on my left wrist and secured the lock to the front of the kennel, pointing my finger at him through the bars. "Now, this is for your own good, you dumbass." I told him.

I headed out the door and toward the back of the house, toward the man with the screwdriver. He ambushed me at the door - there was a struggle - he backed me against the wall. The tip of the screwdriver was at my chest and beginning pressure when my phone rang and woke me up.

hold it together, birds of a feather

2010-07-16T00:42:46Z

nothing but lies and crooked wings
I have the answer, spreading the cancer,
you are the faith inside of me.

No!

Don't! leave me to die here,

help me survive here
Alone, don't... remember, remember...

Put me to sleep, evil angel.
Open your wings, evil angel.

I'm a believer,
nothing could be worse,
all these imaginary friends...
hiding betrayal, driving the nail
hoping to find a savior..

No!

Don't! leave me to die here,
help me survive here
Alone, don't... surrender! surrender!

Put me to sleep, evil angel.
Open your wings, evil angel.
Fly over me, evil angel...
Why can't I breathe, evil angel...

Everything irritated me. Everything. People snapping at my kid, cutting me off mid-sentence, piling more shit on my list of things to get accomplished, claiming they told me something and yet I never heard them and then I was scoffed at when I had no idea what they were talking about, told by someone else, "Well I heard them!" .. well, fucking brilliant, I'm doing a million different things. Paying business taxes, doing payroll, designing business cards, sending out a mass mailing, booking appointments on top of all my usual duties -- am I the only person capable of dialing a fucking phone? Is it really so difficult to do it yourself? It takes two seconds and I have a billion things I'm juggling. I didn't eat today. I had a Butterfinger and a Dr. Pepper. Everyone else got a chance to have lunch, and yet I'm still the one who gets scoffed at when I forget something. And my kid is MINE to correct. Nobody else needs to be shushing her when she starts to wind up, I can do that, I was doing that! You are unnecessary, you and your abrasive friggin "AHH!"-ing. I'm sick of the dramatics, too. Really now, we do not need to react like it's the end of the world when it isn't. Fucking hell.

And then I step away for two seconds only to have my chair stolen right when I was mid-task, so they could update whatever it was they were updating - something I was getting to, but apparently not fast enough. I was so tweaked at that point I was ready to go and just say fuck it with the day.

Oh, but in order to stay on TOP of this shit that needs to be done, I need to work 4 days a week at least. That isn't acceptable, I make too much if I work 4 days a week. And when I'm there, I don't work hard enough. Nevermind that I'm there an hour before everyone else to take messages, return calls, print appointment papers..

If it wasn't a family business, I'd quit. $140 a week is my gas money + $80. Ridiculous.

chaotic

2010-07-13T16:13:21Z

I was an empire's princess; we were dealing and distributing drugs - that much I remember. Out in the woods with a friend who was making - of all things - baked ziti over a campfire (?); my cell rang and it was the empire's Queen screaming at me in Vietnamese to get back there, pronto. I understood her perfectly, but I didn't want to go; I was enjoying my friend's company and had plans to meet another friend at his house for dinner. Excusing myself, I booked it back to the burb-y sort of area that was the wastelands, to find that the Queen was under attack by her own people; four Vietnamese individuals (small men, probably 5'0 nothing but sturdy). Diving in front of the SUV they were loading all the drugs in, I was speaking quickly, asking them *something* but I don't remember what. The basic gist was asking them to leave us alive but take what they wanted. I was a willing participant in this drug scheme, but only so much as transporting the shit, my dream said nothing about dealing, manufacturing or using.

The taller of the three stabbed me. He used a pocket knife the first time, and I stared at him in amused disbelief, like "Seriously?" and placed my hand over the wound. He turned to his friend, spoke rapidly, and turned back with a machete. He stabbed me again, in the lower belly, and I could feel the serrated edges tear as he yanked it back out. I took off, the Queen yelling at me to admit my part in this, and I was gone, running through rows of empty houses - a housing tract not yet fully developed. Darting into an empty house, I turned on lights and locked doors as I went, making it to the bathroom and locking the doors behind me. I went into the shower, fully clothed and bleeding - it was a vaulted, split-level bathroom; the shower could have fit an entire football team and the floor, the sink, toilet, etc. was down below the shower by three ceramic steps.

I turned the shower nozzle on and stood beside it, avoiding the stream of water. I heard my pursuer running through the house, stood on tiptoes to see over the tile wall of the shower, and he was hitting the fogged glass door, screaming that he knew I was in there. The lock splintered and gave, and in he tumbled, stalking around the shower. I sunk down to avoid him seeing me; and half of me wanted to scream in some foreign voice that I was the home owner and to get out, I was calling the cops - but I didn't. I knew it was futile. He was toying with me, walking all the way around the entrance to the shower; talking in low murmurs.. I sank to the floor and wrapped my arms around my knees, eyes squeezed shut. I knew I was a dead woman.

My phone chimed, and I woke up.

<3 <3 <3 this song.

2010-07-09T20:15:44Z

If you only knew; I'm hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you
If you only knew; I'd sacrifice my beating heart before I lose you
I still hold onto the letters you returned.
I swear I've lived and learned.

It's 4:03, and I can't sleep
Without you next to me, I toss and turn like the sea
If I drown tonight, bring me back to life
Breathe your breath in me
The only thing that I still believe in... is you;
If you only knew

If you only knew, how many times I counted
All the words that went wrong
If you only knew, how I refuse to let you go
Even when you're gone
I don't regret any days I spent
Nights we shared, or letters that I sent

It's 4:03, and I can't sleep
Without you next to me, I toss and turn like the sea
If I drown tonight, bring me back to life
Breathe your breath in me
The only thing that I still believe in... is you
If you only knew, if you only knew
I still hold onto the letters you returned
You helped me live and learn

It's 4:03, and I can't sleep
Without you next to me, I toss and turn like the sea
If I drown tonight, bring me back to life
Breathe your breath in me

The only thing that I still believe in... is you
Believe in, is you; I still believe in you, oh
If you only knew...

AHHHKAAABONNDDDD...

2010-07-04T01:55:16Z

yeah I really have nothing to say.

But, I've been up since 3AM, Argentina lost their butts to Germany today (so, so tragic) which means the last team I will feasibly root for is Spain, and so far I've had some bits of cheese, a bag of M&Ms, and about 50oz of caffeine.

Yeah.

I'm slightly stoned on caffeine.

Ohhh welll....

I wanna be one of those people who doesn't give a shit and can just stumble through life not caring who they hurt or about letting myself or my upbringing down. I want... no morals.

Not possible, right? Yeah. I know.

being emotionally sympathetic & what that means.

2010-06-30T18:50:19Z

Upon the reconnection of a friend of mine (and myself, obviously); I've been able to explore my... talent? A little more. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a very volatile person, and it changes minute to minute, hour to hour. Generally I'm fairly cheerful, outgoing, opinionated; and as a whole, that's who and what I am.. any doctor would look at me and call me bi-polar and slam me on a drug cocktail. Here's the shit, though. I'm not. I know I'm not, because I know my moods and who triggers them.

I'm emotionally sympathetic. This doesn't mean that if you had something bad happen, I'll pity you - although that's being sympathetic as well (empathy being the "feel from experience", sympathy being "can't relate, feel what I think you're feeling"). I try NOT to pity people and I hate being sympathetic unless I can be empathetic.. otherwise, I just don't know how you feel and I won't pretend for a second I do. No, it means that I pick up on everyone's moods around me. Social situations have always been hard for me to handle, I get tense and overloaded rather easily, because there are SO many people there and SO many emotions that I don't have a baseline. Instead, I reach out and take hold of the nearest stable person I can (generally my husband or daughter), and make them my tether. They keep me grounded. I'm more comfortable in situations like that if I can have a hand on the stable person. I'm not comfortable if the person I'm around is emotionally far different than I am; i.e; angers easily, a horn dog, etc. - it needs to be someone with a calm, dominant demeanor.

I know that must be hard to wrap your head around, eh? Well, let me break it down based on the relationships in my life.

Mom: My mom has always been the strong, resilient one in my life. She is the one constant that has never let me down. I don't even need to be near her to take comfort in her emotional grid. If I feel out of control, I stop, force myself to shut up and relax, and search for her. Generally, she's in a decent mood, and I can grab that rather easily. Occasionally she's in a crappy mood and I have to then differentiate between my own emotion and hers.

Husband: He's as strong as those around him, and generally not uptight in social situations. He's perfect for me to piggyback on when I need to. And I love him for it. He's easy to read and even easier for me to find; but he spirals and lets his emotional grid fall to pieces during times of stress for him.

Abigail: Nothing phases this kid, are you kidding me? But when she's in a crappy mood, so am I. Her joy is infectious, and she is abundantly confident. She's a wonderful tether.

John: I'm permanently attached to John, he's my rock. I always have been. A lot of days I wake up in a crappy ass mood only to find later than he's having a bad day or was already stressed out. It's a two way street with us. Where I can send emotions only to animals usually, I can send him my direct grid and let him pick things out of it, usually happiness, joy, excitement, etc.. he lives hours away and yet he's literally one of the closest friendships I have, based on this connection. He keeps me from staying in one extreme too long and is quick to correct any negative emotion I may have. The only negative aspect of this connection is that I'm horribly annoying for him, I'm sure. He's my gatekeeper.

Laura: I really only get irritation and pain from her, but nonetheless, I get *something*.

Matthias: He masks like crazy, and I don't think he even realizes he does it. I get pain, suffering, frustration, and on rare occasions, fear and anger. When he's in a good mood, it's a general, pale aura on his side, and when he's masking it's just a big blank spot. Awhile back, during a bad strife period for him, I got nothing but a big blank spot for weeks. It was maddeningly sad for me, I thought he'd made the conscious decision to sever our connection.

Bug & Blondie: What a duo. Bug, he just sort of floats through life; and I adore him for it, because I never get anything more than the occasional frustration and sudden release of energy. He's very easy to talk to. Blondie; well. He's a bit tougher. He goes absent for long periods of time, but very easy to read in the meantime.

Mallory: Bitch. HA, KIDDING, I LOVE YOU! No, she's a fun one to read, but I often get the hostile or malcontent feeling when reading her grid, so I try to leave it alone. She needs a rock, a tether, something -- I think she's a lot like me. A lot. She needs a good emotional gatekeeper and so far hasn't found one.

Janine: Such a mystery to me, girl. I'm trying, really trying, to get a read on her.

More to come.

and so the future: behold.

2010-06-12T06:03:58Z

It's funny, I'm such a whirlwind of emotion lately it's flat disgusting.

I stepped down as an admin at ASA simply because I don't seem to have any interest in being social with anyone right now. I work full time. Scratch that, I was working full time, but I recently lost some hours and I'm back to part time. I'm active on Facebook; but even my attendance on BRBB and WRS has tanked. I can't bring myself to invent things to talk about - at least on the internet. But I have so much going on. For the first time in years, I actually have a life.

Abigail turned 2 on the 10th - two!! Where have the last two years gone? It seems like last week I was in Mary Birch, sore and ecstatically happy staring into the face of my brand new baby girl. Now I'm still ecstatically happy staring at the face of my two year old; but I'm not sore (thank you, tramadol) and I've got yogurt spots on my laptop screen. She makes me grin. Sure, sometimes I want to stick my head in the sand and chant "LALALALALALAALLA!!!!" because she's driving me insane, but she always makes me grin.

My patience for pity parties and stupidity has hit an all-time low. I find it depresses me to talk to people who are perpetually miserable; like they have nothing better to do but fucking whine all the time. Really? Come on people, if you woke up with a pulse, it's a good day to be alive. But I guess that's my unfailingly bright outlook on life; which is amusing, considering I'm generally the type to classify myself as a pessimist. I'm convinced that anything I think is flat wrong; so perhaps it makes sense that I think life is to be enjoyed. I'm wrong about it?

I ride twice a week now, averaging between 4 and 6 hours. It's really awesome, I feel like I've connected with my horse on a whole new level. Soon, I'll be riding three days a week, when Danielle starts getting lessons and I start training Amy and/or Olive. Olive needs some work; she's 16 and was never taught the bare-bone basics - she was saddled and put out on trail and learned practicality but not specifics. Amy knows quite a bit, she's just a teeny bit rusty on some things. And finally, I'm polishing my own equitation so that I don't look like a complete retard in an English saddle. Which isn't hard to do, really. Look retarded, I mean. It's very different from Western.

We hired a gardener, which means no more boring yard work, just fun stuff. We're going to start building the rat room soon - it's going on the patio, which means I get to have my spare bedroom back! I plan on equipping it for both guests and ferret proofing it so that Tink has her own room. She's amazingly intelligent, so I haven't yet figured out what I'm doing with the kitty litter box.. I'm thinking of screening in the patio and putting the litterbox out there so that the cats can get out on the patio via doggy door and we can just keep the guest bedroom closed when Tink is loose.

Thoughts, thoughts. I'll be making a rat road trip in August, hopefully. I'm so tremendously excited, I'll get to stop and see a friend on the way.. my whole body just vibrates with excitement when I think about it. Of course, that's only if I can get enough rats sold to fund my trip up there (which is only about 8 hours) and if hubby has the time/ability to watch Abigail while I'm gone. It would be a three-day trip - one day to drive up, one day there, and the day to drive back. I can drive three or four hours at a shot with no problem, so the only reason I'd need to stop is to pee or for gas. I'm kind of looking forward to it. I've never done a roadtrip by myself before. Unless someone else has a burning desire to go with me..

take a letter, Maria...

2010-05-23T04:12:46Z

Went on a three hour trail ride with Sara today. It was really nice; early enough in the day that Hunter wasn't pissy over missing his dinner and they went out without argument. I had him decked to the nines, four performance boots, his trail halter & lead, the bridle itself, German martingale.. all of his gear. It seems excessive, but really, as clutzy as both of us can be - it's a necessity.

We headed out around the golf course, down toward the Bonita Vons, and around to pace Briarwood in both directions. Talk about a blast. Down by the lake, two ducklings had gotten separated from Mama Duck, so I bailed off of Hunter to try and catch them (failed miserably) - he stood like a champ when I hopped back on him, finding the whole situation rather boring. Beyond that, we passed/went through three intersections and had to wait at the crosswalks, walking past whizzing cars and the like without a twitch. We passed Rohr Park, and had kids flock to the fence to see the horses - both of which were intrigued by the attention but not overly enthusiastic to return the notion. There were a ton of birthday parties going on; kites, balloons, flags and bounce houses - and Hunter ignored all of them. Talk about a champ.

We didn't even realize we'd been out that long until they horses started trying to jog all the way home and mack on everything edible looking on the trail. All in all, a brilliant day. And we're doing it again tomorrow! Success.

smile, though your heart is breaking...

2010-05-07T05:15:36Z

I was nothing but a friend, and I got thrown under the bus. I was turned on, admonished for doing nothing wrong, when I shouldn't have even been under fire to begin with. Now I'm at a crossroads. Do I accept blame for something not at all my fault, and move forward, remaining friends with the person who I feel betrayed me? Do I reject that reality, remain friends, and let it bother me for the rest of my life? Or do I say "goodbye" to a huge chunk of my life?

The selfish part of me wants to accept it and move forward.
The proud, grudging part of me wants to make that person hurt as badly as I do at the moment.

I had nothing to say, that didn't mean I didn't want you to talk to me! I needed space, but I don't want you to leave! I'm ready to scream, to cry; and yet I can do neither.. I can only sit here, with my stupid, twitchy eyelid, denying urges that are so ingrained into me after years upon years of self destruction and generally feeling miserable that I can't scream at you, I can't cry on your shoulder and let you make it go away, and I can't carve myself to pieces - because today, for the first time in ages, someone who actually seems to care about me told me that they respected me for taking care of myself and asked me not to. Taking care of myself? Mutilation isn't self-respect. I need to shape up.

Funny, but someone else asked - no, told - me to quit doing it last week. I was too angry to care what they wanted. Not only that, I half-hoped that every time I picked up something dull and raspy, they felt it. My pain is your pain, bitch. Selfish, I know. I know! But it was how I felt. When asked today why I do it, all I could say was that self-inflicted, physical pain can be controlled. Emotional pain cannot. You can take any exorbitant amount of drugs to dull physical sensation but mentally, short of a lobotomy, you can't make it go away. And that's all I want. I want it to go away.

Oh well. I'm sure the answer will come to me, or genius themselves will figure out my level of unhappiness and bully me into picking a path, but until then I'm just sort of stuck in purgatory. So, hey, learned my lesson. It's all good. I just don't care anymore. Caring hurts.

ever have those dreams that just.. piss you off?

2010-04-27T20:45:36Z

It's been awhile since I had the type of lucid dreaming that I prefer - where I control all factors, inside and out, even the ability to wake up and fall back into the same dream. Generally I have the partially lucid dreams, the ones where I control my ability to ascertain it's a dream and change specific portions, but no matter what I try, I can't wake myself up, nor can I change the outcome of the dream. Last night was one of those in partial lucidity.

I apparently lived in a hotel. Or at least some sort of giant mansion. I was standing in an empty room - it was virtually empty, at least. There was a small end table and a couple of stuffed arm chairs. I was with people I knew, but I couldn't figure out how - it was only after I woke up that I started recognizing faces and putting two and two together, but even then, despite that I know who they were, I don't remember who was who specifically in the dream. It was like a bad Nancy Drew mystery, truly.

Anyway, I caught the flash of a premonition and rounded the corner to see a delivery man step out of the back door, step off to the right, and through the crack in the door, a flash of metal as he was stabbed. I shrieked and bolted for the nearest phone, found the lines dead, and ran back for the empty room I'd been in. Everyone who had been there was gone; the hotel seemed deserted. I picked up the handset - it was a rotary dial - and called 911; the operator responding seemed very nonchalant, as if I were calling about a shoplifter instead of someone getting stabbed to death outside. I hung up and hunkered down beneath the lip of the window, waiting to hear sirens. They never came.

I turned to someone else in the room (though I don't know when or how they arrived) and asked them if the operator was in on it. They smiled. I don't even remember this person's gender in the dream, but it almost felt like my mom. I had a feeling that I was the only person alive inside the hotel, and the only people outside were ... bad. Very bad. I started pacing from room to room, feeling like I was being watched; and every window was bare - it had no curtain or blind anywhere in the whole building. I kept getting the glimmer of a face as he followed me around, and I kept checking phone lines. I finally ended up back in the empty room, staring out the window, and just as I woke up I heard the door behind me open and knew he - the killer from outside - was inside with me. I didn't look, I just cried.

long time, no blog. Oops?

2010-04-12T19:21:28Z

Technology hates me.

I ended up killing my laptop by screwing the AC port up so much that it wouldn't charge. Sending it to my cousin's friend Chris proved to be fairly useful, him being the computer guru, he was able to tell me that the AC port of dell laptops is connected directly to the motherboard. Oh, joy upon all joys! That means if I manage to screw it any worse, I have to have the entire effing motherboard replaced along with the AC port. That is incredibly lame.

So, meanwhile, we have it tweaked to where it "works" but only with some mild coercion. Yes, my version of coercion does include me cursing at it.

A few days after my computer died, my phone battery took a dump on me. I had to order a new one from the company (yay for warranties); spent three days without a phone or laptop and thereby no internet access. Without my electronic pacifiers, I was sad and afraid. I ended up finishing 8 Mercy Thompson books in 7 days; started Da Vinci Code (which I found somewhat boring, I'm afraid), and two days into that book I got the 9th Mercy Thompson - finished it in 4 hours. I've now moved on to the Moning/Fae books, and I'm about half-way through the first one. They're mildly amusing so far, but the character is hard for me to get behind.

Simply put, she's a girl. A girly girl. She's blonde. Wears pink. She's basically the anti-Janell, and that's hard for me to relate to; which makes it hard for me to read. But overall the premise is decent and the plot thickening, the sexual tension is enough to choke yaks, and I'm forcing myself to enjoy it. I keep hearing it will get better.

Mercedes, big white standard poodle lovingly referred to as "the blonde", passed away on April 8th. April 9th, Jake colicked. Jake survived, of course, he's just a little sensitive at the moment. Hunter has an abscess in his front right hoof (again).

I'm just wondering what else I can pile on top of the drama train.
At least I'll look good for sub ball.

It's Your Life or Theirs

2010-03-08T06:30:51Z

In light of the recent abduction and subsequent death of Chelsea King and the discovery of Amber Dubois' remains (bless); I've kinda been mentally reviewing all the advice I've gotten over the years on what to do if you get grabbed. A lot of it is something you never want to have to use; but it's decent knowledge, and it would be wise for us to teach our children these things. Note I said OUR CHILDREN - everyone here is someone's child, it doesn't matter if your children are 4 or 14 or 24, they are still children. Educated children turn into educated adults, and these creeps don't target one gender over the other - men and boys are JUST as victimized as women and girls! Not all assailants are men, either, but it's usually men who grab people in public - women are rarely brawny enough to pull it off successfully and instead lure victims in. Pass this info on.

If you are out, especially when alone, avoid getting on your cell phone - but keep it handy. While walking, pay attention to your surroundings. If you feel like you're being watched, stop, make a point to look all around you. If you see someone staring, stare right back at them - MAKE EYE CONTACT. If they know you see them, they will be less confident in the grab. When possibly, carry your keys with a key (or more) pointing out of your fist - it will be a handy weapon if need be. If you don't have keys, keep your bag, backpack, etc. over your shoulder but within easy swinging motion - a bag, when thrown or swung hard enough, can be a good distraction or deterrent.

1) Assume you are going to die. It doesn't matter if they have a weapon and threaten to kill you right there- if they get you alone, they WILL kill you; but most creeps are hesitant to actually use a weapon in a public place because it will draw attention. Scream, shout, and to avoid anyone thinking you're crying wolf or a couple of kids just screwing around, use lots of loud key words -- words like "HELP!", "FIRE!" to get the attention at first, and then follow that with other key words - "KIDNAP!" or "RAPE!" -- anyone can ignore a kid screaming because they don't want to leave a store with their mom, nobody can ignore a kid screaming KIDNAP or RAPE. Make lots of noise. LOTS.

2) Hit, bite, and scratch, aiming for the eyes, nose and groin specifically. If he can't see you, he can't chase you. Your elbow is best to use to hit with. If you use your hands, punch upward at the face with the flat of your palm and try to break the nose.

3) If you can't run, let every muscle go limp and uncooperative, drop to the ground, start kicking and make them fight you there. KEEP SCREAMING.

4) If you are being dragged toward a vehicle or building, start screaming out colors, locations and descriptions. Someone may hear you, and if something is said out loud, it will be easier for you to recall later if needed. PAY ATTENTION. If you need to follow a breadcrumb trail back out, it will be easier if you know landmarks.

Injuries can be fixed, death is forever.

If you own and routinely carry a weapon (as I know a lot of my fellow military wives do), remember ladies - and teach your children this too - that when you aim a weapon at someone, your intention should be to kill them. None of this injuring or intimidating crap. If you point a weapon, you had better have lethal intentions - or don't point it at all.

One can NEVER be too educated on these topics.
Love to you all.

sloppy joes - the Janell way.

2010-03-06T07:56:19Z

I don't like sloppy joes. Never have. But, while I was thinking about dinner, I realized we have everything to make homemade sloppy joes. And let me tell you... I LOVE THEM. Homemade is far superior to Manwich.

Now, arriving at this juncture took some hopscotching, so now I'd like to introduce you to a segment I call Cooking with Janny... or something like that.

First, select your meat. I used a pound of Jimmy Dean's mild sage sausage. Defrost entirely, and brown it according to package instructions.
While browning, begin arranging your other ingredients.
Forget about your meat until it begins to smell burnt, run over to flip it over, and discover it's become one large, skillet-sized patty of very, very browned meat and raw on the other side. (Flip it over and proceed to use your wooden spoon to hack it into a million chunky pieces.) Add a can of corn (drained).

Next, select a medium sized bowl - I used a cereal bowl, but you can use any type you want - and into that, dump what is left of your bottle of chili sauce that has been in the fridge for about 6 months. (It was a little less than half full.) While shaking the bottle to get ALL of it out, smack yourself in the chin, swear, and throw the bottle violently into the recycle bin.

Squirt roughly the same amount of ketchup into the bowl as well, ignoring your husbands dirty looks for the squelching fart noises coming from the "no drip" seal (that is clearly BS, because the thing drips like nuts). Throw the bottle away when it's pristinely emptied. Make sure you repeat several times how stupid your husband is being for snickering at the "fart noises". Defend your honor how you see fit.

Stir. Add half to three-quarters of a cup of your favorite salsa, stir again.

Pour this into your pan with your now fully browned sausage. Stir. Realize this isn't enough sauce to go with your meat and corn concoction, hunt for something else tomato based.

Find a can of tomato soup, pour it back in your cereal bowl, and add more salsa until it tastes more like sloppy joe sauce than tomato soup. Add this to your sloppy joe meat and the prior sauce attempt, stirring well. Taste-test, burn your mouth, swear some more.

Now announce that "fracking dinner is DONE." and serve.

Enjoy.

Mildly irritated.

2010-02-24T17:52:14Z

People who compare Sub Life to Surface Life have likely never been on a submarine.

I say this because I get comments of "It's just as hard." and "They're just as secluded." and "They play the same stupid/nasty games."

No they freaking don't. I can pretty much guarantee you that no surface sailor has had to shit in a bucket because they can't be relieved from the maneuvering. I somehow doubt that a surface wife has ever gone more than 30 days not hearing from their husband. And furthermore, surface sailors get to see sunlight.

Don't fucking tell me that they're "just as hard as each other." They have different challenges, yes, but there is no way to compare the two, and you can't possibly begin to know until you're ON a sub.

So shut up.

Ow!

2010-02-17T20:32:05Z

So Vega is my little blue and white rat doe who is EXTREMELY pregnant. Well, I walked in there yesterday and saw she was bleeding a bit and was beginning to nest - and given the timeline is perfect I figured well she's probably in labor.

So what did I do? I reached in to rearrange her bedding.

Now, for those of you who have not yet experienced labor, it's not something you necessarily want anyone to touch you during. Vega obviously felt the same way. She flung herself at me and got the end of my ring finger on my right hand. Her back teeth caught and held, her front teeth didn't puncture the skin.

She ground her teeth, bit down twice more and released. Her back teeth entered the right side of the pad of my finger and broke skin, exited, the left side. It is GNARLY.

Still hurts like a cow and it's all crusted over, the finger is swollen, and I can't stop poking at it.

Bank of America can suck it.

2010-02-10T08:05:09Z

I've been a BOA card holder for -- rough estimate off the top of my head, at least 4 years - probably closer to 5 now. Well, in that 5 years time, I had ONE late payment (legitimately just forgot about the bill). I paid what was due, plus the late fee, four days late and then paid double the minimum on my next bill and that was that.

I started with a credit limit of $800, and worked my credit up to a stellar $10,000 -- until that late payment, when they called me and told me they were reducing my credit limit to $5,000. Ok, whatever, assholes.

So I'm walking through Sears the other day and get an Unknown call on my cell. I don't normally answer Unknowns, but for some stupid reason, I did. It was someone from BOA to ask me a million personal and stupid questions about my credit and my mortgage and all that. Now, they asked me what MY income is. I answered honestly. They asked me what OUR mortgage is. I told them the amount, and that it's my husband and my combined income that pays it.

Uh huh, apparently because I don't make as much as they think I should, despite my stellar history with them, they knocked my credit line back another $3,000. Excuse the fuck out of me?!

So I'm paying that card off and I'm going to be cutting it up. I will mail it to them with very detailed instructions on where to shove it.

Jerk offs.

Calories, House, Stress, oh my!

2010-01-06T19:15:18Z

I have been under the most intense amount of stress imaginable the last couple days. Capital One decided that my mom's credit card debit needed to show up on my credit score. I called to find out "why" and how I could remove myself. The following conversation ensued.

CSR: Account number please.
ME: I don't have one. I have two accounts showing up on my credit report that aren't mine, I want to know why.
CSR: Oh, that's very odd. SSN, please?
ME: (I give her the number, she looks it up, comes up with my mom's accounts)
CSR: Well I see two delinquent accounts here.
ME: Right, not mine. My mothers. I haven't been on that account since August of 2005.
CSR: Oh, I see that. Well, there's nothing we can do about that.
ME: No, there IS something. Send me a letter saying I am not responsible to pay this account off so I can get on with my life.
CSR: Well, I'm not authorized to send that letter.
ME: Why not?
CSR: Because you aren't the primary account holder.
ME: So, you're telling me I'm on as an authorized user. Fine. Send me these cards so that I can spend money on the account then.
CSR: No, we can't do that, because you're no longer a valid user.
ME: Okay, so I'm no longer a valid user but I'm responsible to make payments?
CSR: No, you are not responsible to make payments.
ME: .... then why is this showing up on my credit report?
CSR: Because you're on as an authorized user.
ME: But you just said I couldn't use this account nor am I responsible to make payments.
CSR: Yes, that's correct.
ME: Ok, so send me a letter saying that exact same thing.
CSR: We can't do that, because you're not the primary account holder.

Uh huh. This went on and on. I finally told her fine, I would find a way to contact my mother and have her call them. Called mom, she called them, they issued me a letter. Only, instead of doing so for both accounts, they only did it for one. She had to call BACK this morning to get the second letter issued.

So, then the cashier's check expired (didn't realize that, deposited it, bank called me last night). Our escrow check went out yesterday. I'm having to scrape together enough money so that our 2grand escrow check won't bounce. My hair started falling out little by little. Top that off with a printer taking a crap on us, having to buy a new one (spending money = bad), my windshield being cracked (and I'm highly obsessive over getting it fixed when we have the money) and being on a diet (erego unable to stress-eat and still watching myself GAIN pounds while AF is in town); I have not been a happy camper.

Meanwhile, my calorie counts have stayed low. I didn't log yesterday, I threw up most everything I ate and figured that was my freebie for the week.

01/02 I had 976 calories.
01/03 I had 899 calories.
01/04 I had 1,182 calories.
01/05 I didn't log.

Thussofar today I've had about 130, maybe 150 calories. I haven't figured out how exactly, but I had roughly 4 bites of waffle with cream cheese and peanut butter. I need to start drinking water again.. I've been slacking on that.

Anyway, that's my story. Oh, and escrow closes on the 29th!

1436 Calories.

2010-01-02T06:36:00Z

That's what I had today. Pretty damn good, huh? I drank one (10oz) Mr. Pibb Xtra and one (12oz) Coke Zero. I drank 48oz of water. I feel accomplished just because of that. I don't drink water, I don't like water, in fact; water is teh devil. Today I learned there is a bigger devil, and thy name be Fast Food. It seems no matter what you order, there's a crapload of calories in it. I think this counting calorie shit may be good for me to see what exactly I'm putting in my body...

So, my food journal for today:

10:30am, 1 scrambled egg (76cal) with 1 slice American cheese (70cal) & half a slice of toast (44cal) with 1 tsp margarine (25cal) & ½ tablespoon jam (25cal). Nothing to drink. Took approximately 45 minutes to eat. Total 240 calories.

11:00am, started cups 1-3 of water.

12:15pm, snack of choco-marshmellow cereal (dry), ½ cup - 80 calories.

2:15pm, half of Del Classic Chicken burrito (255cal) and 10oz Mr. Pibb Xtra (195cal). Total of 450 calories.

6:30pm, 1 cup baked beans (266cal) and 1 hot dog (110cal). One 0cal Coke Zero (Cherry). Total 376 calories.

7:15pm, 1 cup Mint Moose Track ice cream (240cal), handful of choco-marshmellow cereal (dry) (20cal). Total 260 calories.

10:00pm, 4 asparagus spears (6cal) and sour sauce (roughly 18cal). Total 24 calories.

No more food for the day. Total for the day, 1436.

Leg one of my Jumpstart.

2009-12-31T21:24:14Z

Yep, I decided I should probably start paying attention. Thanks to my Gastric Bypass Surgery, I'm no longer a million pounds and although I'm staying that way because of it, I'm skinny fat - I'm flabby, despite that I'm only 140lbs! It's really superbly annoying to see a beer gut when I don't drink enough to have one, ya know? I did really well for the first couple years, but my stomach has grown, and my portion sizes are out of control. By going back on a regulated, WLS patient approved diet, I'm going to allow my stomach to shrink down and also curb a lot of the cravings I've been having that I know are not healthy or beneficial in any capacity. I also hope to un-learn bad habits and instill the good ones in myself again. We'll see if it happens.

I'm going to be watching portion sizes as well as my caloric intake, fat percentages, and sugars in a food journal. I need to be watching sugars and complex carbs anyway given my hypoglycemia, so this is just an excuse for me to take better care of myself in general. Since I'm not one who can count calories forever, I plan on doing 6 weeks on, 6 weeks off. My 6 weeks off will not be my permission to eat whatever I want to, it will just be my break from having to log everything.

So.. leg one -
01/01/2010 - 02/12/2010
Currently 141.8 lbs - Goal for February 12th: 135lbs
To maintain my current weight, I should be eating around 1800 calories. I plan on consuming between 1,100 and 1,300. If you are not a gastric bypass patient, this is probably tremendously low. Talk to Laura for a diet & exercise program specific to you. This is my own, based on gastroenterologists and WLS surgeons at Los Angeles Metro, where I had my surgery performed.
I'm setting my expectations very low for this leg, given that my metabolism is molasses slow right now and I am primarily sedentary. In a few weeks, I will be getting my exercise moving boxes and loading a truck, sooo I may be pleasantly surprised. I'd rather be surprised than disappointed!

The Diet

Vitamins/Minerals

Take 1 adult (or 2 children’s) chewable vitamins daily. Extra calcium, iron, and B-12 are also recommended.

Fluids

Be sure to drink 1 cup (8oz) of water or low-calorie beverage between each meal.
Fluids should add up to at least 6 cups (48oz) each day
Sip slowly; make beverages last 30 minutes or more Finish drinking 45-60 minutes before meals.
For added calcium, drink nonfat milk (or lactaid) throughout the day in 2 to 3 oz servings. Your goal is 16oz total each day.

Acceptable beverages include diet sodas (preferably flat, carbonation stretches the stomach), water, milk, tea, decaf coffee and other low-calorie drinks. Beware of sports drinks, they are very high in sodium and will cause you to retain water.

Meals

Eat 3 to 6 small (½ cup) meals per day.
Chew thoroughly and eat slowly, setting the fork/spoon down between bites.
Eat until you are satisfied and no longer feel hungry - NOT until full. Once you feel “full”, your stomach has already stretched.

You should be consuming 6 to 7oz of protein per day.
Acceptable proteins are red meat or pork, chicken or turkey without the skin, fish of almost any type, eggs, and cottage cheese, as well as nuts (peanuts, pine nuts, cashews, etc. - roasted but non-salted) and legumes (beans of all types, lowfat or non-fat if canned).

You should be consuming 4 to 5oz of prepared veggies per day.
Raw vegetables are higher in fiber and also harder to digest and take up more room. Try boiled or steamed veggies.

You should be consuming 2 to 3oz of fruits per day.
This includes fruit cocktail (in light syrup or water) and fresh fruits alike.

You should be consuming no more than 7oz of carbs per day.
This mostly means bread, pastas, crackers, potatoes, etc.; whenever possible, try for wholegrain.

Sweets & Condiments

Mustard, no ketchup. Low or non-fat condiments are best. No more than 4oz (½ cup) of non-fat/sugar-free pudding or jello (made with 2% milk) per day. Avoid other sweets.
Sample Diet

Breakfast
banana - 1/4 med
Scrambled egg - 1
toast, white -1/2 slice
margarine - 1 tsp

Morning snack
graham crackers - 2
pudding, sugar-free, made with 2% fat milk - 1/2 cup

Lunch
broiled chicken breast- 2 oz
carrots, boiled - 1/4 cup
margarine - 1 tsp
pasta salad - 1/4 cup

Afternoon Snack
fruit cocktail, waterpacked - 1/2 cup

Dinner
salmon, baked or broiled - 2 oz
green beans - 1/4 cup
dinner roll - 1/2

Evening snack
cheese, American - 1 oz
saltine crackers - 2
mustard - 1 tsp

*Consume nonfat milk between meals, throughout the day. Drink no more than 2 to 3 ounces at a time, for a daily total of 2 cups.

ding fries are done, ding fries are done.

2009-12-14T18:38:57Z

It’s a rare occasion when I can get all stoked about the holidays and happy-happy, la-te-da. They used to be a lot of fun for me. As it stands right now, I have every reason in the world to be happy – I have my husband home, which out of the last 5 years, that has only happened three times – in fact, the first time he managed to be home for Yule, he left New Years Day for Japan, which just kind of puts a huge weight on every holiday before that, ya know? And I wish I could say these years are consecutive, but I went for a couple year gap before he was holiday homebound. Anyway, I have my husband home, and the best little girl in the world; I have great friends (despite that most are out of state or somehow ignoring me at the moment, damn you and your anti-text messaging, Mattie!) and we’re blessed with home and hearth.

But it’s not really a fun time for me. I find holidays emotionally and physically draining, and there’s nothing I enjoy less than the frantic shopping days leading up to Yule and finally Christmas. I loathe crowds, and I can’t stand in a crowded room without twitching – I do a lot of twitching this time of year. Am I excited for the morning Abigail gets to open all of her gifts? Heck yes! I had great fun shopping for her this year. But otherwise, the rest of it can just kinda go away and I’d be fine with that.

People lose their manners and get all hormonal during the holidays; which I understand (and relate to well). I’m sick of being the damn dead pony that gets beaten on, though. It’s totally not my fault that your loved one is an asshole, or you don’t have any loved ones who want to spend the holidays with you, or that your spouse is deployed. NOT my fault. I did my years of sea duty with Bill being out for 9 of the 12 months of the year; I did it. Been there. I sympathize that it’s really hard being apart from those you love. I owe you nothing. We all go through the same trials and tribulations as a military spouse, we all need to band together and realize we’re not here to hurt each other but to support each other. Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? Course it never works that way.

I really debated on leaving this last part in here; since it pertains to a more intimate detail, but considering I have nowhere else to vent and this is my journal… yeah here goes. I have a problem with authority figures treating me like I’m five, and then telling me I’m being childish because I won’t run to them to work it out instantly. I’m not going to run to you to whine and complain, I’m going to sit back on my heels, let myself stew, and then swallow it and move on. I can swallow anything if I have enough time; it doesn’t matter how big the pill is. Apparently I broke some rule, and that’s fine, I was unaware of that; but that doesn’t give anyone permission to attempt to make me feel inferior. I also don’t see myself as being the one childish for not instantly cowing down to apologize or grovel, or by pulling myself out of a tense situation before I go skewball. How is it being childish to do the adult thing and step away before things turn supernova and I’m right in the middle of it? No, I haven’t contacted anyone yet; but neither have they contacted me, and this whole BS just went down what? last night, this morning? – I’ve been asleep for the last 10 hours, and woke up to accusations and ridiculousness that could have been drastically reduced by someone changing their tone of voice from School Teacher to Peer On Your Level. But if I’m such a fuck up and horrible person and can’t follow rules, well then gee, I guess that’s my problem, isn’t it? I’ll fix it when I fix everything else wrong with me.

And again, this is my journal, my place to vent, and if you don’t like what it says; go away. I’m not announcing this on a public networking site or forum.

34 things I learned from my child

2009-12-12T08:03:12Z

(This is so cute..)

# There is no such thing as child-proofing your house.
# If you spray hair spray on dust bunnies and run over them with rollerblades, they can ignite.
# A 3 year-old's voice is louder than 200 adults in a crowded restaurant.
# If you hook a dog leash over a ceiling fan, the motor is not strong enough to rotate a 42 pound boy wearing Batman underwear and a Superman cape.
# It is strong enough however to spread paint on all four walls of a 20 by 20 foot room.
# Baseballs make marks on ceilings.
# You should not throw baseballs up when the ceiling fan is on.
# When using the ceiling fan as a bat you have to throw the ball up a few times before you get a hit.
# A ceiling fan can hit a baseball a long way.
# The glass in windows (even double pane) doesn't stop a baseball hit by a ceiling fan.
# When you hear the toilet flush and the words Uh-oh, it's already too late.
# Brake fluid mixed with Clorox makes smoke, and lots of it.
# A six year old can start a fire with a flint rock even though a 36 year old man says they can only do it in the movies.
# A magnifying glass can start a fire even on an overcast day.
# If you use a waterbed as home plate while wearing baseball shoe it does not leak- it explodes.
# A king size waterbed holds enough water to fill a 2000 sq. foot house 4 inches deep.
# Legos will pass through the digestive tract of a four year old.
# Duplos will not.
# Play Dough and Microwave should never be used in the same sentence.
# Super glue is forever.
# No matter how much Jell-O you put in a swimming pool you still can't walk on water.
# Pool filters do not like Jell-O.
# VCR's do not eject PB&J sandwiches even though TV commercials show they do.
# Garbage bags do not make good parachutes.
# Marbles in gas tanks make lots of noise when driving.
# You probably do not want to know what that odor is.
# Always look in the oven before you turn it on.
# Plastic toys do not like ovens.
# The fire department in Austin has at least a 5 minute response time.
# The spin cycle on the washing machine does not make earthworms dizzy.
# It will however make cats dizzy.
# Cats throw up twice their body weight when dizzy.
# Quiet does not necessarily mean don't worry.
# A good sense of humor will get you through most problems in life (unfortunately, mostly in retrospect).

if you smile through your pain and sorrow;

2009-12-03T06:02:43Z

The government recently calculated the cost of raising a child from birth to 18 and came up with $160,140 for a middle income family. Talk about sticker shock! That doesn’t even touch college tuition. But $160,140 isn’t so bad if you break it down. It translates into:

$8,896.66 a year,
$741.3 month, or * $171.08 a week.
That’s a mere $24.24 a day!
Just over a dollar an hour.

Still, you might think the best financial advice is don’t have children if you want to be “rich.” Actually, it is just the opposite.

What do you get for your $160,140?

Naming rights. First, middle, and last!
Glimpses of God every day.
Giggles under the covers every night.
More love than your heart can hold.
Butterfly kisses and Velcro hugs.
Endless wonder over rocks, ants, clouds, and warm cookies.
A hand to hold, usually covered with jelly or chocolate.
A partner for blowing bubbles, flying kites
Someone to laugh yourself silly with, no matter what the boss said or how your stocks performed that day.

For $160,140, you never have to grow up. You get to:

finger-paint,
carve pumpkins,
teaching her to fish,
play hide-and-seek,
catch lightning bugs, and
never stop believing in Santa Claus. You have an excuse to:
keep reading the Adventures of Piglet and Pooh,
watching Saturday morning cartoons,
going to Disney movies, and
wishing on stars.
You get to frame rainbows, hearts, and flowers under refrigerator magnets and collect spray painted noodle wreaths for Christmas, hand prints set in clay for Mother’s Day, and cards with backward letters for Father’s Day.

For $160,140, there is no greater bang for your buck. You get to be a hero just for:

retrieving a Frisbee off the garage roof,
taking the training wheels off a bike,
removing a splinter,
filling a wading pool,
coaxing a wad of gum out of bangs, and coaching a baseball team that never wins but always gets treated to ice cream regardless.

You get a front row seat to history to witness the:

first step,
first word,
first bra,
first date, and
first time behind the wheel.

You get to be immortal. You get another branch added to your family tree, and if you’re lucky, a long list of limbs in your obituary called grandchildren and great grandchildren. You get an education in psychology, nursing, criminal justice, communications, and human sexuality that no college can match.

In the eyes of a child, you rank right up there with the Gods. You have all the power to heal a boo-boo, scare away the monsters under the bed, patch a broken heart, police a slumber party, ground them forever, and love them without limits.

So, one day they will like you, love without counting the cost. That is quite a deal for the price!

Love & enjoy your children & grandchildren!

Katie’s Revenge

2009-12-03T04:27:34Z

I just HAD to post this. I was browsing stupid/cute tattoos tonight and stumbled across this website – so, brought to you by inkthatstinks.com, the coolest story I have ever heard of Inmate Justice.

(and I read:)

An inmate serving a life sentence for molesting and murdering a 10-year-old girl named Katie was apparently forcibly tattooed across the forehead by a fellow prisoner with the words “KATIE’S REVENGE,” authorities say.

Anthony Ray Stockelman, 39, was removed from the general prison population for his own safety last weekend after authorities discovered the tattoo, officials said.

Person deserves a damn medal, in my not-so-humble opinion. And they should have left Stockelman in General Pop.

I hate myself.

2009-11-12T20:32:51Z

I really, really do. It's kicking my metaphorical ass that I'm in the funk that I'm in, and I hate to blame it on any one thing.. because it's everything and nothing.

I'm alone now. While I know that physically this isn't true, mentally it so is. I've delved back into my artwork and my writing and I've noticed a frightening trend with myself. I all but ignore my husband and the only one who gets my undivided attention is my daughter. It's not because I'm unhappy, it's because I'm depressed (ha, ha, makes sense doesn't it?), and I'm really, really good at pretending I'm not. Bill leaves for Rhode Island on Sunday (alone, for a class to be certified SLC-somethingorother), and that scares me endlessly. I'm already messed up, mentally, and I'm half-way worried I'll relapse and go bananas like I did when I was a teenager. Some of you know - some of you don't - I was/am a self injurer. I haven't done anything putrid to myself in the last 5 years, but previously I'd carve on my ankles with plastic knives. I crave the scar ridges. It's kinda like a smoker jonesing for nicotine. My life is one big nic-fit when I'm stressed.

There's so much going on, and yet so little I'm doing. It's a contradiction, I know; but it's entirely true. I have a million things scattered about my life but I have way too much time on my hands. I can't concentrate enough to post and be cheerful here, so instead I've tried to stay away (why bother bringing you all down with me?); and tried to keep all this crap to myself. I don't want sympathy or pity or any of that, either. I just need an outlet. You're my outlet. I know you guys won't judge me. And if you do, I don't much care. Maybe I need to be judged.

My rattery is currently involved in a gene study regarding birth defects in children and the 'dumbo' earset in domestic rats. Sounds fun, right? I spent three hours working myself up to not act like a freaked out rabbit before the Professor arrived. I'd never met him before, and my heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of my chest. A professor! A UCSD teacher! And I was scared to death he was going to be some evil psycho rapist.

I finally got out to ride. The first time in 8 or 9 months that I've been on horseback. Every time before I've been nervous about being thrown; and yesterday... I was almost willing it to happen. I was back to being my goober self, sitting backward in the saddle, hanging off the side of Hunter to adjust stirrups and cinches while we were walking and trotting, trotting over pavement. It felt good to not have that fear; but at the same time I was thinking... why don't I? It's a weird development. I'm actually happy with that one, but it was still weird.

I'm working for my Dad now, as well as my mom and my own business. Part of me feels guilty I'm taking money from him, the other half is extremely bitter at him for ignoring his only daughter and granddaughter for so long. I feel very little sympathy for him in his situation(s), health wise, he's failing. I don't care. And that, too, makes me feel guilty. I should care. He's my father.

Ugh.

I miss myself.

Anyway. If you read all the way through - you're a saint. Thanks.