I posted

A story on Amazon, for sale. I've sold 3. I feel so special! I even got a wordpress blog for my writing and linked it to my facebook.

ANd I started writing something else.

Why do I even bother?

SO the other day Ziggy and I somehow got on the topic of my family. I don't remember how, but he brought up something about how my brother pulled him aside the night we got there for my mother's funeral, and gave him the 'she's not getting any money out of this' talk. Seriously?

This is the same brother that told me he still sees me as a 12 year old kid who needs raising, and that I won't be a sister to him unless I live my life by his guidelines (namely going to church). So, feeling I should bridge the gap a bit, I started writing letters to said brother. I don't want a response, just read. Get to know me through my letters. And now, hearing this, I ask myself why I bother with a group of people that would rather assume the worst of me than know me. If that is Christian love and understanding.....sod that.

What to do now? Do I continue writing letters to people who obviously don't give a damn?

Welcome to Wyoming

Alrighty then, here we are, back in the good ol' US of A. Moving is a crazy business, I just want to state that now.

We now live in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Did you know that Cheyenne is high altitude like Denver? I didn't either. And by the way, altitude sickness sucks. Been there, done it, wanted to puke on the t-shirt.

So, Cheyenne. Small town-ish, and not in a bad way. The realtor we used told us that Cheyenne is about 30 years behind the times as far as conveniences and such are concerned. Which is true. I guess they didn't really want to expand too much, but I don't think they will be able to hold it back, really, This is a town that you can leave your doors unlocked and no one bothers you. The 'local' news is out of Denver because the little bitty station here is so innacurate (go figure).

We got a great house, hardwood floors, big windows, lots of sunlight, we are really liking it. Schools are expecting more out of the kids, which is in no way a bad thing. Make em work for it I say.

So I have been digging out from boxes, painting, and throwing things away. The only thing I can't find in my household goods is the lazy susan that had all my kitchen spatulas, dippers, etc in it. It's probably in anohter room with all kinds of other stuff, that seems to be the way it works, lol

More to come, but I am here, back in the US!

The things we think, but do not say

I am told that I have a way with words. My mother told me I had a gift for using words to express what people think and feel. People who know my writing say I have talent for writing, for story telling. All my life I have wanted one thing; to be a writer.

When I was 16 I began dating the person that would become the father of my oldest child. We were together for nearly 3 years (1 month shy of it actually, so I round up) before he told me he didn't know what else to do, except to break up with me. It broke my 19 year old heart utterly, and it remained that way for a very long time. Sure, I grew up, had other loves, even got married, but I never let anyone as close to me as I had let my high school sweetheart. I went through my divorce, and was saddened that I had failed as a wife and a woman.

I met Ziggy. My husband is very many things, he wears very many hats, and I literally woke up one morning knowing I loved him. I haven't stopped loving him since that day. One night, and I don't recall how the conversation started, I wound up pouring out my hearts pain over losing what I had considered to be the love of my life, my high school sweetheart. And being the gracious man that he is, Ziggy very calmly held me in his lap and let me cry myself into exhaustion. I am not a public mourner, I do not show saddness publicly. I wasn't raised to show such things. I was raised to bury it, and I had buried that pain for a long time until that night.

A few days ago I was on yahoo talking to my 'twin brother from another mother', we'll call him Dutch. And Dutch and I are twins in the way we were raised about emotions. And Dutch says to me, "Why can't you tell Ziggy he's the love of your life?" And something in my head clicked when he said it, and I realized that never, in the course of my marriage and courtship with Ziggy, had I told him he was the love of my life. That after 9 years, I'd finally gotten to the point that I could let someone be to me what my son's father had been. Me, who has a alleged talent for words, a gift for expressing things, could not voice my deepest feelings for Ziggy, for the simple fact that if I did, somehow, I'd lose him as I'd lost the last one I'd felt that about. Dutch, by the way, is fabulous at pinpointing what I don't say and then nailing me with it. One of the reasons I value his friendship.

So the thing I think but do not say. I even bungled telling Ziggy he's the love of my life. Which means, of course, that my worse fears will soon be realized, Ziggy will discover I'm not really that interesting, and will leave me for a redhead that looks like Alyssa Milano, cooks like Rachel Ray and spouts off SportsCenter highlights in bed.

And I will learn to keep my damned mouth shut.

So here I am

I finally got the reset to this account. I have to figure out how to link this with my Google account so I can get to it easier.

So, lots going on. Moving in February, which I am looking forward to. 3 years was plenty here, 4 is too much, I think. We are supposed to move to Wyoming, if all the paperwork goes through. I just hope that doesn't take too long, I can't stand to be kept in suspense.

I stop working 16 December, the day of Ziggy's Christmas party. I can hardly contain my excitement. the environment I work in is tense most of the time, hostile in varying degrees. I am ready to be done there.

I started 2 graduate programs, yes I am a glutton for academic punishment.

So a few months ago, I was having wine with some girlfriends, and we were all telling stories about our husbands (4 women, 6 bottles of wine, do the math, lol). And I told a story I instantly regretted telling. I still regret it. It was about Ziggy, and I think he knows I told that story, as the event that it was about, hasn't happened since that day. I'm not a complete fool, and I know my husband that well, at least. I can't take it back, and I am exceptionally embarrassed to the point I can't begin to apologize to Ziggy. But I feel horrible about it.

So BullRder, I am still here, if you are still reading...

2011 is NOT my year.......

Well, they say that bad things happen in sets of 3, and if that's true (And it's sure living up to that so far), then I've already hit my quota of bad happening to me for the whole of the year.

I count my mother's death as the first one. The second would be the suicide of my favorite uncle. The third is probably a far worse blow to me than the second.

The words 'Napalm Gel' bring anything to mind? Yea, well, Google it....or the Anarchist Handbook. I should NEVER know what the recipe is for Napalm Gel, nor the name of the 'cookbook' that holds the recipe for it. And yet, here I am, knowing what both of those things are. Ignorance REALLY is bliss.

The story that brings such knowledge to yours truly is a sordid one, I'd have to say. And it's told with a great deal of sardonic irony, sarcasm, and humor. I'm told it's bloody hilarious. Believe me, it wasn't so funny as it was happening to me. And yet, I digress..

Picture it, January 24, 2011, a lovely clear, sunny, cold, crisp day in Eastern England. My oldest child's 15th birthday. I walk to work, as we have only one car, and Ziggy takes Her Highess the Princess MiniMachine to daycare in it. Well, I am walking out of the building I work in, when I see the figure of my oldest child sprinting across the parking lot towards me. The thoughts going through my head are of teh general birthday variety. He's running towards me because he got something cool for his birthday, a great grade on an exam (it was examsweek at the high school), ANYTHING except what he said to me.

Fire. In my house. Yea, not what I was thinking was going to come out of his mouth. I did the motherly thing of freaking out promptly. My next actions I have been ridiculed and condemned for. I called 911. Comments as to my taking that act have ranged from 'Don't you love your son? Why would you call 911?' to 'Damn, you're a mean mother!' with a 'If there were parental controls on his computer, this wouldn't have happened.' thrown in for good measure. We'll get to my reaction to that last one a little later.

So I called 911, and was told that the fire trucks would be on their way to my house immediately. My son is rambling his version (we'll get to the truth later) as we are speed walking, then running to the house in order to beat the fire trucks to the door. The Deputy Fire Chief, bless him, had only been on station a total of 3 weeks, and looked like he was old enough to be my son's classmate at school. Literally. Anywho, the story my son has told me is that something caught fire in his room, on the floor, randomly. I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. Well, the fire department on base didn't buy that line of bull either. (Mom, 1 point.....kid, -20) They take him upstairs and show him the marks on the floor, the residue of the fire extingusher and they tell him....you're fulla crap, and we know it. They give him the opportunity to change his tune. He sticks with his random combustion story. For now.

Well, we go outside and look at the items that were on fire, and in the garbage bin. The fire guys go to leave and the kid looks at me and says, 'Mom, you promise not to beat me?' Yea, how'd I know that was coming????? So I ask him what he lit on fire. And the words Napalm Gel enter my vocabulary. Apparently he'd googled it, set out to build it, and it went horribly wrong horribly fast. He assembled the ingredients in a cookie tin he'd gotten from Christmas and lit the contents on fire, seeking the find out how the 'gel' was made. It caught flame rather quick, grew rapidly and then he went to get the fire extinguisher and put it out. Then he took the items down to the garbage bin, and aired out the house. The carpet in his room was burned, as was the ironing board.

At that point I demand he go tell the deputy fire chief this information. And then ensues the madness that has been my last 3 weeks. The British have graciously decided not to prosecute him for bombmaking. However the base that Ziggy is assigned to is doing a review to setermine whether or not to ban him fromt he base, and kick him out of the country. I half hope they do it.

Meanwhile the kid is now Ziggy's personal bitch. And he's even slacking at that. He appears to have no comprehension of what he's done, nor the consequences. as evidenced by his tweaking of the actions he took (while thinking out loud in front of a British cop that's recording his utterances, I might add). Yea.....not helping the image there, kid.

So, yea.....it's been an eventful few weeks.

Conversely, I picked up a book at the shoppette the other day that had my attention as soon as I read the title. See, I'd heard utterances of the military dabbling into the psychic research, and other paranormal type things, but had never read anything was considered legitimate. I dig the paranormal, by the way. Not so much the aliens side of stuff, but the remote viewing, psychic ability, clairvyant stuff I lap up like milk. Love it. Why? Well....I don't know any of you well enough to tell you that, sorry. Hell, Ziggy looks at me like I have 3 heads whenever it's mentioned, so I tend to keep quiet. But just know I get into it. It's by Major Edward A Dames, he's a retired Army military intelligence officer (legit creds to me) and well, it's called "Tell Me What You See". A real page turner. I'm loving it. So toss that onto your reading stack, courtesy of yours truly.

Bullrder, I hope you're still reading. And I hope you'll understand the reason for my lacking post over the last few weeks. I am trying to do better. But yea...it's been busy.

Bull Rider

Yes, it's been ages since I updated this. And Bull rider2 keeps looking for an update, so I'm sure sure it's time I gave him one (I'm assuming it's a guy).

So....since July...well, I can say this....my job is underpaid. Really and truly, the requirements for being able to hold this job. And really and truly, that's pretty typical, in my experience, for the government. I'd have to say that atleast the lower 7 grades of the GS system aren't anything that you really have to have alot of higher education to perform. High school education, willingness to put up with BS(that's a high priority), and an overwhelming capacity to deal with more than the job description entails...yep, that's a government job. Maybe I should have been a contracted position. Not all the same perks, but hell, the pay is fabulous.

So my September sucked immeasurably. As in my mother died 5 September. She had a heart attack in the garage, and the best that they could determine was that Daddy (Alzheimer's mute) tried to help her..the phone was left off the hook, there were indications in the house that Daddy had been knocking things over, etc...so they think that Daddy tried to help her, but in his capacity, he couldn't. So I had to come back to the US for that. And believe me, putting up with my older brothers and my sister in law was not the best thing I wanted to do right after my mother died.

So to Georgia I went. And from the get-go, my brothers were off and running about treating me like I was 14 all over again....don't tell her the full story about Mom (like that was going to make it any better that she'd died? Yea, smart brothers I have)...they got upset that I wasn't 'properly' reacting to my mother's death by crying all day, going through her stuff, talking to my Daddy, otherwise making a complete ass of myself in front of the family. Totally not my style, frankly. I am not a public mourner. Never have been. However, I will say that I cried like a baby at her funeral, and for good reason. The handkerchief that my sister in law handed me on the way into the church had been my Daddy's, and Daddy always has a handkerchief in his pocket. I cried and cried during that service, listening to people talk about my mother, and how wonderful she was. People I hadn't seen in 25 years showed up to celebrate my mother's life, and to mourn her loss. And just when it looks like they're gonna leave me alone????????

I get the 'I don't know you and I don't approve of your life and the way you live it' speech from my brother. Yea...way to encourage me to get to know you...and by 'get to know' my brother means that he'll approve of me and my family if we toe the line he prefers. Um, new flash, I'm 33 years old, I can make my own decisions and do as I please. Yea, he didn't like it much when I said that to him, either.

I mourn my mother's death, believe me, I do. Any time I talk to one of my sisters in law, however, I get the whole 'I dreamed about your mother and she gave me a hug and said to bring you back to church' speech. After the last time she started that on facebook, my husband deleted her off my friends list for making me cry.

October passed, so did November and December...nothing crazy, really.......and then January happened. My beloved favorite Uncle killed himself. Let me tell you it's been a shit 6 months.

So here I am, sitting at 13 months from moving again. Graduated from college. Hating my job, but it's security for pay when I get back to the US. I'm sorry this post isn't my usual wit filled entry, BullRider... My head is a little all over the place..I'll reorganize and come back..