So yes--I am here, still alive, and still Gladys. I think my seven months of blog-silence has been just another hallmark of my depression, which I'd largely allowed to take over my whole life. I'm still unemployed; I had a job for three days back in the summer somewhere, but that came to an abrupt halt when my manager caught me dozing off. (Yes, it's exactly what it seems: my apnea is WAY not controlled. I'm now at the point where I'm really sick of it and very WILLING to become compliant with the CPAP regimen--but now I have no insurance to replace the hoses and masks I need. This would be less of a problem if a certain pointy-ended kitteh hadn't punctured the hose...ah, well. Sometimes I think cats are lucky that God made them cute; otherwise they'd lose their happy homes!) Since then, I've had a few calls and a couple of interviews, but nothing terribly encouraging. I think I might know why; I'm pretty sure the vibe I'm sending out to the universe is "no more office work, no more bosses, no more daily panic attacks for fear I'll encounter something I don't know how to do." The little interior voice is telling me it's time to make that jump, whatever direction I need to jump in. My writing, my bakery idea, a few other options I've considered--it's time for me to pick one and go with it, because this is probably the last time I'm going to have a chance to solidly THINK about my life and make a considered decision.
It's scary as hell, and then too it's a very bittersweet thing to have options, because the only reason I'll have any chance at all to take the needed time to get anything off the ground...the only reason I'll have that kind of time at all is that I will be moving home to Mom's house at the end of February. That on its own is bad enough, but the REAL heartbreaker is this: CR is still here, we are still together and happier in our relationship than we've ever been, and when I move home to Mom's I have to accept that he's not allowed in her home. Not because of our past history together--Mom doesn't know there IS a past history--and not because he's some kind of horrible person or because he mistreats me or talks down to me or cheats on me or any of that. Mom doesn't care how well he treats me (and he does!); doesn't know how good a man he is, how much he cares about everyone, how happy I am with him. "I don't NEED to know all that," she says when I try to talk about him. "I know the only thing I need to know, to know that I don't want my daughter dating him!"
It's hard, looking at my mother, who has been the only person on earth who has ALWAYS been there for me, no matter how angry or disappointed or betrayed she's felt because of my actions....It's hard to look at her and know all her good points and then have to face up to this horrible, inflexible WRONGNESS that lives inside her. This is my mother, my flesh and blood, and to have her say on more than one occasion that if I continue dating outside my race, she will not be able to have a good relationship with me...it angers me, of course, and it makes me sad to an amazing degree...but it also scares me a bit, because if this ultimatum is serious, and if she carries it out, it will mean that she's putting her hatred for black men over her love for her daughter. I know she doesn't intend it that way--for all my life, I've heard her say in various ways and situations "if you REALLY loved me, you'd..." She did it to my father all the time; I can't count the times I pressed my ear to the heating vent and heard her argue with my father, always arriving at some variation of that theme. In my last argument with her (New Years' Eve, and boy was THAT a doozy) after she said that if I stay with CR, then either I must not be grateful enough for all the things she's done, or that I must not love her enough to consider HER feelings on the matter...after she said that, I told her that was just as wrong when she said it to me, as when she told my father "If you don't clean out this basement, you must not care what I think." I reminded her of the times she'd said that to my dad, and then I said, "Daddy loved you! The basement was a total mess when he died, but he still loved the hell out of you!!" And she actually came back with "Well, sometimes I STILL wonder whether he did or not."
Um, hello? My dad died in 1987. At the end of this summer, my father will have been gone twenty-five years, and yet mom STILL holds a grudge. Faced with that, how the hell am I supposed to make MY point?
And the hell of it is this: I AM grateful for everything she's done for me. Since the remnants of my 401k ran out back in April or thereabouts, she has been BEYOND generous with helping me financially. I tell her all the time how grateful I am, how if she ever needs me to do anything for her, all she has to do is tell me and I'll take care of it. When she said once that she wouldn't live long enough for me to pay back everything I owe her (okay, that's sad but true--she's 83 years old) I even told her--and in all seriousness!--that I'm willing to take any money I hadn't been able to pay her, and donate it to the Catholic Church on her behalf. (As anyone who knows me well can tell you, giving ANYTHING to the Church is as distasteful to me as giving it to the Young Drunken Nazi Fundamentalist Dogfight Association.) I don't know what else I have to do to express my gratitude....because the only thing that will prove my gratitude to her is the one thing I cannot do.
But since I have no job, and since CR has no job, and since my mother has finally reached the point where the state of her various bank accounts is causing her stress...since my unemployment payments can't cover the rent, the cable/phone/internet, my various meds, gas and oil for the car, and groceries...I have to move home. I'm not being given any real choice; even if I get a job, I would still need to move home so I can start paying her back. And so at the end of February, CR and I will have to pack up all my belongings and leave our place together. I'm not sure which one of us is more miserable about it.
Anyway, that's the latest. I'm definitely feeling bloggier lately; it took only a couple of concerned comments to tip me over the brim from "writer's block" back into "wait, let me write this down so I don't forget it for the blog". So to all of you who worried and commented--or worried and DIDN'T comment, for that matter--I thank you for your concern, and promise to try to do better in the future.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Still
Still here.
Still broke.
Still jobless.
Still head-over-heels with CR, who has changed to a degree I could not even have hoped for in my wildest dreams. (If he'd stop foofing cigarette ashes over every stationary surface, he'd be perfect; as it stands, he's just NEARLY-perfect. I wonder if this is the reward for putting up with all the bullshit in the past; if so, all I can say is "Thank you!")
Did I mention the "broke" and "jobless" bits??
Anybody got a job available? It doesn't have to be technical; at this point I would scrape gum from the underside of cafeteria tables, if it would pay the rent.
Were it not for the financial end of things, I would have to say my life was just about perfect right now....and actually, I might say it anyway.
There WILL be more to come...promise.
Still broke.
Still jobless.
Still head-over-heels with CR, who has changed to a degree I could not even have hoped for in my wildest dreams. (If he'd stop foofing cigarette ashes over every stationary surface, he'd be perfect; as it stands, he's just NEARLY-perfect. I wonder if this is the reward for putting up with all the bullshit in the past; if so, all I can say is "Thank you!")
Did I mention the "broke" and "jobless" bits??
Anybody got a job available? It doesn't have to be technical; at this point I would scrape gum from the underside of cafeteria tables, if it would pay the rent.
Were it not for the financial end of things, I would have to say my life was just about perfect right now....and actually, I might say it anyway.
There WILL be more to come...promise.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Yummiest Thing Ever
1. Locate a large glass or plastic container. A 32-oz cup should do nicely.
2. Scoop a fairly-large amount of vanilla ice-cream into the cup. (Actually, "scoop" is not the ideal method; the best thing to do is to take a regular teaspoon or tablespoon, then run it across the surface of the ice cream. The idea is to fill the cup loosely, so that there are spaces between the bits of ice cream.)
3. Pour eggnog over the ice cream til the ice cream is covered.
4. Insert bendy-straw. (You can use the straw to stir the concoction, as well; otherwise you'll need a spoon in order to squish everything together.)
5. Drink.
6. Experience bliss.
Merry Christmas indeed!
2. Scoop a fairly-large amount of vanilla ice-cream into the cup. (Actually, "scoop" is not the ideal method; the best thing to do is to take a regular teaspoon or tablespoon, then run it across the surface of the ice cream. The idea is to fill the cup loosely, so that there are spaces between the bits of ice cream.)
3. Pour eggnog over the ice cream til the ice cream is covered.
4. Insert bendy-straw. (You can use the straw to stir the concoction, as well; otherwise you'll need a spoon in order to squish everything together.)
5. Drink.
6. Experience bliss.
Merry Christmas indeed!
Monday, December 6, 2010
Surfacing
Okay, you can stop panicking--I'm still alive. Pissed-off, unemployed, and plagued by cats--but alive.
Yes, that says "unemployed". The sleep apnea kicked back in--although for the majority of the time, both CR and I were convinced that it was actually narcolepsy (I was talking in my sleep, walking around and falling asleep on my feet; apparently, I was even digging poor CR with my pointy elbows at night!!)--and even though I went in for the sleep studies and got a doctor's letter to explain that I was in treatment for the problem, I was told that it was not an acceptable letter because it did not specify accommodations that could be made by the employers. Then they made it into a performance issue, claiming that my tickets were not being closed in a timely manner; the final straw came in the second week of October, when a member of my own department, one who I'd considered a friend, ratted me out to my boss and my boss's boss, telling them that I was sleepy while working on her computer. I was sent home "to get some rest" and was fired over the phone that afternoon. There are several other aspects of the situation which are ALSO bullshit; those will come up as I think of them.
Actually, though, that's pretty much the bulk of the bad news. CR is still here; I now have a car (Mom got tired of her oil-burning little Saturn and decided to buy a new car, and thus I got the oil-burner); the cats are fine, I'm happy being out of work for seven or eight weeks so far; we cashed in my 401k and so we have enough to live on for at least a few months. I'm looking for jobs, but I'm not looking terribly hard--I have some ideas percolating, along with a promise I made to myself long ago, about this being my FINAL office job.
There's more, of course, and this time I really WILL update more often; CR's presence here has been EXTREMELY helpful in getting me off my portly, unmotivated butt and at least TRYING to do something with my strengths.
Meanwhile, thank you to those of you who wrote, commmented, or just wondered where I was; I'm not sure WHERE I was; apparently, though, I was SOMEWHERE, and as far as I can tell, I've come back in one piece, and a bit better for the ride. I'll be back soon, with more stories--which is always, always a good thing.
Yes, that says "unemployed". The sleep apnea kicked back in--although for the majority of the time, both CR and I were convinced that it was actually narcolepsy (I was talking in my sleep, walking around and falling asleep on my feet; apparently, I was even digging poor CR with my pointy elbows at night!!)--and even though I went in for the sleep studies and got a doctor's letter to explain that I was in treatment for the problem, I was told that it was not an acceptable letter because it did not specify accommodations that could be made by the employers. Then they made it into a performance issue, claiming that my tickets were not being closed in a timely manner; the final straw came in the second week of October, when a member of my own department, one who I'd considered a friend, ratted me out to my boss and my boss's boss, telling them that I was sleepy while working on her computer. I was sent home "to get some rest" and was fired over the phone that afternoon. There are several other aspects of the situation which are ALSO bullshit; those will come up as I think of them.
Actually, though, that's pretty much the bulk of the bad news. CR is still here; I now have a car (Mom got tired of her oil-burning little Saturn and decided to buy a new car, and thus I got the oil-burner); the cats are fine, I'm happy being out of work for seven or eight weeks so far; we cashed in my 401k and so we have enough to live on for at least a few months. I'm looking for jobs, but I'm not looking terribly hard--I have some ideas percolating, along with a promise I made to myself long ago, about this being my FINAL office job.
There's more, of course, and this time I really WILL update more often; CR's presence here has been EXTREMELY helpful in getting me off my portly, unmotivated butt and at least TRYING to do something with my strengths.
Meanwhile, thank you to those of you who wrote, commmented, or just wondered where I was; I'm not sure WHERE I was; apparently, though, I was SOMEWHERE, and as far as I can tell, I've come back in one piece, and a bit better for the ride. I'll be back soon, with more stories--which is always, always a good thing.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
"You Really, Really Like Me!"
Sorry for the long absence; I haven't given up on this place, but it's been a hectic couple of months.
Let's see. I was put on probation at work at the beginning of July, for excessive absence and for not keeping up with the rest of the pack in terms of completed work tickets, and for increasingly falling asleep at my desk. Well, we know all about that sleep thing: Gladys hasn't been using her CPAP because it's completely worthless and blah, blah...maybe if I went in for a sleep study I could get a BiPAP, which are supposedly easier to tolerate. So I went for the sleep study, where it was decided that I do NOT have sleep apnea. The next test, at the end of next week, will either confirm or disprove the new possibility: there's a good chance I have narcolepsy. THAT will be another blog post entirely; hell, so will the work probation thing.
Next topic: CR has been living here, and we've done almost nothing but hang around and enjoy each other's company. But again--that's a post all its own. This is the happiest I've been in many years. We are very good for each other, and any skepticism I've felt has largely disappeared.
I have my all-day sleep study next Friday, which involves spending Thursday night and the whole day Friday hanging out at the hospital, taking naps throughout the day. The rest of the time, though, I hope to be able to use my little laptop to catch up on my blogging. As you can see, I won't be lacking for material!
Til then--nobody panic, as I am alive, and well, and totally swamped.
Let's see. I was put on probation at work at the beginning of July, for excessive absence and for not keeping up with the rest of the pack in terms of completed work tickets, and for increasingly falling asleep at my desk. Well, we know all about that sleep thing: Gladys hasn't been using her CPAP because it's completely worthless and blah, blah...maybe if I went in for a sleep study I could get a BiPAP, which are supposedly easier to tolerate. So I went for the sleep study, where it was decided that I do NOT have sleep apnea. The next test, at the end of next week, will either confirm or disprove the new possibility: there's a good chance I have narcolepsy. THAT will be another blog post entirely; hell, so will the work probation thing.
Next topic: CR has been living here, and we've done almost nothing but hang around and enjoy each other's company. But again--that's a post all its own. This is the happiest I've been in many years. We are very good for each other, and any skepticism I've felt has largely disappeared.
I have my all-day sleep study next Friday, which involves spending Thursday night and the whole day Friday hanging out at the hospital, taking naps throughout the day. The rest of the time, though, I hope to be able to use my little laptop to catch up on my blogging. As you can see, I won't be lacking for material!
Til then--nobody panic, as I am alive, and well, and totally swamped.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
An Informational Public Service Announcement
Friendly friends of mine, please allow me to pass along the wisdom of my many years upon this earth. (Firefly, you really wanna stop reading NOW--this post references the V word repeatedly, graphically, and in the ickiest ways imaginable.)
You know, the world is filled with lessons. "Don't touch that stove." "Don't walk down dark alleys alone at midnight." "Doctors don't tell you a damn thing you need to know."
Oh...yeah, that last one probably needs some explaining, hm?
For six of the seven most recent days, I was sick.
No, not stuffy-nose, Kleenex-trailing sick; not cramps or bird flu or bubonic plague or any of the other mild little inconveniences of life. I didn't know WHAT it was, actually; from a descriptive point of view, it was "mild stomach pain, not helped by rest, by tea, by Rolaids, by ginger ale, by Pepto, by Sprite, by changing positions; alternating with repeated retching, gagging, hurling, Technicolor yawning; coupled with nightmares (when sleeping) and really painful and undignified intestinal occurrences (fortunately, only when waking) and highlighted by the repeated and ungratified wish for the mercy of Death." Also, intense sweating (possibly due to the 90-degree temperatures) and the puking out of my spleen.
Y'all, I was NEVER sick like this before...well, okay, I was--ONCE. And that was here. Which, if you recall, involved a week's hospitalization, two major surgical procedures, and a lot of misery. I've had opiate withdrawals easier than this week was, is what I'm saying here.
I thought a lot of things. What I did NOT think was "hm, I wonder if this has anything to do with trying to wean myself off the antidepressants?"
Well, it was. In a big way. More details when I'm at a computer that is NOT in a 90+-degree room--but I've learned a LOT these last couple of days, and I'm none too happy about any of it.
More soon. I'm fine now, fortunately...not unscathed, but fine. Oh--and pissed.
You know, the world is filled with lessons. "Don't touch that stove." "Don't walk down dark alleys alone at midnight." "Doctors don't tell you a damn thing you need to know."
Oh...yeah, that last one probably needs some explaining, hm?
For six of the seven most recent days, I was sick.
No, not stuffy-nose, Kleenex-trailing sick; not cramps or bird flu or bubonic plague or any of the other mild little inconveniences of life. I didn't know WHAT it was, actually; from a descriptive point of view, it was "mild stomach pain, not helped by rest, by tea, by Rolaids, by ginger ale, by Pepto, by Sprite, by changing positions; alternating with repeated retching, gagging, hurling, Technicolor yawning; coupled with nightmares (when sleeping) and really painful and undignified intestinal occurrences (fortunately, only when waking) and highlighted by the repeated and ungratified wish for the mercy of Death." Also, intense sweating (possibly due to the 90-degree temperatures) and the puking out of my spleen.
Y'all, I was NEVER sick like this before...well, okay, I was--ONCE. And that was here. Which, if you recall, involved a week's hospitalization, two major surgical procedures, and a lot of misery. I've had opiate withdrawals easier than this week was, is what I'm saying here.
I thought a lot of things. What I did NOT think was "hm, I wonder if this has anything to do with trying to wean myself off the antidepressants?"
Well, it was. In a big way. More details when I'm at a computer that is NOT in a 90+-degree room--but I've learned a LOT these last couple of days, and I'm none too happy about any of it.
More soon. I'm fine now, fortunately...not unscathed, but fine. Oh--and pissed.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Neglectful Blogger is Neglectful
Although I must admit, the comments full of worry are kinda comforting.
So no, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, and no, I have not been neglecting you guys for CR, either--if I'm neglecting my blog and its readers for anything, it's for work, sleep, housecleaning, and Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. CR was only here for about ten days, this last time, and he's been gone for almost a week now. Right now, in fact, he's in the Bumblepoot Community Hospital and Turkey-Plucking Emporium, in the fine town of Bumblepoot, IN. They wanted to admit him for some tests--basically because his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous every time he'd go to the doctor's office; through text messages, he's told me that the results of the tests so far have been: his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous. I suspect there's more to it--they don't keep you for a full seven days just to repeat themselves--but he said it's all in the letters he's written from the hospital. (You may be thinking, "Aww, how cute! He wrote to her,"--well, this was under threat of death, and just so he had no excuses, I stamped a handful of envelopes and put my own address on them, and sent them off with him when he left on the Greyhound last Monday. Still haven't gotten a letter, but I'm thinking maybe by Tuesday one should appear.)
Everything in the CR department is wonderful, other than his health issues; we've talked through pretty much the whole history of our relationship, and he has clearly changed a LOT. And really? Even if only half of what he claims to have learned about himself is valid, that's still a vast improvement. Some of my friends have warned me to be careful about trusting him, or having any kind of emotional attachment to him. I see their point, but here's my side of the story: Even if the worst case scenario came to pass--if he ended up cheating on me again, or leaving me for whatever reason--I'd have nothing to be all tragic about. My heart would not be broken. Don't get me wrong--I love him dearly--but I've already lived without him for seven years. I'd be hurt if he left, of course, but after a few days I'd just dust myself off and find something else to do. I'm a lot older now than I was in 2002, and even in my worst depressions, I still know how to keep going. If he left me, sure I would miss him--but it wouldn't completely destroy me. I've already been down that road with him, so there's not much left about it to scare me.
Other than all that, my life has been deadly boring. Work is still an enormous stress, but I can leave it at the door when 5 PM rolls around. The kitties are fine--or as fine as demented-but-cute quadrupeds can manage to be. I really need to catch a picture of Marigold when she goes into her Foofy Diva mode--big plume of a tail in the air, chin up, stalking through the apartment as though HER name was on the lease. Snickers has developed an odd little habit--he follows me into the bathroom, then jumps on my lap while I'm...occupied, shall we say. At all other times, he steadfastly refuses to be a lap-cat...just when I'm having a sit-down does his cuddly side come in. And if he can't get to my lap, he jumps on the sink and puts his front paws on the top of my head, with his back paws on the sink. I don't know WHERE this cat came by his personality, but he is just weird and fun and amazing. And BadCat--who, in case I never mentioned it, was originally half CR's cat as well--has taken quite a liking to his prodigal half-owner, and will flop on his lap whenever the opportunity presents.
Let's see, what more is there to tell--oh, this one's good. I learned a very important lesson at about 2 AM last night, namely this: No matter what you have been dreaming about, or how much sense it makes at the instant you wake up, a can of Pepsi does not now, nor ever will, contain eyedrops. (I woke up and my contacts were stuck to my eyes from sleeping, as usual. I had been dreaming, I think, about putting drops in my eyes, and furthermore that's what I do the moment I wake up anyway, but I was a little groggy still--and so I grabbed the nearest round object, tipped my head back, and went to put a drop of saline in my eye. Well, Pepsi cans do NOT have dropper tips, and so the two drops I thought I was going to get in the corner of my left eye turned out to be about a quarter of a can of Pepsi in my eye, over my face, and down my shirt. You would imagine that pouring Pepsi into your eye would hurt insanely, and you would not be far wrong--for about two seconds. After that, it just felt cold and stupid, and other than a slight increase in the pile of laundry to do tomorrow, there was no permanent harm done--although I've definitely exceeded my quota of STOOPID for the month of May.
So yeah--I'm all well and good. I'm going to try to be more prolific in my writing here--besides which, I'm sure there will be more stories soon--but in the meantime, thanks for caring, for checking in, for reading my goofiness over and over. There's plenty more where that came from....I hope.
So no, I have not fallen off the face of the earth, and no, I have not been neglecting you guys for CR, either--if I'm neglecting my blog and its readers for anything, it's for work, sleep, housecleaning, and Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook. CR was only here for about ten days, this last time, and he's been gone for almost a week now. Right now, in fact, he's in the Bumblepoot Community Hospital and Turkey-Plucking Emporium, in the fine town of Bumblepoot, IN. They wanted to admit him for some tests--basically because his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous every time he'd go to the doctor's office; through text messages, he's told me that the results of the tests so far have been: his blood pressure and blood sugar were completely outrageous. I suspect there's more to it--they don't keep you for a full seven days just to repeat themselves--but he said it's all in the letters he's written from the hospital. (You may be thinking, "Aww, how cute! He wrote to her,"--well, this was under threat of death, and just so he had no excuses, I stamped a handful of envelopes and put my own address on them, and sent them off with him when he left on the Greyhound last Monday. Still haven't gotten a letter, but I'm thinking maybe by Tuesday one should appear.)
Everything in the CR department is wonderful, other than his health issues; we've talked through pretty much the whole history of our relationship, and he has clearly changed a LOT. And really? Even if only half of what he claims to have learned about himself is valid, that's still a vast improvement. Some of my friends have warned me to be careful about trusting him, or having any kind of emotional attachment to him. I see their point, but here's my side of the story: Even if the worst case scenario came to pass--if he ended up cheating on me again, or leaving me for whatever reason--I'd have nothing to be all tragic about. My heart would not be broken. Don't get me wrong--I love him dearly--but I've already lived without him for seven years. I'd be hurt if he left, of course, but after a few days I'd just dust myself off and find something else to do. I'm a lot older now than I was in 2002, and even in my worst depressions, I still know how to keep going. If he left me, sure I would miss him--but it wouldn't completely destroy me. I've already been down that road with him, so there's not much left about it to scare me.
Other than all that, my life has been deadly boring. Work is still an enormous stress, but I can leave it at the door when 5 PM rolls around. The kitties are fine--or as fine as demented-but-cute quadrupeds can manage to be. I really need to catch a picture of Marigold when she goes into her Foofy Diva mode--big plume of a tail in the air, chin up, stalking through the apartment as though HER name was on the lease. Snickers has developed an odd little habit--he follows me into the bathroom, then jumps on my lap while I'm...occupied, shall we say. At all other times, he steadfastly refuses to be a lap-cat...just when I'm having a sit-down does his cuddly side come in. And if he can't get to my lap, he jumps on the sink and puts his front paws on the top of my head, with his back paws on the sink. I don't know WHERE this cat came by his personality, but he is just weird and fun and amazing. And BadCat--who, in case I never mentioned it, was originally half CR's cat as well--has taken quite a liking to his prodigal half-owner, and will flop on his lap whenever the opportunity presents.
Let's see, what more is there to tell--oh, this one's good. I learned a very important lesson at about 2 AM last night, namely this: No matter what you have been dreaming about, or how much sense it makes at the instant you wake up, a can of Pepsi does not now, nor ever will, contain eyedrops. (I woke up and my contacts were stuck to my eyes from sleeping, as usual. I had been dreaming, I think, about putting drops in my eyes, and furthermore that's what I do the moment I wake up anyway, but I was a little groggy still--and so I grabbed the nearest round object, tipped my head back, and went to put a drop of saline in my eye. Well, Pepsi cans do NOT have dropper tips, and so the two drops I thought I was going to get in the corner of my left eye turned out to be about a quarter of a can of Pepsi in my eye, over my face, and down my shirt. You would imagine that pouring Pepsi into your eye would hurt insanely, and you would not be far wrong--for about two seconds. After that, it just felt cold and stupid, and other than a slight increase in the pile of laundry to do tomorrow, there was no permanent harm done--although I've definitely exceeded my quota of STOOPID for the month of May.
So yeah--I'm all well and good. I'm going to try to be more prolific in my writing here--besides which, I'm sure there will be more stories soon--but in the meantime, thanks for caring, for checking in, for reading my goofiness over and over. There's plenty more where that came from....I hope.
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