Category: Smashed Potatoes

The nice thing about crushes is that they end. After this wonderful, terrifying emotional roller coaster of angst, misery, and that all-too-necessary brain-frying oxytocin, it can slide to a gentle stop of bemused comfort.

That’s the main difference, I think of crushes when you are 14, vs in your forties. That and the mute button.

The reality is that I have very little in common with this person. At least, not as far as I’ve seen. And, because of the 10 rules I promised myself I’d never break when I left my ex, I know this person doesn’t meet a handful. So I got the high of feeling like a damned grinning fool without the slam-stop of humiliation at the end.

I can enjoy the thought of how sunlight hits his eyes, without remembering the cranky bitchiness of impatience.

I lived with that impatience before. In both of my last two exes and dealt with that flaw in several family members or friends. It made me miserable. I won’t do it again. There isn’t anything in the world that is worth living with that poisonous negativity. It makes my own flaws harder to deal with, on top of that. I let other people’s selfishness suck me further down into the garlic juice.

There is so much beauty all around us. I think that’s half of why I constantly thought there was something wrong with me. Because I didn’t have a body type that sent my hormones over the moon. So what if someone has a hawk nose? They could have the most gorgeous blue eyes, or a face full of wrinkles that lights up when they laugh, or long, thin fingers that are so graceful, you could picture butterflies landing on them. If you choose to see only flaws and ugliness in people, well… then that’s all you’ll ever see.

I think that’s also why I was able to deal with the rapes and beatings. I’ve lost friends who think I should hate all men because of it. I can’t. Not saying it was cool, what I had to deal with. Not once. “Lost” may not be the right word, there, either. Because I can’t fathom pushing anyone into hating anything on a broad basis. Except, maybe, mosquitoes. And fleas.

I don’t think men or women can be categorized into A/B. Ever. Because part of my frustration from this summer was dealing with a bunch of men who were the biggest gossips. Image conscious. Touchy. As bad as any bunch of teenage girl cheerleaders who are vying for the homecoming crown.

The thing is, I met some of this group who are the best sort. Diamonds, rough cut, with smiles, sense of humor, jokes, hard-working, and the biggest hearts you could possibly imagine. People I could see setting down with at the end of the day and shooting the shit over a campfire. The bullshit would be mostly tall tales and aggrandized stories that everyone knows are half-fluff and love just because of that.

How could I ever hate so much that I would miss out on that beauty? I get tired of hearing women bitch about “men.” As though being male is wrong. It isn’t. Stop playing victim. Leave that to people who truly are, and stop dragging survivors of actual assault and abuse down into your claptrap. I’ve dated pianists and construction workers, chemists and military. And there has been beauty in each and every single one.

What’s nice about this crush is that I actually got tongue-tied. More than once. It’s nice to know my numbness has receded enough. It’s made me more aware of what I do want out of life. That slow, quiet, fun lifestyle that I’ve been building for the past six years. Sitting at the end of the work day with an audiobook, with my candle fire going over the tv, with my cats chasing their tails, and me with my sewing. Or blowing the stink of boiling red cabbage out the window, because I needed to make new pH strips. Or finding a new way to make corn seed sprout. All the things I can do and get into trouble with, without the impatience of a cranky, self-serving, critical voice constantly picking at me or my projects. Just… beauty.

And, after joking with Jana yesterday, my next one will be to learn how to make walnut butter, so I can make walnut butter cookies…. MMMmmmmm… My kitchen’s going to turn into an absolute mess!

Quote from my book: Hawthorne:
“Master Track mentioned that, sometimes, you want the asshole to stick around.”
She snorted.
“It got me thinking about why. If it were me, I’d want someone honest.”
“Honesty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What?”
Jules about pissed her pants, with his expression. “Think of it as a different version of garlic juice. Sure, it’s healthy for you. But you put that on a wound…”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

I mentioned the other day that I am happier. This is a good thing. Weird, but good.

It’s something I am not used to being- happy. Oh, I’m not saying I haven’t had moments. I have.

This is underlying happy. Building on itself. Bridging gaps over all those PTSD holes.

Part of why I write Smashed Potatoes. For other people who have social awkward or PTSD. It’s a huge deal for me.

I think that having those “come to jesus” moments and being as honest as garlic on a wound are two different things. I think that “being raw” or “being real” falls more into the garlic on a wound category. Odd, coming from me. Most of my close family would look at me cross-eyed. I am not “known for being tactful.”

It’s been a misunderstanding for a long time. Massive gap, especially between me and my mother that never healed before she passed. I understood that her gentler ways meant as much to her as they did to me. But she didn’t fully get the damage she had done, inadvertently, with them and the sheer number of messes I had to clean up in her wake, and that I was basically getting emotionally slapped around for being her hammer. Or… garlic, as the case may be.

Forgiveness for that is… difficult.

“I didn’t mean it” doesn’t mean there isn’t still hurt, mess, damage, and mistrust to deal with. It doesn’t fix any of that.

For me, I guess, it’s what comes after those words. Which is usually nothing and nothing changes.

I’m mentioning those things for a reason, obviously, or I wouldn’t be putting this down on paper. Even electronic paper.

My family picked at my so-called flaws so much, I basically had nothing but garlic juice going on in my head. The good from them rarely got through, because I was waiting around for another shot of stinging pain. I even had those same people tell me, quite frequently, that they were “doing it for my own good, so I would know how to act properly.” What they thought were those “come to jesus” moments, but were really a difference of opinion and they couldn’t handle it.

I have two sets of PTSD. One emotional, from my family. One physical, from… well, you can guess. The physical kind is actually a lot easier to deal with. I have things I can touch, see, and smell, to get myself out of the memory hell.

It’s the other I have so much trouble with. And that is why I am mentioning that I am happy. Why I am happy with this so called crush and why I am happy with my cooking and the space in my kitchen. Those are spaces in my head now. Good spaces. Happy spaces. Along with my sweater, my cats, my writing that I never gave up on. Those spaces where I never gave up on myself. Instead of therapizing them, I am making them. Letting them come in and build a wall. A good wall. Between me and the garlic.

YAY!!!! MY CAR IS FIXED!!! Actually fixed. I found a new mechanic that is NOT interested in ripping me off. It’s amazing how nice it is to have a steering wheel I can trust and that I am *actually* supposed to be able to hear the radio over the sound of tires on pavement.

Odd couple of weeks, with a new job. That’s okay. I am keeping promises to myself. Not to get sucked back into daily anger rituals. I’ve been cooking more. A lot more. It means more dishes, but, I am happy. Sucks that I lost my scottish cookbook. I have crapped out, having lost a lot of skills, but I can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s been fun, having space in a kitchen again. I feel free. Free to fuck up, but also free to enjoy food again.

This crush I’ve got…. It’s been kicking me in the ass. Getting more comfortable with it. Slowly. Most days, I am super glad no one actually knows about it. OR the guy. Especially the guy. I am turning beet red, just typing that out. This is so damned silly.

I’ve always thought something was wrong with me, because I don’t lust after people. Only a very, very minuscule amount of people. I can count on one hand and have fingers left over. Parts of people, I’ve found attractive. Parts. But I see people as… people, I guess. Not bouncy partners.

I’ve even had people get “involved,” thinking things they are dead wrong about. Because those friendships or connections hit other sides of me. I’ve let go of friends who do this- deliberately interfere because they assume it’s a sex thing when it had to do with aspects of my life they don’t understand. I know it comes out sounding nearly the same. But it is so…. not. There is someone I owe my life to. He won’t see it that way. I will. It sounds stalker-ish. I forever will. He’s lead an extreme life. So have I. We had a conversation one day. A strange, intense conversation. Without realizing what, exactly, I had said, or how it was interpreted, I found forgiveness for the death of my first child. It’s a precious gift. I absolutely didn’t trust the person I was talking to, beyond a certain point. I know, without doubt or hesitation, that that gift that was put in my path and I wouldn’t be where I am, now, without it. And to have someone else, who didn’t understand what they were messing with, get involved and keep the person I had been speaking to, and I apart, where I could have given that same care and understanding back, where it was needed and unspokenly asked for… It rips at me. Nothing I can do about that. Except end the second friendship, with the person who interfered. Why in the world should I ever be ashamed for being given a gift like I was?

I mention this because it’s getting ridiculous out there. And I don’t mean Covid or the racial crap.

Expressing interest is somehow wrong, these days. Like it’s offensive. When the real problem is is not being able to accept “no” or “we’re not compatible.” I’m not understanding this.

I made promises to myself six years ago. And I haven’t gone back on them. What to do and what to accept.

And I guess, I am coming back around to that. With this crush I’ve got. Nothing would come of it. I know that. I don’t expect it to.

But I can say: I am healed enough, now, to even think about dating again. Even better? There’s someone that I actually put in my spank bank. And I do have a type. I had a friend point that out to me. She was able to give a physical description without me even having to say one word. I nearly wound up on the floor, giggling. I still do. Giggle.

Silly. Very silly.

But I am smiling. A big, shit-eating grin. It’s been plastered on my face for weeks now. I am letting it stay. Right along with the other one I am getting for being back in my kitchen.

Been a while since I’ve been on. I am forgiving myself for the DOH! moment. I’ve been really cranky this summer. Emotionally all over. Not surprising. Every time I think I’ve had something figured out, to make life stable, it blows. I am forgiving myself right at the moment for thinking I should have had that all settled and that I shouldn’t be affected.

I need some sort of structure in my life. While trying to build that, in this time of craziness, I’ve posted on FB, not here on my blog.

I’ve gotten myself out of three major jams in the past month. Frustrated that those solutions didn’t pan out into permanent solutions, but hey, I at least got out of the problems I was in. I did a lot of hard, scary things in order to get that done. And for once, I was happy to meet that old part of me that was/is capable of doing that.

I’ve also reconciled some part of me. That fear is something to conquer. And terror, which is not the same thing, is something to be respected. At a distance. It’s okay for me to be terrified of something. It isn’t a weakness. Per se. That’s finally getting through my head that I don’t have to be a rock all the time. It’s okay that some part of me isn’t “neutralized” in numb calmness. I don’t have to repeatedly expose myself to something that terrorizes the internal parts of me in order to “fix it.” If I was merely afraid, then yes. But accepting me means accepting this aspect of terror for what it is and letting it actually exist.

In doing so, I’ve actually let a lot of very subtle, little things happen.

I miss Magoo. A lot. We had a massive blowout, which I will not get into, in March. But, in a many ways, I am glad he is not currently part of my life. Sad that he is not. It’s okay that I feel all of that, even though it doesn’t match or balance. His absence is an ache I sense all around my heart. His presence would be a different one, because of where we can’t bridge a gap, so I am happy we aren’t hurting each other.

I’ve met a few new people.

Including some more crazies. I have no idea where I keep finding these ones. The ones that think I need saving and I must put all my problems on them and change who I am for their needs, and when I call them on it, I am either crazy or a bitch. I’ve let go of two of these people within the past four months. One just this week. Go be your insensitive, unsecure person somewhere else, please. I may understand your issues but it doesn’t mean I am here to fix you or have to stop being myself for your sake.

Part of it is… I’ve had it with whiny people. Who think they know what hard is, until after they talk to me. I’m sorry, not really, but yet, I am, that I just can’t get upset that someone else might need to work 2 jobs to pay the bills, when I was working 8. I feel a slight tremor of compassion for someone’s kid who missed out on walking the stage for graduation this year, but not really, when I think of all the kids who never had that in the first place. Life’s tough. For everyone. And getting upset and twisted and saying it’s hard that that got missed out on, when I missed out of so much of my life, because of my family’s twisted sense of denial, like never having a wedding, or having my ex suck the absolute fun out of buying a new bike for myself by insisting that I take a safety class, or having that same said person deliberately delete one of my manuscripts and play it off like it was nothing.

And, as nasty as that was to say, and as bad as that showed me to be, I don’t feel guilty about any of that the way I used to. I have strength. Sometimes, it’s a brittle strength. When I look back at everything I’ve overcome to get where I am? Shakes head. I have no idea. I know how tired I am. I say it, all the time. But I made it here. Here. Over all that crap. Deliberately being sabotaged by family, by coworkers. I am still capable of love, true compassion, and I’ve published 8 books. Why shouldn’t I love me for me, respect me for me? Not out of ego (although, I must admit that’s there, too,) but I am crippling myself, the way others did by not being secure in what I’ve done, from where I came from.

That terror thing let me admit something to myself. I actually have a crush. Me. Never expected that. Not at my age. Not after everything. An actual tongue-tying crush. Based partially on physical. Never, never, ever, in a million, gajillion years would I have ever said that could happen. It’s a flash in the pan, and I know nothing would ever come of it, but holy cow. I feel silly, happy, and mouth-tied. I’m letting it be. Only told one person who that is. (And it isn’t Magoo, for those of you who are wondering.) Not even fully who. Just a first name. I turned beet red. Wow. I am laughing at myself in embarrassment at the moment. But still… laughing.

I’m still working on my sweater. I have the back, both sleeves, and one front panel done. One more front panel, a pocket, maybe two, and crocheting to cover my knitting foul-ups to go. Still loving the color pattern and I can’t wait until fall when I can wear it.

What I’ve done today:

* Put up 2 small pools to help local wildlife get water. I used kiddie pools and solar powered waterpumps. My sister and I added rocks and bricks to help both birds and insects be able to access.
* Refilled the hummingbird feeder.
* Weeded
* Added four stores to one of my RPG games
* 2 loads of dishes
* swept the floor
* applied for 3 jobs
* made herby potatoes
* checked on Smashwords. My books will become available on 10 different sites once the programming is done. WOOT!


Herby Potatoes:
Bake 1 very large baked potato (takes about 30 minutes while you are watching TV.)
Cut the potato in half, and chunk. Take off the skin.
Add to an electric hot plate with sprinkles of Mrs Dash or other herbs.
Add in handful of frozen broccoli
Add in 1 tablespoon butter, in small pats, to the hot plate. Close. Cook 10 minutes
Stuff your face.


I have a plan to keep up with the gardening over the next heatwave and get more plants in the ground. I am looking forward to mounds and mounds of basil. We’ve already attracted a few fireflies and hummingbirds.

My life is SO DIFFERENT than it was even just a few years ago. I am enjoying my days, without having someone drag me down, destroy my things, destroy my self-confidence, force me to his schedule, or suck the joy of my curiosity out of my day-to-day because he has to take everything personal.

I’ve met someone who is interested in me, who I am, and while shy, is willing to remain himself without running me over.

I’ve made my household cleansers that do an awesome job.

I may be scared out of my mind half the time, but there is such beauty all around me.

I’ve been told more than once that I am my own worst enemy.

The frustration I feel right now is something I am not going to spend a lot of time on.

I have faced lots of obstacles in my life. With very little help or understanding by others. Just the opposite, in fact. I know it makes me different. Goodness knows, I’ve posted about my narcissistic ex several times and mentioned the violence of my life.

I see a lot of posts on Facebook about how angry everyone is. How frustrated people are.

You have a right to have an opinion. A voice.

I guess I have to say that if you want to take and make all of this COVID stuff personal to your specific lifestyle, that’s your choice.

I have to say that dealing with workplace bullying and feeling ostracized is not something I talk about very much. I do live differently. I’ve had jobs that I am well qualified for given to someone else because I am different. I’ve been denied promotions. I’ve been treated as though I am a child because of my birth defects. I’ve been shot down or had my ideas stolen by others because I tend to see a lot of things my bosses don’t or because I keep things simple.

You don’t see me screaming about that. I think the worst I have said is that I am tired of being treated like a doormat.

Right now, as I am job searching, I’m just as scared about money as you are. My business won’t support me. I made career goal choices back in November that I am sticking to, as hard as that is to do- turning down a job offer- because I realized there are some limits that aren’t worth crossing for any employer. I realize that interviews go both ways, even if the HR people I talk to are judgmental or aggressive. It affects me even more right now, trying to go after jobs that better suit those career choices to support the care I feel for others, instead of treating people as disposable. Over the course of my life, I had to learn to be flexible, maybe too flexible, to support my family, to keep my home intact, to build skill sets. And now, HR people see that “moving around” I did as a contractor as “unreliable” when the normal before COVID was to stay in a position for 3-5 years, instead of taking care of clients or seeing that some of those clients can’t make up their minds about what they want or need and it’s time to let them get to it, instead of cramming my thoughts down their throat.

I understand your need to stomp. Because I have, too. I also have to say: be accountable for your life the way you’ve made me accountable for mine. I have to own my mistakes, choices, and successes. I’ve had to learn to adapt far beyond what is commonly acceptable in order to live with the choices I’ve had to make, whether or not those circumstances were under my control, which they normally were not.

I lost myself along the way. To my ex. To my family. To employers that enjoy seeing people crack out of their own feelings of helplessness or ego. To being forced to give up a career path I can never get back because I’ll never have the money to go after environmentalism or forensics. So you can lose yourself to your anger, to society, to the poison I see in the sniping of others. Or you can adapt. Make new choices. Let go. See what we all have in common and find NEW WAYS to make your business run. You can make yourself miserable. Or you can find ways to make those laws work for you. You can make yourself sick or you can open your heart again to love, and finding ways to take down your walls and limits. That choice is always yours.

WOOOT!

I may be a bit slow on this, but I have found an awesome place that will get my books on the following sites:

So HUGELY excited about this. Going for Google Books next. WHO-HOOOO!

Kobo

Apple

Library Direct

Baker & Taylor’s Axis 360

OverDrive

Scribd

cloudLibrary

Gardners Extended Retail

Odilo

Gardners Library

Grrr! I HATE it when people make assumptions.

Why does everything have to come down to gender and or race?

BLARG!

I care about people but I am really getting tired of dealing with other people’s sensitive natures while my own cares and concerns are just… trampled on. I know, I know. I say it alot.

I was really offended by the selfishness of someone I know who just… expects that all his needs will be served on a platter. He had resources given to him that others don’t have enough of and he complained about not having more. And when I spoke about it, as inappropriate that this person came at ME about it, (not to me.  AT me.) when I have nothing to do with it, it was taken as “crap, this is going to be a woman screaming about sexual harassment.”

Oh, just BULL. I am a grown woman. Not a child. How about getting to know someone before you start putting words in their mouth? It was about SELFISHNESS.

Don’t ask for equality and expect special treatment. It applies to me just as much as the next person.

I am really offended that a bunch of “males” feel they have to apologize for accidentally swearing in front of me. They’ve been TRAINED to think like that. That they can’t be human or themselves, just because I happen to be in the room. And I am aware that not all males swear. Just… no one asked me. No one got to know me. Just assumptions everywhere on who I am and what I’m about.

And if you have to ask, try a bit of an experiment. If you are around someone who drops the F-bomb a lot, mentally substitute the word “smurf” for it. Say those same phrases back. You’ll crack up laughing and will never be the same again.

I got real problems to deal with here. Real ones that are the same as everyone else’s. How to survive, how to find work, how to grow my business, and the sheer NUMBER of doors that get closed on me every damned day. I don’t sit here and scream about it because of my age, gender, or yeah, my race. I was raised different. Love and violence. I am klutzy, so I get treated like a child half the time. As though I am not paying enough attention to my limbs when it’s a genetic condition or severe scar tissue from childhood, which I won’t write about the reasons on that, but you can hazard a guess.

I want to be happy. Being pissed all the time is a waste of my life. It makes about as much sense as spending money on heat in the winter with an open window.  I know this. And this stupid crap is eating at my brain again. Even with the return to meditation and my knitting. Which, by the way, I’ve gotten the other sleeve 99% done. I was an inch short when I pulled it off the loom and now I have to figure on how to fix that. But, hey. Part of the process, right? I’ve started on one of the front panels.

I guess part of me is really irritated by all of this because I sense a possible budding friendship. Maybe. And it’s been impacted. By assumptions. Those damned assumptions that mess everything up and you never get that back.

Every time assumptions get made, everyone involved gets cheated.  Sighs.  People read into stuff that gets said or they overhear half a sentence and think they know what’s going on, when really?  It’s none of their business in the first place.

I have to remind myself that I am not in control of the world and I actually prefer it that way.  Because that very statement is the reason I actually wound up writing the Novo series.  I had a character, Eloise, in my cop series that I wanted to kill off because I made her so nasty.  I used every trick to show why someone would attack her.  Personality traits that grate on the nerves.  Like overly nosy neighbors or people who think they are “caring” but really, just are trying to correct you to only their way of thinking or style of dress.

I know this has really gotten under my skin.  Someone I love very much is gone from my life at the moment.  He complains about being forced into the Jones-lifestyle by his family.  But he just chose it for himself.  I don’t know if he realizes it or not.  It isn’t my place.  But, with everything this person knows about me and what was done to me, and we actually intimately understand these issues in each other’s pasts, he basically just asked me to sit there and keep my mouth shut.  Asked me to be something I am not until basically, I explode into “being me.”  He thinks it’s funny.  I miss this person so much but he really isn’t being the person I love at the moment.  It’s his choice.  I won’t make it for him.  But I can’t be around someone who says he loves me for who I am and then… asks me, in that pleading way, not to be that.

I think it basically comes down to grief and loss.  Again.  I feel the void in my life, keenly.  And, sensing another budding friendship of someone who might understand me, accept me for who I am, which is very rare for anyone, seeing it get messed up because of a third party’s assumptions and misunderstandings is more than I care to deal with at the moment.

SMURF.

SMURF SMURF.

smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf. smurf.

Maybe I will kill Eloise off afterall…

I had something wonderful happen today.

After the “I don’t know how to deal with this nastiness” that I wrote about yesterday, my co-worker made up for it in spades today. This co-worker is my polar opposite. He said “thank you for helping me.” It wasn’t gratitude, which makes me grit my teeth like I’ve chewed on tin foil. It was a genuine, heartfelt “thanks.” Because he knows how hard his time at work would be without the help. He didn’t exactly have the skills he needed and unless you are specifically in this particular office, someone outside of it wouldn’t know that.

I said thank you back. This person helped restore some of my faith in humanity. That there are people out there that DO care about their jobs. He is one of them. Even tho we are complete polar opposites. I see how he puts aside anything that he is doing to help- help any employee that comes through the door. Even if what he does is a colossal whatever. I like that about this person. We talk about what decisions and I show him easier, better, faster ways of getting the task done without causing more work for everyone involved. He gets frustrated, because he doesn’t see it at first. But he always listens. Applies most of what I show him. And he is having an easier time, each and every day. More time to get up and do other stuff and help others. He has to learn Excel. Which I am advanced at and he is just beginning. He said thanks for many things. Including how I write out instructions and how I do, do, do, then make him do, do do.

I think this is helping me step away from all that nastiness from before. It may be baby steps, but it’s part of why I said, thank you, back to him. Because he is open and so caring. It’s been a little teeth gritting, of my own, in this place, but most of the people I have had to assist in getting things back on track took offense at first, and have, slowly, come to understand that they aren’t being yelled at. That we are raising some awareness and helping everyone along the way. Some even come to joke with me about it, as annoying as it is. I can see there is an easing of tension. I like that, too. It’s what should have happened at the last place, but the people involved there had NO desire to stop running on the squeaky mouse wheel, refused to make decisions, made a lot of fuss over things that really didn’t need fussing about, made mountains out of nothing on a frequent, daily basis, and didn’t really appreciate anyone around them. I remember, more than once, being yelled at for saying “thank you for getting me that information.”

So, I think part of how I am going to deal with Ms. Know-It-All-Nasty-Who-Knew-Me-For-All-Of-15-Hours is to say thank you, correct my own behavior that may mirror hers, but not beat myself up. I’m allowed to have flaws and I’m allowed to be angry that I was dumped on so badly, being held to a higher standard no one else was and doing the work of 6 people while others got to just walk out of the office for the day whenever they felt like it. Yeah. I’m allowed to be pissed about that. And if Ms. K-blah-blah can’t see that, shouldering that burden on myself is just… stupid. Not saying it doesn’t hurt on some level or that I shouldn’t feel anything. I’m not a rock, after all.

I will just have to be more clear that patience, kindness, caring, and a willingness to help does NOT mean I am a doormat. If some third party, I should say fourth, since Blah-blah is already a 3rd party, listens to that garbage, well, I really don’t want to be around that person anyway.

It was very, very nice to have someone say “Thank you” today.

And I am halfway done with my sweater’s second sleeve…

I wish, in some ways, I could stop starting these as “It’s been an interesting week.”  But, as always, it has been.

My sister and I made some headbands for masks for our dear friend who is a nurse at a nursing home.  I wanted to share.

We deliberately chose white fabric, so it could be bleached.  (That was my sister’s idea.  Not mine.)  I chose the 4 buttons.  Every design I have seen is with 2 buttons, but that doesn’t really do what I wanted, which was to avoid ear chaffing completely, not just the backs.  We came up with 2 designs to start.  One- just a flat bar with 2 buttons, because there could be a lot of headgear and putting a headband in on top of that wouldn’t do well.  Also, for people with shorter hair.  Two is about 15 inches, with a  7 inch elastic band,  with 2 buttons on each side of the head.  That way, the elastic would go above and below the ear, hopefully completely.  I’m coming up with a design that goes around a pony tail or bun.  We also deliberately picked non-stretchy fabric.  Those fall apart or loose their elasticity in harsher detergents;  we wanted something a little more durable that could stand up to daily bleaching and washing.

Sighs… I had a massive scare at a local store.  I am allergic to cleaners.  Severely allergic.  Especially to bleach.  With our new laws here, go in one door and out another, everyone is forced to walk in a pattern.  The store was using a hand pressure washer to spray their carts clean.  Indoors and right next to (within a foot) the aisle to exit the building.  I barely made it outside without hacking my brains out.  Every other store around here has been carefully washing with cleaner and paper towels.  I have been assured by the store that there is an alternate exit, and they will consider putting up signage for people like me.  Woot.

I have been dealing with a personal issue that I can’t seem to let go of.  The nastiness of a person who replaced me at a position I was at.  I won’t say when or where.  VERY judgemental person, who took a lot of things personal because I wouldn’t kiss her feet.  As though she is the only person in the world who knows what asbergers is or has had to deal with it.  There was a lot more along that line, such as talking down to people like she is the “only person” who has ever taken in other people.  As I was training this person, I was trying to let her know there wouldn’t be a lot of assistance with more than half of the position, because it was a system I designed to deal with a massload of inconsistencies and requirements.  No one else would know it.  She took it solely as me touting my horn.  While I am proud of what I designed, she completely missed the point.  That she would have no assistance and no one would be able to answer her questions.  On top of that, she thinks I am cruel because I recommended that a new employee be let go.  For his own sake.  He didn’t have enough skills needed to do the job correctly and he felt like such a failure.  Every day.  It was a critical role for the business, and while he did have some very exceptional skills and was an absolute sweetheart to customers, the rest of his lack of ability crippled the entire facility.  I was, apparently, the bad guy, because this new person couldn’t learn the basics of the software he needed to do his position, not didn’t want to- couldn’t,  and because I didn’t sit with him all day, every day, I was being mean.  I had spoken with this trainee, many times.  I felt bad that he did feel like such a failure and I was helpless to stop that from happening.  But, again, I am mean for wanting the suffering of all involved to end.  No one should feel that way at work and I knew his situation wouldn’t change.  Unfortunately, I do believe this nasty replacement person, who knew me for all of 15 hours, total, has had a negative public impact on my life.  I’m not sure what I should do about that because I have no desire to sink to her level.

On a happier note, I have started an indoor veggie garden.  I have 15 pots of seeds started, two trees, and two new bushes.  My greenhouse project from last summer failed abysmally.  I also learned that I can, indeed, fix a sewing machine.  Said project above was put on hold, and we thought indefinitely, but it turns out, only a couple of hours.  I have 5 quilts that have been on hold for years because I never had the money to fix the machine correctly.  I may… may… at some point, buy a serger, too.  We’ll see.  But at the very least, I can get restarted on a beautiful double wedding ring, once spring chores are done.

Even better news, the city where I live will let me have a beehive.  They laxed on it, because there are enough people who want to do it.  Including my neighbor, whose grandfather taught him beekeeping, the old fashioned way.  Happy dance!  I have my first hive, that I will be putting together this weekend.  Once the land on the top of my hill is cleared out, I will be putting the hive up.  JOY!!!

And, I’ve edited a total of 63 pages out of Willow.  It’s been a painstaking process, but I am so much happier with the results.