The Satire I Wrote for World Lit

I'm really only posting this because my prof said she loved it and I could use a little affirmation at the moment; tough week. The assignment was to write a satire and this is what my brain provided. I actually voted for and LIKE Obama so no offense is intended, but I am frustrated with the way things are going just like the rest of America.

Quick update: I made Dean's List, got into Phi Theta Kappa and actually should graduate with a two year associates this spring. Hoping to move on to Troy University for my bachelor in nursing, but will be happy at LBW doing LPN then 2 year RN first if I have to do so. Other than being a poor college student (send money or food!) things are so awesome right now, praise God.

Toodles,
Sarah

The Yomama Extravaganza

A long, broken line of people who are obviously tired, dirty and weary, walks out of step from one another on an empty road. There is no destination in sight. If they were to look behind themselves, they would no longer be able to see where they had started from; the road behind is as empty as the road ahead. They do not look, however, anywhere but at the road a step or two in front of their own feet.

One man’s head pops up as he hears a man yelling. He looks around for the source of the voice. None of the other people have seemed to notice.

Over on the far right of the left side of the road, seemingly from out of nowhere, a colorfully striped circus tent has appeared; its lines are crisp and its size reminiscent of a single stall port-a-potty. A man stands there, wearing a ringmaster’s costume that is shiny new and sparkly with distracting sequins.

“Step right up, step right up! Let’s be clear, this is the greatest show on earth! Bring your family, bring your friends. Heck, bring your dog to come see the Yomama Extravaganza!”

The ringmaster spots the man watching him from the line and beckons to him. “You there, friend, step over here and let me show you some change you can believe in. We’ve got the greatest show on earth, and you won’t want to miss it.”

The man hesitantly steps out of line and walks over to the tent and the ringmaster, both of which seem out of place amidst all the gloom with their clean, bright newness. He takes the proffered hand tentatively and regrets doing so almost instantly when his arm is pumped up and down vigorously.

“What’s your name, friend?”

“Joe.”

“Joe. You a plumber, Joe?” The ringmaster laughs heartily as if he’s just told an outstanding joke.

Joe is confused. “No, I’m a specialty carpenter. I build beautiful furniture and cabinets, refinish wood floors, that kind of thing.”

The ringmaster keeps laughing. “Of course you are, of course you are. Good times though, good times.” He continues to smile and laugh.

“Not really. I can’t find a job. I’ve been out of work for months.” Joe tries to take his hand back but it is caught in a firm grip.

The ringmaster stops laughing and quickly assumes a concerned expression, gripping Joe’s shoulder with his free hand, turning their handshake into an awkward sort of man-hug. “I understand, Joe. I’ve been down the road you’re on. Not walking it of course, but I’ve driven down it and seen with my own eyes how things are. I promise you things are getting better.”

Joe shakes his head. “Not for anybody I know. Hey, what is this place?” Joe finds himself released abruptly.

The ringmaster steps back and throws his arms open wide. “I am Yomama and this is the Yomama Extravaganza!”

“Not the Ringling Brothers Circus? I thought ‘the Greatest Show on Earth’ was their slogan. You can’t just use someone else’s slogan, can you?”

Yomama laughs again. “Yes, we can, Joe. Yes, we can. We can do anything, Joe, we can be the change we want to see in the world. We’re creating jobs and improving lives. Why, right through these doors, you can find a whole new life for yourself. Make your dreams come true. Admission is just one dollar. “

Joe doesn’t look convinced, but he reaches into his pocket and pulls out one faded dollar bill. “I don’t know, Yomama, this is the only dollar I have left and I need something to eat.”

A little sleight of hand and Yomama has Joe’s dollar in his own pocket. Putting his arm around Joe’s shoulder he walks them through the tent flap into the tiny tent. There is barely room enough for them both inside. “Don’t you worry, Joe, you’ve never seen anything like me before. I’m the very first one you know.”

“First one of what?”

“Why, the first honest man!” With a hearty laugh, Yomama throws open the back flap of the small tent and pulls Joe with him as they enter an enormous area, full of color and sound. It seems to be a shiny carnival with happy people having a wonderful time.

They walk by booths that have people playing different games. One particular game catches Joe’s attention; contestants are throwing darts at a board. “Rats,” he hears a man call out. “I won ‘hope.’ I really needed to hit ‘food stamps.’ That was my last quarter, too.”

“Yomama, what’s that smell?”

“Pork. We have lots and lots of pork. Any way you want it: roasted, chicken-fried, fricasseed, sweet and sour… all pork. Oh, hey, take a look at this!”

Yomama walks Joe over to a strength testing exhibit, where Joe can see a small skinny man picking up a large sledgehammer, preparing to bring it down on a mechanism designed to ring a bell. A large, muscular man is leaving the exhibit as they approach it, muttering unhappily under his breath. “Scabies? I win scabies? Who even gets that anymore!?!” Joe turns his head to watch the man walk away, and misses the swing of the hammer.

His attention is called back to the game when sirens start going off, a brass band begins to play and confetti to fall on the small man who seems to have won the grand prize while Joe was distracted. In the crush of people, who all seem to be television reporters and camera men, Joe is separated from Yomama.

Afraid to wander away on his own, Joe tries to get close enough to hear the winner being interviewed, see if he can tell what’s been won. “I’m a scientist by trade, you see, and my non-profit agency and I will use this one hundred million dollars to study the life cycle of the North Florida Sand Flea.”

“Is that something people eat?”

“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that at all. But people catch them to use them for bait in
fishing and I’m hoping the study will help put an end to that barbaric practice. Make the poor sand flea a protected species.”

Joe can’t help himself, he interrupts. “I’m looking for a job. Do you think there is something I could do for your project?”

“Sure, we’ll have lots of jobs. Do you have a degree in marine biology?”

“No.”

“What’s your degree in?”

“I don’t actually have a degree. I’m a carpenter.”

“Hard luck, that. Well, I’m off. I have to go purchase some new shovels for the project and then get to digging on the beach for the sand fleas.”

“Wait! I can dig! Please, I really need a job.”

“No, no, all these jobs have to go to marine biologists; they have special training in digging for these sorts of things.

Joe watches helplessly as the scientist scuttles off, much like the sand flea he wants to protect. He sees no sign of Yomama anywhere. Joe’s attention is caught by a couple coming out of a stall marked “MR. BRAIN… See the Amazing Mr. Brain! He can answer any question, solve any problem!” The pair are both obviously upset.

The wife is in tears, the husband tries to console her, his arm around her shoulders. “Honey, don’t worry, we’ll find another way. Maybe I’ll get that new job, the one with health insurance. We’ll keep trying to find someone that can help us.”

“I just don’t understand why someone would think that the answer to needing Medicaid and not qualifying for it because we don’t have kids would be for me to get pregnant? Why would he think I could do that if I need a hysterectomy because I nearly bleed to death every month? How does that make any kind of sense?”
Joe cannot hear the husband’s reply as they walk away.

Heaving a sigh, Joe leans against a wall, deciding to wait for Yomama in an out of the way location. He’s seen enough of the Extravaganza, he wants to leave.

A few minutes pass before he sees Yomama walking in the midst of a happy, singing crowd. Joe calls out, “Yomama, this same circus came to town eight years ago. There’s nothing new here. Show me the way out.”

Yomama smiles and waves, but does not seem to have heard Joe. Joe draws near enough to hear the singing.

OBAMA*
(*To the tune of Hosanna from Jesus Christ Superstar. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feWcodU51QY)

CROWD

OBama
Hey Bama Bama Bama OBama
Hey Bama OBama
Hey OB, OB fix my life for me
Bama OBama
Hey Superstar

JOE

Tell the people to be quiet, bet the media would like a riot.
This common crowd, you have them wowed.
Tell the mob who sing your song that they are fools cause you are wrong
Things will get worse. You’ll drain our purse.

CROWD

Obama
Hey Bama Bama Bama OBama
Hey Bama OBama
Hey OB, OB, you won’t lie to me
Bama OBama
Hey Superstar

YOMAMA

Why resist the change I’m going to bring?
Nothing can be done to stop my planning.
If every pen were stilled
The progress would continue.
The laws and rules themselves we’ll rearrange.

CROWD AND YOMAMA

OBama
Hey Bama Bama Bama Obama
Hey Bama Obama

CROWD (alone)

Hey OB, OB, stop the fight for me
Bama Obama Hey Superstar

YoMama

It won’t take long,
I’ll bring our soldiers home
Hope you’ll learn it for yourselves,
We are one tribe. I say
There is not one of you
Whom I would not call brother.
The brown, the white,
The black, the red.

CROWD and YOMAMA

OBama
Hey Bama Bama Bama Obama
Hey Bama OBama

CROWD (alone)

Hey OB, OB, give me some money
Bama Obama Hey Superstar

Joe watches the group walk away. He returns to the circus tent where he and Yomama entered, ignoring the carnival fanfare. When Joe reaches the road again he looks up and down it at the line of people; none of the people he was in line with are there anymore. Joe sighs, lowers his head and starts the long walk again.

(I ran across the ‘Oh Bama Hey Bama, Bama Bama Oh’ bit somewhere and even though I voted for him, the song demanded to be written—I hate when they do that. The rest of the satire evolved from there.)

Three Days On

One last update about chickens. They are still here at the moment and this morning I'm even more impressed with poor Buddy. The littlest hen was his half sister and they were similarly feathered. I don't know where she went and hid, but this morning she is back. She could have been back yesterday and I was so tired I just didn't notice. Now I have no doubts that Buddy got between the dog and his flock. I think if more people put others before themselves like that, I'd like humanity a little better.

Started the new job last night. I'm going to enjoy it. One resident has an adorable little yorkie; I can go get puppy hugs whenever I need them. And I get to do a lot of walking around so I should get fitter like I did during the three weeks of clinicals. Home health (for my clients anyway) involved a lot of sitting around on my butt, even more so than the office work. So I'm glad to be back where I'll be busy yet at night there will also be time to study for school. Yay!

Speaking of school, the biology exam is tomorrow morning... send me prayers and positive energy at 10:00 a.m. central if you are so inclined. I'd *really* rather start LPN school this semester rather than next.

And in case I wasn't busy enough... the fashion designer daughter of my last client is writing a really, really interesting tell-all book about her experiences in the industry and in Hollywood. It's been partly typed and her agent wants some more work done on it and some revamping done. So I've got that job, too, and also for the other books she wants to write. Fascinating lady with a fascinating history and a really good and honest heart.

The sheer number of connections I'm developing, the constant pull on me to the entertainment field by circumstances and coincidence is really mind boggling.

Gotta run, I'm pulling a first look at things together for the designer and then I have to go to work. There should be some biology studying in there somewhere, I hope so anyway.

Toodles,
Sarah

On the Resiliency of Chickens OR Ode to a Rooster Named Buddy

The Cock of the Walk. A saying which apparently originated in the mid-1800s because of the average rooster's proud walk around the farm, watching over his girls and babies. A rooster is supposed to be a protector, you see. That's his main job. In a large flock, roosters establish a 'pecking' order (yeah, I'm sure chickens are where that phrase came from, too) and one rooster is in charge with perhaps several junior roosters in inferior positions. But they are all supposed to take care of the ladies. Okay, well, generally only the alpha rooster gets to, er, TAKE CARE of the ladies (wink, wink, nudge, nudge), but they are all supposed to watch over the flock. I'm digressing. It's late and I'm good at digressing.

I've blogged about it before; I keep chickens. Lots of other animals, too, for that matter but I enjoy my chickens. Useful and amusing creatures. I came to the decision Friday that I needed to let this flock go live with someone else; the workload is just too much with me planning to go to school. I very sadly reached the same conclusion about my parrots and placed them with friends on Friday (where they'll be happy but right now I'm miserable and the silence is deafening). At any rate, my chicken flock includes five hens that I bought as adults and six (three hens, three roosters) that I raised from babies. The six I raised from babies are about eight months old, all friendly and a few really like to be held.

Buddy was one of those chickens at one time. He was really outgoing and affectionate and the only one to earn himself a name, because he was always underfoot and I kept telling him 'watch out, Buddy' as I'd trip over him. A few months ago, he hit a growth spurt and reached maturity, became the Cock of the Walk; he decided he was awesome and mom...er, I wasn't worthy of petting or holding him any more. He never developed any aggressiveness like some roosters do, and if I did pick him up he didn't fuss, he just didn't like it anymore. I got the feeling he didn't think all this affection was manly but I do know that having five mature girls to keep, um, occupied was probably pretty exhausting. I don't have any pictures, but he was a big, beautiful multi-colored boy; just a heinz 57 mix known as an 'easter egger' since he came from hens that lay colored eggs.

This morning when I got home from work, he was gone. And the smallest of the hens was gone. See, the chickens here have the small front and side yard because the dogs get the big back yard. But the dogs also get the come and go of the house when I'm not home. For some reason, out of the blue, one of the dogs decided to pop out one of the window panes (old house) and pop out the screen on the window in the front yard.

When I saw what had happened, I was sure I would have no chickens left at all. They slowly came out of hiding as I called them and put food out, after I blocked the window up. They settled down as I talked to them but there was a tense, spooked feel in the flock. None of them seemed to look for the littlest hen, but they definitely looked for the strong leadership they were used to getting from Buddy. I haven't found the littlest hen, and I sort of assume I'm not going to find her.

Within two hours, the flock had gone on about it's business as if neither Buddy nor the little one had ever been part of the flock. Which is very strange. They remember me, they remember where the feed is and what time of day they eat. They couldn't possibly forget the rooster they listened to so closely for so many months in just a few hours. I've reached the conclusion, perhaps sentimentally, that the flock accepted the death as a normal, expected part of life and moved on, that fast. It hasn't been that many months since I lost two hens to a hawk before I made some coop changes and their reaction at the time was very similar. People think chickens are stupid; I'm just beginning to realize how resilient they are. Like ants-knock over their hill and they just start over from the beginning again.

The smallest of the three roosters (who had always been the middle man and remains very cuddly with me) had actually gotten out of the fence somehow and away from the danger. He abandoned the ladies and earned himself a name in doing so: Noel (Coward). It doesn't really matter now, of course, since it's definitely in the chickens' best interest to go live somewhere else at this point. But Buddy... well, Buddy was a rooster of a different color altogether. And here's where the curse of the writer's vivid imagination comes into play.

All Buddy's girls and the most junior rooster were very, VERY well hidden when I got home. The dogs were all inside the house (the window is so low to the ground, even the pug can jump out and in from that height), things were very quiet. I have the strangest little John Wayne/knight in shining armor picture of what happened. See, I found Buddy in the house, almost all the way through the house. I've got a big, offending dog with a few little well-deserved wounds on her face. And while I can find clumps of feathers that belonged to the littlest hen, I can't find her. I can't get the picture out of my head that Buddy got the rest of his flock to safety, put his junior in charge and went into the house to get her a' la Bruce Willis.

Intellectually, I know that's not possible. Intellectually, I know that he got between the girls and the dog the way he should have and died because I wasn't there to stop the dog from taking a fantastically flapping new play toy back into the house. But it's a very romantic and noble death my way, isn't it? I still feel craptastically guilty, of course. They may just be chickens to most people, even to the people I know that keep chickens themselves, but they meant a lot to me. Buddy was my friend. Even though I'd decided I couldn't keep them anymore (and will move the remaining flock in the morning I suppose), I wanted to picture them as fat, happy chickens for years to come. And now I can't.

Rest well, Buddy. I'm sorry this happened to you but you did a good job with your ladies and I'm proud of you for that. I'll miss you.

Toodles,
Sarah

I'd Like My Vindication To Go, Please. Hold The Smug.

I won the unemployment appeal. Yep. I won, I won, I won. I'm tickled. Elated. Relieved. It changes so many things about my near future. Whew. I'm trying hard not to do the football end zone dance of smugness, particularly because my knees just can't take it and smugness is not a good thing. But I'm very happy. I know it wouldn't have happened without some very good advice and some very strong prayer warriors behind me. The shiny new relationship with God is an awesome thing; very much like the Verizon Wireless commercial where the user is surrounded by Verizon Wireless employees. Only this Celestial Wireless plan is (generally) invisible and does not limit my minutes of usage each month.

At any rate, now I feel a bit free to explain some of what has gone on since the DCF job ended with so much drama. So, got put on leave January 29th, lost the job permanently February 23rd. Pretty much did nothing but sress, worry, pray and go to church during that time period. During early March I did nothing but pray and go to church and whine a lot about everything. I was new enough to believing in God that I was pretty sure He'd take care of everything if I just stepped back and let Him. So I managed to put everything down where He could get to it. And get to it He did. I certainly do not have a problem free life now, by any means, but I have a fantastic new sense of peace and purpose about it which is nice. I only lose sight of that fact occasionally now, mostly on bad nights and by the morning it's generally passed.

A special note to my friends who are pagan: If you ever convert to Christianity, be prepared for some ugliness between the time you make the decision and get baptized. Make sure you surround yourself with clergy who are experienced in spiritual warfare and can help you out with what you'll be going through. For all that I thought what I was involved in for years was benevolent and for all that it appeared that way during my time with it, it sure was ugly about letting me go. There is a book in the story somewhere, I promise you.

Mid-March I decided to have a hysterectomy. Let me just say how highly I recommend this procedure, ladies. Everyone should have one. Husbands, give your wives one for Christmas. Forget the mani/pedi parties and botox. I predict groups of women having hysterectomies together to be the next big beauty treatment. I very rarely have hot flashes, take no hormones, have fewer mood swings than before and am in a lot less pain. So maybe it's just me, but I'm only wondering why I waited so long to have one.

It is incredibly interesting to me that the same abodominal incision procedure that I had two years ago to remove an ovary (which left me nauseous and in pain and lengthy recovery for months until I was myself again) was performed again this time with such different results. I wasn't nauseous at all, got out of bed and motored around the next day and left the hospital the next morning. Had it on a Tuesday, was in church kneeling carefully at the altar rail on Sunday. The nurse told me when she took the staples out that the doctor had told her he'd never had a patient do so well post op and that she herself could see a huge difference in how I felt compared to the last surgery.

Credit for that goes to God and the prayer list at my church... because they took me off the list after two weeks and I could feel a noticeable difference in my tiredness and rate of recovery after doing anything. It's really the most tangible thing I've got to offer about proving God's existence. My first and less extensive surgery, where I came home to a mom taking care of me, was much rougher and harder to recover from than the surgery with the same incision, much more extensive work done, much longer time under the anesthesia and I came home to no one but me. Had more animals to take care of this time, too. And the only other difference was the people praying for me. Enough testifying, I'm not really comfortable with it. I'm just sharing what happened, is all-my truth, if you will; you all know how I share.

So, mid-April (yeah, that fast) I started CNA school. That finished the first week of June and I went to work. If I can pass the Biology placement exam next week, then I can CLEP biology 103 and start LPN school this fall. If not, I have to take biology 103 and start LPN school next spring. I've already quit the first job, a home health job, because while I enjoy the patients immensely I'm constantly being put in positions I'm not comfortable being in. Plus when you work in a 24 hour care environment and your relief doesn't show up, you can't leave; and if the company can't find anyone to come in, you can't leave. That happened to me a couple of times, and cannot happen while I'm in school, so it was just not the right situation for me.

Believe it or not, it's also time for me to start writing again. He Waves Fire is not going to be the novella it was conceived as but I have figured out how to do a series. Given the new way I feel about certain things, the heat level is being toned way down and while the romance is a focus of the book (and will be the focus of any series, the relationship I mean), it isn't really a book about them getting groiny with each other. And I find I didn't really have a knack for writing too steamy anyway. (My friend Jackie Barbosa does... if you want love scenes that will set the page on fire or melt it down into goo, go read her.) After all, there are only so many ways you can describe an act that broken down into it's component parts is a lot like playing with legos in the mud. You're going to get dirty and the only way you'll enjoy yourself is if the right tab went into the right hole.

And I suppose that's as good a place to close as any.

Toodles,
Sarah

Previously on blahblahbiddyblog

When I last updated this blog, I was still waiting for the continued unemployment hearing to take place so that I wouldn't say anything I shouldn't. You see, a few DCF folks still find this blog really interesting and think I don't know that they do. Even though it's tacky of me, this video is dedicated to those folks. You know who you are (and those of you who know I've no problem with you also know who you are and can ignore this):



I haven't updated because believe it or not, the situation is not completely resolved yet. The PART THREE of the unemployment hearing will take place on the 28th of this month. And it is partly my fault it wasn't able to be resolved in a single hearing because I've been so darn busy-really, really, really unbelievably busy- that I didn't get my paperwork out in good time. I know this. On the other hand, DCF claimed they didn't get stuff I faxed to them, so whatever.

So, what's good to know right now? Let's see... leaving the paralegal field behind entirely. Have a new vocation, one that I prayed myself into. Nursing. I finished my CNA training in June, am awaiting a test date, and am expecting to start LPN school in August.

I'm hoping and praying to move from my current location to nearby southern Alabama (Yes, I said it, southern *ALABAMA*. I'll pause for a moment while you either laugh uproariously or recover from the shock, depending on how well you know me.)

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Better now? Okay. I have the chance to rent a small home with lots of land where I can have the small farm I've always dreamed of having, horses and all. The same family has owned this land for generations and there is no intent to sell. If this works the way I hope, I'll never have to leave.

What helped me make the decision to go was the subject property's remarkable/uncanny identical-ness to a safe space I created in my mind for a prayer exercise I was led through by someone during an inner healing session. So I'm a little freaked out by it and also pretty excited. There are things I'll be doing once I get to the land, of course, dreams I'll be able to fulfill finally. At least that's the plan.

I never hear from B and I never hear from the folks who have her unless I'm a few days late getting the subsidy payment into the mail to them. She was the first person I thought about when I heard Michael Jackson had died, because she loved him and his music and wanted to meet (i.e., marry) him. I don't hold anything against her really and at times I miss her, but so far no desire to try to repair anything; I did the best I knew how to do and got shot down repeatedly for it from all sides except the adoption caseworkers. They had no help for me, no advice, nothing but pats on the shoulder and "we think you went above and beyond the call of duty" (yes, a direct quote) and a "come see us when you're ready to adopt again and we'll find you a younger child who is a better fit." (Also a direct quote.) I think I've mentioned that before, too.

I just don't see it happening. I was too badly burned. If it had only been the situation with B, I might be willing to try again even after the loss of my job, my home, my sanity and what little self respect I'd had to start with. But it's the straw that broke the camel's back as far as people are concerned, as many of you know. The part of me that wants to be part of a family, to have a husband even, is being beaten into submission by all my wounds, scars and fears. The lions are beating the lion tamer, if you will. And one of the things I did during the downtime between losing the job and starting CNA school was have myself spayed, so there will be no natural children either, though that was unlikely to happen in the first place. So most of the time I'm happy enough alone with my animals and for the times that I'm not, there is always Hagen Daaz. Cause if there *was* a man made to be my partner, odds are he's been hit by a bus or lives on another continent. And don't even get me started on my tendency to be attracted to the completely unattainable. Blech, enough of that.

At any rate, my schedule has been insane. Since graduating from CNA school I've worked in home health and spent nights at client's houses more often than not. My animals miss me, I miss them, etc. I've been working most weekends (only not this weekend due to having a cold I caught from an elderly client and am not allowed to work) and missing church, just when I need that community the most, but at least I get to go occasionally. It'll all work out in the wash though.

Here's hoping that the next update has a final ending to the DCF employment saga. Before I go, I have to confess to a small amount of petty glee about something, a really ugly and small enjoyment of something that is really beneath me to find funny under the circumstances, but I am anyway. The attorney that I had the problems with, who worked so hard to get me fired... months later I have heard from several separate sources that she has gained a lot of weight. It's terribly tacky of me, but I have to confess to considering it a bit of poetic justice. Now just wait until the managing attorney who believed her about everything finds out how often she comes in late, leaves without permission for the day and falsifies her time sheet. Hey, not my problem, right??

Geez, if one of the priests or deacons I know reads this, I'm so going to be in trouble. But those of you who've stuck by me this long deserve to know that the old saying is in fact true: what goes around, comes around.

Toodles,
Sarah

It's Not Over Yet

They continued the unemployment hearing. We were about 45 minutes into it when the judge realized she hadn't allotted enough time to cover the issues. The state has to produce some documents for her and I have to subpoena everybody I have ever met in my entire life. Well, not really, but close.

Gotta say that even though I'm not upset or anything by the continuance, I am (hours later) still so tense, jumpy and anxious after having brought everything back up that I truly believe I have PTSD after everything to do with B and this job. My BP is through the roof and my fibro pain is yelling a big ol' howdy. Sigh.

Even though that's not where I go, I wish the Catholic Church 5 miles away had night hours-I could use some time kneeling at the altar right now.

Gotta run send a knee-mail to God... toodles,

Sarah

What Do You Mean You Want An Update???

Okay, okay... for all (one) of you that have been pestering me, I'll post a short update. And in a few weeks I'll post a more thorough one, after my unemployment appeal hearing is held.

Yes, I got fired. No, I still can't find a job. It's been very hard to deal with and I'm working through a whole lot of stuff right now. On the other hand, it has not been all bad. (Though if you feel like donating to the 'keep electricity in Sarah's house fund, by all means feel free. Okay, I'm mostly kidding about that.)

I'm hoping to feel like writing again soon, if for no other reason than to actually finish a project. I don't know that this blog will ever have anything to do with parenting again, of any kind. Funny, I was told by the adoption agency that when I healed from this and was ready to come see them about finding me another child. A younger, better fitting child. I wanted to know if they had posted a 'Lost' ad for their missing sanity yet, but strangely enough they did not find it as amusing as I did.

Thank God for my sense of humor, stalwart friends both new and old, and thank God for God. (Is that redundant?)I did not find God on the corner of First and Amistad, but I did find Him. I was baptized on Easter Sunday. Whatever faith you practice, I've seen some amazing things happen in my life recently. And I wouldn't be here now if I hadn't; I was so close to giving up completely.

I know He's breaking me down to rebuild me the way He wants me to be. Right now, however, I feel about as together and 'with it' as Mrs. Potato Head. I wonder if I can get UPS to deliver a Mrs. Potato Head to Heaven, to see if it will satisfy the apparent urge to move my ear to the middle of my forehead and put a hair bow where my mouth should be located? On the other hand, since I don't know what's going to come out of my mouth lately any time I open it, perhaps the spare parts box is where it should be anyway.

Stress wreaks havoc on your lucid moments. If anyone asks you why *my* chickens cross the road, it's to help me figure out where I left the car keys.

Toodles,

Sarah