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I don't talk much about me, except for here. I guess you could say I'm a good listener which makes me popular with all the self-absorbed creatures on Big Ernie's good green earth. Reckon you could say it's sort of a compassionate tolerance that life has given me for the circle of life. Puttin' a PC spin on it....I just like to hear people's stories and weave mine into theirs. Nine times out of ten, I see the glass as half-full. If you're a user, I can spot you a mile away and might listen to the tale of woe for one or two rounds, but that's my limit. Life is too short to waste bitchin' about the service at last night's dinner or how life has failed you. Get over it.

I'm a hard worker....always have been. Making a living as a healthcare provider is one of those Catch-22 sort of deals where you have to do the best you can when you can and forget it when you leave. I didn't always do that, ya know. Back in the day I worried over patients and their families that I met while workin' double shifts on call. As I recall, there was no shift diff or any other incentive other than knowing I needed the job to pay my part of the expenses and help raise the BabyGirl up right. We're at that comfortable spot now where I see the cows coming home in her life choices, and I gotta tell ya...that's a sweet feeling. Back when she was in the second grade her teacher told me this tale. Me and BG started chattin' about the birds and the bees early on so she was right on with the anatomically correct version of things. Ms. Veneda was teaching punctuation that day, and when they got to the the comma, BG remarked that it looked just like a sperm! Think about it, y'all.

I married young and for all the wrong reasons. Guilt. Boredom. Transition. There was never a romantic moment in the whole deal. He and I both had issues that didn't mesh very well and we were both too lazy to do something different. Besides, there was a babygirl in the middle of all that dysfunction, five years in. We did the best we could, and she appreciates that fact.

There was this high school sorority at DHS that involved a whole bunch of hazing and conforming, and my mama was a past president of said organization so I reckon I was a legacy. The problem was this....old Poops was a bonafide anti-establishment hippie who listened to Cream and Jimi Hendrix and the like. Country Joe and the Fish. Crosby Stills Nash & Young. Janis and Big Bro. Marshall Tucker. Y'all don't get me started on THAT shit. Soooooooo...while the rest of 'em were gettin' hit in the head with eggs and bowing down to the members at the municipal park, I slept in and hung out with my different friends. Art was their passion....music, drawing, writing. Photography. Jewelry making and basket weaving and onandonandon. To this day, a perfect date with SugarDaddy would be unlimited spending at Pier One and a case of beer + a doobie with a coupla days off to follow. Simple kind of girl.

Gettin' older has been a big fat blessing, in spite of the aches and pains. Once I busted out from that mama/good girl mode and started doing things that made ME happy, life just seemed to throw opportunites my way and you can be damn sure I grabbed the brass ring when it went by. Since I became a single gal, money has been t.i.g.h.t. It's amazing how I've learned to appreciate the little things like growing shit. And burning shit. And writing shit. And cookin' shit. And taking pictures of shit. Never you mind that I'm a born again virgin. That's a story for another day.

Y'all keep the faith, umkay?

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