Caught in red tape

Had my board hearing on Wednesday, and I've finally cooled down to the point where I feel I can rationally comment about on it.

Verdict: 2 of the 5 1/2 days I took will be counted as personal days. The other 3 1/2 are considered unpaid days. I have to give a professional development presentation. That applies for this year. Next year, I have to take all 5 days unpaid, but I won't be considered "insubordinate" if I attend school.

Seriously, I am so frustrated by this verdict. I'm not taking time off as "mental health days" or to vacation in Tahiti the way some of my coworkers do.I am working on furthering my education in order to directly benefit the work I do here as a teacher.

My paycheck, for two full weeks, was $161, since they have yet to reimburse me for those 2 days I was awarded. So now I have to make do with $161 even though I have so many bills to pay including scraping up the money somewhere to pay board when Magic moves to his new barn on Sunday.

Thank God I moved in with my parents, and hopefully I can start to bounce back from this financially in the next few months. I'm really trying to pay my credit cards off because my balance started to skyrocket after Trevor lost his job for the tenth time. Just feel like I can't catch up or catch a break even though I'm not longer paying rent or utilities.

My Writing

Working title is "The Hardest Thing".

I'd appreciate suggestions for titles.

The highlighted portions I am debatign whether or not they need to be included in the MSS.

Check it out here

A thought

To my Lovelies:

Yes, I'm talking to you, the Readers that exist to me as wonderful, advice giving poetic bloggers. After I posted Above the Knee, several of you requested that I begin posting more of my fiction and nonfiction. I was wondering if anyone would be interested if I began posting my work to Google Docs, and linking to it in this blog. I'm sincerely interested in honest, constructive feedback from you all, since readers like you are the intended audience for the book I am working on, tentatively titled Catholic Guilt.

Thoughts?

A Book I Never Thought I'd see banned

**Just read this entry at The Write Space, an educational blog affiliated with Connecticut Writing Project-- a subdivision of the National Writing Project, Since many of my readers are in the educational field, I thought they would appreciate this story**

**I have my meeting with the Board concerning the personal days this afternoon @ 6:20. Wish me luck!**

Dictionaries and Vending Machines

Down the hall from my office are soda and snack vending machines, and both are notorious for stealing money. The Coke machine sometimes just takes your $1.25 and gives you nothing in return. The snack machine typically has food get stuck somewhere in its descent into the bin. The lucky undergrad who finds a stuck bag of Fritos can sometimes win two bags for the price of one by purchasing one of the same item and hoping it falls in such a way as to knock down the stuck bag. Yesterday I walked out of my office when I heard the snack machine being assaulted. I saw four undergraduate girls attacking the machine. One rather long-limbed girl looked as if she were trying to scale the side of the machine. She was standing at its side, feet planted wide, knees almost embracing the ends, hands clasping both upper corners. I realized she was trying to get enough leverage to tip the machine forward—while her three friends stood in front of the machine, alternately banging, punching, and pounding on the glass. If the long-limbed girl ever got sufficient leverage to tip the machine, she would surely bring it down on top of her more conventionally-limbed girlfriends.




I walked over to the assailants, stood aside in case the climber succeeded in her attempts to tilt the machine, and asked them (rhetorically) if the machine had stolen their money. All three girls in the pathway of doom replied at once. Apparently, not only had the first bag of Doritos they had attempted to purchase gotten stuck, but the second and third bags they had attempted to purchase in the hopes of knocking down the previous bags had also gotten stuck. There was now a stack of Doritos bags right about at the girls’ eye level just taunting them by its refusal to fall. The long-limbed girl was still at it, and so I asked if they had ever heard of the Darwin Awards, which are awarded each year to “those who improve our gene pool by removing themselves from it.” Basically, the award is given to people who unintentionally kill themselves in the most absurd ways, like the guy who tried to kiss his pet scorpion. When it stung him in the face, he got angry and tried repeatedly to force the now terrified and defensive animal to accept a kiss. It stung him repeatedly, and he later died from the poison. None of the girls had heard of it before, so I explained what it was, and I pointed out that I distinctly recall reading about one young man who won the award by pulling a soda machine down on top of himself. The girls seemed incredulous at first, but the climber was sufficiently credulous that she stopped wrestling the machine. I assured them that I was serious, and then left to finish my errand. I could hear them resume their banging, punching, and pounding of the glass, but no more tilting or climbing.
So I chose to share this odd story because of something I read in the paper this morning, and which inspired me to propose that we develop and grant a similar award in the field of education, maybe call it the Dewey Award or something like that, and give it to the educator's) who make the most boneheaded, educationally unsound decisions each year around the country. We’d have to have a separate category for idiots who seduce their students, or else they would dominate the awards. It seems like we have had at least a half dozen of those in Connecticut alone just in the last couple of years. But I digress. This award would be solely for educators who make unsound educational decisions—poor pedagogical or administrative decisions, not just stupid personal decisions that impact education.


Anyway, I have my first two nominees. They are Linda Carpenter and Linda Callaway. Mrs. Carpenter is the Principal of Oak Meadows Elementary School in Menifee, California, and Linda Callaway is the Superintendent of Schools for Menifee Union School District, Mrs. Carpenter’s boss. David Kelly of the Los Angeles Times reports that last week a single, unidentified parent called Oak Meadows Elementary School to complain about the inappropriate content of a book being made available to students in the fourth and fifth grades. The book? Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. The parent was particularly concerned about the dictionary’s definition of oral sex. I checked. The entry reads “oral sex, noun, oral stimulation of the genitals: cunnilingus, fellatio.” Now an isolated complaint from a single parent is not uncommon, especially about sex in a book (I still can’t get my mind around why I never hear of complaints about violence) but Mrs. Carpenter’s response was uncommon. She ordered that the offending books be removed—“temporarily housed off location”—and that a committee “of parents, teachers and administrators” be composed to meet and discuss “the extent to which the dictionaries support the curriculum, the age appropriateness of the materials and its suitability for the age levels of the students.”

I should know enough by this point in my career to not be aghast, but I am. They are banning the dictionary. Fortunately the school board president has called the decision “absurd,” and others have come forward to protest the decision of the principal. I particularly like one quote from Peter Scheer of the First Amendment Coalition. He said that when you ban books “eventually you end up with a library that is empty or partially full of dumbed-down or redacted versions of books. … Given what’s on television, let alone the internet, it is refreshing that students are actually looking up sexual terms in a dictionary. … At the end of the day, if my kid is digging through the Merriam-Webster dictionary to find words he and his friends are going to giggle over but along the way find other words they will use, I think that is a day well spent in school.”

Feel free to comment here or at the original Dictionaries and Vending Machines.

Make Up Sushi

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A Pregnant Pause

***This scene borders on TMI. Viewer Discretion advised ***

Scene: Apache and Aurora having a text message conversation about my newfound obsession with working out. Aurora was not able to work out last night due to being called in for a test shift at a local, very swank restaurant.

Aurora:   Gym for me tonight. I looked like a pregnant penguin last night in my uniform. Not amused.

Apache:  I bet you would look really beautiful pregnant.

Aurora:   *blush*

Apache:  HUGE boobs no doubt.

Aurora: Yeah, they were E's last time

Apache: WOW! Were they supersensitive too?

Aurora: Yea, I was pretty randy the entire time though.

Apache: MMM! Sounds awesome! I can't wait to see how you are when you are pregnant, since I get you pretty wound up now..but seriously, I think you'd be extremely beautiful pregnant.

***End Scene***

Umm.. okay...he is talking about me being pregnant with (assumedly) his child. In my experience, guys don't just randomly discuss this stuff with women they are casually dating. Should I take this as a scene he definitley is thinking about us becoming much more serious in the future? Even when I thought I was pregnant, he wasn't too freaked about it.

Thoughts?

The Difference Between Men & Women

When I read the post by Cheryl at Confessions of a Twenty-Something year Old, I immediately agreed with her. After all, Dawson and I are best friends, and even though he and I have tried the dating thing once or twice, we always come back to this nice, easy, albiet a little too comfortable friendship. Men & women can be platonic best friends.

Less than 12 hours later, I went out to the a local bar to join girls for country line dancing. I'm trying to get into the workout groove again, but there are just some days I don't  feel like running on the treadmill or sweating profusely to the Firm's videos. Line Dancing seemed like the perfect idea to get out of my house and dance away this funk that's been hanging over my head.

Dawson met me after he got out of work, and I was a little tipsy-- the caloric gains of dancing were negated by the four diet coke and Bacardis I consumed. Whoops. He texted Apache to let him know that he was there with me, reassuring him that even though I would never "Jody" him, he was still there to watch my back. Oh, and commented that I had lovely clevage that night. Apache, who knows Dawson well, laughed and asked him to send a picture. lovely.

So this woman I spent much of the summer bar hopping with (she's a friend of a friend) was there, and she was pleasantly surprised to see me there. She joined Dawson and I for a chat, and when she left, Dawson goes, "Who was that?" like the Cookie Monster who has just spotted a pizza size cookie. Dawson is fresh out of a relationship, and though he has several other females who he is "talking to" (read: fucking), he apparently wanted to add to his harem.

Do any of you ladies have "friends" who you just hang out with at a certain place-- like the gym, the bar, whatever, but would never consider a "bosom buddy?" This woman, hereafter known as Cougar, is one of those women. she's funny as HELL to be with at a bar, and since men swarm to her like bees to pollen, she's good for, shall we say, business (at least when i was single).  She's an alcoholic, possibly a drug addict, and I can't trust her as far as I can throw her, and I'm pretty sure she's carrying one or more diseases.

Now, I NEVER cock block Dawson. Hell, I'd hook him up with good friends because he is that good of a guy. So, my issue with Cougar is NOT about jealousy. And he's always been the one to stop me from making stupid in lust mistakes. So, I attempted to warn him about this woman and how he might end up needing to stock up on pennicillian.

Does he listen to me? Abso-fucking-not. He takes her home, fucks her about a dozen times (because he was a little "pent up"), and then proceeds to tell me how good in bed she was. And, oh, he didn't use protection because she "told him she was clean." He was sober, so being drunk is no excuse.

He's proud of this fact because, "I've never just picked up a chick and took her home to fuck before." Lovely.

I get this story at 7 am this morning--well before my coffee hits my brain-- and I lose it. I mean reallly lose it. Where I might have once tried to counsel him "off of the ledge," I'm not going to. That's just disgusting, and I tell him so.

He calls several hours after the tongue lashing, to explain himself:

Dawson--my wonderfully loving best friend that will make some lucky woman a devoted husband-- has decided its not worth it to be nice any more, since he keeps getting walked all over, so he's going to be a man whore. His new mantra in life echoes David's from The Rest is Still Unwritten:

My new outlook is I don't give a fuck about women because they don't give a fuck about me. From now on, in my mind, they are only good for one thing - getting me off. They can fuck me and then get the fuck out. I don't want to get to know you and I don't want you to get to know me. I'm not your boyfriend. I'm not even your friend. I'm just some guy you're fucking. A guy that uses you just like you use him. Afterall, you're going to fuck me over in the end anyways, so let's just cut to the chase and do the fucking up front.

He also has decided he's going to drink every night, and doesn't really care if he loses his job (yes, he has an apartment, car payment, and bills just like the rest of us).

I just feel like this philosophy is so counterintuitive to his goals. He's just going to end up being unhappier (more unhappy?) than he was to begin with, when he finds himself pummeling into debt.

Maybe men and women really can't be platonic friends for reasons that have nothing to do with sex. I can't understand this philosophy AT ALL-- I think it's a guy thing. Apache is offering no insight--he works with Dawson at the power plant, so I think he just wants to remain outside of the conflict. 

I mean, I do understand that he's sick of being hurt -- though he has a tendency to choose women that "need" him (ie: single moms). And there are women out there, not all of them, who are looking for a generous guy like him with a decent job to become a surrogate dad. He's had two women like that within a space of a year. It just seems counterintuitive to decide that he's just going to fuck and run, when the women that are going to be willing to accept such an idea, are not going to be women he should date.

And it goes without saying the risk factor for getting someone pregnant, getting an STD, or being the victim of a swimfan. 

Am I crazy for being so upset about this?

Yesterday's Email from Apache

Yesterday, Apache asked me what I thought of him. And in return, I asked him to answer the same question about me:

*

Hey Beautiful,
I keep re-reading your thoughts about how you view me. It's so hard for me to see any of that stuff in myself.
You are such an amazing woman and part of my attraction to you is that you don't see that. You don't intimidate me at all. I can say that because I've never considered myself a ladies man. I don't have "game". I've never walked up to a woman in a bar and tried to pick her up. I'm way too shy in person for that. I don't feel like that at all with you. Even that first time you came over my apt it felt really easy and natural.
You mentioned how it doesn't bother me that you are pretty intellectual? That's exactly right. I love the fact that you are without a doubt smarter than me. I can't stand stupidity as you may have noticed. I don't like ditsy women at all. You definately not like that.
I love how kind and thoughtful you are of others. Even though you've had some pretty bad shit done to you, you haven't let that color how how view people in general. I have a hard time doing that but you make me want to change that about myself.
The sexual side of you is undeniable out of this world! I love how you like to experiment with what's pleasurable and don't close yourself off to new experiences. You're right we are so alike in that sense. We're both even a little scared to show that part of ourselves to others.
So you see, I can't help but be attracted, drawn actually, to you. I just can't help myself and I'm totally fine with that. You are helping me in so many ways I can't even begin to explain or thank you enuf for. I hope that gives you a little insight that you were looking for. Ttyl beautiful.

*

*Blush* Thoughts, all?

Above the Knee

**A Piece of Fiction I've created at Lesley. I welcome your comments and critiques..** 

Mama said, “Never Shave above the knee.”

She taught me to prop my foot up against the hot faucet. Smooth the cool foam down wet calves. Hold the razor gentle in the dominant hand. Start at the base of the leg just above the anklebone on the side of the leg. Start by gliding the razor gently up the leg above the anklebone. Rinse the razor well every two inches. Don’t press too lightly. Don’t press too hard. You will get cut. Start at the bottom after each uphill journey, and work back to the top. Run your hand up to check your work.

Mama said, “Never shave above the knee.”

I shaved above the knee because I wanted him to touch me there, to slide calloused palms up my legs. I wanted him to marvel at the silky firmness. Be completed to rise his hand towards the dripping wet there.

Mama said, “good girls don’t shave above the knee.”

He said if I shaved there he would duck his dark head between my tights—promised me sensations I’d never felt before. Promised he’d snake his tongue into virgin wetness.

Mamma said, “only sluts shave about the knee.”

I shave above the knee now to hide the fact I once did The hair there is no longer soft and pale like the hair on my forearm used to be when I was young. Mamma sees my legs in the summer time, when bathing suit bottoms replace pants and jeans. Dark stubble looks out of place in the summer time.

Mamma said, “Don’t lie, girl, you’ve been shaving above the knee.”

He inspects my work each morning, pulling me on the bed, running hands up damp calves and sticky thighs. The satisfied groan he makes deeps in his chest when he feels no hair pleases me. I shave to make him sound like that each morning.

Mamma said, “If you shave above the knee, you’re gonna get cut.”

I can’t shave above the knee now. The baby in my belly blocks my view. I ask my best friend to come over and do it for me. He doesn’t seem to notice. He leaves each day before I wake. He works long hours to provide for the baby we’re too young to have. He comes home late at night, curling around my enormous belly and sleeps.

Mamma said, “Girl, you better shave above that knee.”

He never used to shave for me. I’d lace my fingers through the thick, erotic tangles on his chest as I fell asleep. I ignored the devilish vines encircling his thorn, and cried out in pleasure-pain when he rubbed day’s old growth into my neck.

He comes home, later than usual. Curls up far from me. The baby has just fallen asleep. Tired. I turn towards him. Wanting. Needing. Lonely. My face meets bare chest. Smooth cheek settles into the crook of my neck. Strange perfume settling in his dark hair. Naked tears wet my pillow as I turn away.

Mamma said, “Girl, you shoulda never shaved above the knee.”

Energized

Lesley University's graduate residency is heavenly. Like seriously, I walk in here and literally hear "The Hallelujah Chorus" because I suddenly am surrounded by people who think, read, and write like me. It is, as Robert Frost says in "Directive,"Here are your waters and your watering place./Drink and be whole again beyond confusion."

I will have very little time to write this week though you will find I probably will become more prolific in the weeks ahead. Though we have only done one writing exercise, this community charges me with it's energy. I can't wait to put pen to paper, fingers to keys in a fervor I haven't felt in years. I am making it my goal to develop my voice and persona for the memoir I'm writing-- and I feel like this blog is where I develop that voice--a character that is me, but not totally.

I want to ask those readers out there for suggestions of books that I can read--memoirists and essayists that write about similar topics, though in different ways and perspectives that I can read, imitate, and learn from to add breadth to my writing. I need to put together a study plan for the next semester and am charged in supplying some of my own reading.

Any suggestions?

Aunt Flo's late arrival

I AM NOT PREGNANT!

I woke up this morning to find Aunt Flo knocking on my door.

I really think it was stress. And several things happened yesterday that made me much less stressed.

1. After avoiding the scale for two weeks, I went back. Apache and I had gone out almost every night of the ten days he was home, and I was drunk for several of those nights off of high calorie drinks (IE: martinis & Grateful Deads). I stripped down to thin nylon shorts and a tank top with a shelf bra, and gingerly stepped on the scale. I lost 1.4. HOLY CRAP! I'm thinking that it was all the "activity" I did *evil grin* (hence the pregnancy paranoia-- seriously,  I counted. We had sex 27 times in 10 days. And if I had actually jumped him in his sister's guest bathroom, in my car after Ihop, and at the Armoury like I was thinking of, it could have been 30. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing too.. *evil grin again*)

2. I got to talk to Apache last night on the phone. He and I have been texting back and forth, obviously, but when he arrived at  Fort Polk, he said that he probably wouldn't be able to talk to me every day because there is horrendous service down there, and he is sleeping in a tent, so outlets to charge his cell are scarce. So imagine my surprise last night when I awoke to a phone call from him *awwww* it was nice to hear his voice because I can tell just how he is from the tone of his voice.  Soo...needless to say I went to bed rather happy.

3. I had dinner last night with Dawson who is a veteran of the Iraqi War. We talked alot about my fears of Apache going over to Afghanistan. He eased my fears in some respects, and help me brainstorm things to send him in care packages. As he said it doesn't really matter what I put in the packages and letters as long as I send them, because there is no better feeling for a soldier to be able to go to the mail room and pick up something knowing someone cared enough at home to send them a package. So, my first package to him will be for valentine's day--I'm going to send him some sheets (that I already slept on so he can smell my scent) and a mattress pad plus a few treats and a few sexy things (he loves Wicked Weasel panties-- not for him to wear, obviously), like a Love Ewe.   And the next one will be for his birthday. I'll probably end up sending him some party decorations, some silly toys, etc. I guess apparently the sillier the stuff you send them the better.

Dawson also "volunteered" to take sexy pictures of me. He's my best friend, I trust him with my life, and I know Apache would be okay with that since they are really good friends.  So, I'm going to work hard on losing the weight, and take some of those after he comes home for R&R in April.

Any suggestions for care packages?

birth control anxiety

I hate being female sometimes. The slower-than-a-tortise metabolism, the lack of upper body strength, all of those things i can handle. However, the pregnancy paranoia sucks. After being pregnant last summer, I spend the days following my last Birth Control pill obsessively checking the bathroom and agonizing over whether or not I am pregnant.

I took my last pill late Friday night. Aunt Flo has yet to stop by for her monthly visit. I've taken three pregnancy tests, two last night in the Wal-Mart bathroom, on this morning-- all say "not pregnant," yet still good ol' Flo is no where to be found. I bought the good pregnancy tests, Clear Blue Easy... the ones that say "Not Pregnant" so I can't fuck them up. They were the ones that said I was pregnant when I really was.

Apache is not Jay. I know he wants kids. He knows that I am "late," and his response was that he hopes I'm not only because he wouldn't be around when the child was born. Plus, he knows that we can't exactly afford a baby right now.  I don't want to have a baby right now. I don't want to rush my relationship with Apache, I don't want to jeopardize my job, I don't want to add another stress in my life; and I don't want to gain more weight. I want children when I'm ready, in another year or two, when I have my Master's, but not now.
So, maybe I should stop panicing. After all, stress just make it later, right? And I have stress in spades these days-- between Apache leaving and that whole personal day fiasco that is STILL unresolved-- even though I leave for grad school on Friday.

I just called my OB/Gyn because I need, need, need some closure on this so I can stop stressing. I have way too much to accomplish in the days before I leave for grad school, and stressing about being pregant, when I most likely am not, is not helping.

Am I crazy? Does any one else have panic attacks like this too?

***UPDATE***

The GYN just called. He doesn't want to see me. Says to just go ahead and start my next pack of birth control as normal because a) I had three negative pregnancy tests, and b) missing periods sometimes happens when you have been taking birth control for a long time, and c) stress is probably the leading cause it all this. So, I'm going to try to explain that to poor Apache, and pray that my GYN knows what he's talking about.

I'll be seeing you

Before I post, I just want to ask about how I can make my comments interactive-- in that if I reply to one of my comments the poster is notified of my comment? Anyone know how to do this?

To reply to Smart Ass Sara: I know exactly what you are saying. However, my problem with Doc was not really the fact that I never saw him, but that the intent to see me obviously was not there. With Apache, we are facing at least a 4 month seperation. However, I do not doubt that he wants to see me.  I do not doubt his feelings for me. He kept all of the plans that he made with me for the 10-day leave plus made more. That means something to me.

Last night, I drove up to meet Apache at his sister’s house. Apache obviously wanted to be any where but there, so we drove to a tavern around the corner, had a few drinks. Unbeknownst to me, Apache hadn’t eaten anything all day, so he was quite drunk after 3 Patron and Cokes. He wanted sushi as his last meal, however we got lost on the way to the sushi place so IHop it was.


A Word of Advice: Stuffed French Toast (his) and Crepes with Nutella and bananas (mine) does not sit well with stomachs already filled with hard liquor. DogFace was texting him the entire time we were there. He obviously knew that I was upset, but I refused to tell him why. It hurts that he can’t just “exorcise her” from his life, but I know that it’s not that simple. As long as he is with me and the divorce is moving along, I am not going to begrudge him his wish to have as amicable as possible divorce. Whether it was the booze or the stress of the situation, I did get emotional about it—which made him emotional because he had no clue what was upsetting me. Luckily, he handled it perfectly—wrapping his arms around my waist as we walked back into the house, asking me to cuddle with him in front of the fire place.

It was a really long and sleepless night. Apache fell asleep a few times, thanks to the Patron. I cuddled into him, breathing in his smell—trying to memorize it. He uses Old Spice Body Spray (kinda like Axe), so I might buy some to use as linen spray at home (heh heh). I had bought a card at CVS on the way up to his sister’s so I spent some time writing a letter in it that I tucked into his backpack.

5 am arrived much too quickly, and we spent a few minutes with him sitting on the ottoman and me on the couch just holding each other. He asked me what I was going to miss most of all, and I said other than actually being in his arms, his smell. Without another word, he pulled off his tee shirt and handed it to me, so that I could keep it under my pillow and smell him whenever I needed to. I plan on sending him a stuffed animal when he finally arrives in Afghanistan sprayed with my perfume.

He left to shave and get dressed, and his mother came upstairs. Noticing that I seemed a little nauseous, she offered to make me some dry toast. I really, really like his mom. I felt immediately welcomed by her. Apache came back in the room, looking SO handsome in his ACUs. I felt really emotional at that moment, knowing that in just a few hours he’d be gone and it will be months before we are together again. But I was SO proud of him, too. He’s my soldier.

His mom, Apache, and I got in the car, picked up his aunt, and drove to the Armory. Knowing that our conversations from there on in at the Armory were not going to private, I texted him: “*kisses*

His response: “I’m falling for you, baby. ”

We arrived at the armory, and joined the other families there. They had chairs, coffee, and danishes ready for us, but Apache and I sat in the chairs, holding hands. His aunt and mom peppered me with questions, I think recognizing from our joined hands and intimate body language that he and I are much more than friends.

At 9 am, the call went up that the busses had arrived and it was time to go. We went outside to the busses, and shared our last goodbye. He hugged his mother, aunt, and I leaned into his embrace, expecting just a hug—not sure if he was ready to confirm to his mother and aunt what I was to him. He lifted my chin in his hands, and kissed me for a long time. I felt his hot tears splash against my cheek and it took all I had not to cry too. I didn’t want to. I wanted to show a strong front to him.

He walked away to join his buddies as we ladies watched, wiping away tears. A few minutes later, he came back for another goodbye—a longer hug and an even longer kiss before he had to join formation. As they “chanted” (not sure what the appropriate terminology), I grew even more sure that he is going to be okay. He’s not just strong, together they are Army Strong. In formation, he seemed relaxed. I know that when he gets there, and realizes his purpose, he will be okay. He kept turning his head, looking for us in the crowd and smiling. Finally, the formation disbanded and I expected him to walk towards his bus. However, he ran towards us for one final hug. His kiss then was stronger, fiercer, and his voice was raw with emotion as he whispered in my ear: “I AM coming back.”

He got on the bus, turning for one last wave, and that was that.

I texted him with exactly how proud of him I was.

His response: “Thank you for everything baby. It was an awesome week. I’m glad I spent it with you. “ He read my card as the bus pulled away, and let me know that it had made him cry.

The ladies and I left and I joined his mom at her house for a cup of tea as we talked about a lot of things. I thanked her for allowing me to be there when she said good bye, and she smiled: “{Apache} wanted you there. I know you love him, and he loves you—that’s obvious.”

We haven’t said those words yet, though I want to. I’m not rushing this whole thing with him. I am letting him take these steps in his own time. And he will. It was him, of his own doing with absolutely NO hinting from me, to invite me to his New Year’s Eve party then to see him off this morning. It was him that asked if he could give his parents my contact information.

I reaffirmed my promise to him that I will wait for him today, and he expressed regret that I am “putting my life on hold” waiting for him. I told him that I truly believe this separation will be good for us.

“1. I am in grad school. I would be neglecting you anyway if you were here. I have to concentrate on grad school. And when you come back, I will almost be done. . It forces us to talk. Im not sure about you but it felt like I knew you so well when you came home. That’s kinda bizarre for me when I’ve only known someone for a few months. 3. It’s not like you’re in boot camp. We have letters, texts, email, skype, Aim, phone calls—all of those things to keep us connected. 4. I am here to support you through everything and vice versa. 5. I live with my parents. My parents love you. A Chastity Belt is not necessary.”

So, my dear readers, I am alone, but not. Whenever I start feeling sad, because I miss him, I remind myself how lucky I am to have someone so special to miss. And my struggle is to support him in his even bigger struggle to survive in a foreign country that does not want him to be here. He doesn’t want to be there. He spent much of the last two days crying and apologizing for putting everyone through this pain. I’m going to be as strong as I can for him. I’m counting on you, my dear readers, to support me. I’m using this time to focus on me- to start my grad school and get as fit as possible so I can be one sexy “Army Wife” when he comes home.

Lord, grant me the greatness to see

The difference in duty and his love for me

Give me the understanding to know

That when duty calls he must go

Give me a task to do each day

To fill the time when he is away

And Lord, when duty is in the field

Please protect him and be his shield

Baby, I'll wait for you....

A lot has seperated in the days since I last posted.

Doc & I have broken up of my own request. I am not going to date someone that cannot find time his infintely  busy schedule to see or talk to me. Quite literally, I have gone a month between most of his visits. Despite his protests that he wants a relationship with me, his actions do not show it. I cannot be with someone who continually breaks dates on me because he'd rather work. Am I concerned that he was cheating on me? Not really--- I knew him for a year before we got together, and he is a workaholic. I just cannot be with someone I cannot count on because it's quite obvious that I am not a priority for him.

With that being said, it's going to come as a shock to you all that I've fallen in love. With Apache. After spending countless hours on the phone and web cam with him while he was at mobilization in Indiana, he came home on December 23. I picked him up at the Armory-- and thus began a week and a half of pure bliss. After all the time we spent talking, I wasn't shy. We spent most of the week together-- going to Kareoke, Club Hell, and seeing Avatar 3D and Sherlock Holmes. Each day has brought us closer and closer together. He took me (of his own request!) to his family's new year's eve party last night.

He leaves tomorrow for Indiana, Lousiana, then Afghanistan for the next year. I know it's going to be difficult, especially for a beginning relationship. But Apache has shown me he wants to be with me, something that Doc could not. From the texts, emails, and phone calls I could count on to him asking me to be his date to family functions and introducing me to his friends as his girlfriend, I know that I've found something special here. He brought me home this afternoon and I expected to say good bye to him here. As I turned to hug and kiss him goodbye, he asked me if I would go with him to his mother's house tonight. He wants me to go with him in the morning to say goodbye at the bus stop. I was floored. I never asked or suggested that-- he said he wasn't ready to say goodbye to me yet.....

As for him and DogFace, he's done with the relationship. She could only give him a few hours of the two weeks he spent in CT, and barely speaks to him. He plans on filing for divorce when he has access to an Army lawyer, probably in Lousiana.

I'm happy.. happier than I've been in almost a year. The circumstances are not ideal, but the pieces just seem to fit. I didn't begin talking to him, hoping to fall in love with him or lure him away from DogFace. It's simply what happened.

And so, my dear Readers, i'm going to need all the help I can get.

(he was wicked  tired here)