healing

Mother’s Day – 10 Years Later

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The contradiction constricts my chest,
My ribs trying to cave because I was so blessed.

I loved you past the ticking of time,
Your death didn’t make you any less mine.

Day by day, this truth I want to defy
And yet, here we are, 10 years in the blink of an eye.

All the things I wish I could say…
Your whispered words, convincing me to stay.

“I’m proud of you”, “I love you”
“You’re beautiful, through and through”


Mom, you were the one who colored my sky blue. 
How? How am I supposed to do this, any of this, without you?

And I guess that’s the lesson I’m still trying to learn…
Just because you’re not here doesn’t mean your love doesn’t endure

I ache, I hurt, face down in the dirt.
And even there, you’re with me, never one to desert.

“I believe in you,” written in pen by your own hand,
A message through time, helping me to stand.

I’m still here, still going,
And I know, you’re totally glowing…

I’m doing the thing you taught me to do.
Surviving life because my strength came from you.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. I love you, forever and for always. <3

The Handkerchief of Hope

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This is the entry I wrote for Writing Battle; my first ever writing competition.
Posted January 17th, 2026, at 9:35pm.

This is for you, Mom. Proof that I kept, and continue to keep, my promise. <3

I sit cross-legged in my computer chair, fortunate enough to have survived the super Saiyan flu of 2026, though my body still has complaints. 

Time Travel. Champion. Handkerchief. 

How poetic, I thought. No redraws necessary. 

Instantly I go to the days of knights and fair maidens. The gallant good sir, off to fight fierce dragons, leaving his lady to await his return. I could see it… Young love, pining away at a window, struggling with fear, worry, doubt; the “what ifs” that grow like thorn-covered vines. Vicious and unforgiving as they scale the castle walls of the mind. 

Oh, and how her mother, the queen possibly, endures alongside her daughter in the unknown. Maybe the queen shares a story of her own handkerchief given in hope of a safe return. The moral being that waiting requires an unsung strength. How sometimes survival is unnoticed, uncelebrated, but heroic nonetheless…

Yet, that was not the end… It evolved, in all places, during my therapy session, not dissimilar to a Pokémon. 

I could bring the story forward. To here. Now. The present day. 

What if… instead of a fair maiden, there is a young girl, her boyfriend enlisted and deployed. What if it was about the crushing uncertainty of never knowing if there will be a “next time,” and it is this fictional girl’s mother harking back to tales of do-gooders. Her soft, steady voice explaining how maidens gave their “favor,” their love, held within a piece of cloth. How it isn’t about the object providing protection, but rather how the object holds meaning, becoming a tangible thing nurturing an abstract concept. Purpose. 

Mmmm. Yes… More solid on the time travel bit… Nice. But also… a tender thread of thought within my own mind quietly asks to be seen. Viktor Frankl and Man’s Search for Meaning. How even in the most horrific, unsurvivable conditions, life can in fact, continue. Persist. Endure.

All one needs is a reason, a purpose, to do so. 

And so… here we are… The thing to which the thread of thought led…

There… has never been room for -my- story. It isn’t nice enough, clean enough, Instagram selfie enough, to be part of most conversations… 

I have blogged… for years… I have “BBs”, blogging buddies. A few of us have exchanged addresses. I went so far as to cross-stitch gifts for some of them. Artwork in fabric made of random colored thread, my love and care made physical. A network of support, watching my story unfold as I wrote it, post by post; day by day. 

It was fun. Connective. Fulfilling. And so I continued to post, unflinchingly authentic in my lived experience. Unapologetic for my existence. 

Then, on April 4th, 2016, my world ended…

My mother died. 

At the age of 27, I found myself standing outside her hospital room, a room we were supposed to be discharged from. We were supposed to go home. I was supposed to be her caretaker… It was going to be different and scary but as long as she was alive we would figure it out… together…  

But that wasn’t my path anymore…

There was no path. There was only holding her hand one last time, now devoid of life, and promising that even though I didn’t know how, that I would keep going. For her. Somehow… Some way… 

I called Dad. Even divorced, he deserved to know. I held myself together as I looked out at the mountains surrounding Las Vegas, and said words I never thought I would ever say as the setting sun shone on devastating truth…

“Mom died.”  

I imagine that moment is what soul shattering feels like.

This… horrific feeling of nothingness… consuming my entire being, eviscerating my heart, as those words left my lips for the first time; speaking an unbearable reality into being. 

Not grief. Not anger. Not rage… 

Just… the absence of everything. Of meaning. Of purpose. Of reason to endure…

And that was my life for what felt like countless eons. 

Then… one random day, months later… a letter arrived…

Words, handwritten on stationery like ye olden days of mīn own lifetime, harking back to when cards meant something…

And with it, a handkerchief…

Mama Spike, one of my BBs, had read my post about Mom’s death…

She wrote in elegant script that she grieved with and for me. How she knew a handkerchief could not fix the agonizing wound in my chest, but it could catch my tears if I let it. It could hold my grief and sorrow. It could be there with me in the moments where I felt alone and lost and screamed in anguish. 

It is a physical, tangible thing that I can place into someone else’s hands, like a memory from the movie Inside Out, and say “This is one reason I didn’t commit suicide.”

So, dear reader, my fellow human, I regret that I have no tales of brave knights and fair maidens within this text. No triumphant hero returning from a harrowing deed to their one true love. 

Instead I have the story of me; a 37-year-old motherless daughter, approaching the decade mark of the death that destroyed me, and yet, somehow, I am still undeniably alive. 

If this is my own story to a “worthless”, priceless, piece of fabric…

I wonder…

How many champions have fallen because they were never able to hold the love of someone who cared for them? 

I… could stay silent, scared to share for fear of being “too much”…

Or… like a Noble Monarch Butterfly… I could set my story free to change the weather of the world in whatever unknown ways it might…

Like Hercules at the Crossroads I stand before Vice and Virtue. Comfort and Truth. 

I draw a deep, steadying breath…

“This is for you, Mom. For every essay you ever proofread. For every time you said ‘I believe in you.’”

…

“YOLO, bitches…” 

And thus, I cast my own handkerchief into the Web, having faith. Purpose.

Letters to Mom 025: Remembering to Love

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Hey mom,

I should have known tonight would be a sleepless night. It’s midnight. I have class, my first one of the LPN program, at 8 AM, which means I need to be leaving here around 6:30 AM which means I should be waking up around 5 AM to make sure I’m showered and packed and ready to go.

That means if I fall asleep right now, this instant, that I would get five hours of sleep. It’s not going to happen. I would rather write to you instead.

A lot has happened in a short amount of time.

I worked a billion hours the past two months or so. I’m glad that stint of my life is over. I took a vacation to see Jon. It was nice. I saw Mother Earth and Sir while I was there. We played a new game called Red Flags. I think you would have liked it.

Jon and I talked a lot while I was there. We talked about you. We talked about the fights we had at the hospital while you were there. We talked about our grief and how each of us feels about it. He’s worried that I’m stagnating and not “moving on”. He thinks that because I talked about how your birthday still hurts me. How significant events, important days, still deeply hurt and make me cry.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be “better” or whatever, but I’m not and I’m ok with that. I want your birthday to hurt. I want it to mean something to me. I want all of those days that are connected to you to still mean something because otherwise, it will feel like I’m losing the last bit of you that I still have.

I got sick while I was on vacation. To the point where Sunday morning, after flying back to Nebraska, I was coughing so hard so frequently that I started coughing up trace amounts of blood. I went to an urgent care facility but they wouldn’t see me when I described what was going on. They said that I needed to go to the ER. So I did. Ox drove me. He stayed with me the whole time. I had to have chest x-rays done. I had to have labs drawn. They gave me two breathing treatments while we waited on results because my lungs sounded so awful.

In the end, they diagnosed me with bronchitis and sent me home with an inhaler and steroids to take for five days. I sent a message to work to let them know I wouldn’t be able to cover my shift Monday due to what was going on. I don’t feel bad about it. In a year and a half I’ve called in once and I was literally in the ER.

The online portion of classes unlocked today. Since I stayed home from work I did a bunch of that stuff. It kept me busy while Ox was at work. We met in Lincoln for lunch. I tried a new soup at the Chinese place we like on Sunday after the ER visit. We had time to kill before my prescriptions were filled and I needed to try to eat something since I’ve been eating relatively poorly since Thursday. Something about my body trying its damnedest to kill me just ruins my appetite. Much lame.

Anyway, they had a seafood soup that sounded interesting. I tried it and really liked it. So much so that I asked to go there again today so I could have it for lunch. I only ate half, but that meant I had a snack later. It’s definitely a nice change of pace from the chicken broth and grilled cheese sandwiches I’ve been eating. Ox does make some pretty amazing grilled cheese sandwiches, though. Definitely not slumming it.

While we were in town, Ox and I went to Barns and Noble to look at Dungeons and Dragons books. That’s something that Jon and I did while I was in Florida. We played D&D a couple of times and it was so much fun. Ox and I looked into groups here around Lincoln and found one that meets Wednesday nights. We need to have our own books and dice, so that’s what we did today. We went and got the books we needed and the dice so we can play in a couple of days.

We’ll be able to game together, outside of the house, away from electronics. Maybe we’ll even make friends outside of work.

I don’t know why but I’m super looking forward to it even though I have yet to transfer my character information from Jon’s account to my own. There’s a website where you can keep track of your character information digitally. It’s pretty awesome and I know none of that really makes much sense to you, but I know if we were talking in person you would be smiling at my enthusiasm and happy simply for the fact that I’m happy and excited and looking forward to something.

And I guess that’s where things get weird and painful. I’m looking forward to things and it hurts. I’m kind of excited about my class and that hurts, too. I wrote posts for discussion boards and you weren’t here to proofread them. I’m having to explain all over again why I’m entering the medical field. I’m having to explain the situation we went through and how it affected me and why I feel so deeply about helping people.

I was laying next to Ox before I decided to get up and write. I was thinking about how he’s been so supportive of me over the last year and a half; how he’s been so supportive and kind while I’ve been sick. I remembered some of the conversations I’ve had with him. The ones where I said I felt like I didn’t love him the way he deserved to be loved and that I felt broken and didn’t know if I would ever be able to love the way I used to.

I do love him, mom. I wish you could meet him. I wish he could meet you. I know you want me to be happy. I remember one time, you and I were talking about pets. I think it was about Bonnie, our first cat. She was older than I was when she died. Eighteen years old. I was young. Hardly a teenager, if that.

You said something about getting another pet eventually and I didn’t understand. How could you get another cat? How could you replace Bonnie?

You explained that you weren’t replacing her. You had loved Bonnie as much as you could while she was alive. How could you deny another animal the same love and compassion simply because you hurt? How was it right to withhold something from someone else for something they had nothing to do with?

I know we were talking about pets, animals, and to some people that logic wouldn’t apply to humans, but I think I understand what you were saying back then. What you were really saying.

It’s not right of me to not love as deeply, as intensely, as passionately as I used to just because you died. I know it sucks. I know it hurts. Holy fuck, do I know how much it hurts and aches and tries to tear me apart still. I know how much I hate it and how I wish I could change it and have you still physically be a part of my life.

But at the same time, it’s not fair of me to deny Ox the level and depth of love and connection he deserves to have. The level and depth that I am able to give if only I would allow myself to give it. To accept that yes, one day one of us will die, and that will suck, horrifically suck, but that doesn’t make it right for me to not love in the now. To give that for as long as I can while we are together.

I think that’s what you would want me to do. To allow myself to love, fully, and to not deny the people in my life that simply because I hurt, or am worried about future hurt.

These are pretty heavy thoughts to be having seven hours before my first class, but there you go. Sometimes that’s just how life works I guess.

I miss you, mom. I miss you a lot. I think I’m going to try loving. Actually loving. Fully loving. Ox deserves that. The relationship I have with him deserves that. And I think, deep down, somewhere inside me, you deserve that. You raised me to be stronger than internal and emotional pain. You raised me to overcome things like this. To work through them and function past them. To learn from them.

I think I’m learning. It’s taking a while, and god does it fucking hurt, mom, but I think I’m getting there. One painful remembered lesson at a time.

I love you, forever and for always. Thanks for being my mom and for still being with me.

Daily Post 012: The Weekend And Then Some

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The game plan had been to go to the dojo for submission grappling since it’s Monday evening. I think I’m going to skip out on it in favor of writing, though. I know that sounds bad, but it’s pretty understandable when I slip in the added information that I was awake at 4 am this morning and did boxing at 6 am.

Yeah… I’ve already had a pretty intense, “holy shit, my ass is kicked” workout… I don’t really know if I want another one when I still have to wake up and do a bunch of stuff tomorrow in addition to going to class. Maybe that’s me being weak. Or maybe I should listen to my body when it protests about having to climb up the stairs.

I’m going to go with the latter and hope I don’t regret it later.

So, yeah. Things. And stuff.

I started writing yesterday but didn’t really have it in me, so I stopped about two paragraphs in.

I’m pretty sure the last day I wrote was Saturday morning before the dojo. I had a good workout. I enjoy the conditioning classes. I didn’t see Jim there, but I guess he’s been busy with work. At least that’s what Akib said when the subject was brought up. That’s sort of lame. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen him.

We pulled up the mats and swept/mopped the floor under them in preparation for the new ones. That almost makes me think I should go tonight. I haven’t seen the new mats yet… Arg. No. I’m not going to go because I’m still easing back into things. I’ve only had one solid week of working out. I want to do another week of one hour before trying to up it to two.

The instructor for the Muay Thai class posted on my Facebook saying that I did well in the class. It made me smile. There was also a picture of everyone who stayed to help with the mat clean up. It made me smile and feel connected to see that on Facebook, too. It made me feel part of the dojo family.

The day was going really well after the dojo. Came home. Made a grocery list. Switched the laundry. Went to the store. Realized while I was in the checkout line that I had left my wallet in my gym bag at home…

Yeah, that sort of sucked. I had to put everything back since I was in a store a bit further from my apartment than my normal one. I had planned to get an Arby’s sandwich after the shopping which is why I had gone to a different location. I guess that just wasn’t meant to happen.

I drove home to get my wallet which is where things took a nose dive.

Warren was awake and in the kitchen so I decided to get it over with and ask him about rent.

He said he didn’t know if he would be able to pay for March.

I was quiet for an extended period of time because never in any of my imagines did I think he would not be able to pay rent since he had said he would pay February, and didn’t, so that meant he had extra money to for sure pay for March… right?….

Wrong.

When I was finally able to half way process through my thoughts I asked why he didn’t think he would be able to pay.

Finances weren’t working out.

… How are finances not working out?

He didn’t know. He didn’t know if he wasn’t making enough or what, but he was going to figure it out.

Was there a date when he thought he would have the information?

No.

What the actual fuck?

I didn’t know what to say. How do you not know how things are not working out, and what the fuck? You can’t give me a date when you’re going to look into this information and tell me how I’m not going to be completely screwed over?

I was quiet for another extended period as the shock started bleeding into hurt. I nodded, turned around, and walked back to my car.

My hands were shaking as I drove out of the lot back to the store; the one close to the apartment this time since I didn’t want my sandwich anymore.

I sent a text my younger brother asking if he could talk.

He called shortly after I got into the store. I was standing in front of the ketchup display when I answered.

“Hey. I’m about to break down into tears in the middle of Publix and I know this is going to be an “I told you so” moment but I really, really just need you to listen to me and not say those words.”

So Jon listened to my story. He listened to me say how I felt betrayed. In the fourteen years Warren and I have known each other, in the six months since I’ve let him live here rent free, after the $4000 dollars I’ve spent to help him, and he couldn’t be up front and honest and come to me and let me know that things weren’t working out?

I had to ask, and poke, and pry, and even then I couldn’t get straight answers?

What the fuck?

How is any of that ok? How could he think any of that would ever be ok? After how he knows about my past and all of the times I’ve gotten screwed over by helping people financially and he’s going to treat me like that? He’s just going to assume after I’ve told him money is running low and I can’t cover things on my own anymore, that it’s ok to not tell me that he can’t help?

I started going from feeling hurt and betrayed to angry. Furious.

Basically where the conversation left off was getting information about removing Warren from the lease. If push comes to shove I need him to leave so I can find a roommate who will actually contribute to the apartment. I knew I needed to have another conversation with Warren, but I also knew that night was NOT the night to do it.

Big Bad and I made plans to hang out. The idea was to watch 13 Assassins. I asked if he wanted to drink.

Big Bad: Heck yeah

Awesome. I didn’t have intentions at the time to get super drunk. Just a drink, maybe two, to take off the edge of the emotional pain. I wanted to indulge a bit in being irresponsible because it looked like the future was going to be a shit storm. You know… one last hoorah before going back to the grind of figuring out the cluster fuck that my life looked like it was about to turn into.

Well… Saturday Big Bad and I got pretty… intoxicated. Yeah. We’ll go with that. Intoxicated sounds so much nicer than trashed.

We started by going out to dinner, which was nice. He wouldn’t let me pay even though he paid for our movie outing after the Warrior Dash. He said once I had a job I could celebrate by taking us out. Totally, going to remember he said I could pay and do that.

We went back to his place where we had the bit of Disaronno with Dr. Pepper. I found that mix from Frank when I went to the Cards Against Humanity nights he hosted. He hasn’t done one in a while, but that’s our go-to drink for those events. We call them Double Ds. XD

Anyway, I didn’t have much left, so when it was gone Big Bad asked if I still wanted to drink? I did, which isn’t really normal, but since I was in a “zero fucks given” mindset I didn’t care.

Yes, I wanted to keep drinking. I wanted to have a good night and not worry about being responsible or figuring things out or not having a hangover in the morning.

I most likely could have driven. We didn’t have that much, but Big Bad did instead. He drove my car since he said his truck wasn’t clean. I was fine with it. I trust him, and we made it to the store and back without incident.

I guess me trusting him to drive my car seems less like a massive leap of faith when I mention that he’s let me stay at his house unsupervised while he’s gone to pick up pizza for us. Somehow I think leaving someone alone in your house outranks letting someone with a clean driving record drive your car while you’re in it.

So yeah. We got a bottle of 151 rum and continued to mix it with the Dr. Pepper we had.

The only thing I have to say in regards to that is, “Holy crap.”

Way stronger than what I’m used to. Wicked hung over, but the night was amazing and I regret none of it.

Big Bad had birthday balloons in this kitchen. He asked if I wanted to write messages on one. He said he would write messages on the other one and then we could go outside and let the balloons go together, letting our messages leave.

I said yes.

I wrote a message to Warren #1, my current roommate who isn’t paying rent. I said that I hoped this situation didn’t ruin our friendship but that this was a situation of survival now and that I had come too far to not choose myself. I would take care of myself first before helping others and that included him.

I wrote a message to Warren #2 as well.

I guess I should backtrack a little.

While Big Bad and I were at dinner, sober, we talked about our past relationships. I told him the whole situation with Zane, before mom’s hospitalization, the events during it, and the events after her death. I think he understands my feelings better.

He told me about his ex-wife. I appreciated him opening up and telling me more about their history. I asked if in hindsight he thought the divorce was a good thing even though he was against it at first.

He said yes. There had been more bad times than good, and that he had wanted to stay together for his children, but that now he thought it was better to be separated; not only for himself but for his kids as well.

I’m not sure how, but Warren #2 was mentioned and Big Bad asked about the story for him.

It was hard. I had to stop a few times during my telling of it. But I told him. I told him everything. The fight before hand. The rape. Being suicidal afterward.

I told him that I try really hard to remain friends with my exs because I was with them for a reason. I cared about them. But Zane and Warren #2 are two people that I don’t want to see again. I can’t be “the bigger person”. I still want them to hurt the way that I and others have hurt because of them so they know what it feels like. So they know what they’ve made other people live through. I want them to hurt so they learn and become better people. I don’t think that’s a good enough reason to wish pain on others, though, so I still feel like there are issues for me to work through.

Part of working through that was writing my message to Warren #2. In my message, I said that I would not give him the power to rob me of my present. I would not allow myself to live in fear of relationships and love and kindness because of what he did to me. I remember I told Big Bad that when you’re punched in the face by someone who says they love you it makes you question what love is.

I’m not going to let my fear control me. I will acknowledge it and I will relearn how to have healthy interactions. I feel like that’s what Big Bad is helping me do.

He has been nothing but accepting of me and supportive of the things I’m trying to do with my life. Saturday night was another instance where I bared emotional scars to him. Jagged, deep, sensitive scars and instead of thinking me as broken he listened and heard me. He held my hand while I told my story, and when we released our balloons with our messages into the night sky he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him so my back was pressed against his chest.

We drank more. We got bored with the movie and instead went outside in the backyard and started a fire in the firepit. It was the first time I’ve been in his backyard. He has two dogs that he normally keeps outside so it was the first time I got introduced to them.

It felt nice being able to be drunk around someone and for it to be a pleasant, fun, positive experience. I know I’ve had a few drinks while I’m with Sir. I’ve had drinks with Frank and everyone, but Saturday was different. I have a lot of memories of being afraid to drink when I was with Warren #2 because I knew we would end up fighting and I wanted to be sober in case I wanted to leave.

I didn’t have that worry with Big Bad. I knew I was safe and that I could enjoy all of it with him. And this is where I sound crazy as an INFJ and talk about vibes and feeling things, but it’s true. It was fantastic being drunk and all of my mental barriers being down and completely open to the energy around me. I didn’t have to hold back, and I didn’t. He didn’t.

Even though we both had headaches and felt rough Sunday morning it was an amazing night. All of it. The conversation by the fire, the balloons, the sex. I regret nothing. Not even the hangover I had to suffer through.

I can definitely say neither of us wants to drink like that ever again. At least not for the next foreseeable ever, but from our conversations since Sunday morning, I think we both enjoyed it.

Sunday we had coffee together once we finally got out of bed. Which took a while.

When I got home Warren was awake again. I didn’t want to have the conversation yet, but I did let him know that Jason and Jon weren’t going to help me financially. I didn’t ask Jason or Jon if they would. I think if I worded my request right they would, but I don’t want them to because it’s not me who’s not able to hold up my end of the deal. It’s Warren and I don’t want them supporting him. It’s not their responsibility to help me help someone else. So I felt like I needed to let Warren know that. I can’t do March on my own and I’m not going to be getting help from my family.

He said he understood and would figure his side out.

I went to my room after that and continued to feel like crap, not just because I was low energy from drinking, being up late, and in general recovering from the amazing night I had, but there were the nagging guilt and building stress of returning to reality. I curled up in bed with Scarlet and stayed there for most of the morning.

Big Bad was supposed to meet Corey to give him a check for computer parts. Not sure if I mentioned it anywhere but Corey is in the process of building Big Bad a computer. I thought it was going to be a quick meeting just to exchange funds.

It turned into Corey, Chelen, and Big Bad having lunch at my sports bar. I got an invitation asking me to join them, which I did. It was nice. We sat outside in the fresh air and shaded sunlight. A breeze was blowing which felt calming against my skin.

I think going out was probably the best thing I could have done for myself. It got me out of bed and showered. It got me back outside, moving around. It got me to eat a salad of tasty awesomeness and drink some more water.

Big Bad actually asked me back to his place after lunch. I don’t know how either of us could still want or even accomplish sexy time, but the human body is amazingly resilient.

When I left for the second time I came home and ended up going to sleep fairly early. Can’t imagine why…
I woke up at 4 am. It was an “awake” awake. One of those “This is a day where things are going to get done” type of awake. There isn’t the grogginess of having to fight through sleep, the dragging of one’s self out of the warm bed. I was ready to get up. I wanted to get up. I had things to do.

When I went downstairs Warren was awake, watching TV on the couch. He works nights so him being awake so early is normal. I sat on the couch next to him and was quiet for a little bit.

Eventually, I asked, “How you would feel if our situations were reversed?”

I still felt hurt and betrayed. I didn’t want to feel like that, but how else am I supposed to feel? I really wanted to know what his perspective was.

Warren: I know you’re probably tired of helping my sorry ass. I know I would be.

We had a really long, in-depth heart to heart conversation. We brainstormed different ideas, he told me different things he was looking into. He told me why finances weren’t working out. I told him how his choices were affecting me and why I felt the way I did.

I said by him not telling me about his situation that he took away a lot of the choices I could have made had I been given more time.

I think we’re on the same page now. I think we both feel better and less “the world is ending”. I’m going to give it until Monday before pressing more on the topic. I want to see what happens in a week.

I went to boxing this morning. I came home and made breakfast.

Oh. That reminds me. Big Bad and I figured out that the end of February will be when we’ve known each other for six months. It’s odd. It feels longer than that. We had been talking through texts so I sent one saying, “Happy slightly early six months of knowing each other”

He thought it was cute.

While I had been at his house Saturday, before the drinking, he said he had gotten something for me. I have mentioned a few times how the coffee I make at home is from instant powder and how I enjoy the coffee we have together in the mornings. He uses a percolator and actual coffee grounds. It’s different from mine and I like it.

Well while Big Bad had been out shopping for things he got me my own percolator and container of coffee to have at home with me. I absolutely love it. I totally hugged the box in front of him.

I used it for the first time this morning, sending him a picture of the percolator sitting in its new place on my stovetop. It actually looks good there. Most of my appliances are black and stainless steel so the percolator blends with everything. It makes my brain happy to see a gift from someone I care about in my environment. Even better that it fits and looks like it belongs there. And it’s something useful.

Best gift ever.

After eating I got ready for class. I picked out the threads I needed for a new cross stitch project. Its something for Big Bad. I think he’ll like it and I want to do something for him. I’m not sure if he’ll be overjoyed by it or anything, but I think it will mean something to him. If nothing else I think he’ll like it because it’s cute and from Star Wars.

Class was good. We started learning about EKG pathologies. There’s a lot of them. x.x

After class, I went to my sports bar. It’s something I’ve budgeted in for the next weeks. Instead of cooking lunch I go to my sports bar for a water and small salad. I study, make flash cards, research, whatever I need to do.

It keeps me out of the apartment for longer, resulting in more light and gives me a place to work since I don’t have a separate office space at home. I don’t work well in my room.

While I was at my sports bar I got an email from my contact at the hospital. He was forwarding me a job posting he thought I would be interested in. He said if he saw any others that he would send them my way.

I took a look at the posting. It’s for a Central Service Technician – Uncertified. Basically, I would be helping to sterilize surgical equipment and setting up the trays for surgeries. Part of the job would be getting certification within the first year of being hired.

I think I would seriously like that job. Cleaning, organizing, mostly introverted work. I would be working nights, which is a little lame, but they would be on the weekend which is sort of cool. That was one of the things I wanted. A job that left my week mostly open.

With a set schedule like that, I could look at getting a part time job after my classes finish. I’m hoping this pans out. I feel like I would like this position more than the position I interviewed for on Thursday. I think this posting is new enough that it hasn’t been filled yet, and I know my resume looks way, way better than it when I applied for the patient transporter position. I have two addition certifications listed, I have the CNA and EGK certifications in progress… On paper, I look way better for an entry level medical position that what I did two weeks ago. Go me. Hopefully, it works in my favor.

So I eventually came home and applied for that after calling Jon to tell him about the posting and finishing my flash cards. It was hard to sit and finish working on them after getting the email, but that’s part of the deal I have with myself for getting lunch out. I can do it only if I do my work. So work had to be completed first, then I could dash home to create a new cover letter and go through the online application process.

Once that was done I emailed my files directly to my contact at his request. That was around 4 pm. Since I haven’t heard back from him I’m going to assume that my information won’t be passed forward until tomorrow, but I’m hopeful.

It’s awesome knowing that my contact is actively looking to help me and that he wasn’t just saying pretty words in his last email to me. He reached out to me with a posting I didn’t even see even though I had checked the hospital’s page just last night.

Currently Big Bad is waiting for me to finish writing so we can hang out tonight. We’re both tired so hopefully, it’s a quiet night we were both relax and unwind from our busy days. I’m looking forward to it, and the morning where we maybe do strength training. Tomorrow will be a dojo day for sure. Jujitsu so I can finally wear my new gi.

It’s still too clean. I need some blood, sweat, and tears on it. Can’t get my blue belt otherwise. : )