I'm a Little Bit Angry, You're a Little Bit Rock and Roll

Being a diabetic sucks.

There, I said it. I don't say it very often because, well, 1) it's all I've ever known and 2) there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

There is no cure, though promises were made to the contrary to a baby me three decades ago. Honestly, I don't see a cure happening anytime in my lifetime. Mostly because of television commercials talking about advancements in medical science making it possible for you to go from Jean-Luc Picard to Wesley Crusher in one month*. I'm not sure why medical science should be spending it's time on such trivial things as hair loss, but that's the way this world works.

If you can't tell, I'm a bit depressed about my disease today. There are certain things that most juvenile diabetics have in common. A need to over-achieve, hopeless loyalty, and extreme discipline are some of the better qualities most have, but one of the most devastating is depression.

I have been working really hard to get my health back on track. Falling into that discipline was easier than I thought it would be. But the frightening realization that I was experiencing my first side effect of the disease has helped me keep my eyes on the prize. I am down from smoking a pack a day to four and a half cigarettes yesterday and so far one and a half today. I have a quit date of a week from Wednesday but I don't like to think about it. It causes a bit of anxiety.

I know many of you have to be thinking, why not just quit now, are a few cigarettes a day really worth it? The answer to that is, yes they are. At least right now. On top of everything else I am trying to do, those few smokes a day (and a wonderful thing called Wellbutrin) have kept me from committing murder on numerous occasions.

I have been keeping really tight control on my sugars. Maybe a little too tight. Normally, I would want my sugars to be between 80 and 180. I have been trying to keep mine below 120. I guess it comes back to that discipline.

Most people don't understand what it means to take care of yourself when you have Juvenile Diabetes. They think all it takes is to cut out sugar, sweets, soda. God, if it were only that easy. You see, go into your kitchen, open your fridge, pull out your milk. See on the nutritional guide where it says total carbohydrates? Yep, even milk is an issue for me.

Fruit, yogurt, some veggies and even some meats are as well. It is very difficult to find anything that doesn't have carbs in it. Now, I'm not allowed to cut them from my diet completely, but I do have to account for every single one of them. There is no such thing as a free carb for me. To be honest, if any of you are trying to count "net carbs" or "digestible carbs" you are all fooling yourselves. Carbs are carbs folks. Yes, things like milk or fruit are better carbs than cake or candy, but that is because of the sugar. Carbs are carbs, no matter how creative companies get with their packaging.

Now, imagine a home where every meal is made from scratch. Where there aren't those handy little guides to tell me how much insulin I should be taking for my homemade spaghetti. It's been a bitch to keep such tight control, and this is a lifetime thing. I haven't always been good about testing, but worrying if I am taking too much or too little insulin has always been an issue.

Here's why I am so down right now.

I made a nice meal Wednesday night. Ham with a homemade glaze and a seasoned veggie medley. After Googling carb values for carrots, potatoes, horseradish and brown sugar, I gave myself what I thought was the proper amount of insulin. While eating my dinner, I could feel my sugars dropping. I had Jero grab me another piece of bread and butter, to no effect. I ate some peaches, nothing. I remember saying I was scared. I remember telling Jero that something was really wrong. Next thing I knew, I was lying in my bed with my mom hand feeding me some fruit. I had a sandwich in my hand and was refusing to eat it. I do not remember going to the bedroom. I do not remember the massive amount of applesauce I ate. I do not remember being combative about the food they were trying to feed me.

My mom and Jero saved my life that night. I have not had an insulin reaction like that since I was a very young girl. My blood sugars were apparently in the thirties for quite some time. I ended up going into work late the next day because I felt like I had been hit by a bus full of pixie sticks. My sugars were sky high and my eyes hurt along with just about everything else in my body. My stomach was rolling because I simply do not eat that way.

I still don't know where I went wrong. I still don't know how I bottomed out so fast. All I know is that I AM PISSED.

There is just no way to keep things like that from happening. It's going to happen. I'm trying to keep my sugars at a rate I would have difficulty keeping them even if I was on an insulin pump. I am so damn stressed out. I am quitting smoking, trying to lower my cholesterol, and living in a house where I have had no personal space for over two years. Supporting my mom has become so financially burdening that I never know how we are going to pay our bills let alone support my disease. The lack of privacy is hard on Jero and I. And I am angry.

I am at war with myself all day long. I am angry that nobody gets it. Angry that after the last time I mentioned my eye surgery I got responses about "asking for help" and "doing this to myself". Angry that my diabetes takes over six thousand dollars a year just to maintain WITH INSURANCE. Angry that I can't find support out there because I have a job. Angry that my home isn't my home and nobody seems to understand that I just want some time to myself. Angry that I have to postpone our wedding for an unknown amount of time. Angry that I have to apply for service after service with the goal of being denied so that I can qualify to have my next eye surgery paid for. All of that anger? Well, it leads to guilt. The guilt? It goes straight to depression.

The depression makes me angry. It's a vicious cycle and I am just so overwhelmed.

I think some of that anger has come from fear. When I was young, those lows never really worried me, they were just part of being diabetic. Just the normal response of my body to swimming, P.E., riding my bike, my dad's death, my SATs. My body has never responded well to stress. It's just...normal. But that night scared the shit out of me. I find myself so insulin shy that the easiest response is to just not eat. But I have to eat, and I am, but I'm all jumpy, which leads to the anger, guilt and depression.

I love my mom, I don't want to feel so resentful.

There is another side to that though. It's the side that wonders how a woman can see what this disease has done to me since I was a baby and still eat her way into it herself. People make jokes all the time, or lightly say, "I'm sure I'm pre-diabetic", and it infuriates me. It feels like a personal bitch slap. Like, oh, this disease is no big deal, I'll just eat another cookie, la di da. So, the resentment isn't just about my lack of personal space, or the fact that I can't just be by myself for a little while, it is also about her and TOO MANY OTHERS choosing to have a disease I have been waiting 30 years for a cure for.

Okay, I have vented and wasted your time for too long and I don't really feel any better. I know the comment I made about type 2 diabetics is going to get some nasty feedback. I do know that not all type 2 diabetics choose this or have done this to themselves, BUT many of them do and have. That is just the plain truth, and if I have offended you, well, I'm not sorry one bit. If you have the rare type of Type 2 Diabetes that was not caused by poor diet and exercise, I was not talking about you so get your panties of that wad and relax. Stress isn't good for us remember?

If you ARE one of those diabetics who continues to do this to yourself, do me a favor and hand over your health insurance to someone with cancer, Parkinson's, MS or one of the million real chronic illnesses that are causing people to go bankrupt all over the country. Because I honestly feel that the studies into your type of Diabetes are just as silly as the ones focusing on male pattern baldness.

I am now stepping off my soap box to go prepare my bucket for cleaning the eggs off my car that are bound to be there tomorrow.

Hug those babies, eat a pickle (they are a diabetic free food) and don't hate me forever.

*Come on fellow nerds, that was one SWEET** Star Trek reference.

**Pardon my pun.

Sometimes Being a Yatch is All I Have to Hold On To

I ran by Wal-Mart today. I know, I really need to stop going to the Shadle Wal-Mart because bad things happen there (yes, I am referring to the hiked up skirt incident) but then what would I blog about?

I am walking through the parking lot, and I have just buttoned my keys into my coat pocket and pulled my hood up. This truck full of camo covered hicks drives up slowly and yells something at me. I thought they had told me I had dropped something out of my pocket. So I look down at the ground and reach for my pocket.

Cue redneck laughter.

I suddenly realize that they have yelled that I have dropped my pocket.

Hicks: Got ya!

Now, I am not proud of what came next. But they had not, in fact, "got me".

Me: Hey, I think you dropped your girlfriend! Oh yeah, you never had one!

Then I flipped them the bird.

I know, I know. It was totally a snotty thing to do, Immature. Definitely took the low road there. But come on, hillbillies, if you want to "get" someone, you make sure you aren't driving by in a diesel truck that makes what you are saying hard to hear. And besides, sometimes being a biatch is the only thing I have to hold on to,

Someday You'll See Us On the News

If there was ever to be an investigation in our home, I think Jero and I would be arrested. Seriously, our animals are trying to frame us for murder.

Last week, Oz took to eating leaves. Pee leaves to be exact. Not sure why, I Googled it but Google turned out to not be terribly helpful. Said he could be doing it to purposefully throw up, or he could be doing it for attention. Either way, for 48 hours, while I was recovering from bronchitis, I cleaned up massive amounts of vomit off our carpet.

On a side note, I also had to do laundry that day and was forced to go into the basement, where I dropped the fabric softener sheets in a crevice and FISHED THEM OUT MYSELF. I totally rocked that day. I was invincible.

So, after cleaning up doggie stomach contents and only throwing up twice myself, it seemed as if our carpet was saved from the worst of it.

Today, Jero and I were talking about zombie ants, no really they exist. It was in Scientific American, Google it. I would link it, but I haven't learned how to do that yet. I've been too busy cleaning up regurgitated pee leaves.

While having this conversation, Mr. Giles was doing his typical I'm-going-to-prance-in-circles-around-you-until-you-pay-attention-to-me dance. All of a sudden, Jero says, "I think Giles cut his foot." I look around and see a crime scene all around us.

Seriously. Blood. Everywhere.

Dexter would have had a field day.

This may make me a terrible pet owner, but all I could focus on was the fact that the brand new carpet was covered in blood. In my defense, Giles rips his dew claw a few times a year, and though I know it can't feel great for him, it heals and is fine.

As I am scrubbing blood out of the carpet I start to giggle.

Jero: What?

Me: If a CSI team ever came in here and sprayed Luminol, we would be arrested.

Jero has the dogs gated into the kitchen and he's trying to get Giles to sit still.

Jero: Giles, hold still, you're going to get AIDS.

Me: How did our kitchen floor get AIDS?

Jero: Ummm...

Me: I don't think you know how AIDS works. Which is either a really good or really bad thing for me. Seriously though, we could be arrested if there was ever an investigation.

Jero: I guess we'll have to try and not get investigated for homicide.

Me: I can't always control these things. Especially because I am starting to think the dogs are trying to frame us.

Jero: Why would the dogs want to frame us for murder?

Me: So we wouldn't be here to keep them off the furniture. Duh.

Jero: Makes perfect sense.

Me: Think about it. Blood, stomach contents, feces, urine. It's like a scene from The Walking Dead in here. We need to keep an eye on this situation. Or maybe we should make a preemptive strike and let the police know that *we* are not the criminals in this house.

Jero: Sure, I can imagine that conversation, 'hello, detective, we just wanted to let you know that we are not responsible for any crimes committed in our neighborhood.'

Me: Maybe I shouldn't have cleaned up the evidence. That just screams guilty.

Jero: One day the mailman is going to go missing, we'll just find a boot and some short pants on the lawn.

Me: Exactly! We have to watch our backs.

So, if you ever see us on the news, please will you testify in our defense?

I'm telling you, dogs are sneaky.

criminal masterminds

The Day the Girl Scouts Tried to Kill Me

I was reading Hyperbole and a Half the other day. If you do not follow this blog, you are missing out. If you'd like to understand what I'm talking about, you can find a link somewhere over there. --->

Anyway, she was talking about feeling fearless. She illustrated her fearlessness with the line "I may even touch a spider..." That got me to thinking, what would I do if I had a moment of fearlessness? Let's face it, you and I both know it won't be touching a spider. I do not see why I ever need to not be afraid of spiders. Has my fear of spiders ever lost me something awesome? Nope. Has it saved me repeatedly from certain death? Absolutely. No, what I would do if I were suddenly fearless has nothing to do with eight legged freaks.

I would complete a Ropes Course.

The summer I turned 13, my Girl Scout troop took a trip to Rainbow Beach Resort in Inchelium to partake in a Ropes Course Challenge. It was an entire weekend that, at the time, I thought was going to be amazing.

We spent the first day doing the lower course. Learning to trust one another, because you know as Girl Scouts we were a bunch of untrustworthy animals, saving a puma with rope burns and food coloring in water, and attempting to get a group of uncoordinated pubescent girls over a great big wall. I still wonder if it was really a scout trip or our parents sending us to bratty girl boot camp.

I did enjoy that first day, it wasn't scary and even a little fun. I thought moving on to the high course the next day would be just as entertaining. Until I saw exactly how high the high course actually was.

We awoke early, pulled one of my troop member's mattresses off the top bunk with her on it, and got ready for another day of female bonding. Getting ready for the high course consisted of very handsome boys, who called themselves "guides", teaching us how to put on our harnesses and use terms like "ready to climb" and "climb on". Then we were taken to the course and shown our first challenge.

I was sure that I was going to die, and even though our troop leader was trying to reassure me, all I heard was, "die on".

The first challenge were three wires strung between two trees forty feet up in the air. To get to these wires, there were tiny metal loops in the tree that looked like thumb tacks, but were supposedly "hand holds" and "foot holds". Once you climbed the staple ladder, you were meant to step out onto a tiny wooden platform and from there, using two of the wires as more "hand holds" step onto the third wire and walk all the way across to another tiny wooden casket, I mean platform. Once you got across, you then had to turn around and go back to the center, lean back and remove your feet from the wire, trusting one of your fellow scouts to hold you while you repelled to the bottom.

I thought that with age, this task would not seem so daunting, forty feet not so high. Instead, even writing it makes me think that this Ropes Course is just a convenient way to lynch your young.

I watched a couple of girls go first and had just started to think I may be able to complete this challenge, when somehow it was my turn.

I clipped in, parroted the words I was taught and climbed away. I was about halfway up the tree when some bright person decided to say, "you're doing great, Sara, don't look down." I of course promptly looked down and froze. I couldn't move, I couldn't even talk. I was hovering over the Grand Canyon, hanging from a piece of dental floss and clinging to four toothpicks attached to the wall with Elmer's Glue. I remember people yelling at me to keep going and shaking my head. Then came the idea to just come back down the way I had come, to which I emphatically shook my head. Then one of the "guides" tells me that they can just lower me down, but first I would have to let go of the tree so they could swing me to the middle. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and wrapped my arms tightly around my new best friend, Mr. Tree.

The rest is a bit of a blur. I believe I had to have found my voice enough to tell them I would most definitely not be doing any of those things. That they would just have to come up and get me. And that is exactly what happened.

One of the "guides" climbed up the tree, wrapped his arms around me and the tree, and pried my fingers apart. Then we both swung to the center like Tarzan and Hysterical Jane, and we were lowered to the ground. It was official, I was the planet's biggest wuss.

I respectfully bowed out of the next few challenges. Choosing to be the one holding the ropes rather than the one hanging precariously from them. The final challenge was nothing but a forty foot telephone pole covered with more thumb tacks. Hanging in front of the top of the pole was a trapeze. We were meant to climb it, which left you having to figure out how to get yourself in a standing position on top of the pole. Then we were told to set a goal and jump for the trapeze. Catching the handle was meant to represent reaching your goals while jumping and missing was meant to teach us that at least trying makes us feel "good" and "accomplished".

This challenge I actually did, but only because one of my fellow scouts kept saying, "you'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't".

Filled with a guilt I thought only my mother could make me feel, I climbed that sumbitch and managed to stand on the top. I stared down that ugly trapeze and set what I thought was an unattainable goal. Then I reached out my arms and jumped.

The girl belaying me was not paying attention. I assume she thought there was no way I'd actually do it, so she let me fall ten feet before one of the "guides" grabbed hold and I received the worst wedgie of my life and what I believe was a small stroke.

My fingers never went near the trapeze.

Guess I shouldn't have set that goal to be able to touch a spider.

Hug those babies, don't steal their Halloween candy, and never let them join the Girl Scouts.

I Think I'm Crazy

I was driving home today and saw this kid walking along Monroe. He was wearing red skinny jeans. Now, I'm not knocking his red pants, if it works for Santa it's okay by me. The problem with these particular pants is that they were baggy and he had them pulled down like he was Rappy McGangstapants.

I then had an argument with myself inside my noggin. I do this quite often and am hoping I'm not the only one because it's no fun being the only loony in the Canadian coin purse.

Let's give you an example.

I was driving one day (it might have also been today) and I saw this house for sale. Even though I recently signed a lease and have no intention of moving any time soon, I looked over at this cute little house. I noticed that the front lawn was all rocks. I thought to myself, "that's the dumbest thing I have ever seen. Why would somebody do that?" I then promptly argued,

"it could be a little old person who no longer has the energy to keep up a lawn. Why are you so judgmental?"

"Well, self, that's a very good point, but may I just point out that if an old person were to fall they would be much more likely to break a hip on those rocks than on say some grass."

"You also make a fine point, but we cannot see their backyard, maybe it is lined with that bouncy asphalt like substance that they make playgrounds out of because kids these days are a bunch of pussies. Maybe this old person only goes in and out through the back and the front is just for show."

"Well, that...screw you and your slightly less judgmental (except to the children of today) logic. I'm done talking to you now."

That is usually how these things go in my head. I really hope I am not alone here, because when I reread that I find it makes me sound absolutely nutso.

Back to the red pants.

I think to myself, "why? They are skinny jeans for Pete's sake. They are not meant to be worn like gangster pants because they are supposed to make you look SKINNY!"

"Geez, lay off the poor kid, maybe he's just too skinny for skinny jeans."

"You mean like he's underfed?"

"OR he has a wicked metabolism. Why must you always be so negative?"

"You're right, they are probably just ill fitting skinny jeans is all. They should make an emaciated jeans style for kids like that."

"Yeah, there you go, way to think positively."

"Or his mother could make him a sandwich."

"My sarcasm was obviously lost on you. I'm done talking to you now."

"Could it be that like your sarcasm, I just don't get fashion?"

...

"Really? The silent treatment? Nice, way to be a grown up. Wait, look at that house for sale with the front lawn of rocks! That's the dumbest thing I have ever seen. Why would somebody do that?"

Hug those babies, feed them a sandwich, and buy them pants that fit.

The Awesome-ness of Stephen Hawking

Last night, Jero and I watched an episode of Curiosity narrated by Stephen Hawking. It was asking the question, "did God create the universe?". It blew my mind. I haven't stopped thinking about it and the conversation it caused Jero and I to have.

Here's the thing, like many people I have been questioning the existence of God for a very long time. Say since June 16th, 1990. Yes, I was ten years old, but it was the first time I questioned the purpose of a higher being which made me question there actually being one.

I went through a very Christian phase for quite a number of years, starting in Junior High and ending late in High School. I was baptized southern Baptist, I was "born again", I recruited, I witnessed, I preached. Then, I questioned.

It was a shoot first, ask questions later kind of experience. I loved the feeling of community that the church brought me. The feeling of a forever family when I was so struggling with feeling like I was completely alone in the world. My mom worked a lot, was gone a lot, and I was pretty much raising myself. It felt so comforting to have this large circle of people who helped fill that void. But as I got older, and began to really listen to what was being preached and what was being sung, I realized that all of these people did not believe my dad would be in Heaven. In an instant, all of that comfort was gone.

I stopped going to church, I began to call myself an Agnostic. I believed in a higher power, but I didn't believe in organized religion. I took bits and pieces of different faiths and beliefs and I made my own idea of God. I read countless books on theology. I read, "Why Bad Things Happen to Good People" and thought I had found the answer. Thought I had finally come to understand what God was all about. But with that came this nagging question...what is the purpose of a higher being?

I have many friends who are Atheist. Many scientists, physicists, and the like who do not believe in a god. Any god. My brain has been a true believer for some time. The laws of science and nature make sense to me, but my heart is the hold out.

Last night, Stephen Hawking explained the universe in such a way that this light bulb came on in my head. There is no purpose of a God, so why would there be one? Why would He need to exist in the first place?

As the show was ending, Mr. Hawking was explaining how time did not exist before the Big Bang. That without time, God would not have the time to create the Big Bang in the first place. And my heart immediately took over my brain and said, "God is beyond time". For the first time, my head fought back and said, "now is that logical, or are you just trying to make yourself feel better?".

Stupid head and it's stupid logic.

What I was struggling with, no what I AM struggling with, is the idea of there being no Heaven. No place to reunite with those I've lost, those I am going to lose someday, and those I will lose when I die. I looked at Jero and said, "that made me really sad".

Then my wonderful, smart, loving, beautiful man said something that I can't help but love with all of my heart. I am going to paraphrase because this was rather a long conversation.

He basically said that if all mass is energy, then we are energy. Our memories, which are neurons firing, our selves, we are all energy. And energy can never be destroyed, just changed. Therefor, when we die, we do not simply disappear. We are changed into other things that make up this world we all love and hate.

Now, I would love to talk to a scientist about this idea. I really would. Because I still can't completely convince my heart. It's also an issue of some people getting exactly what they deserve. I will be honest and say that along with not seeing my lost loved ones in the way I had always wanted to believe, I also have a vengeful side. I am human, after all. I like the idea of rapists, murderers and pedophiles getting their just desserts in the end. To be judged and sentenced in the end the way they never were in life. That part of me also wants to believe in God.

I am horribly confused but completely in awe of the fortitude of the human mind. Without scientists like Galileo, Einstein, and Hawking, we would all still be thinking that the tides are caused by some god. Really is that any less far fetched than wanting to believe that some higher being is waiting around up there to hand out justice for the wronged here on Earth? Shouldn't that be our job? Shouldn't we be striving for a more well oiled legal system? Shouldn't we be trying to do these things ourselves with our own morality? These great men brought us out of the dark age and into the time of not only knowing how the universe works, but WHY. I cannot help but be in awe of that.

I know this post is going to upset so many people. It's going to cause controversy and be called heresy. But here's the thing, I am not trying to change what anyone else believes. I'm not one hundred percent sure what I believe myself. I won't try to change your minds, or the minds of your children. I am just trying to wrap my head around what's happening in my heart. Or maybe the opposite of that.

Live this life like it's the only one. Because to me, whether Christianity is right or wrong, it's the only one we're going to get. Why wait to make amends until it is too late? If there is a Heaven, we won't be able to fix anything from there anyway.

Hug your babies, follow your own path, and may the mass times acceleration be with you.

Nearly Near Death Experience

So, this has been one crazy week and I am so grateful for the long weekend ahead.

Most of you may know what this week held for me. It started out wonderfully, with a long visit with an old friend that reminded me of the type of women I like to be around. Friendship should never be work. Yes, all relationships take effort, but never work. At least not to me. This old friend is exactly the type of person I enjoy being around. We don't have to see each other every day, or talk on the phone, or text, or IM. We can go months without seeing each other and fall right into place. I have been questioning my views on friendship for a while now, but she showed me that we all SHOULD have separate lives and sometimes those lives take us in separate directions just to bring us full circle again.

Anyway, completely off topic. That was on Sunday.

Monday morning I went to leave for work, and something made me turn my head to look at my parking spot. Normally, I'm lighting a cigarette, turning on my morning radio show, or just plain focused on getting out of our lot without hitting another car. Where my car was parked, near the rear passenger tire, was a huge puddle. Not a wet spot, but a puddle. I immediately put my car in park and got out.

I walked first to the puddle, which smelled like gasoline, but I couldn't be sure. I then walked around my car to the rear passenger side, and there I found my car profusely leaking fuel. I took a few steps back, because even though Myth Busters says it's not really possible, I was smoking and didn't feel like exploding after such a nice reunion with my friend. I grabbed my phone and called Jero so he could come down and look at it. He agreed that I was really leaking gas.

While at work, one of the gals at the bank told me that her dad is a mechanic and gave me his information so I could find out if I could afford to have it fixed. When calling him, I asked if he thought it was safe to drive and he told me that he'd be worried about a fire. So, I had it towed. This was the second time fate had my back.

Yesterday, I find out that my car had been tampered with. Four of the five lug nuts on the tire by the gas leak had been removed. Had I not seen the puddle, had I driven my car to work, the tire would have come off, causing sparks. Sparks and gas. Far worse than oil and water.

I have not stopped thinking about what could have happened. I no longer feel safe in a place I have lived for five years. What if I'd had my son in the car? My mom? Jero? A friend? What if the mechanic had been less than superb and told me to drive my car. I live at the top of a hill. I have sharp curves and hills to get anywhere I go. God. I am so freaked out.

Today I picked up my car. He says he believes someone was trying to take my tires.

This is how I know it was more malicious than that.

My tires have covers on them. The cover was put back on my tire. No way for me to see the lug nuts missing. If someone had been trying to steal my tires and had been caught up with my one locking lug nut then surprised someone, wouldn't you expect the cover to my tire to be lying on the ground? Instead, it was neatly placed back on my car. When I look around my well lit, covered parking, I see numerous cars without covers. Numerous cars with the same size wheels, and many of them much further away from any traffic. Easy pickings compared to my car.

Jero's car was keyed recently, and all of this so close together made me realize that in all the years we've been here, we've only had one other incident and then Jero was parked on the street.

I think I have a stalker, and I think I know who it is.

I'm almost sure I know who it is.

With the police involved, I'll have evidence soon enough. If they've ever been finger printed for a job, a background check, or anything else, it is only a matter of time. I have informed my neighbors both in writing and verbally to please keep an eye out for strange happenings concerning our property. To immediately call the police.

This is not just a prank. This was done to do harm to me and others in my life. I don't mess around with the safety of my loved ones. I don't take things like this lightly. Yesterday I was afraid, today I am pissed. I will be moving, and if I share my address with any of you, I ask that you not share it with anyone else. Once we are out of this place I do not want this person to know where I am, EVER AGAIN.

I am thankful for the universe having my back. I am thankful for a mechanic that took his time to find out exactly what happened. I am thankful for puddles, and tow trucks and locking lug nuts. I am thankful for being here and not in the hospital or worse. I am thankful for not driving my car to meet my friend. I am just so damn thankful.

I might still be a bit afraid, but I WILL take that power back. Ask six guys from my high school how I deal with bullies. I will give credit that I didn't think anyone could be this evil, but I won't make that mistake again. Me and mine won't take this lying down, and the next time this person will get caught.

Check your lug nuts, hug your babies, thank the universe.

Later, skaters.