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Without a doubt, nights are too short and if you're not careful, you waste all your time letting go of the last 8 to 10 hours. If you linger too long, you're asleep on the sofa, half a glass of wine undrunk, you missed the end of your favorite show, there's an info commercial on and you have to drag your ass up and floss and brush.

But then if you do your yoga cause you love your yoga, then wash your hair, cause you love your new shampoo-Wen-and it's really making a difference and then you catch up on all the news and stories of the day online, then there's barely time to write, either here or there. I should be in bed reading a book, but I'm staying up a little while longer. With wine.

I knew this date was approaching, but as I was walking home today, our 4th cool, windy and rainy day in a row,  as I got close to my place I realized with a little jolt that tomorrow is May 18. Two years ago tomorrow, was the day I was beaten in my car and robbed. He just completed his first year in prison. As I walked up my driveway I thought that I have a second birthday. I think anyone who has survived an extremely violent assault, has a second birthday. I look back on the 18 months that followed, believe it or not, fondly, tenderly, compassionately.  So much growth and healing and waking up occurred. It hasn't stopped but I'm 'back' or at least 'not there' for the most part. It was like living in a separate world, dreamlike and unexplainable. I feel like I'll be processing it forever.

I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow. It's impossible not to think about. I think about me, surviving, not about him and fear. It's not a date that anyone else remembers either which makes it or keeps it so personal, undefinable...

My immediate supervisor at work is a grade A asshole, misogynist, lazy, sexist, dog of a guy. AARRGGGHHH I'm sure I'll write more about him later.

And speaking of Arnold Schwarzenegger, nice bombshell today. Can't. Stand. That. Guy.

So finally, my little mother opened her email on Monday and read her story. I got a card from her on Friday and spoke to her on Sunday. She was overwhelmed beyond words at how personal the tale was, she has read it many times and my dad read it twice and was touched. She has it in her Bible which she reads everyday. I guess that's compliment enough. I really wanted to take something scary for her and make it magical and I think I did. That's all that matters.

I'm asking for a special dream tonight. We'll see.

Peace.
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My week at "the office" finally ended yesterday after I gave an extra 15 minutes which I'll take next week. Three days of being in the center of a paper matching sphere came to an abrupt halt on Thursday when I was asked to help audit the counts they were doing in the plant for yearly inventory.

I was given a nifty pair of rubber steel toe shoe covers that fit over my sneakers that I keep there to walk during lunch, gloves, goggles and a red pen. I've done inventory in my last job--merely samples, but tons at the restaurant I worked in.

My cute controller is my boss, but the plant operations manager, whose voice is pitched high with a Georgia southern accent that belies his dictator ways tracked me down all day. He's just a head taller than me and his boots must have heels, because he clicks along like a well shod woman. He's a close talker too.

The third boss, was the section manager of a certain section, very cute Latino guy, in his 30's I'd say.

All the plant/manufacture workers plus several engineers and  controller were out there counting. The woman who leads the inventory theater, sat in the conference room surrounded by her team and stacks of paper and tickets coming in and out.

Thursday  I loved it, it felt good to be moving. I don't like sitting all day. I felt like I was fighting a cold all week, everyone seems sick and I think the physical exertion did me good. I counted, carried some stuff to be weighed, let the guys carry the super heavy stuff and went up and down the big ladders (fun!) at least 50 times. At the end of the day I was exhausted.

Friday, I was less into it, but that's what I had to do. I wore old jeans and a sweater, the jeans were light denim and filthy by end of day. I verified counts on beautiful large sheets of various kinds of aluminum, brass and copper. They are very heavy and expensive. My partner for that count brought down most of the stuff with a forklift, in a very confined space. He's worked there 15 years and never broke a light or water pipe which are perilously close when lifting off the top rack.

The tickets weren't placed exactly where the item was on the rack so his expertise was also needed there. He would count with a large pin type of thing, because the sheets were so heavy. I leaned in face to face with him and verified. He was wary of me at first, but then we were friends. He knows his job well. He had an interesting way of talking that I never heard before. He's say something like, "I'll bring down that top rack of bronze and then get the ticket for you, hey?" "Hey?" at the end of almost all his sentences.  He told me he rode a unicycle as high as the highest rack--high and had taught his daughter. He started when he was six years old and thought about joining the circus but didn't want to be a clown. He was endearing.

I worked a few times with my favorite guy, a Latino who does maintenance and everything else as well. Many called him the nicest, most polite guy in the place, he's handsome too. We bonded. We counted a container full of piping, the container leaked there were puddles everywhere, I was on my hands and knees, it was so tight and they were long. We worked great together and verified the whole thing.

I worked with cutie controller too. He talks alot which I like. He's exhausted. When I left yesterday and they were all in the war room, I smiled and gave a little wave as I escaped. He was listening to all the inventory experts, figuring what was left, how early they had to come in today, etc. I saw on his face, the weariness and the WTF am I doing here when I can have a free and joyous life, how did this become so important expression.

The woman I'm assisting and I bonded better while I was in the plant. I'd go into her office on a break or in-between and make jokes about what was going on out there and how I couldn't escape the little southern accented operations guy. Cutie controller and I made jokes about him too-controller started it. I felt bad for her, when I left, she was being talked down to for making some kind of data entry mistake of the work-in-progress inventory. It all trickles down.

When I got home I was bone tired. I showered for a long time, ate something, dragged my laptop to the sofa and for the next four hours finished article number one for the news-blog. It's gone. I promised the other one for Monday, so I can breathe a little now.

I made a pact with myself to interpret the day's events as if they were a dream and I stuck to it pretty well. It is a fascinating and cool way to go through the day. Everything is symbolic and lighter, you drift from one dream scenario to another and it's all ok, it's just a dream.

This weekend is packed full of possiblities but I need time alone to unwind and re-energize. My neighbors are wine tasting locally, I said I may meet them later or as he said, they'd be back tonight and as he lives next door, I can go over, since they're continuing the party.

I was going to a Day of the Dead celebration tomorrow with P from Burning Man, but she just called and had to cancel, but there's a similiar event at the museum today she'd like to go to, but she knew I had the wine thing. So, thank you for synchronicity. I think today is for me to speak as little as possible, write and meditate, do yoga and run a broom or something around here & go visiting tonight.

Tomorrow I may go to the festival later, and meet P there after 3 which she can do. I have other friends who just arrived in town, but they're heading to Napa tomorrow or Monday for the week, so I don't see how that can happen.

Work, tripling what I was doing for 9 months is challenging. It's all good though for now, make the best of it, work is necessary.  Today,  I celebrate Saturday in my cluttery little home.

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