This is the new place I will blather on and on about me.  I know some people want to read what is going on, but others don’t.  So here is my solution.  This is going to be where I talk about anything I want.

Rant on whatever I want.

Wonder about the mysteries that come across my brain at no thirty in the morning…

To just blather on.

Not sure how long it will last.  But I wanted a place that I can be myself, to say what I want.  And if people don’t like it, they don’t have to read it to get to my posts.

This is where I will talk about what is going on in my life.  This is my place.  If you want to say anything, you can.  Otherwise.  As my favorite movie says, this is just me mouthing to the great void of the internet my thoughts and so on.

So let us get to today.

I started the gym today.  Again.  I had to fight with myself.  I was up at 3:30 and it took a moment in time before the 9:30 alarm went off.  And I told myself… I need to do this.  I can sit all day on the computer and type my life away, but I need to do some physical stuff too.

I regret some things in my past, and one of the is the weight gain that no one can figure out. I curse my Russian background, but while I say, I should have exercised more, I do remember adding PE to my college classes and doing them.

I remember walking and jogging and nothing seeming to work.  So who knows.  It was also the period right before I got sick.

And yes, I know there are people out there that suffer more than me.  I know at least 2 courageous ladies who fight Fibro and others who have their own demons.  But at the same time, I had to accept that my pain is no less than theirs.

You see, I was diagnosed with IB.  No biggie.  It was nothing until I started to work for American Airlines.  And from there, I stressed myself into the point it hurt so badly that I describe the pain as trying to have a baby through my belly button.

I admit it, I stress and never know it.  I don’t feel a weight on my shoulders.  I don’t feel anything different than normal.  There are some times that I should be stressing, but I just don’t feel it.

So I suffered from IB, and periodic up flairs, that would render me incapable of wanting to leave a bed.  There would be times I would not want to eat at all, since it hurt.  Water hurt.  Everything hurt to eat, drink sometimes breathing.

On top of this, I have trouble sleeping.  Why do I do Fanfiction and why is writing so easy for me?  Cause I have told myself stories to fall asleep since I was little.  I would pick up the last remembered idea and continue on them the following night.  Unless I had a dream that inspired a dream.  The Long Road Home is one of those ideas I am playing with writing it out.

I can’t even tell you how long it was, but I was working for American National.  I worked myself from a lowly data entry clerk to building databases and helping with budgets.  I had worked as a supervisor for a small group, discovered access, and worked with it, until I had programs that did everything from balancing bank statements, to checking that the numbers we used balanced back to the statements that our system gave us once a month.

From there, one of our more progressive directors asked me to do something with our agent reports.  I spent a month running around, and for each and every account that they had, put a main agent on it.  Then I painstakingly tore the accounts out to show me the lines of businesses with the loss/ gains.  All put on a spreadsheet.

I also worried about $10 that was not balancing right.  Seriously.  I was messing with millions, and worried about any amounts that were off.

I often would find the amounts over the three reports that they looked at.

Yes.  Three separate reports that I would make balance to each other, and if the amount was off on all of them, I would tell them, and often they looked at me oddly.  But hey, I was a perfectionist.

I do admit that if I had not worked myself to that placement, I would not understand most of what was going on.  I had to clean up a fubared beyond anyone’s capabilities to understand mess.  Then turn around and make reports, since no one else fully understood the reasons why the accounts were messed up until I simplified the reports.  They were the new reports sent to the accounts is how much I changed them.

I balanced those buggers every month.  On top of doing downloads that came out comma delimited and balanced for people to use once a month.  These would take a day to 2 days to do.

By the time that I got really sick, I had badgered people until I learned what I needed about the business to understand it frontwards, sideways, and backwards.

I reported any discrepancies to the management as I was told to do.

Then they taught me state reporting, and the next year, asked me to automate it as much as I could.

I not only turned a job that previously took people weeks to prepare, a team of 5-7 to do, with lots of OT.  To me doing it completely by myself.  Calling the outside agents to get the reports broken down as I wanted.  And I found a couple huge ass mistakes that I had to graft onto the original reports to make them make sense.

I also participated in a project that took me working 7:30a-10:30p.  Everyday at one point, but pretty much everyday a close schedule, while keeping up on my duties on my own job.

I also was put in charge of maintaining numbers on over 150 people.

All this lead to me not realizing that I was stressed out of my ever living mind.  But I felt nothing.  I talked with people, but while some of it was bullshit, a lot of it was me finding out stuff that helped me out, and even had me changing things on databases I was building to make them more usefull to others.

I was the checkup on EVERYONE.  My database and me analyzing the numbers, often showed the mistakes.  Yes, this made some people pissed, but since I would come to the ones responsible for that part, and allowed them to fix the issues first, it soon died down.  One lady would order me from her office, and when I complied, she laughed and told me to come back and show her the issues.

So I suddenly couldn’t sleep. At all.  I was to the point I was trying to go to work, when I have barely sleep for a day, for the week.  I fell, hurt myself and did much, and continued to go to work.

Finally, I gave up and went to my doctor.  Who was appalled at what I had gotten to.  She put me on ambien and I got FMLA for it. Since if I couldn’t fall asleep right away, or anything I can sleep through alarms.  If I woke still under the influence, I couldn’t drive.

I could work from home, but they didn’t like it.

Then all of a sudden, in May, it got so much worse.  My doctor sent me to a specialist.  I had lost 50 lbs in 2 weeks.  I couldn’t keep anything in my body.  And it only got worse.

I ended up getting fired from the job since they wouldn’t let me work from home, and decided that their specialist knew more than my doctor (I wish he would have called mine and told her what it was!! We spent months after that still trying to figure out what is going wrong!) and told me I had to come back to work.  With my doctor releasing me.

She refused.

Which she had every right to.  I would eat and immediately be sick.  There were days I could not move, it hurt so bad.  For me that is saying a lot.

I was popping immodium like it was candy.  Seriously.  1-2 tablets an hour to make me stop.  Nothing worked, and there were times they considered me to be in the hospital worried how sick I was.

Later my gall bladder came out, and it settled things.  But they said it was a stopgap.  And my hubby decided that it was enough.  If we could survive without me working, then we would.

I should write he said.  Snickers!  But I am happier.  And that is what he wanted.  Well and me to write a novel that would make some money.   lol!

And to make me feel better, my loss was felt, since my cousin, who I taught it all to, refused to do it.  The person that took over, had none of the qualifications for my old job, and couldn’t figure out what to do.

I only wrote one in detail book on the only database finished, and holy shit, it was detailed. It broke down the formulas and everything on how to do it.  The others weren’t done, and my cousin couldn’t stop laughing when they tried to work my database for the huge project.  And they loss the lady who taught me how to do it.  I had become the last person who could do the job and none of them know how.


Nothing makes you feel better.  And I know from my inside sources that it was not just my cousin who missed me, others did also.  One shook his head and thought it was stupid, and wished that I was never moved from his department.  Oh how I wished I didn’t also!

To this day I still have minor flare-ups.  I do get sick more easily than anyone else.  I hate it all, and my return to the gym is a chance to fix some of these.  There are other issues, but I will focus on one at a time.

Thanks for reading this.  I promise these won’t be all pity parties.  Some would be my thoughts on debates going on.  (Like the confederate flag thing?  Get over it people!!!) as well as other thoughts.  It may not be all cheerful, but hey, it is mine.