My House

200This is a celebration of sorts, two hundred blog posts. This is it #200, maybe a little cheating a couple of re-blogs not many so this is it 200. What do I want to do?

Balloons? Confetti? Pop a cork on some cheap champagne?

Nah, none of that (maybe a little), in fact I have a different agenda in mind entirely. I want to talk about manners, courtesy and the rules of engagement within the context of the blogosphere. I want to talk about rude people, crude people, self-entitled people; those who believe they don’t have to watch their mouths, wipe their feet or mind their manners in your house. People who don’t understand the concept that your blog is in truth your house, somewhere you get to make the rules, where you are under no obligation to post their comments or allow their comments to remain caused me some surprise.

The idea people would stalk a blog just waiting for the opportunity to pounce was a new one on me. The first time it happened, honestly I thought it was an anomaly just one of those things brought on by an obnoxious discussion on a different blog. I figured, well this is simply the price I pay for allowing myself to be drawn into a ridiculous debate with a person who is of no consequence to me, the price? What I thought was one-time visit and another ridiculous discussion.


Then came the most recent muddle, I was drawn into the discussion again. I considered that I was snared by this very same person because despite previous experience I refused to believe the evidence of my own eyes and experience; that is, I gave this person the benefit of the doubt. I considered that perhaps it was culture; I discarded this idea after discussion with several people from the same part of the world. The fact is, we all speak English and while we might speak the language differently; manners, civility and simple common courtesy are the same the world over.

DSC_3307klein1Then I realized, no this person is simply one of those people who believe they are entitled to pollute, believe they are entitled to sprinkle their bad attitude, pepper their myopic worldviews and scattershot their self-righteousness wherever they please. What gave me a clue? Well, the last exchange was personal, not only was it personal it was an attack it was one that attacked me based on my history, suggested I wrote disingenuously, further suggested that while it was ‘sad’ I was shot ‘or’ raped I should just ‘get over it’ and stop writing about it non-stop since everyone had bad things in their lives to deal with but didn’t let it make them bitter.

I deleted this post on my site. This poster suggested any response I made would be to my other readers, those who agreed with me of which they were not one since they would not be reading it.

This exchange got me thinking. I considered responses but mostly I considered why anyone would behave this way. It isn’t the first time I have seen this behavior, only the first time in what is usually a more courteous, calmer environment. This type of behavior I would normally have assigned to the hit and run of public sites such as Facebook or some of the unmoderated chat rooms.

With that being said, this is my response to these exchanges.

This is my house. You are not required to agree with everything I say; in fact, I welcome debate on those subjects where it is normal to debate. My rules apply though and they are simple.

  1. Be courteous in your response, whether that response is to others or me.
  2. Never assume I won’t respond to you simply because you are responding to another poster.
  3. Stay on subject. Really, the post I write are generally about one thing stay there. If I wanted to talk about something else I would have written about something else.
  4. No name calling or personal attacks will be tolerated, ever.
  5. I will give you one warning, then I will put you in moderation till you clean up your act.

This really is my house. When I come to your house, I will always try to be courteous. I will wipe my feet at the door. I will smoke outside. I will put a coaster under my glass. I won’t curse (despite my ability and sometime propensity to do so). In turn, have a little respect and show some manners I know most of you have some broughtupsie.

In the future, I am going to try hard not to let people derail me, offend me or hurt my feelings in my own house. I will also not allow them to come into my house and offend you. I hope you will tell me if they do.

KickmFor those of you who have visited me in my house through 200 posts, thank you so much. I adore you, appreciate you and am glad you are here. Thank you for allowing me to use my 200th for a rant.

Flash: Fork

“I am called Jane, it is not my name but it will do.”

The lands will not yield sustenance, dust the only crop farmers have reaped for many a year. When they chased us from our once verdant lands, my grandmother laid a curse and now it is come to pass for as far as I can see, just dust and dying trees.

They call me Jane, but I am Ama Tsigili of my people, Water Witch. I carry with me the Elm Fork of my Grandmother, smoothed by her hands and the hands of my mother before me. I could find the buried water for them, my enemies as they beg me to do I could lift the curse of my grandmother. I could return fertility to the land they brought us to.

“I am called Jane; I left my people along the Trail of Tears, unburied.”


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Fork. The word limit is 150 words. This one comes in at 148.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

What is Wrong with You

“Then He will also say to those on the left hand, ‘Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: ‘for I was hungry and you gave Me no food; I was thirsty and you gave Me no drink; ‘I was a stranger and you did not take Me in, naked and you did not clothe Me, sick and in prison and you did not visit Me.’ “Then they also will answered Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?’ “Then He will answer them, saying, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ “And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Matthew 25: 40-46: Nelson, Thomas (2009-02-18). Holy Bible, New King James Version (NKJV)

Moore, Oklahoma was shattered by the EF5 tornado of May 20, 2013. The storm roared through leaving thirty-six dead, ten of them children. The path of destruction is indescribable, each time I look at the pictures I want to weep; whether it is of homes or of people, my eyes fill with tears for the loss.


The actions of teachers in the two schools directly in the path of this monster storm were the actions of heroes. There can be no other word for them, once again teachers step up and show us their mettle. Once again, teachers throw themselves into harm’s way to protect the children they were entrusted to educate. So many of us deride teachers, these evil public servants these terrible leeches of the public teat the reason why so many of our communities are broke, right. Yet here they go again placing themselves in position to protect the children in their care. I am in awe. Perhaps it is time we stop blaming those who commit themselves to educating our children and start looking at the real problem, the system itself.


Now to what is really annoying me, yes this is another one of those. Let me say this up front. The politics of Oklahoma is to the right, way, way, way to the right. Most of those who live in Oklahoma tend to be gun toting, Bible thumping, flag waving, Limbaugh loving Right Wing nut cases. Sorry, but based on the voting history of Oklahoma, this is the only conclusion possible.

The entire Executive branch of Oklahoma is filled with Republicans led by their Governor Mary Fallin, a Gay Bashing – Family Values politician with a voting record that makes me cringe.

The State House of Representatives has 101 members, 71 are Republicans, 30 are Democrats. Just a tad unevenly balanced don’t you think?

The Oklahoma Senate has 48 members, 32 Republicans and 16 Democrats; again with that imbalance. No need for filibuster rules around Oklahoma.

If you follow national politics at all, you know whom Oklahoma sends to Washington and what their position on Disaster relief has been in the past, for Hurricane Sandy and for funding FEMA. Thats right the wonderfully compassionate Senator’s Jim Inhofe and Tom Coburn and the perfectly empathetic Representatives Markwayne Mullin, James Lankford and Jim Bridenstine. That’s right, these stellar examples of humanity all felt those on the East Coast devastated by a natural disaster who had lost everything should simply lift themselves up by their boot straps and get to stepping by God.


Inhofe and Coburn

Now though, well now the boots are on the other feet and shit is piling up. It isn’t the same don’t you know, get the relief rolling in dammit (except for Coburn who is simply an Azzhat and doesn’t care who suffers).

Watching social media, even as early as the hours after the storm, even before the bodies had been counted before we knew children had been lost. Already there were fingers pointing, I shook my head in shame and anger at these fingers. Already those on the Left were wagging their fingers and flapping their lips, shaming the Oklahoma contingent, with their votes on Sandy and claiming they didn’t deserve relief, they didn’t deserve support. What? Are you crazy or just stupid? Maybe what you are instead is heartless.

I named the Azzhats for a reason. I even said I disagree with the politics of Oklahoma for a reason. The reason is this, I can disagree with you, with your politics and still recognize you as my brother, as my sister as my neighbor. I can still hurt for you in your loss. I do not want harm to come your way. My heart breaks, literally shatters for the devastation these families are suffering right now. We should all be looking on the pictures in Moore, thinking of the loss and considering how we can help. Whether it is $5.00 to Red Cross, or demanding our Representatives in Washington vote for aid, we should do it and do it now.

Sometimes it isn’t politics and shouldn’t be. This is at the end of the day America and we are Americans, all of us, every last stinking one of us. Whether Red, Blue or f’ng Purple we sink or swim together. Isn’t it time we start acting like it?

Flash: Buffet

Strobe lights flash over the room, blue then white and finally red. A slow eerie wail pierces the crowd noise and the curtains draw back in time with the slow beat of a single drum.

Head thrown back inky hair flows nearly to her waist, she stands still as a statue the only thing moving is white fog swirling up around perfect legs. Spotlights flash on either side, mirror images heads bowed, supplicants.

She moves down the steps, the drum beats faster. Her hips move flowing as if unhinged, fluid. All eyes follow her, silent and worshipful; this is the moment they have waited for. The mirror images move, lift their heads and join her in dance; their bodies move together, clothing drops. A veritable buffet a cornucopia of womanhood on display before a room of wolves and the room erupts in whistles and dollar bills.


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Buffet. The word limit is 150 words. This one comes in at 146.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

Flash Fiction: Galley

Sweat streamed in her eyes, trickled down her back causing the woolen shirt to stick wherever it touched. The sun beat down with a rhythm matching the bass drum beaten by the monster in the stern. Worse, the whistle of the whip flew past her, landing on other shoulders and backs, their pitiful groans reminding her what would all too soon be her fate.

All around her men pulled oars, backs burned black from the sun. Faces sucked dry of moisture, eyes deadened with pain. They wondered one thing, why didn’t she rid herself of the encumbrance of shirt, pants and hose. Why continue in this terrible heat fully clothed, baking unnecessarily when all around her were stripped to their skivvies.

They were unaware she was a girl, hidden in boys clothing as a lark she has been ‘pressed as a Galley slave to the Kings service.


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Galley. The word limit is 150 words. This one comes in at 147.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

Calm Waters

Does the world ever cause you to shake your head in dismay? It does me. There are times it seems we fail to remember our humanity in favor, some lower form, some mockery of all forms we have aspired to through the ages of our span here as humans. We are granted only a short time on earth, in the grand scheme of things just a few short decades to make our mark. Yet for so many of us it seems, our time is spent kicking those who most need a hand up or kicking sand over the footprints that might lead to the path out of the darkness rather than reaching out with a light to show the way.

Despite my recent rant, I have been paying attention to something other than my own desires. I have also been thinking about my recent visits to prisons and juvenile centers. For some reason these have been particularly difficult for me this season, especially the juvenile center and the young men I met there. I have been doing the Victim Impact groups for years now, nine to be exact. Some years are harder than others; I change year to year. My emotional response to what happened to me changes and thus the story changes. The facts don’t change, just how I feel about it. This year of course the real change was all my offenders have been released after twenty years, telling this part of the story was new for me.

Three of the groups were new for me also. Smaller groups, more personal somehow more in my face and perhaps me more in theirs. I don’t think I realized the small ball of anger I had in my heart at the release of my offenders. That anger was why I didn’t want to speak this season, I didn’t want to take my anger into that audience, that anger defeated my reason for speaking and defeated me.

41510_prison-gatesThere is always one, in every group there is always one and the first group of this season was no different. One who thinks I should be sorry for demanding they remain in prison despite their age. One who thinks I somehow ‘victimized’ my offenders despite their offenses against me and their lack of remorse. One who thinks I am somehow the one who should be sorry. Yes, there is always one. This time though I wasn’t my usual pragmatic and willing to discuss his point of view self. No, this time I pulled up a chair and faced him down, I explained what they did was unforgiveable and my loss was unrecoverable. I explained his use of the race card didn’t carry weight since their reason was racial hatred, they didn’t get a pass for historical offenses to which I had no part of. I explained their youth didn’t get them a pass since at their age I was an emancipated adult earning my own way, living on the streets and finding a way to survive.

No, they didn’t get a pass. No matter my instinct as a mother, I wept for them and for their lost youth. No matter my instinct as a human being, I wept for their lost opportunity. No, they didn’t get a pass because they felt no remorse for their terrible acts.

Interestingly, his fellows shut him down. Nearly shouted him down after I was done, I have to wonder if their discussions continued after I left.

Kutnews Image

The juvenile group was different though. I still ache for these young men. I look in their faces and know they are not lost yet, know at least some of them can be saved. Some of them are so young, no older than twelve or thirteen. So eager to talk once they realize I am not going to lecture them but instead going to engage them in discussion and open forum. That I will allow for questions and will answer them as honestly as possible. They think I am funny, they realize I don’t hate them and am not scared of them despite what has happened to me. I tell them, I was once just like them a juvenile delinquent someone the courts held no hope for. When I tell them this, at first they don’t believe me then a light shines in their eyes and they begin to open up.

There was one this time, at first he made clear he didn’t want to be there. He sat with arms crossed in front of him and glared. He was a leader, it was clear. He thought he was all that and so did all the young men around him. If these young men were going to learn anything he was going to have to be won over, he was my target. He was so smart, so full of life and so lost. I won him within ten minutes just by talking to him.

I made him laugh. He asked me if I was afraid of him, if I was afraid of black men, or young black men. I asked him why I would be. He explained to me, because young black men had shot me. Well of course, that makes sense I said. I asked him should I be afraid of all teenagers. He asked why I would be afraid of all teenagers. I explained teenagers shot me, that made as much sense. He stared at me for a few seconds and started laughing, told me that was stupid and I said so was his premise. He asked what a premise was, I explained it to him. From then on the entire group talked, asked questions.

His friend made me want to cry. When we talked about how to change directions, who they had to apologize to and how to start on a new path one of the key components to success was family. Support structures, their need to be strong support for their younger siblings and begin to show their families positive changes to build trust. His friend quietly asked, “What if you don’t have a family?”

Some of these young men don’t have families to return to. It is why they are there, in ‘jail’. They have nowhere to go, no place to call home. This is it. Home is a place with bars on the windows, shackles on their ankles and a future that is bleak, at best.

I left that day feeling glad I hadn’t begged off despite not wanting to be there. I was reminded why I do Victim Impact, touching one life it is worth it. It has taken me a few weeks to write about this season, it was a hard one. I can’t say I don’t know why, I do. Each season is different, this one was hard but taught me lessons I needed to learn. Lessons about anger and letting go, lessons about humility.

Adapt yourself to the things among which your lot has been cast and love sincerely the fellow creatures with whom destiny has ordained you shall live. Marcus Aurelius

Everything is not You

The Wild Child returns or was it truly the Prodigal Daughter

My annoyance is at a high point, really, I don’t tell others what to do with their lives I would prefer if others would show me the same courtesy. I am going to rant this morning; I might even descend into raging. This may indeed be one of my off the grid, not so politically polite vents. If I offend you, well not going to apologize for it.

Let me say up front, I am a smoker. I have been a smoker for 45 of my 56 years on earth. Yes, you read that right I started smoking when I was eleven (11) years old. I quit one time in all those 45 years, it was the most miserable two months I spent. Smoking is part of who I am. I enjoy the taste of my cigarettes. I enjoy cigars too. Hell, I was shot because I stopped for cigarettes. After I was shot, I had to give up drinking for the most part, the one vice I kept? Smoking!

I am not stupid. I fully understand the risks and I accept them for myself. I also happen to know, I do not have a genetic predisposition for any of the normal outcomes of smoking including cancer.

Don’t smoke? Good for you, if you never smoked even better for you really. If you are an ex-smoker, you did a great thing for yourself, you quit when you were ready. There you see I can be polite. Now, please keep your non-smoking / ex-smoking opinions and self-righteousness out of my face and air space.

It is already true I cannot go out for a meal and enjoy coffee and a cigarette afterwards. The non-smoker brigade has stripped me of that pleasure. It wasn’t enough for restaurants to provide a segregated smokers section, no indeed you wanted more dammit you wanted it all. Then you went after bars and billiard rooms, now I can’t go play pool and fire up a cigar while I rack’em up and play. Another tick mark on your side, never mind smoky pool halls were once de rigueur or that they are privately owned not public places and you could choose to not patronize those that allowed smoking.

I just spent a week looking for a hotel in Duluth, MN for a two (2) day stay, I looked at my normal chains, nothing. I looked at some others, nothing. I looked at three stars, then two stars, then even one star nothing. I thought maybe it was Duluth.

After my search yielded terrible results, I called Intercontinental, owners of Holiday Inns and other properties. I am an Ambassador member of this chain, supposed to yield me privileges, not so much. I asked if their holidayinnproperties were now smoke free and was told yes, they were moving that direction, while some of the older properties still allowed smoking all new properties would be smoke free. New properties included properties that had undergone renovation.

I will be cancelling my membership with Intercontinental and moving all my points to my airline miles, currently I have over 100,000.

Marriott_NoI wasn’t really shocked when the Marriott chain went entirely smoke free. This was years ago and after all it is owned by Mormons, why wouldn’t they take the first opportunity to jump on the Smoke Free bandwagon. It should be noted, their Asian and European properties are not smoke free, only the North American.

When they went smoke free I moved all my points to airline miles, at the time I had over 800,000.

On average, I stay in hotels 170 days per year. Yet the on-going campaigns of vacationers have driven many hotel chains to become “Smoke Free”. This creates unsafe environments for women who smoke, forcing us out of our rooms at night onto city streets or unguarded front entrances for a cigarette. There we are, huddled on a bench 50’ or more from front entrances out of the light and unseen by the front desk  the perfect target for perverts, rapists or other unsavory characters because you want to make certain entire hotels are smoke free and could care less if we are safe. Your drive for smoke free hotels for your 5-day vacation has created an extremely high-risk situation 170 nights per year for me.

I smoke. It is my choice to do so. I don’t smoke in your house nor would I ever think to do so. I don’t throw my butts on the ground; I have an ashtray in my car. When I smoke outside I make certain I am not near a crowd, I stand downwind whenever possible and throw my butts in the nearest bin.

You don’t own the public parks though you want too, I know. When you stop driving your cars and polluting the air, I will consider not sitting on a public park bench and smoking. My taxes, by the way pay for that bench. My taxes from cigarettes, my hotel taxes in your cities as well contribute to your parks, roads and other comforts.

I don’t complain when your children rampage up and down hallways when I am trying to work or sleep. You are on vacation, your 5-day holiday and I understand you might not be up to controlling your monsters. I don’t complain when you’re next door having that party you always wanted, I get it really I do. It is the first time you have been away from the family and the conference is great, free alcohol and that girl you met at the bar looked great after your seventh martini.

What the hell though, why is it you insist on smoke free hotels? Is it really too much to ask that I am allowed a room somewhere in the hotel with an ashtray? Up to now most hotels put their smoking rooms at the end of a hall on a single floor usually in a place well away from other rooms. Why can’t you be satisfied with that? Why do you need the entire f’ing hotel?Kickm

In fact why do you need everything?

#smokefree #smoking

Flash: Busboy

He stares down the long hall, his cart empty, sweat beading his upper lip and inside his cap. His knees are weak and his hands shaking did he really sign up for this?

“Open”, he shouts. The gate creaks back.

Arriving at the first door, he flips the lock, “push through your tray”. Grabbing it, he throws it on the cart proceeds to the next door.

Unbelievable, I am a busboy on Death Row.”


Flash in the Pan is brought to you by the amazing Red of M3 fame

This week’s word is Busboy. The word limit is 75 words. This one comes in at 74.

Hashtags: #flashfiction #getpublished

New Middle Age

Linda_1960When I was a child, I spoke and thought and reasoned as a child. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. 1 Corinthians 13:11

When we are young it seems the opportunities are endless doors to the future are flung wide open and we are bulletproof.

Bad love affair? Lost job? Bad grade in a class?

Never mind, we will overcome any and all of these very quickly with a few days of lamentation, perhaps a bitch session or two with our friends and then it is back to life. This is true of most of us; we are indeed invincible and these inconveniences teach us, toughen us up for adult life.

When we are young, doors are flung wide open and we march through them, assured life will hand us the gold medal, most of us rarely reach middle age unscathed by the arrows of real life beyond childhood. I look at my own history as a long hallway, some doors flung wide open and others securely locked with blinking “Do Not Enter” signs above the jams. My future is simply the continuation of that hallway, with fewer doors, fewer choices and not nearly as many frightening outcomes as my past.

My mother once said to me, “Keep it up and you won’t see 40!”

I don’t know if she was threatening me at the time or simply receiving visions of my future, I have always suspected it was part threat and part wishful thinking. Needless to say, not only did I see forty, I will be fifty-six this year. Each decade of my life has seen real changes take place, sometimes those changes have not been of my choosing but the upheaval brought something new and in later years usually something better.

They say fifty-five is the new middle age, with this I have reached a new pinnacle a new point in life. I am no longer ‘young’, can no longer excuse my indiscretions on youth; I am not ‘old’ either, I don’t have the excuse of age or memory loss. I don’t think of myself as anything other than me, just me with all my body dysfunction brought on by injury and misuse. I think of myself as just me, with foibles and strange predilections brought on by my history and need to protect myself and control my environment.

Having reached this wonderful milestone, this spectacular new middle age of fifty-five I can only consider what is next. There was no light flashing over my head last September when this magical age was reached, in fact I believe I was sitting at my favorite restaurant having forgone the normal holiday to bright and sunny spots. I am far too young to retire and honestly couldn’t imagine life without the hustle of work, despite there are days I do not love it.

I worry sometimes, how does society view us? Those of us reaching this magical new middle age, we aren’t old; we aren’t ready to retire to our rocking chairs. Most of us, no matter the lives we have led to now are vibrant, smart and ready still to rock-n-roll, we have much to offer yet we are often sidelined. I am lucky for now, at fifty I began to contract myself rather than work as someone’s employee. This transition gave me freedom though it is a frightening freedom to be sure, especially now in our economic uncertainty. They say though reinvention is necessary and so I reinvented myself, one more time.

Each decade of our lives, we change, sometimes the change is small and other times the change is spectacular. With each transition to a new decade, we carry with us the hopes and disappointments of the previous decade and our dreams for the future. It is inevitable our dreams change as our life is changed by providence. We grow up and expand our world, with people we love and causes we align with. As our world expands, as our vision of what we are capable of grows we are enriched and we are better able to enhance the lives of those we touch.

Although the pasture ahead of me seems welcoming, I am not quite ready yet. At the ripe middle age of fifty-five I suspect I still have some hell to raise and some childish things I haven’t put away. I am guessing the secret to not growing old even as we transition from one age to the next is holding on to all those special memories, loves and lights that caused us to cherish each decade  while releasing the hurts of the past to galaxy.

Silver Linings

One hell of a week, whether looking at my personal life or a week of news I can only say, “It was one hell of a week”.

I don’t know where to start; don’t even know what I think about this past week, turmoil was a theme, one I could certainly have done without. I suspect there are times I should toss plans aside, never mind those great thoughts I have and instead simply allow the world to spin me to the next adventure. This might truly be the easier strategy that is no strategy at all. Weeks like this do make me wonder though, wonder if my goals, wants and desires are simply unrealistic.

Do you ever think fate is a great and evil bitch with a nasty sense of humor? I think this quite often. I also think, more often than I care to admit that I am far too old for this, I need something more settled, more secure and less crisis based.

What has happened this past week that was a shot out of nowhere, unexpected and costly?

  • Husband’s car lost transmission, no not putting $4,000 into car. Buy new car. But wait this one isn’t paid off; still have three payments by my calculation. There is question as to what is still owed and the difference is $3,000. This is costly and we are still trying to get an answer from the other bank of why their records are off.
  • Current contract will likely be cancelled this week; this is only 6 months early. This is a big blow for me. While the client is a bit crazy, it is a good contract, interesting and fun. It is also the first time I haven’t traveled in 10 years, being able to drive to work instead of getting on a plane on Sunday is a huge benefit, one I took a rate cut to enjoy. The change in project strategy and leadership came as a surprise (though not a shock) and it is unlikely they will use me going forward.

So significant cash out of pocket right at a time when it is likely I will be taking an extended unplanned holiday. Nice, right?

Fate is a bitch.

This leads to how to achieve calm, peace or Zen in the face of the unknown or the unexpected. I have unfortunately had an inordinate amount of practice at this. My week ended with two great things, an early dinner with my sons, their partners, children and other parents on Saturday. Grounding me in family and love. Sunday was a long and leisurely swim, adding a new exercise to my routine.

These don’t lead specifically to calm or peace; they just remind me there is more to life. If I lose this contract, it will suck; yes, it will. But I have been through this before and will go through it many times more before I retire. My suitcases remain ready to roll through airports, my resume remains up-to-date and I have already upgraded my membership at Dice and Ladders. I have to remind myself, I signed up for this when I signed up to contract rather than work for others. Time to put my network to work for me.

If the contract is cancelled, I will take a couple of weeks of downtime while I look for the next one. There are certainly some things I would like to do before being sucked back into work!

There is always a silver lining.

%d bloggers like this: