Forever and Always... A True Love Story

I am grateful that my life has played out the way it has. I have often wondered how different life would be right now, if Jeff and I would have stayed together 30 years ago, but now I don't have to wonder. It isn't important. The fact is that I would not have all that I do, if my life had played out any differently than it has.

I would not have the children I have, nor would I have the happiness I feel.

When he first returned (Jeff), during my first divorce, the time was not right for us. The legal battles would have been consuming. I was not free to leave with him and take my child with me. My soon-to-be-ex would have fought me tooth and nail over custody; thus holding up my divorce.

Ultimately, I ended up with a worse husband for four more years of Hell, but in the end, it was all worth the wait. My second divorce involved no children and was a swift act of justice; taking place only ten short days before my beloved returned to me Forever and Always...

What Do You Like to Read...

For pleasure, I mean, not required reading, but for fun?
Do you like strong characters, real-life challenges, happy endings? Do you like romance, adventure, struggle?

Then I have the book for you! Forever and Always...
A memoir, by, Trina L.C. Sonenberg
ISBN:978-0-557-4311-3

What is Forever and Always... about?



Originally intended to be marketed as fiction, it is my life story, or at least the most important parts of it.



Why did you decide to sell it as a memoir rather than fiction?


I feel that the message it contains would be better served if readers knew it is a true story, not something plucked from my imagination.



What prompted you to write this book?



Years ago, a friend of mine told me that my life would make a great screen play. After a great deal of thought, I decided to write a book instead.



Why should people read it?



I have an important message to share with female readers in particular. Mine is a message of empowerment. I have experienced an enormous amount of tragedy in my life, but I've come out on top, by refusing to be beaten and believing in my heart of hearts that life was meant to be better than it was.



What makes your story different from all of the others like yours?



I am an ordinary person. I am not a movie star or other public figure, who, quite frankly seem untouchable by ordinary people like myself. Every famous person has a story to tell, I'm sure, but an eventful lifetime adventure about an ordinary teenage girl as she becomes a woman of adventure, is easier for the average person to relate to.



My story is a testament to both true love and the Law of Attraction in action in my average, everyday life. I want others to know that they can direct their lives and transform them into exactly what they want them to be, and how to do that. All it takes is focused attention and undying belief. We all have the power with in ourselves to change the circumstances in which we live. No one has to be a victim of, or in their lives. All change comes from with in. If you want it bad enough, you will move toward manifesting it in your life. You can draw your heart's desire to you. My story proves that.



When was your book published and how can someone get a copy of it?



Forever and Always... A True Love Story, was published on April 19, 2010 in association with Lulu Press. Copies can be purchased either as an instant download, or in print by following this link: Forever and Always



Will your book be in bookstores, online or off?



Yes, very soon it will be available from most major retailers. But, you don't have to wait if you check out the link I gave you.

I would get up early each morning to give myself a chance to wake up. I'd drink several cups of coffee, while working on a crewel project. By early, I'd be out of bed by 3:30 A.M. to get ready for work at 5:00. Most mornings, I'd wake up alone, except for my two-year-old, sleeping in the next room.

Most mornings, I had gotten only three or four hours of sleep the night before; I'd spend most of the night pacing.

My husband got off work at 10 P.M. but didn't typically get home before I had to leave for work at 4:30 A.M.. I wasn't afraid of him being in an accident. I wasn't really afraid of him being in jail. (A little voice inside my head told me that he was safe and sound in someone else's bed.) What I was afraid of was being late for work.

I could not afford to lose my job; I had already decided to leave him. I needed to find a second job and someone to watch my boy, while I worked.

I longed for my lost love to come and rescue me from this drudgery.

When he'd finally come in the door, I was out it just as fast. I'd work my shift until 3:00 P.M., pick up my boy and go look for an apartment. By the time I'd returned home, he would be gone to work. Whew! An evening alone with my son. After I put my son to bed, the whole process would repeat.

Deep down, I didn't mind his absence. It meant no yelling or fighting. However, knowing that he was out drinking and sleeping around didn't please me about his not being home. I had reached my breaking point. I could not take living this way any longer.

He begged me for a second chance and this is how he uses it? It didn't take him two weeks to go back to the behavior that he demonstrated while I was pregnant. I've given him a long enough leash. It's time to walk away. It's past time to walk away. I must rescue myself, if Trampus will not return.

How it all started
How it is ending

Prologue
"Mom, will you just leave me alone!" I screamed at her. "My homework is done; the dishes are too, I just want to go out and ride my bike."
"I said, No!" she screamed back. "I am going over to Carly's and you need to stay with your brother."
"But he's outside playing; you can see him from Carly's back door," I insisted. "Why do I have to stay here?"
"Because I said so," was her only reply. That was always her answer to my questions regarding my freedom.
Mom and I did not get along like a mother and daughter should. We shared a bedroom, but that seemed to make thing worse. She hated my Shaun Cassidy posters, my music and my friends. I tried to escape her by staying in our bedroom, but she would come up the stairs and unplug my 8-tracks and complain about the noise. Nothing I did could please her. I talked on the phone too much; I had friends over when she wasn't home, I listened to music too loud, and she'd curse me for watching 'Saturday Night Live'.
I got good grades and went to school like I was supposed to, but when that didn't appease her, I started cutting classes. I'd show her.
I didn't like my mother much. She was too controlling and not very hip. She wanted me to be someone I knew, even then, I was not. I wasn't going to give in. In my opinion, she would've been better off if she'd have grown up to be a nun, not my mother. I felt like her slave, not her child.
I rebelled. I started hanging out with kids that smoked and drank and got high. Doing these things made me feel in control of my own life, simply because she did not condone such behavior. When I stayed out all night, for the first time, she sent the cops after me. They found me hiding out at my thinking spot, getting stoned and nursing a hangover. I'd spent the night walking in the rain, drinking beer and getting raped. The part about getting raped, no one would know about until years later; many years later. I was too scared to tell anybody. And, at the point where the cops had picked me up, I wasn't sure it really happened. It was all a blur.
However, once I had been locked up in juvy, I realized it really had happened. I had hickeys and teeth marks all over my chest.
After spending a few days in the detention center, I was sent to the shelter home for a week or so and from there, I went back home and I was put on home detention, which meant I had to report my comings and goings and maintain a curfew.
Oh God, how I wished I were an adult, living on my own and playing by my rules! My 18th birthday was quite a way off, but it couldn't get here soon enough for me.
My parents divorced in 1971, when I was five years-old. Since then I had seen my father only a handful of times. That was enough for me to know that living with him would be worse than staying with Mom. My dad had remarried and my step-mother was a witch. They were Born Again Christians, which to me was worse than my Catholic mother. My dad loved to thump his Bible and actually had me convinced, at the age of nine, that the zodiac symbols at the base of my aluminum globe were evil signs of the devil. By the time my step-mother had given birth to her first child I could not stand visiting them anymore. She was cruel to my brother and me. So, I told them I didn't want to come visit anymore; Tory and I never went back there after that.
My dad and his wife had three more children over the next several years; however, they would not know of my existence until 1991. The witch did not want her kids to know that she had stolen someone else's husband and forced him to leave two children behind. She had seduced my father at the age of sixteen. (He was 11 years her senior.)

Oh my God! He is gorgeous! He is to die for! I've got to see what is behind those shades. I wonder what's behind that smile. What is he thinking? Is he smiling at me? What a dream-boat! His smile is playful and his lips are totally kissable. His dark hair is perfectly combed and so thick I want to run my fingers through it. I wish I could see his eyes; are they brown or blue, or perhaps some other exotic color? My mind was a flurry of thoughts the moment I laid eyes on him.
I had just ended a stint in the juvenile shelter home for my rebellious activities, (skipping school, smoking, sneaking out...) and had come back to visit a friend. She met me at the door and together, we walked into the 'smoking' room. Cheryl took a seat at the table, but I was frozen in my tracks, the second I walked into the room. Then I tripped taking a seat next to her.
There he sat, directly across the table from me, rocking back in his chair, smoking a cigarette, looking as cool as cool could be. I couldn't take my eyes off him as I sat there smoking a cigarette; my friend, Cheryl, chattering away at me. I didn't hear a word she said. I was consumed by the boy that had eyes I couldn't see. He never spoke, except to say hi, the whole time I was there. I couldn't help but feel foolish because I could not look away from him. Were there other people in the room with us? I hadn't noticed. All I had eyes for was this guy wearing sunglasses indoors. When I could not take it any more, I wanted to leap across the table and kiss him so badly, I said good-bye and hopped on a bus to go back home. The plan: call Cheryl later and blast her with questions about this guy.
It was a cold winter day in 1979. It was a time in my life when my peers held me in high esteem although I never understood why. I was just being me, but for some reason, the kids I hung out with seemed to think I was great. I had barely set my feet on the path to self-discovery; how great could I have been? I sure wish I knew what he was thinking about me; if he was thinking about me. My mother didn't agree with the opinions of the others; she thought I was the biggest pain in the ass to walk the planet. I suppose one could say that I earned that status by insisting on doing things my way.
"Trii! (tree) Telephone! Someone named Cheryl?" my mother called out from the next room.
I snatched the phone in the living room. "Hello?"
"Hey, there's someone here wanting to yak at cha," came back Cheryl's voice.
After what seemed like an eternal pause, "You wanna talk to this guy or what?" she snipped.
Guy? Could it really be THAT guy? Just the thought made me hold my breath a second or two.
"The guy I met today? The drop-dead, gorgeous guy, with the shades..?" I inquired excitedly.
"I guess you could say it is THAT guy..."
"Quit messing with me and let me talk to him!" I shouted into the phone.
In the background I could hear the sound of Cheryl's laughter. Then, a new voice was on the line, "Hello?"
Everything inside me turned to Jell-O with that single word. My heart began racing. It was HIM! Oh shit! What was his name? Then it came to me; Trampus, his name is Trampus something or other.
"Hello? This is Trii, I said shakily, falling back into a chair.
We talked for awhile, about nothing and it seemed everything. I was in heaven. He called to talk to me! He said he wanted to see me again and could I come visit him?
Several days later, now in the new year, "Trii..? It is 2 A.M," Mom called to me, waking me from a light sleep. "Who do you know in Arkansas?" she asked, handing me the phone. "Hello?" At the sound of his voice, that sleepy bewilderment flew from my brain. I sat bolt upright. It was Trampus!
"What are you doing in Arkansas?" I asked him.
"I flew the coop with Todd and Cheryl. We started hitching and this is where we ended up. We're at a truck stop," he explained.
"Why'd you take off?" I inquired, feeling a little saddened by the news.
"Just to do something different," he replied.
The next thing I knew, Mom was screaming at me. "Get off that telephone! Do you have any idea how much two hours on a collect call is going to cost?"
I wanted to ask her; do you think I care about how much it's going to cost? But, I kept that thought securely behind my lips, saying nothing to her.
I hated to do it, but I said good-bye and hung up, angry with my mother for being, well, my mother. There was no denying it%u2026 I had fallen head over heels in love with this guy. I'd never felt like this before, talking to a guy.

One cold February afternoon, I returned from school to open the mailbox and discover an envelope addressed to me. It was a plain white envelope, addressed in brightly colored magic marker. There was no return address, but I knew it was from HIM. I ran to the house with it. Once inside the door, I ripped open that envelope like a rabid animal.
From inside, a postcard dropped to the floor. I snatched it up and read the words. "Here I am, trippin' on coffee and cigs, wanting to see you again%u2026" My eyes jumped to the signature. He signed it, "Love, Trampus!" Oh my God; he said love!" I screamed aloud, at no one. I had been swept away. I stood there, in the door way, trying to let it all soak in, feeling the smile on my face taking over my other features. The cutest guy on the planet said he loves me!
Realizing that an envelope isn't required for a postcard, I peeked inside to search for something more. Without much surprise, I removed a neatly folded sheet of paper from that envelope. The first thing that struck me was how beautiful his handwriting was. Guys didn't have nice writing, did they? None of the guys I'd ever known had nice writing. Wasn't that why they [guys I knew] always wanted me to do their homework? So, I looked again at the postcard. Both the letter and the postcard were written in the same hand. Wow! I thought. He is artistic too. I can actually read his writing! My attention went back to the letter; it said that he'd come back and turned himself in because he didn't want to be so far away from me. If I wanted to write back, I could send letters to, the Juvenile Reception Center or JRC as it was referred to by those of us who'd spent any time there. However, being that I couldn't get along with Mom, to save my own life, I thought I'd go one better than a letter or a phone call. I would run away, turn myself in, and get sent to detention to be with him. Within seconds, I was upstairs, in my room - the one I shared with Mom, packing some things into my backpack. In minutes I was out the door; no note; no nothing. I was outta there. I could hear my heart beating in my ears, the click of the door, locking behind me, then nothing but the wind and traffic going down the street.

Clutching his letter to my chest, wind blowing my short, blond hair back away from my face, I had set out on my adventure. Where exactly, I was going, I didn't know. I knew I needed to find a place to spend the night. Running away wouldn't mean much if I wasn't gone, at least, over night. I didn't want to be sent home. The somewhere that I was headed to ended up being my buddy, Gordy's house.
While walking, it occurred to me that I was not following a new path; I was creating one; my footsteps in the snow, behind me, told me so. I was leaving a path and forging a new one. I'd never felt so high. With each new crunch, beneath my feet, I knew I was getting closer to my unknown destination. The anticipation of seeing him again drove me forward, into the wind. My body was tingling with excitement and a warmth that denied the chill of the season. I didn't know where I'd lay my head that night, but somehow it didn't matter to me much, or at all. I knew somehow that it was my heart and my destiny that guided me now. Wherever I ended up would be the right place to be. I walked on.
I barely knew the boy who'd captured my heart, but that was unimportant. Details were not on my mind; I had plenty of time to learn them. His voice echoed in my brain; the words, 'Love, Trampus,' burned into all my eyes could see. I had to see him! I had yet to see the eyes behind those sunglassess, and that thought was all consuming.
The chilly winter afternoon had drawn into a cold, mid-western evening, when I came to find myself standing at my good friend, Gord-O's front door, wondering how I had come to be there. It was like being in a trance while walking, having awakened upon reaching a destination.
I reached out and knocked on the door. What was I going to say when my knock was answered? Before I had time to ponder the question too long, the door opened and I was looking into my friend's confused face. "Hey! Trii! What's the haps?" he greeted me, waving me into the house. An invitation that took no time at all for me to answer; I was suddenly freezing. Eagerly, I stepped through the doorway; the wind sucking the door shut behind me. The customary journey to the basement was short. Descending the stairs I spoke up, "Hey Gordy, I needs a favor%u2026"
"Sure, anything you need, Trii. What's up?"
"I need a place to crash tonight. Just tonight, I promise," I answered.
"No problem," he said, stay as long as you like. My mom loves you. Tell me what's going on."
Gordy's basement was the place we all hung out. ('That 70's Show' has a special place in my heart now-a-days.) It was great! We had everything we needed: a couch, a couple of chairs, a coffee table, and his mom's laundry lines running in crazy patterns all over the ceiling; oh, and of course, we had the black light posters and black light requirements covered too. Everyone was welcome at Gord-O's place. His parents welcomed all of us and treated us like their own.
Sitting together on the couch, Gordy reached for his bong and loaded a bowl, handing it to me. "Get a buzz on, Trii. You look like you need it," He said this to me, so seriously it startled me.
"Thanks," I said, taking his offering.
While sitting there, getting altered, it dawned on me that I really had no id

"Shit!" I muttered under my breath, "This is not how it is supposed to play." Trudy was pulling into Gordy's driveway. She had come to take me home with her. Her place wasn't where I wanted to go, but go with her I went. We drove away without a word spoken between us; not even a hello. Watching Gordy's house getting smaller behind us, I almost began to cry.

She broke the silence only to say, "We'll discuss all this after we get comfortable." The rest of the ride to her apartment in Podunk-land was awkwardly devoid of noise of any kind; not even the radio played. All I could hear was the hypnotic sound of the tires on the snow-packed road. Thanks to the heater, I was struggling to keep awake. My eyelids wanted to slam shut in the worst way, but then my stomach rumbled so strongly that I was wide awake and aware of the fact that I was hungry. Trudy looked in my direction and laughed at the noise I'd just made. I felt my face get hot; I just stared at the floor.

As the car coasted to a stop in front of a yellow apartment house, my stomach rumbled again. Crossing my hands over my belly, I looked at Trudy; she winked at me and opened her door. "We're here," she crooned. "Come on! Let's get something into that stomach of yours. The noise is deafening."
"Sounds good to me," I answered, getting out of the car and following her to her door. "I'm starving!" I whined.
"I just bet you are, Kiddo," She laughed at me. "I bet you are."

Once inside, I took a seat on her sofa, fighting not to close my eyes. I couldn't tell if I was more hungry, or sleepy. Then Trudy said, "I'll pop a pizza in the oven. You take a shower; you'll feel better and wake up a little. She pointed down the hall to a skinny door, to where I'd find towels, I assumed. And, I was right in my assumption. Following her pointing finger, I strolled down the hallway, and opened the door she'd been indicating. I pulled out two towels and tucked them under my arm. "Next door on the left," she said, slightly changing the direction of her pointing digit.

The door shut behind me with a creak and a click. Flipping on the light, my stomach protested its emptiness again. I crossed to the tub and turned on the shower. Oh, hot water is gonna feel so good, I thought, stepping under the showerhead. I just let the water pour over me, like it was cleansing my very soul. I felt as if I could stand there forever, but decided to get out once the hot water had been exhausted. There was enough cold outside. So I stepped out from the tub and wrapped my hair in a towel. On the counter, Trudy had set a nightshirt, so after drying off with the towel not on my head, I slipped the shirt on. My stomach would wait no more! It was time to eat. Throwing the towel into the hamper, off to the kitchen I went, just as the oven timer started ringing.

Trudy sat at the small, round table in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette. There were only three chairs around the table. I wondered briefly where the fourth chair had gone. Was there a fourth chair? I didn't know. What I did know was there was a steaming plate of pizza on the table, so I sat in the corresponding chair. I grabbed a slice and stuffed it into my mouth. "Ow! That's hot stuff," I grumbled through a mouthful of piping hot cheese and sauce. She just laughed at me. I supposed I probably did look pretty comedic at that.

"Slow down girl! It's not going to get up and run away from you," she said plainly.

Now it was my turn to laugh. Just the mental image of a slice of pizza sprouting legs, and jumping off the table sent me into hysterics. Somehow I managed to gain control of myself long enough to eat every slice on the plate; washing it down with a cold Pepsi. My conclusive belch had us both laughing again. "Good stuff. " I said, rubbing my belly.

Although I didn't know her well, I liked Trudy an awful lot. She was good people. I sensed the feeling was mutual. (When my parents divorced, I lost touch with my father's side of the family, and Trudy was, of course, one of my father's sisters.) I wasn't where I wanted to be at the moment, but I was glad I'd called Trudy just the same.Still laughing, not so hard now, I went to the sofa where my jacket lay and fished through the pockets until I found a pack of cigarettes. Lighting one, I returned to my seat at the table; Trudy shoved the ashtray to the middle so we could share it. Then she started in with a question...

"Why don't you get along with your mother? Give me details please," she said. I knew right then, that I was in for another long night. To prepare for it, I went back to the living room and flopped into a wicker chair. Trudy followed, sitting on the sofa, kitty-corner from where I sat.

Exhaling smoke, with an audible sigh, I rattled off my list of complaints. "My problem with Mom is that she has a problem with me. She is stuck in the 50's, for one thing For God's sake," I continued, "These are the 80's now; the world has changed. I am her biggest disappointment in life because I am not the obedient Catholic girl she wants me to be. Hello! I'm not having breakfast with nuns each day, Mom! I go to public school. I like boys!" My mind immediately shifted to Trampus.

"Don't get all dreamy-eyed on me; back to the topic at hand pleas," she laughed. "What else bugs you? Assuming that your list is longer than this..." she trailed off. I went on as though a flood gate had opened. I wondered if she was now regretting asking the question.

"She hates my friends, blames me for everything my stupid brother does, and treats me like a maid!" I replied; my voice rising in pitch and volume. "She never wants to let me hang out with my friends, or go anywhere because she says I have to stay home and watch my brother," I sneered. "She's never home! She's always next door, hanging out with Kim's mom, and man that woman is a BITCH! Kim is perfect; I am trash%u2026 If she only knew the things her daughter keeps herself busy with... She has a secret notebook where she keeps all the names of the guys she's screwed; dates, times, everything. What a slut-bag!" I finished.
Trudy's eyes narrowed, making me feel like an animal caught in the crosshairs. "I'm not interested in this Kim person. I want to know about you and your mom," she asserted softly.

"Okay," I said, "but she [Kim] is part of my problem. Mom buys into her crap too. And, she only wants to be my friend when there is something in it for her," I quickly added.

Crushing out my cigarette, I went on... "I clean the house, cook the meals, wash the clothes, and I don't even get an allowance! She treats me like a snot-nosed kid, when I am not doing her bidding that is," I said angrily. "What the fuck would she be without me? She'd be a mom, that's what!" I yelled out shrilly. The pacing had begun. Back and forth between the kitchen table and the wicker chair I strode. Did Trudy even know the can of worms she'd just opened? When it came to Mom, I had anger issues.

I went on%u2026 anger becoming rage, as I spoke: "She wants me to be an adult, when it suits her." My pace quickened. "I do her job! She won't treat me like an adult any other time, like when I have something that I want to do. Why shouldn't I be allowed to hang with my friends? She hangs out with hers!

Oh, by the way... My dad thinks my mom is a lezzy," I concluded.

"Do you think she is?" Trudy asked calmly, an amused smile on her lips.

"Hell no; she's Catholic, remember?" I shot back.

"And one night while I was on the phone, she lifted me out of a chair, by my hair!" I screamed. "All because I told her 'no', when she told me to get off the phone; can you fucking believe it?" I raged. "Tory steals her cigarettes and I get blamed for it. I steal my own God damned cigarettes, and I don't steal 'em from her! Gross!" I blurted out.

"Settle down there, girl. You're going to wear a path in the carpet," Trudy said, rising from her seat. She gently took me by the shoulders and hugged me tightly. I started bawling. The more comforting her words, the harder I sobbed; I couldn't seem to shut off the water works. There the two of us stood, me bawling like someone had died, and Trudy trying her best to make me feel better.

Once the torrential down pour of tears had stopped, Trudy steered me back to the sofa. Then she did something that really surprised me.

She left the room for a minute and returned with not only my pack of smokes and lighter, but she presented me with a pipe and tray too. Had I just been injected into an episode of, 'The Twilight Zone'? "You do smoke weed, don't you?" she asked, handing the pipe to me. It sounded more like a statement than a question; not an accusation either. I sat there, wide-eyed and nodding. "You have to swear to me that this will never leave this room," she added.

"No way, Jose! I promise. My lips are sealed," I answered.

"Good. You just looked like you could use it," she said. "A buzz, I mean. You got pretty worked up there, Hun."
"Yeah, we drive each other crazy," I whispered, raising the pipe to my lips. Trying to speak while holding the smoke in my lungs, I coughed violently. "You%u2026 started it." She was laughing again, and I wondered if she were laughing at what I'd said, or at the coughing fit I was going through.

"Take it easy there, girl," she said, still smiling at me. "There are some other things I want to know. It won't hurt this time; or at least it shouldn't."

Handing the pipe back to her, she waved it away. "Go ahead," she said. "You need it more than I do, I think." I kept smoking. No one had to twist my arm into getting stoned, and I was beginning to calm down. The world grew less glaring.

"All right; feel better now? Next question..," she went on - "Why did you call me? I mean, of all the people that you could have called, why ME?"

"Well," I began, "the last time I saw you, you told me that if I ever needed someone to talk to, to call you. So I did. I don't know, I guess I just feel that I can trust you. You know, I can talk

Forever and Always

Adland never stops amazing me.
Sometimes GOOD sometimes not so good.
Why?

One minute we are a busy forum posting place
And then
Good folks post a forum and nobody notices.
Many of you will remember our old friend Trina.
Trina has been off writing her life/love story, she came here to tell us about it recently.

Result: I bought a copy (even here in the UK), whatsmore I read it.

No, love stories aren't just for the girls.

Trina's life has been sooooo different to my settled family upbringing and a little more recent however I found the book moving and a glimpse of a much tougher world.

Her book is called Forever and Always. It shows me, and hopefully you, that we all have a story to tell.

I thought I knew Trina. Wrong.

Trina is a strong and determined lady who has used her life to act upon her experiences.


Why am I telling you all of this?



Go to her forum at
http://community.adlandpro.com/forums/post/2399177/InterviewwiththeAuthor.aspx?flag=3286465

Buy a copy for yourself, tell some friends that you know the author and get them buying.

I like a lady willing to do the work.

Support a fellow Adlander and enjoy a good story.
Not hard is it?

Roger

I am feeling a bit down today. My mother is freaking out because she has no TV to watch. I just paid the bill, but they haven't turned the dish back on. I can't afford to pay all my bills this month, so she will have to do without some stuff, I guess.



I am excited about moving, but the fact that I haven't any money is really depressing. I need to sell books.



Having my business go into the toilet doesn't help. I was doing rather well, until the crazy woman decided to post lies about me online, and now I have no business at all. That really depresses me. I worked hard for more than ten years to establish my credibility online, and it was trashed in just a few keystrokes, by a vindictive crazy person, who incidentally thinks I am such a bad person that she works very hard at trying to become me. I know, it is nuts, but what can I do? The damage has been done and I hope she is happy.



I am selling my house, if anyone is interested in that little tid-bit.



I am selling my memoir too. That is less expensive than my house, and I do hope that somewhere there are people who will be interested enough to buy a copy or two. That would help me tremendously.



I'd love to be in a more positive state of mind, and making some money would go a long way in making that happen. But regardless, I have to keep telling myself that things will get better; they always do.

I recently had a major falling out with someone who I thought was my friend. That hurts. I thought of her like a sister, and she has dumped me for aome unknown reason. She won't even tell me what the problem is, and if I don't know what is broken, I can't fix it.



I'll stop complaining now. It is just one of those days. Can you help a girl out and buy a book?



Have a happy Hump Day!