I’m operating in a constant low level panic today.
First, because of work. We are three associates down on a staff of seven. One quit, one’s on vacation, and one is out for the week with covid. I’ll be alone for the majority of my shifts this week, including tonight. The Company has everyone so overtaxed that no one in management even bothers any more to figure out how to plug holes in the schedule. They just fly by the seat of their pants. I’ll be alone for my entire shift tonight, and god forbid I ask for my 15 minute break--let alone ask who is going to cover my state-mandated off the clock meal break.
But worse, I’m looking at having to move from the place I’m staying as I’m limited to 28 days. So I’ll be out on the street come Monday. Still haven’t been able to get a room to rent. Pickings are slim in my area, and my credit history (foreclosure) is precluding me from getting a place within my means. There is a church run overnight shelter I have to check out because that may end up my only option. But this uncertainty is wearing away my already frayed nerves.
So if you could, please keep me in your thoughts/prayers today. I’ve learned time and time again that miracles come when I’ve been in terrible need, and that’s the hope I’m clinging to right now.
buy me a coffee?☕
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The thing is.... I have a Thing(TM) happening tomorrow. Possibly a big thing! And it could go well but it also could not, so I haven't told anyone about it. So I've just been doing stuff today. Oil change, clean my house, worked on a sewing project. And no one knows I have this big thing tomorrow because I haven't told anyone because I don't want to jinx it but also I don't want to be asked about it on the off chance it doesn't go well. And I'm not necessarily stressed. I'm nervous, but I'm trying so hard to not put any pressure on it because ultimately what happens will happen. But I'm sitting here like big thing happening tomorrow. It's a secret! From those in my life! But I hope it goes really well. I hope it goes really, really well.
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Fetching Scarlett
(just the beginning of) a one-shot that lies in Scarlett & Hennessy's future
The fuel pump of his rental 2018 Range Rover gave up the ghost just shy of eight kilometers from his destination--the Scottish village of Stormeil Na Mara, a scant five kilometers as the crow flies, from the storm-tossed Atlantic Ocean. Hennessy let loose a salty string of bitter profanities at the outrageous inconvenience of having to trek the final leg of his quest on foot. Of course Scarlett’s home village was so far off the grid (nearly two hours drive from Edinburgh Airport) that mobile reception was almost non-existent. He could only hope the wee fishing and farming burgh had some alternate form of communication with the wider world. He didn’t fancy the idea of being stranded there any longer than absolutely necessary to reclaim his wayward lassie. Surely his willingness to leave his cherished Caribbean clime and the comforts of the world he had built for himself, to travel to this dismal, godforsaken countryside should be proof enough that indeed he loved her. That she had--unwittingly or not--won her way deep into his normally thorny heart, making him break every self-made rule regarding romantic entanglements, which he had abided by for nearly two decades.
Yes, Scarlett’s gentle, loving ways, coupled with the well of heady passion within her--which he alone had ever had the privilege of plumbing--had turned him more than monogamus. Had shown him he could trust in another human soul to see his weaknesses yet never scorn him for them. Had proven that she saw a light in him that he had believed was extinguished long ago, trusting in him without hesitation from their beginning and sincerely loving him unconditionally. Late as he was in coming to this realization, Hennessy finally understood that Scarlett was his pearl of great price--and that no cost was too high to win her back into his life.
Resigned to the road ahead, he quickly gathered a few essentials from his luggage, along with his bottled water, to pack into his leather tote, and donned the heavy wool sweater he had purchased at an airport boutique that catered to tourists desiring to immerse themselves in the trite trappings of Gaelic culture. As Hennessy’s designer wardrobe featured only hot weather garb, in this case it was a necessity. Plus, it might very well make the difference in him catching a ride from a local croftsman heading in his direction. As his usual good luck would have it, he traversed less than two kilometers before a lift materialized.
The farmer wasn’t a talker beyond a few rudimentary questions in a brogue so thick Hennessy barely understood him. They got along well enough for Henns to make clear he was seeking the Campbell cottage, home of Mrs. Aileen Campell (he’d had a stuttering moment when he couldn’t recall Scarlett’s mum’s name, but finally managed it when he set his mind’s eye to the way the sunlight streaming through the transom window lit his bonnie lover like a halo of gold about her sex-tousled raven locks, as she sat wrapped in his silk sheet at the foot of his bed, revealing some quiet detail of the strict life she’d lived as a teen beneath her mother’s roof). The man had grunted with a nod, telling him he could drop him as near to there as the road would take him, but he’d still have a twenty-minute walk at least, to reach the shoreside bothie. Their rough conversation lapsed from there, until the farmer dropped Hennessy off those twenty minutes from his destination, telling him to head northwest and when he saw the shore off to his right, he’d be nearly there.
Doggedly determined as he strode across the long grass towards his goal, he could smell the Sea before he saw it--and as always, nearness to the source of his vitality and power, granted Hennessy the invigoration needed to speed his pace afoot.
Coming over a thistle-covered hill, he paused when he saw the white capped waves beating upon the sand, and drew a deep, deep breath, a full understanding of the source of his Scarlett’s fundamental relationship with the Sea, dawning upon him. Though these waters would always run in her blood, they had taught her a healthy fear of the treacherous, untrustworthy northern seas. Her gentle nature was far better suited to the warm embrace of sunshine seawaters, as was his own...
(I'd love to hear from anyone still following this story ~ although I can't reply directly, as my main blog still dwells in shadowban prison)
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