ASS out of U and ME.

I know I stated in my very first post that I would try not to ever use profanity, however in these given circumstances I was forced to reassess this rule for very obvious and necessary reasons...just this once, in this blog.


Lately, (over the period of my entire life) I've noticed that I tend to heavily assume things that get me into trouble (mostly financially) and then cause me a great deal of grief. The below examples cover the last two years of school only...

One study as referenced from my life, gives an epic example of why one should not assume this or that about such big details.

Winter of 2011, I registered for a couple classes. Nothing wrong there. I was put on a waiting list for the classes I wanted. This is also fine, after all they let you know if you've been taken off the waiting list and added to the class...great. Time went on...I hadn't heard anything from anyone at the school. I worked, hiked and biked, and did my thing. Near the beginning of summer two thousand twelve, I received a letter in the mail from the school I had been planning to attend the term before. I began opening it, thinking it to be just some boring newsletter, read the first couple lines and stopped breathing while I read;


Dear Sarah Bachtel,

This is a notice that you have an outstanding bill of $XXX for the term of blah blah blah. If you do not pay us all the moneys by five-ish days past the receipt of this letter, chunky late fees will be added. Frown face, frown face, frown face. 

Sincerely,
I'm Just Doing My Job


So obviously that's not exactly what it said, but you get the idea. I was being charged for a class that I had originally signed up for, however had never attended. How could this have happened?

Through the grueling (to me) process of sending e-mails, making phone calls, and going into the school offices (over the period of five months) I learned how this had happened and what the process would be to potentially fix it.

...Lot's of explanation about hardship, misunderstanding of the system, and begging for mercy was smashed into a carefully written e-mail and then sent to the powers that be. Through many months of waiting and emailing, I eventually received "in store credit" as reimbursement for the class. What a headache.

So, how did this all go awry?

As stated above, I gave an explanation of hardship, misunderstanding, and begging. The word misunderstand actually masks the truth that I assumed all school details would be sent to my personal e-mail...when in reality, come to find out, all school messages are sent to my very own and very separate school email. I'm still pissed about this detail be honest with you.

But wait! There's more!

I had finally gotten all that crummy stuff ironed out and had even taken and completed a class in it's place when I went onto the school site to then find yet another issue. I was looking for my grade for the "in store credit" class. It was an "A". Sweet....buuuut, where'd that "F" come from?

Again, I had assumed, naturally, (I'll give myself credit for this one) that my foul grade would drop along with the fees as well. Well, my assumption was correct because that's what should have happened. However, it obviously hadn't happened.

Another process began. This however, didn't take nearly as long as the first portion. THANK GOD! The end result, letter grade "W" for Withdraw. More like, Whatever!

I'll admit my fault in not paying closer attention to details and assuming things rather than checking it's viability. And in so admitting, the ass was made out of me. However, that letter grade portion of defect I deem to be the schools fault...which also makes them an ass. Ha ha.

So, finally in the clear. It only took six months to get all that bleh worked out. I could do it again if I had to but please don't make me.


...Speaking of...


So, summer term of 2013 rolls around and I've signed up for two classes, a painting course and an Intro to Literature (Fiction) course. I'm feeling a lot more confident in how the stupid school system works now, based on my past learning experiences of course. Everything works smoothly. I get the required materials, have financial aid ready and I'm even eager to learn.

First week of painting is going great, it's going to be a good term. This blurb isn't about the painting class though, it's about the fiction course which I was also expecting to go well.

The first day, the professor went over the syllabus and what our reading materials would be. One, we would largely be reading from a textbook of short stories and two, we would later in the term read Frankenstein. In normal circumstances, when a plethora of tragedies and great losses hadn't occurred, I would generally be okay with reading Frankenstein and possibly questionable short stories. I was worried though, these were devastating times. I spoke with the prof about my concerns and reasoning behind my concerns and she assured me there were redeeming aspects to the book and that the short stories were really "neat".

I took her word for it for the first day and read the assigned homework which was "average" to "very little" on the scale of morbidness. The second day of class went well and the reading materials assigned were rather numerous. I held off reading them till the end of the week. When I did start reading them I found them to be excessively morbid and dark. I tried reading all the material but I kept feeling sick and horribly saddened by the grotesque scenes. I made it through three and a half of the short stories before realizing that I would not pass this class if I tried to continue.

So, on Sunday at the beginning of the second week I went online and canceled enrollment in the Fiction course. I felt so relieved.

On Monday, I went to speak with an adviser about signing up for a different class. While going over the options for a new class, it was discovered that I had not "dropped" the Fiction class but instead "withdrew" from it. I had missed the deadline by less than a day. And for those who don't know the difference between the two terms, "dropped" means you can get some or all of your money back from a class you wont be taking without any grade marks. A "withdraw" means you have to pay for the class in full and you have a "W" in your reports. I don't know if the "W" really means anything in the end however, having to fork out money for a class you aren't taking is a really tough pill to swallow.

So, I fought that pill. With my full arsenal. I had legitimate tears rolling down my devastated face. I wrote my eloquent explanation and again pleaded for mercy. I got advice from the Assistant Dean on what to say to powers that be (she was flippin helpful and encouraging by the way). Then I waited a response. The Assistant Dean called me with a response from the powers that be (not the Dean, some other area of control, can't remember what it's called). She informed me that my petition had been denied on the basis that leniency had already been given to me for nearly the same circumstances. Fairly true.

I did have a good excuse though and these were different circumstances and I was barely a day late damn it!

But alas, I was forced to submit to that damn pill and thence proceeded with giving them my fork full of all the moneys.


I was wrong in this situation too. However, I felt as though I had been wronged by the school based on my reasoning for withdraw from the class.

So, in this moment, and since I have the power of judgement, I'll again say we (the school and I) are both asses.

I don't really know what to do with that determination except share a quote from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. So here goes;

Dogberry to Master Leonato: "And Master, sir, do not forget to specify, when time and place shall assert, that I am an ass."


Enjoy your day friends. :)



Sincerely,
Sarah

I Wish I Knew

I'm sitting here contemplating my lethargic state of mind, body, and spirit. I have an opened bottle of wine next to me but no glass. Every once in a while I'll take a drink to see if it's still good. It is as it was five minutes ago.

The options of what discontent me shuffle through the assembly line of possible culprits. Maybe, I'm just depressed or it could be an allergy to milk. Maybe I just don't get enough exercise or I don't take the right supplements. Maybe it's all that sugar I tend to crave, always. Whatever it is, it looms constantly ever holding me back.

The problem lies in the looming aspect of this ever apathetic presence. That is all I can call it and all I know to describe it by. A cloud, of the negative sort, that keeps me from "life to the fullest".

This is not to say that I reside in my room locked away from my house mates and the world as much as I possibly can. On the contrary, I do my best to socialize with them and even more so I am eager to leave the house for adventures. I go on hikes and motorcycle rides with friends and attend random events that sometimes I don't even want to go to. But more often than not, I am glad I do those things. I am at the very least, contented with knowing that I do try.

Even after a successful excursion or a breath taking hike or even making new friends, I end up feeling...

...empty,

...just empty.

Discontented, unsatisfied, and rarely present.

I feel closer to the answer than I ever have before, but still I writhe in a constant struggle to make each day work for me.

I wish I knew the answer.


I would like to tell you that I put the cork back on the bottle however, I guess "they" were too cheap for corks...the cap now dons the nearly full bottle.



Sincerely,
Sarah

Keeping Up

I'm not good at keeping up with things in general. I don't keep up with the latest and greatest electronics, I don't even have a TV.  I don't keep up with my chores, there's always a "good" reason (like coming up with a different and "more important" project to do instead). I'm not one to go above and beyond to put a workout together either, more "good" excuses. I don't keep up with my art projects, unless I'm taking a class (even then I just do the bare minimum). But, don't get me wrong, I do finish things, it just takes me a really long time to get them started and then some more time to keep it going...I'm very creative with my methods of avoidance.

I make myself sick sometimes.

It frustrates me that I know my working habits but don't utilize them to the fullest. I don't like corporate anything, but I wish I would "Just Do It" like stupid corporate Nike says. I know I'm a procrastinator but I also know that I get things done (once they're started). There it is again, why can't I "Just Do It"? What is it inside me that keeps me from keeping up with things? Fear of failure? I should be used to failure by now. Lack of satisfaction with any and all tasks? I think we're getting somewhere now...though it doesn't comfort me.

The fact is, I'm typing out this blog right now in order to neglect a different project all together. I'm not really excited about finishing it. I will, but I don't want to, so I'm dragging my feet so to speak. I sat down to try and process my reasoning behind my lack of interest:

It just so happens that the project I'm "working" on is an oil painting for a class. I'm copying someone else's landscape scene that has a variety of cool colors and soft brush strokes. It was assigned in order for us to practice color matching, proportioning, and technique. It's a nice composition and pleasant to look at. That being said though, something about the project makes me want to hurl. Maybe it's because I feel I'm above the project (I struggle with a big head sometimes, just being honest for humility's sake) or it could be that I hate the idea of copying someone else's craft. It might also be that I've never worked with oils before and that the strategic process of color layout is too daunting so I just slap the appropriate colors down as I see fit and this method gets me into tight spots sometimes (and by "tight spots", I mean it looks bad, at least to my standards). It may also be that I'm completely unsatisfied with my lack of instruction in class (even if it is community college, I expect world class education dang it!)


Hmm. Well, now you and I know why I don't even want to look at that painting project let alone work on it. I'm not being taught well enough, I'm plagiarizing, I'm indifferent about oils, and also, somehow, I still feel above the project. What gives?! Am I stuck up or what?!

Well, I better start painting...or doing laundry or cleaning my room or making dinner. You know how it goes.

The Bloggernaut/To Blog or Not.

I choose to blog...Juggernaut style.
The Juggernaut (Marvel comics character created in the '60s.)

Special powers:
Superhuman strength, stamina, and durability
Regenerative healing factor
Force field generation
Virtually unstoppable momentum


So in this blog I power through and give you fine folks an update since my last blog. Which has been a long time. You will hopefully see within the update, my ability to regenerate a "healing factor" and also equip myself with a force field of protection before plowing through yet another wall. And, ...ah whatever, I don't even care about this analogy. I just thought "The Bloggernaut" sounded funny/cool/catchy.



This is where the real post begins:
Since my helmet post:

• I have completed my Basic Rider Training course. 
• Gotten my license/registration/insurance. 
• Looked at three bikes total.
• Bought the third looker and is it a looker or what!?!
• My sister had her baby and I'm officially an Auntie! ^_^
• Bought a battery tender (That was a long day of battery troubles and strandedness. Shout out to those who helped me, all you brothers at work) :)
• Bought a helmet that fits, protective jacket, and gloves.
• My awesome parent's came to town to be with their kids and new grand baby...also they came to help out at my sister's house. They went above and beyond! Massive kudos! 
• Got to take my mom for a spin on my "new to me" wheels. :)
• Got to watch some of The Masters with my dad. I liked that.
• I found out mid-way through my parents visit that the place I work at is closing up shop and I only have thirty more days from April 12th until I have no job. 
• I called to cancel my gym membership. In the process, the fellow on the other end asked me why I was canceling. I told him I'd been laid off. He sympathized with me and then asked me if I'd like four months membership free of charge. Um, yeah! That helps my moral! Thank you 24 Hour Fitness and guy I don't know! ...on top of four months free, the man gave me a motivational speech of sorts and encouraged me in my upcoming job searches. God bless that man! He's a friend of mine.
• I told a couple close friends about my job loss and their reactions both surprised me and made me laugh hysterically. One friend, who has been wanting me to find a day time job for a while because we don't ever hangout anymore, said "oh.....I'm sorry I'm not more bummed....that sucks, but, I miss you".  If that doesn't touch your heart, I don't know what will. ;) The other friend/family, who lives in AZ, I told by email and asked for their prayers. Her reply, "Yay! Now you can come and live with us! ....p.s. sorry to hear about that, we'll be praying." I laughed sooo hard! I'm glad they felt comfortable enough to say what first came to their minds and didn't try to be sensitive about the whole thing. In other words, I feel the love, very tangibly.
• My lovely, and more organized in thought than me, mother helped me make a list of questions and tasks that needed to be completed surrounding the topic of college. We went together to the campus office where we proceeded to take care of business that would help me get closer to the degree I want (BFA). It's been a messier process than most have to deal with and that's my own making, but I'm learning the ways of the campus rules and like I said, getting closer to the degree I want. Thank you mom for your help. Y'all can judge, but my mom is welcome on campus any day! You too Dad!
• I finally checked the expiration date of my discount standby tickets only to find that they expired just under a month ago. No nearly-free flights for me this summer like I had thought. Very bummed.
• My bike wouldn't idle today. I rode it about six miles and it was terribly sluggish for it's breed and it would die even in neutral at lights and during take off. My mechanic suspects foul spark plugs given all the problems I had had with starting it during my battery problems. I believe that to be a fine assessment. Plus it sounds cheaper than the other potential problems I looked up. Fixin' to fix tomorrow.
• And on a very small note of disappointment, I picked up two gloves from the sidewalk a week ago and just finished repairing the cuts in both of them. After completing the repairs I began trying them on only to find that they are both for the right hand. I don't want to just throw them out but I can't think of any other use for them. Any suggestions?

So that's a rather detailed update. I don't mind sharing it though because then you can see where I'm coming from in regard to my joys and frustrations.


Onward.

So.....my bike is pretty rad! Even with it's problems.

I knew it would be high maintenance when I got it. It's just that kind of bike, rather prissy for a Monster. I just couldn't say no to its cute face. It was like a puppy at the humane society that had my name all over it, the sweetest little thing. Except, it wasn't a puppy and it wasn't at a shelter and it wasn't little. It was a hefty thundering Monster, roaring in the deep echoing forest...of the inner city. It needed a tamer, a companion. It was lonely and silent without an accomplice. I took it under my wing (or rather, my bum) and brought it home to my lair where I made it comfortable in its cave, (It's in the garage). We have been best mates ever since (except for when its cold out, it doesn't charge, blows spark plugs, and stalls in the middle on an intersection...which seems to be almost every week so far. I forgive it, so long as it doesn't run me dry).

You probably want to know what it is now. I don't blame you. I guess I'll give you a picture too. You're welcome. The Black is a 1999 Ducati Monster Dark 748cc. It rumbles and growls and gets a lot of looks...even when it stalls. (probably mostly then actually....just keeping things in perspective, I'm proud but not unrealistic).

Flowers and leaves courtesy for my mechanic's eight year old daughter. Too bad they wont stay.



I don't regret my purchase at all. And I don't plan on selling it just because I lost my job. Especially not for that reason.

I really like my bike, I do. But at the same time, I don't get much pleasure out of looking at it or riding it. It is bitter-sweet to me. I reminds me of how I got it and who I lost. The association will always be there, and so will the emptiness I feel toward it.

I enjoy bragging about it to a degree, but I brag mostly because I know that's what people expect and even want. They want to know what all it's features are and how it sounds, ect.

The thing is, I have so many feelings (just about this purchase, not including the other aspects of life at the moment) that they begin to cancel each other out, in appearance. But in reality, I'm swimming in thoughts and emotions that contradict one another. I am excited about my bike and I really really like it...but at the same time I'm bitter about owning it and I'm indifferent toward it. <(This was to explain to you and to me, why I'm not a typical first bike owner. Why I'm not completely elated and fawning over my bike. Why I don't spend hours tinkering with it and cleaning it up. The bare minimum is all I can handle.)

I like my bike, but it's complicated.

I like my life, but it's complicated.

I like a lot of things, but I'll never be whole. Not till I'm home.





Most sincerely,
Sarah

Motorcycle Helmet

I sat down on the uncomfortable seat as the bus drove off again. My backpack sat next to me and my helmet rested on my lap. I was on my way to day one of course training.

The bus decelerated and stopped to pick up and drop off people. Then we would continue on again. And on and on this same process for about an hour.

I sat solemnly.
It's not as though I wasn't excited to take the class and to get one step closer to having my very own motorcycle, I was excited. But it's more complicated than that. It's always more complicated.

I didn't buy that helmet and I didn't pay for that class. And I won't be paying for my motorcycle or gear.

I brought along the helmet with the off chance that it might actually fit me. Though, I knew it was way to big from the start. I wanted it to fit me so badly then. I needed someone else to tell me though. I guess I just could let myself down.

Bump after bump and brake and accelerate. I sat with that helmet in my lap. It was protected by a felted sleeve and masked from the common eye. My anxiety was high as I held it close to me. I guarded it as though it were a hurt puppy or a sick baby, protectively. I realized then why I didn't want it to fit me. I couldn't possibly wear it without feeling that I might break it, and therefore break sweet memories.

I'd been giving it more life than it had. Feeling as though it were more animate. It represented Seth to me and I gave it that value. I finally admitted to myself that if I were to drop that helmet I wouldn't be hurting Seth and I wouldn't lose my memories. It's not him. And it doesn't matter if it fits my head or not. It's not him, it's just a helmet. Also, he would be happy if it fit me and he'd shrug it off if it didn't. No sweat.

I sat in class and during a pause I kept thinking about how excited I was to be there. I daydreamed about all the cool places I'd be able to go and all the beautiful things I'd see. But that excitement and daydreaming was constantly shadowed by my aching sadness. Not just the sadness of loss but the sadness of benefiting from loss. It just lingered there to remind me of how I was able to be there. But I CAN'T feel guilty! He wouldn't want me to.

I was so angry though. He should still be here. He should be taking that class with me (He probably wouldn't have though. He already knew it all.) We should be planning a road trip, all of us. We should be talking about the cabins we want to build someday. And the national parks we want to visit, or revisit. He shouldn't be gone!!!!



The bus stopped and I gathered my things and headed up to the range. I sat on the curb and waited for the first group to finish they're class. One of the instructors asked if I was there for the second class and if I had brought my own helmet or needed to borrow one. I said I was there for the next class and that I had brought a helmet but didn't know if it fit right. I slipped it over my head and he said it was much too big and that I'd need to go try some of the smaller ones on in the storage shed.

It was very strange how relieved I was that it didn't fit. I felt clear mined and detached from my previous unhealthy attachment to it. I was ready for class. I was ready to make Seth proud. And I know I did, I scored high in both the written and riding tests. I now hold a certificate of completion that will get me a discount at the DMV and on my motorcycle insurance. One step closer.





In a previous post "Bikes and Stuff", I stated that I would share a particular dirt bike story but another time. I feel this is an appropriate segue (ha ha, that's the first time I've ever spelled that word and I spelled it right! I'm easily impressed sometimes.) for this story. It involves a 1974 Yamaha Enduro 250. So, here goes.

Seth and I were at the barn where I board my horse and where he kept his bike. I believe we went out there for the sole purpose of him taking me for a ride on his dirt bike. I felt really honored that he offered to take me around the field and up and down the road a bit. Before he let me hop on though, he needed to "warm-up" the bike (it did need to be warmed up, it was pretty old). This consisted of a lot of idling and then some good ol' rev'ing of the engine to sound cool. Then...well, he just wanted to show off for his sister and took off through the field and rip roared up and down the strip closest to the driveway. He pulled some wheelies and kicked up a bunch of dirt as he sped up and down the field. After a few rounds of his fun looking stunts, he came by and picked me up. Then we rip roared (probably slower) up and down the field and along the street. I had a really nice time and enjoyed riding with him. We called it a day and headed to the gate. I hopped off and opened the gate and closed it after he was through. He stopped and waited for me to remount.

Side note: Something you should know about that bike. It was... from 1974, not the cleanest bike. It wasn't in mint condition and it's rear fender was torn/ripped leaving a rusty piece of jagged metal that extended only a fraction of the amount that it should have. Thus leaving the tire exposed except for a small handle and of course that lovely piece of metal. Also the following incident happened in a matter of seconds. Like maaybe 2 seconds. Ah, heck if I know. It was quick though.

 Continue...I jumped on and held on loosely to his waist and propped my feet on the pegs. He situated the weight, pulled the throttle a bit then slipped the clutch or let it out faster than a regular smooth release action. With that the bike flung forward. I was not ready for that. I clung to Seth's waist as my legs slipped off the rear end and began to drag on the moving tire and gravely driveway. I lost grip of his waist and for some reason grabbed for that little bar on the back and had it for a split second. Anyway I finally let go, which was about the time he was able to come to a complete stop. I was livid.
"What the heck, why did you do that?!!!" I said.
"I'm sorry, I was trying to do a burnout!" his brotherly response.

I came away with a small bloody puncture wound  on my right knee from pointy rock, some dirty scrapes, and a massive bruise on my inner thigh. Oh yeah, and a gnarly story to tell about my awesome brother who just wanted me to be proud of him. I was and am.

I was mad that day of course but we soon reconciled and even laughed about it as we retold it. We would occasionally bring up how we were both surprised and amazed that I didn't get shredded up by the literally torn off rear metal fender. I'm proud of the scars on my knees and I like to think of all that that day was to me. It was more than an accident. We were getting closer to a really good brother/sister relationship. He wanted to spend time with me and show off his bike and his riding skills. He wanted me to be proud of him.

I will not be ashamed of him in life or in death. He is BA "Best Ever"!!!!!! I love you Seth Thomas Bachtel.


Thank you,
Sarah

Two Ponderings to Make One

Body full

Mind is the fog
Tears are the rain

Lips are the silence
Ears are the words

Chest is the drum
Heart is the wound

Shoulders are the weight
Hands are the empty

Legs are the feeble
Feet are the wandering

I am not here
I am not there




"I'm neither here nor there. Where am I then?" I ask rhetorically.

"How should I know, I don't know where I am." I say with a snarky reply.

"Ha ha." I say as I close my eyes for a long pause.


...But I know I know the truth, I'm on the other side. I'm not in the world I once knew, everything is different here. Reality is no longer hidden from me (and by reality I mean, what really matters in life).

"Reality": 
Relationship with The Creator
Closeness with family
Wise choices in friendships
(This wasn't so much the news to me as the "Opposites" were, though I knew them in theory)

Opposite of "Reality" (so long as the above realities all are in place):
Money
Materials
Status

In that order.
However, once the first "Reality" is in place, all else will align accordingly.


Most sincerely,
Sar'

The Trolling Boat

Sorry it's been such a long time since my last posting. I've had many difficulties with internet connection. However, all's well in the computer department now.



I've recently been reading a book called Understanding Your Grief with intentions of learning to do just that. This post is in reference to the accompanying journal and what I've discovered from the very first statement within it. Nothing else within the journal has proven to be as profound for me.

The journal that accompanies follows each chapter with questions that are meant to help process through grief in a very personalized way. Which means, the questions are very vague and are meant to help pull out from within what one might not have necessarily known was there.

Before I began reading the associated questions of chapter one I noticed there was a pre-questions "question". It read:

"Before you begin your journey into this journal experience, please take a few minutes to reflect on where you see yourself right now at this moment in time..."

After reading it I thought to myself, "What a stupid and vague question. What does he mean "where"?" The statement made me frustrated so I moved on to the next page to see if it was any better. I stopped mid-sentence and looked back at the previous page with those seemingly useless words. I decided to reread it but this time with a more openness. Then after the three periods of pause following the word "time" I hesitantly closed my eyes and tried to visualize "where" I felt I was right then.

I was surprised to slowly see myself appear in the middle of this vast and deep lake. The waters were rocky and difficult to stay afloat in. The sky was gray and unfriendly with looming storm clouds. I couldn't see land or anything save for the sky and the immediate crashing waves.

I thought to myself, as I imagined where I was, "Why hasn't anyone come to rescue me yet? Doesn't anyone know I'm out here, that I need help? How am I supposed to make it? "

The above was my response to what was asked of me. I wrote it down and once I reached the end, I realized that there was more. So I closed my eyes again and let it all unfold.

I was alone in the water knowing no one was on their way to rescue me. Somehow I knew that people were aware that I was out in dangerous waters, but they would not come. As I fought to stay afloat they sat in their homes pondering how I was doing. From one, "Well, I hope she makes it alright." From another, "I wish I could help." "I'm glad that didn't happen to me."said someone else.

While they discussed their feelings and thoughts about the issue at hand, I had begun to swim. Wave after wave crashing and slowing me, but I kept fighting. As I labored against the waves by myself I imagined a motor boat trolling beside me, filled with my most favorite people in the whole world, some who have passed and some who are still alive. I could see their joyous faces smiling as they cheered me on. They yelled encouragements and chanted victory songs that pushed me and gave me strength to keep going. I could hear uproarious laughter in between their shouts. They were having the time of their lives because they knew I was going to be okay. But even more than that, they knew I was going to be exceedingly better than okay. I took their songs and cheers as encouragements for the present dilemma, because that's what they were. But really, all of it was praise to God for what's to come. They could see what was ahead and they knew it was good.

I began swimming faster with more encouragement than ever before in my life. And as I pressed forward faster and faster my thoughts slowly drifted back to the water. All of the sudden I was made aware that the water was calm, almost completely still and the skies were no longer bleak but a wide open country sky blue. I stopped and looked around full circle. I found that the once vast and insurmountable distance of lake was far smaller than previously perceived. I felt hopeful, optimistic, and not alone. I noticed that I was swimming to a new shore, one I had not been familiar with before. I was swimming away from all that I once new and enjoyed. It wasn't me anymore, it wasn't what I had hoped it would be.


I'll make it.
My family will make it.
But we're not just going to make it to the finish we're going to conquer and win!


Love,
Sar'