... (or a Coastie) today! If you do, you might see fireworks.

At least, that's what he told me 8 years ago. It was true, right??? Wait...

Since I have nothing better to do than to stand here in my kitchen, topless, because I'm annoyed that I have to get the house ready for all the in-laws about to inundate me - I'm rebelling, if you can't tell - I will transcribe here for you, in all it's glory, and without a single edit, a poem I wrote when I was a teenager.

Enjoy.

Hey! Look up! See that?

I guess you can't see.

I forgot. You're five hundred and three!

So much older, much more mature,

I'm so young,

of that I'm sure.

My friend Barney told me, "Just imagine!"

Others say, "Be real."

Which is the right choice?

Which is the better deal?

I know I want to see,

but does seeing make me blind?

And if I go find knowledge,

would I like what I will find?

So, will I go seek fortune,

or will I seek out fame?

I've already decided that these both

will bring me shame.

What do I want to do with my life?

How shall I spend my time?

By George, I've got it!

I'll live a life of crime!

I've moved a lot in my lifetime. Not just small, across the town moves. I was born in Laguna Hills, CA. My mother tells stories of lying on the roof watching as the Blue Angels practiced their air stunts close to our house and of splashing water as small earthquakes shook us in the bathtub. My parents were in the ministry at the time. I believe they were involved in Campus Crusade for Christ. At any rate, when I was 1, we moved to Houston, TX.

From TX, I hear stories of playing with MLB players and their families because my dad was the chaplain for the Houston Astros. One of the favorite stories to tell was of the first big screen tv we'd seen, and it was at Nolan Ryan's house (we were there, I'm guessing, for the '81-'82 season). I obviously don't remember that. Or CA. My mother hated Houston more than any other place she'd ever lived, or has lived since (I agree with her sentiment now as an adult who spent the last 4 years outside Beaumont TX which is an hour and a half away from Houston), and after one baseball season, we moved to Kentucky.

My first memories are of Kentucky. They are more like memories of scenes, I was still very young. I remember grassy hills, mostly. A flash of a memory of a tricycle. Of older sisters riding down a hill on their bikes. When I was 4, we moved again. To Jacksonville, FL.

I remember almost everything about Jacksonville. From finding that infamous shoulder mole for the first time with my dad, to my first "boyfriend." Even then, I was the faithful type. We were true to each other all through kindergarten and first grade. We planned to grow up and marry each other. We held hands. We were never, ever going to kiss, kissing was GROSS. We took tons of teasing from my older sisters and his older brothers. And, in the middle of first grade, we had to move again. He rode his bike over to my house that day. As the remainder of our things were packed up on the truck, we sat in the grass in the front yard and held hands. Watching. I don't remember saying much, either of us. The time came, and with the rest of my family, I got in our van. As we drove away, I turned around backwards in my seat waving goodbye to him out of the back window. He sat on his bike alone in the street. And then, we turned a corner, and he was gone. We moved to Alabama.

We lived in Alabama from January '87 until summer '92. We moved to south Georgia. I was 12. I was already on my 6th move.

We stayed in south Georgia until around '98. The year I graduated high school. We moved to west Georgia, closer to Atlanta.

I went to college there. My father passed away there, in 2001. And in 2002, I graduated from college. I had a job waiting for me. It was an adventurous job. All I had was a plane ticket, a (very full) suitcase, and a piece of paper with the address of the hospital I'd work at, the manager to call when I landed, and an address of the apartment they were giving me. I boarded that plane, and I moved to Boston, MA on my own. Not knowing anything about where I was going. But ready to fly on my own.

I stayed in Boston for 9 months. It was the most changing 9 months of my life. I moved, at the end of my contract, back home to Georgia to recover.

After my sabbatical was over, I got a new job. It probably isn't a surprise to some of you where I chose to be. I found a job at a beach hospital. Yes, that was my criteria. An Atlantic Ocean beach hospital. I moved to Jacksonville, FL. It's where I met Josh. It's where Ava and Isaiah were born. And, after some years there, we moved with Josh to fuckin' Texas.

4 years of abandonment later..... a few weeks ago, we moved to coastal North Carolina. It's a much better situation.

So how many moves is that? I have moving experience. You get what I'm laying down? Now you know my history, if you didn't know all of it (or any of it) before. I know what it's like to physically move. All the ins and outs of it. That includes what it does to people and to relationships.

And this is the crux of the picture I'm painting. When a move is looming, friends, even friends you thought were close friends, do one of two things. They either relax into the transition, knowing that goodbyes are not forever and they embrace you as you make plans together. Or...

They pull away.

They don't know how to deal with it. They can't deal with their own feelings in it. Their own fears. Their own vulnerabilities. And in the fear of losing friendship and feeling loss, they CAUSE the friendship to break.

How does it break? They pull away so strongly out of what they think is "protection" of themselves. They find other "friends" immediately. These are replacement friends, and are often shallow relationships that serve as a distraction in order to numb themselves.

Does anyone see where I'm going with this?

All of these things happened to us when we moved from Texas. When we moved, no one gave a flying fuck. We got no goodbyes. Not a single one. Not from the friend I'd considered like a sister. She turned completely heinous. And has still not said one word.

There are some changes that we can't stop. I couldn't stop the fact that we were moving to North Carolina - we had military orders. Hell, I didn't want to. Texas was death to me as it was.

Whether we can stop the Xangapocalypse remains to be seen. But we can't stop what has already occurred, and that's the mass exodus. I cannot believe that the place where xangans have mostly gathered is facebook. Facebook, the anti-Xanga. The place that is structured to be a popularity contest. Where you give one liners. Where if your post is more than like 3 sentences, most won't read it. How could a bunch of bloggers accept such a poor (non) substitute to a blogging platform?? I'll stop my facebook feelings there, you all know it. And you know I will not follow you. If you have chosen that as your network, you already know you have chosen to walk away from me.

That's where I'm going with this. When a move is looming, friends, even friends you thought were close friends, do one of two things. They either relax into the transition, knowing that goodbyes are not forever and they embrace you as you make plans together. Or... they pull away.

I'm disgusted, and more than that, I'm hurt. I'm hurt that while you abandoned ship, you didn't look back to see if I even had a life vest.

I'm the kind of friend who embraces, accepting the transition while making plans together. How many of you did that with me? How many of you went ahead and jumped? You broke away and found a new shallow friend to distract you in order to numb yourself from the real change.

The xangapocalypse IS exactly like physically moving. It has hurt friendships and relationships in exactly the same way. Online, in real life, it still hurts to be abandoned.

As part of keeping my professional licensure current, I must maintain 12 Continuing Education credit hours annually. I do this through my professional association's bimonthly journal. Lots of times, these articles are boring and written with a perfunctory hand. (I think you can always tell the difference between a subject one cares about and one they are simply penning a few words on.) The one I read today, though, was outstanding, and I wish I could share it with you. Yes, that interesting.

It was about pain and empathy. It was about diagnostic, medical imaging of these things. And it was about alternative management of pain through hypnosis and meditation, and why it works (traditionally and currently) with scientific data supporting that.

It was about the difference between men and women, in their brains and in response to pain, as well as their ability to empathize (a measured, quantitative response). It turns out, male brains don't light up (in the empathetic pathways) when they feel there is injustice. If someone plays unfair or cheats, they don't empathize when that person is subjected to pain. But women? We still do.

Fascinating!

I could go on, but I'd be basically writing out the whole article. This was a great morning read.

Fantastic.

Living here comes with a big learning curve. What could I possibly mean? The Marine Code.

It doesn't matter if you're another branch of the military. You must adhere.

It doesn't matter if you're off duty, in civvies (not to be confused with skivvies). You must adhere.

It doesn't matter if you're actually a civillian. You still. Must. Adhere.

Or get out.

So what does this Marine code entail that annoys me so much??

Men must always be clean shaven. Always.

No one may wear work out clothes.

Tank tops are prohibited.

Any clothing that shows your midriff at all is prohibited.

Spaghetti straps are prohibited.

"Excess cleavage" is prohibited.

There was more but I was fuming so damn hard, I quit reading. We've been to many Exchanges and Commissaries, from FL to VA. NEVER has it been such a damn pain in the ass. More, the entire base follows these rules. If you need a parking pass, they will not help you and you will be kicked out and asked who your sponsor is (so he can be held responsible) if you do not adhere. 

I'm serious when I tell you that I have a VERY bad attitude about this. Like, I'm ready to wear the sluttiest, most naked shit I've ever worn in my life and go walking around like wazzup. And I know that would be bad.

So the truth is, I should just never go on base.

Ever.

Because I'm apparently looking to pick a damn fight. With the Marines. Which is stupid.

Yay freedom, right?

 ... I mean really, no work out clothes? If I wore something someone thought I might work out in, I'd be kicked out. It's yoga pants time, girls. What? It's not workout clothes, it's YOGA clothes. I do yoga for relaxation, not to workout. AmIright? This is what I mean by pick a fight. I'm ready to take these Marines and their codes down orally.

Wait. That doesn't sound right.

I don't know how to start writing. I've had so much to say, so much to share, and just haven't had the time or the means to say any of it. The best thing I know to do in cases like these is just to begin. Because every little bit you accomplish is that much more you no longer have left to do.

The most important thing, and if you know my heart well you'll know what this means to me, is that I have my beach back.

Yesterday, we just drove. We went. I knew which way to go but didn't know where the access points were. I didn't think it would matter. And it didn't. It was evident, it was everywhere. It just was.

We weren't there to swim. I just had to go, it was time. I couldn't wait any longer.

We climbed the wooden stairs over the sea oat-covered sand dune, and walked out on to the beach itself. The tide was high and outgoing. It was cloudy and grey, it had been stormy earlier in the day. The breeze was a cool one. Pelicans sat in the water past the breakers, which were choppy. I stood there. And as soon as I really breathed in the salty air, taking it all in, tears welled in my eyes. I have missed this so desperately.

The kids began digging in the sand with their hands, Ava trying to make a sand castle while Isaiah continuously ruined it like a good little brother should. I put my face in Josh's chest and, hugging him, I cried. Not from sadness, but from relief. Relief that the last 4 years of my life are really over now.

Because they are. And I survived them.

It isn't just that I had missed the water, it's that I lived among so much death. I cannot describe it with any other word. A community, an environment, so stunted, so polluted, so painted on the surface. Appearing alive, but dead on the inside. No ability to grow. No ability to breathe unrestricted. Nature itself was toxic. And I am connected to nature, particularly to the water, which was polluted with oil and other things.

We tried to go to the "beach" there. It wasn't a beach at all. Beyond that, it felt dead to me. Both times we went, I spent the majority of the time picking up trash compulsively because I couldn't stand it. I couldn't stand it because of the mess itself and how it naturally must impact wildlife, but also because it was unsafe for my own children to play there. I couldn't even stand to see it. And other people? They looked at me like I was crazy. They simply accepted their environment. They sat back and did nothing. They probably even had contributed to what was there, some of which had clearly been there for a very long time.

Complacency. The enemy of life, the enemy of growth.

Unwillingness to move. The enemy of progress, the enemy of change.

These things kill me on the inside.

Life, the chemical and physiological properties of life itself demand movement and change. Breathing requires the intake and output of air, the movement of your diaphragm, your lungs, and many other parts, microscopic and large both. Procreation demands movement and change... Our species requires change! Not just our species, all life does.

That is why the last 4 years have been such a struggle. There have been rewards in it, mostly involving my children. But overall, if I look at my former blog, I can watch myself slowly fade. From a cheerful, upbeat, positive person... to someone more prone to sadness and stress. And it's because it's been a heavy burden.

I mostly carried it for my family by myself. It was mostly necessary. Yes, I believe I should have had more help from my husband.

The truth is, he was struggling himself in the same environment.

The truth is, I'm older than he is. Even beyond that, I grew up in a supportive family that encouraged individualism and being true to yourself, whatever your path is. He did not. He grew up with a very (overly) controlling father. And while I've come to understand some of the reason for his father's desperate need to hold so tightly to that control over everything, it didn't help Josh to become a man himself. It wasn't until Josh left home and joined the military that he was able to become (and find) himself. Even then, it took a long time to learn to make his own decisions independently. His father hadn't taught him that he could, rather, he taught him that he couldn't. All of this to say that I have many, many more years of stability in myself when the rest of the world around you is not understanding and not accepting of who you are.

It, in retrospect, is not a surprise that I had to bear more of the burden. Even the majority of it. I had the most strength.

I did not come out unscathed. But I am still who I am and who I always was. Even broken down. Even in tears. Even sick. My heart is still my own. I am still tender...

And that is why, when I finally saw My Beach (which is only a 20 minute drive away) I cried.

I cried because I knew it was over. I really knew. I am surrounded by life again. It has been proven.

Things can only get better from here.

I have wifi again. (Happy Elmo dance)

... except I can't really happy Elmo dance because...

I have the ****ing flu. Yes. Really.

It turns out, our neighborhood is extremely rural. How did I not know that? Because it looks like a regular neighborhood, but with great natural backyards (MY favorite, I like trees where nature made them). The issue? Well, it turns out internet and cell service.

I'll be just like someone else I know, standing outside on my phone. Only, I won't be by a busy road.

So we have to get "rural" services for internet. Which won't happen until Monday. And we only had one option, because no other company has accessed our road at all.

Interesting facts (at least to me): Standing outside our house, you can hear gunfire. This would normally scare me. But it's from the marine base. We can also see aircraft when they practice. Like.

Negative fact: WTF are the huge spiders they have out here?? *cry*

We got a house. Times are busy. But we won't get our things until Friday - the movers put our stuff in storage.

The house far exceeds anything I could have dreamed up. I'm very happy. But overwhelmed with the need to nest and inability to do it.

We found a house! It was on "accident." But we can't sign papers and lock it in until Monday morning. So it doesn't feel settled.

My phone is killin' me, man. The external speaker stopped working, as in my phone doesn't ring etc. Ever. I've been troubleshooting for days. I factory re-set today, which meant backing everything up and then losing it all. I'm now working on re-downloading all my shiz. It's beyond frustrating. And the speaker still doesn't work. Headphones do. Phonecalls do. No other sound does. I'm so annoyed.