Did you think I’d forgotten about you? The impossibility of this ever occurring is simply unbelievable. I know you still read this blog, desperately seeking out specks of information about my intricate life. Please, come in, sit down, and enjoy.

I closed on my house at the end of July, packed up all of my belongings, and moved in. With over 1500 square feet and three bedrooms, a master suite that I couldn’t possibly fill up if I tried, and a bathtub that calls my name every night, I am blissfully comfortable in my home. My house faces a creek, and with no distractions or roads in close proximity, Cyrus is allowed to roam freely around 10 acres of undeveloped land. He chases birds, tramples through the tall grasses that tickle his belly, and trots back to our small yard once his energy has been sucked out of him. I have never seen a larger smile on my Bulldog. While the house has several cosmetic things it continues to beg me for, such as wood floors, new countertops, paint and crown molding, it is sturdy, aesthetically appealing, and perfect for me.

After the closing, I fell into an argument with an ex-friend and horse trainer. Names will not be given as she has threatened me, and the Google toolbar has been able to pick up my blog with discreet keywords. Confusing. I must look into that.

Before I purchased my home, I looked into obtaining a Thoroughbred to start my show career and get back into the circuit. I switched to my original discipline of hunter/jumpers and was overcoming obstacles that had faced me since my accident almost ten years ago. However, the horse wasn’t a good fit and I cancelled the sale, eventually and ultimately buying my home. My trainer, if discouraged, said nothing to me about my change in plans. A close friendship began to fray at the edges, and my keen eyes and heart immediately attempted to repair the tear. A confrontation occurred and I felt pushed into the corner, as her career was succeeding and she no longer needed me as her crutch. For nights I would sit over margaritas and listen to her mourn her old life, lament of her abusive boyfriend, and struggle financially to make it back into a world very prejudiced against new trainers. My goal was to save her, as it has always been – to save the world.

I scheduled a riding lesson a few Mondays ago and came out to find her boyfriend sitting in the stands, and immediately felt anxious. Already a fearful person and in flight mode, I avoided him until another student approached me, “He told me not to talk to you because you are psychotic…you are crazy.” My backbone awoke and I confronted him, all to be shouted at by my trainer. I left, discouraged and angry for the immaturity. Emails between the three of us were shared, nasty comments were flung at me like horse manure in the sun, and I sat on my hands, taking it. It was as though I once carried a baseball bat and handed it to her to abuse me with, beating and smashing bits of my spirit. I was accused of stalking (I hadn’t been to the barn since the incident over a week ago at that point) and of slander (I had sent an email to the barn owner requesting information about something unrelated). While I wanted to correct her accusation of slander – it would’ve been libel, I said nothing. A string of curse words and a threat of a lawsuit were fired at me. I deleted her number, blocked all contact, and crawled into a corner to allow my wounds to heal. I haven’t ridden horses since, debating on selling my tack and resigning from the industry altogether.

During the healing process, I discovered someone in an unrelated event. While I had known him from previous encounters during games of volleyball and through mutual friends, I had given him nothing more than a passing glance, chalking him up as ‘not my type’. He caught me in my own game of fight or flight, grabbing my hand and keeping me from bolting out the door. Each night he takes a small hammer and chisel and gently erodes the cement wall that I had carefully erected after my last heartbreak. The strong exterior is several feet thick, but I await on the other side, hoping and praying for a beam of light to pierce my darkness. The wall has weakened; his strategy of chiseling the right places at the right times to make it crumble. At any moment he is aware I am prepared to run, but at any moment I could push my own wall down. I cannot fathom how I didn’t see him for so many months, as he saw me. And at night a cloud settles around us, withholding our secrets and strengthening a small yet powerful bond. I have not felt this awakened since…well…again, we know who reads this thing. Memories of past heartaches and  beatings are erased with every kiss. Scars, once bright red and glittering, are dulling and healing.

The first grandchild in my family is expected, my sweet sister in law glowing, carrying a long-awaited gift. We anxiously await, watching smeared images and listening to heartbeats. She grows carefully, a delicate and intricate life within her, and my brother’s chest protrudes with pride. This miracle is due to arrive in February, a simple Valentine’s gift from them to them. We place bets on eye color – the startling green of my handsome brother, or the liquid chocolate of my lovely sister in law. Pizza nauseates her, her belly moving about with the new addition. This grandchild is the first on both sides of our families, the first great grandchild for my father’s mother. How can seven pounds weigh so much? We count days until we hear the gender, pick out names, take pictures and giggle over ice cream. My brother hurries to finish his master’s degree, determined to offer his first child everything that our father gave us. If only he realized what a father he already is?

Life is at a magical moment this year.

Manipulation is a powerful science.

I have discovered that I am pliable, bendable, shapeable, moldable, and flexible - all simple arts to perform. However, one thing I have also learned is that it is easy to manipulate me. I have been walked upon, treaded over, pushed aside, and dismissed. The insults have underlined me to the point where I completely missed the overall discussion.

In this realization, change has begun to occur within my soul. It began with a simple conversation several months ago between me and the owner of the team I work for:

"I want to move into the project team." I stood in his office, firm in my convictions, taking pride in all of my accomplishments.
"Why do you want to do that?" he leaned back in his chair, exposing his protruding stomach after too many beers in too many foreign places over the years.
"I feel that I would be an excellent asset to your team."
"Well, you do have a nice ass......et."

Stunned and suddenly aware that I was wearing a form fitting dress and knee high boots, I understood exactly what this man, the manager who earns six figures per year, thought of me. I understood that I was nothing more than the project's Barbie Doll, the eye candy of the group. The conversation only tumbled downwards from there.

"Why don't you take courses at a community college?" he smiled at me.
I stuttered in response that I have a degree in Technical Writing and in English, that I obtained two internships, and the success and streamlined ease of my department since my mentor had moved into another department. My lack of confidence bled into the conversation, and I was politely dismissed.

The embarrassment remained within me, and for a while I settled with myself that I was resigned to my position for the next five years. Building tenure was my only option.

Lately, the embarrassment has turned into determination. Past memories of being informed that I should 'take a $30,000 per year job', wear certain clothes and act a certain way, eat what I was told, live where I was directed, even buy the car that was the most sensible - and the feeling I felt run through my veins when I snubbed it all - have been nudging my mind for a few weeks.

I decided to go back to school. For the next six months I will be working on obtaining my Project Management Certification for IT. At this time I am preparing for the GRE to apply for Texas Tech University's prestigious Master's program. My boss is ecstatic. My coworkers do not know, as the one I am most at odds with will attempt to stifle my determination for success.

If you walk into my home,  you'll note a picture of a beautiful Victoria's Secret model in a gorgeous pink swimsuit (she's on the cover of SELF magazine). I am going to look like that model, just not as a blond. I've started a body boot camp, eating program, playing volleyball weekly, and am still riding. Being stagnant is not in my blood. Happiness and self-determination are.