The plant has been working us so hard these last few weeks. It's unreal. It's not just the hard work and long hours. It's the stress of how they're treating us. I've never seen this place so badly unorganized as it is right now. We can't get our parts from tubing, so we can't get ahead. Then, we've got the assembly lines waiting on us, only we don't have anything for them, because tubing doesn't have anything for us. And instead of solving the problem, they just want to stand over us and rush us.
It's nerve wracking, and very, very stressful. I come home and I don't feel like doing anything but going to bed.
I don't feel like blogging.
I don't feel like knitting.
I don't even feel like playing my piano. I'm having to make myself practice.
The only bright spot in my week has been receiving a letter from my German pen pal. Doesn't she have just the most gorgeous handwriting?
One of the reasons I got back into pen palling was to work on my handwriting, which was never great to begin with. Once I graduated high school, I went back to writing in print, which I preferred. My cursive writing had really deteriorated through disuse. It's gotten better, but was never this elegant.
OK, back to my story...
Then, of course, there is the stress of dealing with my stalker. He just makes me sick. He literally makes my skin crawl. Him staring...always staring at me. He'll even deliberately position himself so that he's in my line of sight. One day last week, I was getting a drink out of my cooler on the shelf under my table. When I stood up, there he was, right at the end of the line of brazing stands, just staring...Something is seriously wrong with him.
It was kind of funny today, though. I was thinking about the upcoming Fiber Fun In The 'Sip festival in September, daydreaming about how much fun it's going to be hanging out with Amy, Christi, and Leann again...
Somewhere in the middle of my daydream, my white headed shanty men showed up -- including the one who may or may not eventually become my imaginary boyfriend, if I can ever bring myself to make an imaginary commitment to him. They were going to be part of the entertainment. Once they'd finished singing, we ended up talking, and I took him out....to...ummm..
TheVicksburgNationalMilitaryPark
Yeah. Most people take their imaginary dates to a romantic candlelit dinner, or a long moonlit walk on the beach, or maybe they snuggle under a blanket in front of a fire at a ski lodge. Or something. Not me.
I take mine to a freaking Civil War Battlefield. A Civil War Battlefield!!
Sigh...I'm definitely not normal. Or whatever.
Normal is over-rated, anyway.
Anyway, I was really getting into it. My imaginary tour of the Vicksburg National Military Park, that is. We were reading the signs and things, and those things where you can scan the QR code with your phone and a video opens with a Ranger telling you why that spot is significant. I was telling him about some of the statues, and who those men were -- as much as I knew. I'm not really big on Civil War history. Now if it were Texas history, that'd be a completely different story. But still...
We went to the Illinois memorial -- the one where all the ghosts are. There I ran into a fellow veteran. I'd worn my DD-214 Alumni shirt, which he recognized instantly. He said, "Thank you for your service." and I replied, "And you for yours, Brother." We shook hands and said, "Never forget," then parted ways. My imaginary friend asked who that was, and I said, "No idea."
"But you called him Brother."
"He's a fellow veteran. That makes him my brother."
I ran my fingers along the names on the plaques. The names of those long ago men who'd served in the Illinois regiment, and told my imaginary friend who may or may not become my imaginary boyfriend that these men had donned the uniform and swore the oath, same as I did, and that makes them my brothers forever. Whether I knew them or not doesn't matter in the slightest.
In the midst of my daydream, I put some adapter tubes into my brazing jig, flipped down my glasses, and lit my torch. That's when I discovered I hadn't put a header onto the parts. I said, "I don't know what I thought I was going to braze." And looked up to see Stalker, just staring. Laughing.
He. Makes. Me. Sick.
I thought, "If you only knew! Here I am, I'd rather be with an IMAGINARY boyfriend, than with you in real life, you pathetic loser!" Seriously, if he's the best I can do, I'd rather do without.
Imaginary husbands are better anyway. They never leave their dirty socks on the floor. They never complain about what's for supper, and they never hog the remote.
So there.
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