I've hit another road block it seems. What to call this one....? "If I could say one more word to you it would be".... or "I don't understand why I'm here, dealing with this and you're....there forgetting?". Gosh, maybe it's pointless to even name it. 

I've had so many man hating blogs lately I just don't know anymore. It seems the moment I think I'm okay to deal with befriending a male they WHOOP smack me in the face which completely shuts down any emotion towards them. I've given up needless to say. I've gladly become bitter towards them. Another statistical girl who doesn't ever wanna trust one again. I hate it has to be that way but it is. The people at work wonder why men talk to me the way I do...insecurity maybe? Lack of a spine? The moment males lash out at me is the moment every hurt inside from what they've done comes out. The pain and the anger, the betrayl, the broken heart and the tears spill over the glass. I get drunk in it.

I don't want to feel this way towards them. I try to work on it but how can I. I'm almost at that point of forgiveness than almost instantly another walks in and tramples all the work I've accomplished. I know I shouldn't...but I'm only human. I'm strong but am weak.

I can fight fire with fire. I can fight fire with water. But, what can I fight memories with? Hope?

It's interesting being at work sometimes and I tell stories of other jobs and the things I used to do. I go from calf wrangler to cashier. I've noticed a lot of the times people don't really know what agriculture consists of...people think we're all a bunch of hicks (so ). I laugh when I sprout out comments and people say "wow it sounds like you really know what your talkin' about" as if they didn't believe me in the first place when I say "I want a cattle farm".

They are usually the ones that call me out on dressin' like a  redneck. Haha, or because they notice I have a shotgun shell on my keychain. And maybe... for the simple fact I carry a knife that oddly enough everyone thinks lately is for protection when it's just out of habit. People look at me like I'm crazy, quiet, innocent and a lot of mixed emotion because I can easily fool them with my sweet nature but rough background. I get teased a lot for it...I can't help it if I'm versatile.

My boots are stained with so many hardships. Its one of the main reasons I wear them so much and because my feet are more comfortable in them then in my slippers. They make me feel strong, they give me such stability. I don't feel weak in them because they have held me up so many times when I've wanted to give up.

I've danced in them, I've worked in them, I've been in-love in them, I've sweat in them, I've cried in them, I've had hope in them, I've trecked miles in them. I've met a lot of great people in them... My boots carry me from place to place...my dreams are soley in them to take me where I needa go. 

So what if I'm a red neck? I'm happy with who I am and with my homemade shotgun shell keychain, my flannel, my boots, my camo hat and my truck. I'm confident in myself and my abilities, my cloths don't make me that way, I do. I still walk with stature even if I smell like I just walked outta a barn because at the end of the day I've given it my all and no one else knows what lies beneathe my boots and my heart like I do.


 

You know what I find interesting maybe even a little annoying at times? When the discussion of guns come up and I mention I was taught to shoot real young. People almost always look at you like your some crazy that is gunna off the world. Sorry to "disappoint" them in their "judgements" but unlike some kids in today's generation I’m not stupid or a psychopath. I was taught to have respect for firearms and my elders.

Firearms are dangerous that is an easy conclusion...but they are even more dangerous to the firearm uneducated, the mentally sick, the stupid ones, the ones who don’t take the time to teach their children the proper mechanics of a gun and the ones who are just blood hungry.

Let me apply this theory to real life.

If it where up to Fay, Charles, Sue, half the world and my coworkers I wouldn’t have ever learned to shoot a gun because they are dangerous. Oh boy *throws hands in air*. My father was just equally and more dangerous. Yet if it were up to them(taking out my co-workers in this picture) they wouldn’t have let my mother, brother, sister and I be abused everyday by my father whether mentally, physically, emotionally, socially or sexually until his death.

Now if we add 2+2 we get four, right? Calculating all of this out it comes to be 16-17 years of going through hell. They chose the “If we ignore it, it’ll go away” root.  Therefore, us four relied on each other for motivation to live. All four of us kids had plenty enough availability/knowledge to an arsenal all those years we were pretty much “tortured”. “Surprisingly” not once did my father get shot even though there were plenty enough opportunities to ya know pull out the 30-30 and blow his head off. If my father would have lived one more week we would have all been dead. Do you think at that point those guns would have come out and one of us shot him? Maybe. I can’t say no to that because if your life depended on it and it was applicable at the time you might want to question yourself. What would you do?

Even though there were times none of us knew if we’d even make it through the night we didn’t run to the closet, grab the gun and shoot the bastard. Why? Because him and my grandfather taught us respect. You don’t point a gun whether loaded or not at ANYONE no matter what kinda crap they put you through, you carry yourself with grace and be the bigger person. But during those periods were we ever even tempted to bring out those guns and play with them? Point them at people, bring them to school to shoot the bullies that picked on us? Can I get a no?

People tend to pay no attention to that not only are guns dangerous but a pencil can kill someone if the person using that wooden or plastic graphite filled stick really wanted to stab someone with it. Though somehow all of us on a daily basis conjure up the “courage” or maybe sensibility to not kill…BECAUSE PENCILS AREN’T/WEREN'T USED/MADE TO STAB PEOPLE.

I learned to shoot at 5. Have I ever killed anybody?  No. Do I plan on it? HELL NO.
I always carry a pencil with me….I could kill someone if I wanted to.
I have two arms, a tongue and two legs maybe we should just cut them off.

A person is dangerous enough with his mouth and tongue …Why take the chance of dying?

OFF WITH THE BODY PARTS!!!!