"And I'm not intending to have this spark conversation with anyone mentioned in it, I just need to get it off my chest so I can sleep..."

And, really, I meant it.

The entire purpose of that was so that I could rant and then finally fall asleep.

Apparently, I should've invested time in adjusting the privacy settings on that post.

Thoracic Outlet Syndrome
a.k.a. Cervical Rib

What is thoracic outlet syndrome?

Your thoracic outlet is a small space just behind and below your collarbone. The blood vessels and nerves that serve your arm are located in this space. Thoracic outlet syndrome (TOS) is the presence of hand and arm symptoms due to pressure against the nerves or blood vessels in the thoracic outlet area.

Thoracic outlet syndrome is a rare condition that occurs when there is compression of vessels and nerves in the area of the clavicle. This can happen when there is an extra cervical rib or because of a tight fibrous band that connects the spinal vertebra to the rib. There may be pain in the neck and shoulders, and numbess in the last 3 fingers and inner forearm.

Thoracic outlet syndrome is usually treated with physical therapy which helps strengthen and straighten out the shoulders.

There are three types of TOS. The type depends on which structure is compressed -- nerve, vein, or artery. Ninety-five percent of cases of TOS are due to compression of the nerves to the arm (called neurogenic TOS). ... Almost all cases of arterial TOS are associated with an extra rib (cervical rib) or an abnormal first rib.

What are the symptoms?

The common symptoms depend on which structure is being compressed. In neurogenic TOS, the symptoms are pain, numbness, tingling, and/or weakness in the arm and hand. Also common is a tired feeling in your arm, which is made worse by working with your arms raised over your head. Neck pain and headaches in the back of your head are also frequent symptoms. Another common occurrence is pain that starts in your shoulder and runs down your arm, as well as pain in your fingertips. Unfortunately, the symptoms of neurogenic TOS can be vague and non-specific. ...

What causes thoracic outlet syndrome?

Neurogenic TOS is most often the result of neck trauma such as a whiplash injury. Slipping and falling on floors or ice, or repetitive stress from working on assembly lines or keyboards are the next most common causes. The symptoms are due to scar tissue formation in neck muscles (called scalene muscles).

How is thoracic outlet syndrome treated?

Neurogenic TOS is initially treated with physical therapy. The basic therapy methods include stretching exercises of your neck, posture correction, learning to avoid specific movements that bring on or aggravate your symptoms, and modifying your work site when appropriate. While some therapists may suggest strengthening exercises, most patients with neurogenic TOS are made worse by strengthening exercises. Treatment with a therapist for a few weeks is usually followed by a home exercise program which you continue on your own for at least several more weeks.

Your physician may also prescribe medications such as muscle relaxants, non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs such as aspirin or ibuprofen, pain relievers, or steroids. In addition, some patients get relief by applying moist heat or massaging the affected area.

When treatment begins in the early stages of neurogenic TOS, most patients improve with the measures listed above. However, if your TOS symptoms do not improve with these measures, and if your symptoms are interfering with sleep, work, recreation, or activities of daily living, your physician may consider more aggressive therapy. Your vascular surgeon may recommend TOS decompression surgery that involves removing certain muscles in your neck, removing your first rib, or a combined operation to remove both muscles and rib.

What can I do to stay healthy?

You can improve your recovery from TOS by practicing good posture, taking frequent breaks from work to stretch, and losing weight if you are overweight. Also, if you are prone to TOS, it is wise to avoid repetitive lifting of heavy objects over your head.


I will be having a second EMG (electromyogram a.k.a. nerve conductivity test) done at the end of July and should be returning to work August 3rd. I have restrictions to not type for more than 2-3 hours at a time, always use an ergonomic setup, and to avoid heavy lifting.

Since this is a structural problem, I will have to try and avoid causing symptoms but it is inevitable that I will have periods of time when I deal with the pain, numbness, tingling, and loss of use from time-to-time. Either my symptoms will stay manageable, or I'll eventually have to have neck surgery.

The neurosurgeon I am currently seeing says that my symptoms are not currently bad enough to warrant surgery and I told him that that was good news since I refuse to undergo neck surgery at 26 (I'm way too young for this shit).

I have a lot on my plate right now between the store, my work situation, my health, and fighting Shane in court and I'm very overwhelmed. I know I haven't spoken to many of you in a while but I am thinking of you. I just haven't had much free time.

So I got all excited about Twitter because of Loud Twitter and I realized I could quickly and easily post my txt msgs without having to type them all... and then LT failed. Poop.

I hate twitter. I love my txts. Now what?

This is the TEST shipment you asked for

• 13:44 test tweet. tweet tweet. damnit. #

--Kimber
Oy.

And since I hate saying the same thing 12 times, this is for everybody.

Our idea is solid. Our goals are realistic. We got financial advice. I know where to get my marketing numbers. I have to do the cash flow analysis.

A few ideas that Tom had that I thought were a little bass-ackwards, but made sense. Here are some of his thoughts:
Since we have less overhead than a chain store, sell our products slightly cheaper.
Offer free memberships starting out to enhance good will and encourage people to return.
Survey our customers as to what magazines they read so that we can morph our marketing plan.
Tom also said that choosing a credit line with either Republic, BB&T, or Commonwealth bank would probably be easier and better based on the fact that they're smaller, local banks so not only would the decision be made locally, but we'd be dealing with local people.

The finances seem more doable now, and we have enough of our own money that this may work out.

Tracy and I have talked about how we want to handle our investors... and I have a few idea I haven't shared with her yet (let me do so now...)
We discussed either offering our investors their money back with a percentage of extra (like paying back a bank with interest, only the payments wouldn't start until we were profitable) or offering our investors a percentage of our profits for as long as we remain open.
What if we offered option A for any amount under $5k and option B for any amount over $5k?

In the mean time, I e-mailed Tony (Realtor) back about the place, mid-July is my goal, and I need to get back into the space and take more exact measurements to make sure that I don't order too many or too few fixtures/slatwall. Oy. This is exciting and scary...

I'm trying to think if there was anything else...

maybe a part II later ...

Like for him to hold open doors, pay for my movie ticket, hold my hand, spoon me, tell me I'm attractive and desirable, show that he wants to spend time with me, be romantic occasionally, open my door...

Like for him to yell at me, ignore me, guilt trip me, tell me how terrible I am, or force me to meet his every embarrassing whim...

Nic often drives when we go somewhere (even if it's in my car), txts me throughout the day just to keep in touch since we don't always get a chance to talk on the phone or see each other, calms me down when I'm upset, and makes me feel like his partner.

Nic sometimes cuddles me close, gives me really sweet backwards compliments, smiles that sweet smile that he normally hides, does the things up in my pros list...

Nic rarely ever does any of the things in my cons list (though he used to do some of them more often, he's really opened up an adjusted to having a true sig fig again.)

I found myself wondering why Nic doesn't do more of the really sweet things more of the time, but I realized that not only doesn't he do the really crappy things, I trust him because he doesn't do the over-the-top things too often, and I appreciate it more when he does them.

I love my boy... I think I'll keeps him.

Plus, when your expectations are reasonable, you're more likely to be plesantly surprised.

Murdock, Murdy, Murry...

I had my mini rex for a little over 5 years. She had more personality and spunk than any pet I had previously owned. Named after a character from the A-Team, she was my crazy co-pilot through college and on into life.

Always one to play games and tricks, she was always my smart little cuddle bunneh. From "sneaking up" on Lindy to stealing Bridgette's homework (and once eating mine) she was always a joy.

She used to go with me once every few weeks to the nursing home to visit the residents. Murdy was always patient and gentle, but could be a vindictive little ass when she felt she'd been wronged (like the time she chewed my phone charger into 5 pieces and all the headphones she ever casually bit through... her count is officially 6).

When she was 2 years old, she got electrocuted by the fridge in my first apartment. She charred her fur a little, no telling what she did to her insides... but for all of that, she was never sick.

In the last few months, Murdy had started to show her age. In the last few weeks, her eyes had started to water. Just today, her nose was clogged with white goo (snot?)... But she had a good day today... The three wee animals played outside from about 10 till 6 (I'm really bad with time, but I think I have that right) and Murdy sat and cuddled with me for a bit.

I was the one who found her... she was still warm, but her lips and tongue were blue (I'm guessing her heart gave out).

She's now in a box which, ironically, I had gotten from Interface during a short term in Jan '04... rather fitting. She's secured on the enclosed porch awaiting a dignified burial/disposal (a.k.a. not the dumpster... burial or cremation, I have to call the vet tomorrow).

She was just over 5, and the life expectancy for mini rexes is 6-8 years, but she lived a good life and her little body just seemed to be done.

I'm dealing with a lot of anguish over not taking her to the vet, but I'm reminding myself that Murdy was intact and also that if she had been ill, either Yoshi or Butters would have gotten sick. Murdy continued to eat and didn't seem sad or in pain... just tired.

However, now Butters is depressed and I'm not sure how to tell Teagan.

Yes, boys and girls, Marvin Gaye was actually shot by his father back in 1984.

This is the holiday I love to hate. I have a hard enough time figuring out what other people will find funny and people ultimately always treated me the same... although more concentrated.

eh, whatever.

My favorite interpretation has always been the French version... I can understand placing fish on people for some reason, and why that is funny. It almost seemed like a harmless "Kick Me" sign-type joke.

And, hey, you've got a fish on your back!!

I just finished moving over all of my MySpace blogs... w00t!

...

now I've got about 3 blogspots and a few others hiding about... oy.

and I need to update my tags... lots of work still to do... this has been a productive weekend on the computer.

What do I have to do
To try to make you see
that this is who I am
And it's all that I can be

I wont let you go
I wont let you down
I wont give you up

don’t you give up on me now
What do I have to do
To try to make you see
That this is who I am
And it's all that I can be

I left therapy feeling completely empty and void. Like white space. How the fuck did I get here. When did everything go so wrong. At what point did life turn into something miserable and small. I hate what my life is. I hate being in this place. This is never what I wanted for myself. But everywhere I turn, my mistakes are staring me in the face.

I am a coward.

I am chickenshit.

I didn't have the balls to leave the nest and go to a college that I really wanted to go to. I'm so afraid to not fit in. I'm so afraid of risks... and now I'm hanging off the ledge, wondering what will happen if I let go and wanting to find out. I was too afraid to be alone. I let my first love rape me and didn't do anything about it. I let myself be abused for years... and by the time I stood up and stopped it, I had to run away to free myself.

I am a self-destructive person by nature; never met a good thing I didn't want to tear down. There's only so much destruction you can bring on yourself. I'm so tired of this. I don't know what is right. No matter what you do, you can't make everyone happy. All I want to do is be the best me I can be.

Life feels too big right now. There is so much going on. So much going wrong. So much I don't want to lose. So much I can't walk (or run) from. I remember the queasy feeling I'd get in the pit of my stomach when I'd interview someone I knew in high school for their PSI.

Having a badge doesn't really make me feel bigger or better... it makes me feel humble. What kept me from ending up like them? What put me in this place of being held to a higher standard... holding myself to a higher standard. Who the fuck am I kidding... I'm nothing but white trash. What's the point in trying to better yourself, better your life, when you can't do it anyway.

I'm fighting at work just so that I can enjoy life and work at the same time... Ebone' says that I should just sit down, shut up, and be thankful that I have a job... What's the point? Might as well jump off a building to feel the wind in my hair if I'm just going to lie down and let my soul die.

Being strong, being brave, fighting for what you think is right... it's very exhausting. It's very lonely.

Being still and hearing yourself... there's a responsibility there. I have a calling in my soul. I wish I knew what it really was. I wish I was brave enough to break this box and be what I need me to be. There is a place for me. I just haven't found it yet. But at this point, there are things I'm not willing to give up.

It seems the more we talk
The less I have to say
Let’s put our differences aside
I wanted to make you proud

But I just got in your way
I found a place where I can hide
Now everything is changing
But I still feel the same

We’re running out of time
What do I have to do
To try to make you see
That this is who I am
And its all that I can be

I tried to find myself
Looking inside your eyes
You were all that I was meant to be
There must be something else

Behind all the lies
That you have lead me to believe
Now everyone is saying
That I should find a way
To leave it all behind

What do I have to do
To try to make you see
That this is who I am
And its all that I can be

So I have a problem. My exhusband's girlfriend is a regular pot user (I'm pretty sure he's using too but he says he's not) and I am a Probation Officer.

( Oy. Here's some mess. )

Can I justify having visitation changed so that she can no longer go to the g/f's house?

( Justifications/Problems )

There's really a lot more too this, but the way I see it is that his relationship with her is his responsibility... But it's my job to keep her safe if he won't and I don't think it's safe for her to be around drugs.

Thoughts? Please!

I'd comment that I feel like a special ed teacher...
yea, I need the names of your family members. Which is why I've asked for them. TWICE.

The Weisskopf Child Evaluation Center (who has 1 psychologist who have given 1 adult asperger's diagnosis and that's pretty much my best bet here in Kentucky) has referred me to the UofL psych center (which is where I currently go for therapy) when it was the STAR program (UofL's Systematic Treatment of Autism and Related disorders program) who told me I needed to go through Weisskopf. What makes it even more challenging is that I had to have a referral... and my Doctor wouldn't put down my symptoms...

If I have problems with migraines she'd send me to a neurologist
If I'm having problems dealing with my peers or concentrating then I need to take responsibility for my actions
If I can't recognize faces there's not anything they can do to help me
If I get frustrated I need to practice some meditation techniques
...
I think the only things that made it to the form were sensory overload (because I begged her to put that on there), trouble concentrating (because that the ADD symptom), and one other that I can't remember right now...

So now I've got to call the lady from Weisskopf and try to defend my referral so that I can be seen. I don't really need help coping (already going to therapy, thank you) but I need a nifty little piece of paper that declares, She has Asperger's, thanks for playing! so I can give it to my boss so that he can back me up with my schedule and help me cope at work.

I hate the hoops. I don't want to play anymore... but I want to keep my car and live independently so I guess I've got to jump some hoops... might as well be these.

Oy. I really want my mood to read: deflated. (OMG! If I've already picked my fox, I can put in an alternative mood and it'll keep the fox!!! That's +4 to today...)

Current Mood: deflated.

*Update* 12:04 pm
The lady from Weisskopf called me back and gave me the number of 2 other people to try... I called one and I've got an appointment with her on Monday!! (it's just an intake to submit the insurance stuff... but that's something!)

We talked on the phone for probably 40 minutes and she said there'd likely be months of testing, but that we'd take it at my pace.

Oy... I'm not sure if I should be happy or perturbed...

Well, whatdya know... a Rock Paper Scissors that Josh stood a chance at... see, I knew him so well, I could predict exactly what he'd throw and think fast enough to throw the item that would beat it.  Click the image (from the T-Shirt offered over at Think Geek) to see the full instructions.

School was out for the summer. My vacation was to be spent working for my mother's small restaurant which had only a few stools. I liked working there because I liked people and, being only a counter to sit at, the customers talked and were friendly.

One afternoon, two young men came in; they were selling magazines. Gosh, they painted a pretty picture of travel and the wonderful time they had and the sights they saw during their travel. Later that evening, they brought in their boss and his wife; they wanted to hire me.

I explained that I couldn't go as I had one term left to go in school, beginning in September.

"That's alright, you could go for the summer."

When I asked my mother if I could go, she was no keen on the subject. I reminded her that every member of the family had been out of the state except for me and this was my chance. I added, "Mama, would you at least talk to the couple in charge?"

"If you insist."

After the talk with Mr. and Mrs. Neal, Mother told me she did not want me to go; however, i was almost eighteen and old enough to make up my own mind. She said that if I decided to go, I had to promise I'd come back and finish my one term in high school. I promised.

Later, when she saw me packing, she told me, "Margie, if this doesn't work out, remember you have a home to come back to, anytime."

It was Junior assembly day. All the Juniors met in the Auditorium.

Our homeroom teacher announced that if we would rather study, we could come back to our homeroom and not go to the Auditorium.

My last class before the assembly was English with Miss Clark. English and History were my worst subjects; I always had to take my finals in both. Art, Foreign Languages, and anythign mathematical, I was always exempt from the finals.

In History, if the teacher harped longer than usual on any topic, I made a note in a small notebook for that purpose and studied it just before finals, these were her test questions. In English it was harder, so on occasion, I'd stop after class for a quick question to ask the instructor, to make her think I was interested.

Not remember assembly, I picked this day. This made me late, so Miss Clark wrote me a late slip.

I passed Mrs. Gray's room to get books to take to homeroom to study; it was too late for the assembly. She was standing outside her classroom talking, I assumed, to a parent. LEaving homeroom, I went again to my lcoker to get my book for the next class, with Miss Haas.

When I reached her room, no one was there yet, so I walked on to meet friends that would be coming from the assembly.

Mrs. Gray had walked from the third floor to the first, in hopes of stopping me. "Just one moment, I have a question I'd like answered."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Where were you going the first time I saw you, and the second time, and where are you going now? Where's that late slip I saw you with? aha, you can't answer me, can you?"

By this time, we were surrounded by students on their way to their classes, who had stopped to see what was going on.

When she told me I couldn't answer, I told her she hadn't given me an opportunity to answer.

She then ranted on, "It would only take one word, one word, just one word, what's the matter, cant 'you say one word?"

"If I could, I'd have to get it in edgewise in your monologue."

"Well, who wrote that slip?"

"Miss Clark."

"Are you sure?"

"How could I be mistaken? I saw her write it."

"Well now, let's just go to her room to see if that's right. Do you mind?"

"Of course not, I understand perfectly; if a person's a thief, the believe all others are thieves also. The same goes for liars, they think that all people are liars; that's the only reason I can think of for you to say I'm lying." I turned and started for Miss Clark's room. It happened to be her idle hour, no class.

She asked what the trouble was. Mrs. Gray asked if she wrote the slip for me. Miss Clark confirmed that she did.

Mrs. Gray bellowed, "She didn't go to Junior Assembly. She was just running around the halls."

I had no argument with Miss Clark, in fact I rather liked her, so I explained about the announcement that morning in homeroom and my reasons for going to my locker twice.

Mrs. Gray started yelling, "She walked right by Miss Haas' room and the door was wide open, she didn't even start to go in." Turning to me, "Why didn't you go into that room?"

In a quiet voice, I answered, "If you much know, I'll tell you. I have five minutes to get to class, the same as all the other students; I've been led to believe that I can use that five minutes as I please as long as I'm not disorderly and don't cause any disturbances in the hall. Therefore it is none of yours, or any of you tinytype's business why I didn't go into that room."

By this time, Miss Clark was clucking, she was elderly and I thought she might be having apoplexy or something worse. While she clucked, Mrs. Gray was saying, as she backed toward the exit, "It's not the first time; she talks this way often, no respect at all -- not the first time!"

Finally, dear, elderly Miss Clark (and I did like her) got her breath and, all in one sentence, said, "Marjorie, don't you realize that you're not supposed to talk to anyone older than yourself in such a manner."

By this time, I was pretty upset because Mrs. Gray and myself had upset Miss Clark; so I turned and said, not unkindly, "Miss Clark, I'm sorry but you much understand that it takes more than age to demand my respect.

"I don't go near Mrs. Gray, she hunts me out. I have my locker near her room and if I pass by, she comes looking for me. After three years, it's rather trying."

She didn't answer, so I left without a late slip to my next class and to my friend, Mrs. Ennis.

Miss Clark had already called her and told her what I said about respect and what she could recall of what I said to Mrs. Gray.

Mrs. Ennis answered, regarding the remark about respect by saying, "Isn't that wonderful, that a child Margie's age would realize that it did take more than just age."

While I was talking to Mrs. Ennis, her phone rang. When she heard the voice on teh other end, she nodded and silently mouthed, "Mrs. Gray." I heard only one side of the conversation.

"Really? ... She did? ... What did she say? ... Bad enough to expel her? ... Could you tell me at least something of what she said? ... Oh, you say she was impudent? ... That doesn't tell me much. ... Oh, she was VERY impudent. ... You want to know if I'm going to expel her. I couldn't tell you right now; I'd have to hear both sides of the story before I could decide. ... Oh, of course I'll let you know. Call me next week; I'll know by then."

The room was full of study hall students; and, as she hung up the phone, i had to drop a pencil on the floor so I could lean over and laugh as I picked it up.

After the book episode with Mrs. Gray, she tried hard; I had many small run-ins with her. I also believe she got some other teachers to torment me, even the dressing- & towel-room monitor for the gym.

I'll not mention them all, but I'll tell a couple briefly and give the last argument in more detail

One time, as i was standing at my locker, signing my name to each page of a book report; she came up and grabbed the papers from me, asking, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing wrong."

"I'm not so sure about that." She started to crush the papers.

"Wait, don't do that!"

"I'll do what I like."

"Then I'll warn you that every wrinkle or crease you put in that book report, I will match it; only you will be wearing my creases."

She stopped, looked at the papers, handed them back, and left. To this day, I don't know what she thought they were, certainly not a book report; probably a love letter that she could disclose and get me into trouble with.

Another time, I saw her headed toward me; I was near the drinking fountain, so I just bent over and took a drink.

She came up and actually said, "I've got the goods on you this time." I continued to drink. She took hold of my arm and shoulder, both hands, mind you.

Well, I stood up in a hurry. "Don't you ever, I mean ever, touch me again!"

"And what would you do if I did?"

"Try, and I promise you'll find out. And you will remember it for a long, long time." I walked away.

Next day, when the bell rang, dismissing study hall; I again went to Mrs. Gray's desk. She, again, sneered, "What do you want?"

"If you're though reading my book, I'd like it back."

"I want to see you about that book, in my class, eighth hour."

"Fine, I'll be there." Eighth hour was after the school day was over. When I arrived, two students were washing the blackboard. She told them to come back later to finish.

When we were along in the room, she locked the door, which I couldn't understand; it did run though my mind that she might try to beat me.

walking to the rear of the room, she sat in one of the students' desk seats and told me to sit down. To face her, I would have to sit across the aisle sideways in a seat or sit on the desk in front of her with my feet on the seat. I chose the latter, with the thought running through my mind, 'If she lets me get away with it, I'm in charge.' Had the situation been reversed, I'd have said, "Sit in a seat as a young lady should, not on the desk."

Her first question was, "Well, what do you think about it?"

"If you mean the book, I think it's alright."

"You think it's alright to read?"

"It was written to be read," I told her rather angrily.

"That's another thing I'd like to discuss; every time I look at you or shake my head for you not to talk, you just look at me -- well, I don't know, it's sort of like you'd like to eat me up."

"Like to eat you up? My, what kind of look could that be? I asked.

"I don't know if there's a word to express it."

"Well, would you call it a dirty look?"

"If dirty ever explained anything, it explains that look of yours."

"Well, that's settled then. Was there something else?"

"Yes, you say this book was written to be read. Is it alright with you if I let Miss Winsom (the dean of girls) or Mrs. Ennis read it?"

"Yes."

"I'll just turn it over to them, then."

I was halfway to the door, when she called, "Come back here!"

I returned and she asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes, I had not dismissed you."

I bowed slightly, "My mistake, I thought you had when you told me you were turning the matter over to higher-ups." I knew this would get her. One could see that she would lie to be 'King of the Roost' or should I say, 'Queen.'

She all but bridled, asking, "Do you know what trouble you'll be in if I do turn this over to Miss Winsom?"

"No, but I'm willing to find out."

"So, you're really wiling for me to turn this over to her?"

"Yes, except I don't see the point of taking up their time on something so unimportant."

"Well, you're taking up my time."

"Sorry, that is reversed, you're taking up my time; you asked me here."

"Regardless, you think their time is more important than mine."

"I can only go by appearances. Whenever I see them, they seem to be doing something useful and when I look at you, you're reading a magazine or newspaper."

She excused me then; not in words, but by a motion of her arms towards the door. On the way to my locker to get my jacket and hat (we wore hats back then), I met Mrs. Ennis in the hall. She smiled that sweet smile and asked, "What's keeping you in school so late?"

"After I told her, her laugh rang down the hall.

"What's the joke?" I asked.

"Margie, I shouldn't really tell you this, I just can't resist doing so. Mrs. Gray asked Miss Winsom if she had ever read the book; the answer surprised her, I guess. Miss Winsom said, 'No, I didn't read it, I saw the movie and highly recommend it to all high school students as well as their teachers.' She then asked me if I had seen the movie or read the book. I told her no, but said that if she had the book, I'd like to borrow it. I have the book now, she put in on my desk and flounced out."

My laugh rang down the hall this time as I said, "She almost promised me that I'd be tarred and feathered and expelled from school if she showed you the book and told who she had gotten it from."

This was the first time I'd known that she'd gotten it from a student.

The girl whose locker was next to mine, her name escapes me just now, was a colored girl who worked for the town's newspaper.

I'd like to insert something here that has no relation whatsoever with this story. We called negroes 'colored'; why they wanted to change it to 'black' I will never understand. 'Black' is blah, but 'colored folks' fit so well because the race is so very colorful; full of fun, good humor, comedy, and hearty laughter, as well as good sense (at least in my generation, this was true).

No, to continue with my story:

The girl had a pamphlet-like book called 'The Road to Ruin' about high school students and some of their wild and wicked ways (by today's standards, they would be considered mild). The book had been made into a movie. This movie had played in our town not too long before, but I had not had a chance to see it.

Alice (I'll call her that for now) offered to lend it to me to read. Thanking her, I took it to study hall to read.

This term, I had an English teacher for study hall by the name of Mrs. Gray. Her desk sat on a platform so that she might have a bird's-eye view of all the students. The book was open inside my notebook and I was enjoying the reading, when suddenly I heard her chair (or bones) creak. (I never knew which, perhaps both).

I turned some pages in the notebook to cover the pamphlet. She stopped at my desk and slammed my notebook closed. She then took it and placed it in the crook of her arm, asking, "May I look through this book?"

"Doesn't look like I have a choice; but if you're offering me one, I'll say no."

"Young lady, I'll have you know, I will look through any book that's brought into my study hall, if I wish."

"Then why ask permission? Go ahead and look."

She turned, trotting back to her perch. She sat and began to read; she'd read for a bit, then glare at me. Of course, I'd glare right back.

The bell rang to go to the next class. I went to her desk. Still glaring, she sneered, "What do you want?"

"My notebook."

"You're not getting it."

"I apologize for asking; I just didn't know that a notebook needed in next class could be held up by another teacher. If I'm asked, I'll tell them you have it."

"Oh, you can have the notebook, but I'm keeping the other book."

"Fine with me."

She came off her platform to hand me the book and followed me from the room, asking who owned the book.

"I can't tell you that."

"If you tell me, I'll see it goes easier for you."

"My dear teacher, that's not the way it works. It really means that you'll have two people you can get into trouble."

We were on the fourth floor and when I reached the front stairs, I turned to her saying, "Mrs. Gray, I'm going to the first floor; I can't stop you from following me, however I believe it's only fair to tell you that you will not know anymore about this than you do right now."