DID YOU EVER KNOW?

Did you ever realize from the time you were a child what you were meant to do with your life?

I fell in love with a man over twenty years ago who knew what he was meant to do when he was nine. Speaker of five languages, doctorate, and Mensa candidate, he told me that he knew at age nine he was meant to be an attorney. His motivation was to help people...for those of you who don't have a high opinion of lawyers - there are some good ones!

When he told me he knew very young what he was to do with his life, I was amazed. Little did I realize that what I had started at the age of eight - writing - would take over my life.

Yes. I have always worked a full-time day job. And I also have a deep motivation to help other people. But frankly...my overwhelming obsession is to write, write, write. No it is not an illness. It is who I am as a person. A writer. A researcher. With an unquenchable curiosity. I am compelled to learn about every single topic that piques my interest. That consumes the microscopic - like nanotechnology and the Casimir Effect - to the macroscopic such as the Time Space Continuum and The Holographic Universe.

As soon as I learned to read I got a library card and started reading books on an adult level. The first book which impacted me was Barbara Walter's "How to Talk With Practically Anybody About Practically Anything". When I was eight my parents recognized the need for a desk in my bedroom as I wrote, wrote, wrote!

My father always promised me: "Study hard in school and I will send you to college."

I did study hard! Got straight A's in many classes: history, psychology, contemporary literature, French..In the three years I learned French I started writing French poetry..I even won a writer's contest award at the age of 11 with a small cash prize!

But when college time rolled around he and my mother divorced. They both remarried. I ended up living with my father who married someone who didn't really want Dad to finance my education.

I wrote for the student literature magazine at my first high school. When I went to live with my father I started journaling. The deep pain of my parent's divorce etched itself into the pages of my diary, easing its effects on my synapses and my heart.

Then I started a student lit magazine at my new high school. Became editor-in-chief of the high school newspaper. Although other students wrote articles, I usually ended up having to write, edit and put together the paper every month all by myself. It was all cut and paste for lay-outs in those days. That was before the wonderful world of word processors and finally home computers and Microsoft Word.

My journalism teacher/advisor in high school one day called me a "creative genius" in front of the entire class. I was astonished. I have never thought of myself in that way. Although my father, whose hobby was inventor and artificer of metallic objects dating back to colonial days, could explain the genetic groundwork. His sister who had won National School Teacher of the Year back in the nineteen sixties, whose nick-name was "Scholastic" could have been a hint.

My generous high school teacher offered to help me get a journalism scholarship. So I applied to Columbia. I was accepted. I was torn between journalism and psychiatry or neurophysiology. Maybe I would pursue a double major. My dad helped me apply for school loans at the bank. But when it came to going to Columbia he said that I was not allowed to go to New York City. I would tell you the reason but I don't want to make my father look narrow minded.

I applied to Temple University. Was accepted there.When applying for school loans I fell between the cracks. My dad made slightly too much money in the "Boilermaker" industry to be eligible for scholarships. But his new wife preferred the social recognition of a brand new beautiful house and new cars rather than affording me the opportunity to get to the school of my choice.

My heart was broken that I couldn't go to Columbia. Getting a perfect score on the verbal portion of the SAT's had seemed quite an accomplishment that should be utilized.

Unfortunately as a "white girl" Affirmative Action didn't apply to me. Don't even try to say the words "white privilege" or I'll knock your teeth out! That's another politically correct piece of social engineering championed by Soro's many propaganda groups,.

So all kinds of other kids from ethnic backgrounds were getting into the college of their choices except me who wanted so desperately to learn everything from the construction of the atom to warp engines driven by the "nacelles" on Star Trek's Enterprise. And still do!

Note-taking was my specialty. Whenever I attended classes of any sort - I always took notes to review later. The physical act of putting pen to paper and allowing my thought processes to flow from brain to arm to hand through pen to paper thrilled me.

Often in the work place my bosses would suddenly get frightened when I took notes. As though something they said, because it was on paper would condemn them. Talk about insecurity! They tried to belittle me for the seeming necessity to take notes, however any attempts at mockery failed as I have learned to recall prodigious and enormous bits of information over the sum of my many years.

As a teenager, I was able to recall complete conversations word for word, particularly when daydreaming over the exchanges with my latest crush. But as an adult who built up two libraries with a thousand books twice, I could rattle off every title and often authors also, of every single book in those personal libraries. I have wept for years over the loss of those two book collections which took decades to accumulate.

Please understand, I'm not trying to impress you. I am simply trying to help you understand how the loss of a four-year formal education has impacted me. Every time I watched a movie involving college kids hot tears of anguish rolled down my face.

When I hit the age of 18 I left home and attended a short-term business school my father had agreed on. After a series of struggles I ended up at a Bible college in Dallas, Texas. While in Texas, through a traumatic event I ended up marrying a man I did not know.

Right before I had my son, while extremely pregnant, I sent out magazine articles to various publications. I received a letter back from National Review magazine saying they liked an article I had sent but had already covered the material in another column. I even wrote a letter to President Reagan and received a very nice reply. So at least SOMEONE appreciated my writing!

After more years of extreme poverty and endless hurdles I ended up as a single parent who moved back to Pennsylvania to raise my small son. That's when I met the attorney I fell in love with, but things didn't work out.

 Pennsylvania's economy was such that without a four-year degree I could not find a decent, steady job. I decided to move to South Florida and go into the property management industry.

God was smiling on my son and I. Within two weeks I obtained my first high-rise, luxury property management job. After that, work with commercial property management companies specializing in sky rise office buildings was my forte'.

During that time I had one of those bosses who mocked me for taking notes. Mocked me for what I ate for lunch. Made fun of my clothes and purses. Passed me over for promotion deliberately because she branded me "a deep thinker" and was insulted I didn't utilize the membership in her "drinking club".

I was excited when in 1999 or 2000 I found out about two scientists who had discovered that the speed of light was not as "constant" as everyone believed.

In 2000 I started journaling. I had learned about Samuel Pepys in 6th grade...how his journal was the only historical portrait of daily life in 1600's England. That impressed me. Besides-  the technological and scientific discoveries being made every day in our era inspired and thrilled me.

Over all the years, in my spare time I always wrote. In 2001 I submitted  magazine articles to publications without success but won "Honorable Mention" in Writer's Digest's annual contest. Out of 19,000 people I guess "Honorable Mention" wasn't too terrible. I was disappointed. Yet I didn't give up.

When I read Gregory Benford's book Timescape I was fascinated with the idea of tachyon particles having the ability to send messages back in time., connecting the future and the past. (Of course at that time tachyons had not yet been proven.) However, scientists like Seth Lloyd at MIT and scientists who worked on NASA's Breakthrough Propulsion Project would secretly disagree with  mainstream media journalists.

So I believe would Geordie Rose, co-inventor of the D-Wave Quantum computer who utilizes George Ryazanov's concept of quantum hand-holding and the two directional "arrow of time" on a daily basis.

But again, God was smiling on me. I took real estate courses and became facility manager over a high profile set of office buildings in Fort Lauderdale. After that I managed the largest office park (at the time) in Miami. I went on to help manage twenty two large buildings in three South Florida counties.

Then the Great Recession hit. After three years of deleting staff the final cut down to the company's bare skeleton struck. I was laid off.

Although having obtained real estate license after real estate license, still without a four year degree, my chances of obtaining another job were hopeless. I met former lawyers, business owners, and other degreed professionals who were lucky to land jobs at McDonalds. Once middle class but now homeless people filled the streets looking for food and makeshift shelter.

Unemployment payments only lasted so long. Finally I realized the only sure opportunities open were in the health care industry. I started back at "square one". With a class full of Jamaican hopefuls I got my CNA license. Took yet more time to land a private job as maid, CNA and general factotum to a wealthy couple in Jupiter Florida.

Averse to domestic chores, having been forced at home to clean toilets, wash dishes, vacuum, iron and hang out laundry, I hated housework! Cleaning was an endlessly thankless job which took away time from learning and thinking and writing! My air - without which I could not breathe!

But I bit my lip and cooked, cleaned toilets, became a landscaper, accountant, pill dispenser, daily bather, cook, driveway pressure cleaner, floor-scrubber, daily rehab exerciser, clothier, chauffeur, administrative assistant and hurricane preparation manager for twelve hours a day, six days a week, no paid holidays and no paid overtime, for a year. Not to mention, I drove almost an hour each way to get to the job, spending a hundred dollars in gas each week.

Finally, my now-adult son suggested I move to the West. Having a small source of income now enabled me to give away my second thousand book library and rent a small truck to move my belongings westward.

Once again, I applied for a job for a CNA position. Once again God was looking out for me. Instead of having to clean up blood, poop, and urine as before I became an "Assistant Activities Director".

Simultaneously, I had applied for a Facility Coordinator job that paid $90K a year, and had less responsibility than in my previous property management jobs. But because I only heard back from the hospital job I took it.

Now in my spare time I continue to write. In fact in May 2016 I published one version of my most recent book to send to the Writer's Digest Annual Book Contest. Not being allowed to publish it anywhere else before I learn whether I won the contest or not, I don't know if I'll ever see a finished copy of my book. It takes money to self-publish. And I can't put the book on Amazon Kindle yet because Writer's Digest has "first publishing rights" if I win. So until I hear back from them I am stuck in an ether of expectation.

I could be polishing up the other two unpublished books which I have had lying around for years. But my hopes are weighted on winning the contest. Yet I won't give up.

Because just like my long lost love, I knew what I was meant to do from a very young age. It is only right for me to WRITE!
                                       
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en.wiki.org/wiki/Samuel_Pepys