I've worked on paper since I was 14. Before that, I had your usual kid jobs, babysitting, paper delivery, yard work. In my late teens (17ish) I wound up in retail management, first a bakery, then a hair salon. I foolishly decided to keep working rather than accept my full ride to Mt. Holyoke. I thought I'd "take a year off" then go to school. After managing a movie theater, I found myself divorced, in another city, and working in a restaurant. By then I was 21-22. Sometimes that whole 2 years seems like a blur. If anything, my life has been an example of what not to do. I went to a trade school to try to make a quick turnaround, only to discover I hated my trade I wound up tending bar and dancing for 4 years or so, then went back into retail management. At some point (26?) I met my 2nd husband, and had two children one at 29, the other at 32. I stayed home with them, and started building indoor tabletop fountains and making custom greeting cards and stationery. This went well until my then husband decided that crack was a helluva drug. I found myself divorced again, and in a battered women's shelter. Starting over, I finally went to school (fulltime) and majored in Technical Communications while working fulltime for an IT company, doing something I can't really classify to this day. My official job title was CyberTech. Whatever the hell that means. Anyhow it paid well and afforded me flexibility for school.

After trying rather unsuccessfully to get a job in my field, I settled for craptacular administrative positions while I continued applying for jobs in my field, all the while becoming disillusioned at the amount of lying and asskissing required. Which is really funny considering my field is based entirely on lying and asskissing. Que sera sera. I've also done construction and roofing. My crackhead ex was a contractor, so I have experience.

In 2003 I met and married some dick in the Army. He didn't want his wife working. When he left for Iraq, I took a job in a tattoo shop, to give me something to do during the day, and for free ink. Then I went back to dancing, to make some money instead of just ink. Something told me I'd need a little financial cushion. Lo and behold I was right. He came back from Iraq acting sketchy as fuck...sleeping with a loaded handgun in the bed, screaming at the kids, slamming me up against the wall. One night, I dropped my kids off at my mom's, went to work, and never went back home.
At this point, I've been out of the legit work force for 2 years. So I kept dancing while I was getting my ducks in a row. I met my current fiance during this time (2005, and no, not in the bar. A friend introduced us) Then one rainy night, I didn't have my glasses on (I can't see well in the dark at all) and I wrecked my car, nearly killing myself in the process. They had to cut the windshield and sort of squish me out. I was hospitalized for 2 weeks, and recovering for much longer than that. Due to my injuries, I believed dancing to be out of the question. Surprisingly, 6 weeks later my boss begged me to come back to work. However, my fiance encouraged me to go back to the professional workforce, which I have been trying to do ever since last summer, and am growing increasingly frustrated with. In the meantime, I fix computers for a living. Under the table naturally. I'll be 38 this May. I feel like I've worked hard indeed, although success wasn't really my goal, at least not the way most people define it.

I've always wanted to just be happy, and raise well adjusted kids. I've managed to do that so far. They are wonderful little people, smart, with beautiful souls. So yes, I feel successful.