I am a retard

That is all I have to say about that.

For now.

An Empty Locker

We had our first duty at the newly built station 10 over the weekend. I know I must sound ungrateful, but I hate it!!!

The old station we were in was 40 years old. Cramped, old as hell, pests (of multiple leg designations) and complete with things that go bump in the night. You were forced to get to know your crew, but more than that, walking into the station felt a lot like walking into a house. There was a male bunkroom and a female bunkroom, the kitchen, the lounge and the bay. Oh, and an alarm room but it doesnt really bear mentioning as it was always 90 degrees in there, no matter what the weather outside was like so nobody went in there. But it was great, because it forced crew unity. You spent time with your crew, because there was really no place to get away from them.

There was also so much history there at that station. History and character. That station saw the evolution of the fire and EMS services as they went through policy changes, multiple equipment and apparatus upgrades, and just the badasses that came before me. ME. Little old me. My officer often said, "If these walls could only talk." If only. I bet they could tell some stories.

That station was the heart of the department that I run with. The 10 crews are always the tightest and I believe that has a lot to do with the building that we ran in. You learn to respect the ones that have come before you there.

The new station really sucks. Outside and inside, it is absolutely beautiful. They brought in the photographs from the old station 10, and added in news clippings of calls that 10 ran. The main entrance is actually a bay, intended to showcase the old Hahn, which was the first fire engine my department bought brand new. Guess where the old Hahn ran out of? Yup. Old 10.

The new station has a fire pole, and fire slide, which many stations went away from due to the amount of ankle injuries firefighters sustained while going down the poles and slides. Next to the pole and the slide, is a little plaque stating when/where the pole/slide originated, who came up with it, etc. Downstairs in the showroom with the Hahn is a wall with nothing but factoids about the fire service and our department in particular. I feel like I'm touring one of the Smiths when I'm on duty now.

The new station is enormous. It has two floors, and 3 double bays. There is a state of the art gym, classroom, ridiculous office, and unisex bunkrooms. Let me rephrase that, ginormous. IT SUCCCKKS. I have to walk 5miles to find someone. WTF. Last night one of the girls came in, and I knew she was upstairs in a bunk, but I didnt know which one so I had to effing TEXT her to ask a simple question. My ambulance crew came back from a call. The Engine was in the bay so I knew they were on the premisis but damned if I could find any of the crew.

And the TV room. The TV room is large enough to house 50 standing adults, with a large TV and a remote that looks like a mini computer. I just... hate it. It doesnt feel like a firehouse to me.

Last night I went to do clean ups. I wanted to be especially thorough, because the station is new and the Chief is always in and out. I went to change the toilet paper on the tp rolls and needed a Bob Key to do so. Well, I couldnt find a key named Bob anywhere. The garbage can needed to be empty but the can locks into the cubby in the wall. I could not find the key for the effing trash can anywhere. I'm pretty sure it fell down into the trash but guess where my hand isnt going? I couldnt find liners that fit the garbage cans or windex.

The sinks are automatic which sucks when you're trying to brush your teeth. When you're just washing your hands you have to keep your hands so close to the sensor that the water splatters up and gets the silver faucet all spotted up even though you just effing wiped it down...

During the weekend I hate the opportunity to go to the old station to get my stuff. I walked into the station and it was gutted. So crazy. Pictures gone, equipment gone, some fixtures still in place. It looked lonely.

As I was standing there, cleaning out my locker, I had to sit on the bed. My locker was open. Normally, I keep it closed. It's a mental thing. As long as my locker is closed, the memories stay silent. But this time, with it open, all the memories started shuffling their way, as if to say, "Hey, dont forget me..."

I can remember pacing the station with my crew while we waited for news of Cecelia, a fire fighter we lost in the Line of Duty last year. We were on duty the weekend that she passed, stsanding out in the bay when we heard the call go out at the Academy. We looked up the dispatch notes and saw the general age and sex of the patient, and that it was on the fire side of the Academy (the police train at the academy also). We knew who it was. She was the only one that fit the description. And then we heard the call go from an Unconscious to a CPR in progress. And we were standing together in the station when we got the news that Cecelia didnt make it.

I can remember hanging out at all hours of the night, talking to my officer about anything. Life, fire department stuff, porn preferences, war stories. Staying up late talking to him are some of my favorite memories of station 10. We'd be up at 2am after everyone had gone to sleep. The station was sleeping, with the lights all out. Smoking in the bay (back when you could), talking for hours. There was a peace in that. And I knew where to find him, too. I didnt have to text him to find his location in the station.

I also got to know Joe there. Joe died too, on Inauguration day. But he used to come and staff with us, or just hang out. It was there at the station that Joe came to exchange christmas gifts with my officer on Christmas evening. They were room mates. Joe bought my officer an Achmed the Dead Terrorist puppet that spoke. My officer kept hitting the button that made the puppet say, "INFIDEL" and pointing him in my direction. I have pictures of Joe and all of us playing Rock Band over the Christmas holiday.

The old station was the first place I ran as a new tech. Someone I was.. very close too came to the old station that day to wish me luck and to remind me that I know what I'm doing and am going to be damn good doing it. The station has also seen my mistakes and my determination to correct them and make sure I never made them again. I learned to drive an ambulance out of that station. That station has felt my frustration, my pain, my joy and my love for what I do.

The support, the friendship, the good times (see: pranks), all of it the station fostered it in all of us. Just the other week, my officer was chasing me and another girl around the station with the hose, trying to soak us. We thought we were slick and hid in the girls bathroom until we heard noises in the girls bunkroom. Our officer was moving the beds up against the bathroom door to block us in. Or the night that they filled up a large trash can, waist high to me, with ice, then filled that with water and iced down a firefighter while he was in the shower. Or the night that my officer put a pea in my ear. I know, right? Laying on the Air Horn in the bay, just because we knew we werent going to get any sleep that night.


That station had heart. And now my locker is empty.

Crisis Hotline

My phone rings, twice in one night. I think I should rename my phone line to the Crisis Hotline.

The first person is an old old friend that has been struggling with personal problems and self esteem. The second person is a new friend that I've come to admire and respect greatly. He's having issues with his marriage and wanted someone to just listen to his problems. The first one was easier for me to deal with. Self esteem is not something I've truly had a struggle with so I was less emotionally involved.

The second call was the hardest. It was almost a type of my own marriage. I tried to say the things to him that I wish I'd been strong enough to say to my own husband, at least from an outsider's perspective. The goal was to interject some sanity into an insane moment so that things werent said that couldnt be taken back. It's so easy to hurt someone with words and once those words are said... Well it's hard for me to put into words but there is no going back. Even if you make all the effort in the world to repair them, the person you've said those words too is forever changed.

In an earlier conversation with the same second person, I discussed some of the fall out from my own marriage. It was quite shocking to me to realize what a hard heart I have. I know my husband made efforts with me to repair the gap that his own hurtful words caused but after those words were said, one to many times, it was too big of a betrayal for me to deal with.

It's ironic that I put up with so much from other people in my life. It's probably not a surprise that I would be so unforgiving to my husband. He was the one person in the world who should have treated me with love and respect in all things and when he failed at that, I just couldnt forgive him.

But on the other side of the coin, listening to my friend literally spill his feelings to me, I realize what I must have put my own husband through and it's a wonder he still wanted to try to work things out with me in the end. The guilt I feel is immense. If I think about it too much the feelings just boil up inside of me until I get nauseous.

I miss my husband, and I've come to realize that I miss him and not just the security he represented. In the past two days, I've just wanted to show up on his door step. I wanted to come home. If I'm being really honest, he's hurt me too much. I'll never be able to forgive him or trust him with me again.

I probably need therapy for that but maybe just being able to recognize the biggest part of the mistake I made is enough.

Words Fall Out Of My Mouth

Wow it’s been 4 years since I’ve written on this blog. I was reading over my old stuff… Well I don’t think I want to dwell on that too much tonight.

Let’s see. I got married. I got separated. Yeahhh. Probably shouldn’t have done that. The marriage part, heh. I started getting involved in local politics. That was really interesting, in its own way. Then I joined the fire department.

Its weird how I have so much to say and have wanted to say for years but now that I’m sitting down writing this I’m struggling. What’s up with that?

Maybe I should try again tomorrow night. I think it's enough that I'm back here again..

Rough Night

Steve bought some new pants last week. He asked me to wash them, and I said sure. Apparently I missed a pair. I thought that his new ones were all hanging up the next morning so I washed them or whatever. We also have a coat hanger thing in our bedroom that is a collection pile for his clothes. Usually when pants are hanging up on there I check them to make sure they're wearable another time. No sense sending dress pants to the cleaner everytime you wear them. Well these black pants looked just like his old ones and maybe I was in a hurry, I really dont remember but they passed inspection so I rehung them up.

This morning he pulls the black pair of pants off the hanger, and I guess I miscalculated. They were new, ones he'd worn the next morning the day after he'd bought his pants. I guess I got them mixed up with his old black pants, so I didnt realize they were new. They still had the sticky strip on them from the label and a crease from being folded. Color me retarded for not realizing this. So already he's getting angry at me, accusing me of not caring and huffs off downstairs.

Then he really starts fussing. Last night when I came to bed, it was really hot upstairs. It felt good to me, my fingers and toes were like ice from being downstairs. I'm laying in bed, drifting off and he asks me to go downstairs and turn down the thermostat. I say, "baby its fine up here." And he says, "no I'm really hot." Fine. I get up and go downstairs, but I was just so tired I didnt feel like fucking with the controls trying to figure out what was going to cool him down the fastest so I just clicked it off. Needless to say when he walked down the stairs this morning it was freezing, which he didnt hesitate to tell me.

Then he comes back upstairs and starts going nova on me. About how I just dont care and this and that. I really could go on but I dont think I want to share that much.

Two weeks ago the same thing happened. I forget what, maybe he ran out of sweaters. Sweaters, not button down shirts. So he's upset, then he goes downstairs to find his shoes. Well, he hasnt worn those in a few days so they've been put up in the closet in the shoe rack and I've put the vacuum cleaner away too so they're covering up his shoes. If he had just MOVED the vacuum cleaner and looked behind it he would have found his shoes. So I had to listen to him say some pretty not nice things about me while he was looking for them, and finally I told them where they were and he was like saying, "why does everything have to be so hard." Dude, they were behind the VACUUM CLEANER on the SHOE RACK. THAT'S NOT HARD. Convenient? No. Hard? Definitely not.

I dont know what to do anymore. I swear to God I have cleaned this house til it was spotless but he always finds the TWO things I didnt get/do right and bitches like I'm this horrible person who doesnt care. Its like I cant make a mistake, ever. I really dont know how much longer I can live this way, of never doing things right. I'm so tired of trying and getting it kicked back in my face.