Happy New Year... Whatever.

So, the end of 1984 and the beginning of 1985. Yeah.

The first thing I can really remember about that was going to work one morning... late. Stopping at the gas station because I was on empty, and my oil light was on. It had come on and gone off several times, I checked the oil, and it was always okay. This one time, though, since I was late, I didn't check it. My car died, engine seized up, and my only form of transportation was gone. You would think this would give me a clear indication of how the year was going to go for me, but I was optimistic anyway.

I started taking the bus to work and home. It really wasn't that bad because it went right by where I lived. Optimism.

Shortly after that, I had a review at work with my supervisor, and she told me how concerned she was for me because my work performance had steadily gone downhill since I got involved with Don. She didn't know if I would be able to work there any longer if something didn't change. Also, my father got a job at the same place, and they had a "no family working in the same branch" rule. So, I lost my job at the main bank working with some great people. I was either going to have to find a new job, or I could work at the west branch of the bank as a teller. I would have to take the bus downtown and take a transfer to the bank each day. I decided to do that, and we decided to move to the west side of town because maybe it would be better for me and my job.

One night, right before we moved, we were riding a very small motorcycle, really meant for dirt bike riding, on the street, there was black ice, and we fell going around the corner. I wasn't very smart back then, and I had pantyhose on under my sweat pants. The pants rode up in the wind, and when my leg hit the muffler, the hose burned into my calf. However, it didn't hurt too bad right then because my leg was numb from the cold.

Don just stood there and screamed at me, he wouldn't take me to the hospital, even though my skin was burned black, he just yelled at me to get back on. So, I did.

He was no nurse and had absolutely no bedside manner at all when it came to this injury. He thought we should put all kinds of over the counter medicines on it, and it was killing me. The next morning, we walked the mile to his mom's, and I called in sick. Pantyhose was a mandatory thing then, and there was no way I could even walk without crying. (Yeah, so how did I walk to his mom's????)

The next day, I cut a leg out of my hose, wore a dress, and went to work on the bus. When I got to work, my friends couldn't believe what had happened, and they insisted that I go to the doctor. In fact, my friend's husband picked me up and took me. I got a stern warning from my doctor, too, who was not too happy about me waiting to get in there. The burns were bad. Really bad. And I still have the scars.

This year, 1985, turned out to be one of the worst years I had with him. It all started out that year, and it never got better, really, except for one thing. But wait.... I'm getting ahead of myself.