How This Mountain Girl From West Virginia Ended Up In Portugal. Buckle Up! (Part Two)

It's been a while, and I've been super-busy (read trying not to sweat to death), and typing up a storm, but not for myself. I've got this nifty little writing position with a lady that works for Unicef that has turned into "hey, why don't you apply for this position WITH Unicef" today. The mind boggles. Well mine does, it's bouncing around in there like I'm taking a ride over railroad tracks in an old Jeep with absolutely no suspension.

How has this happened? I'm just a mountain girl, too stupid to kick rocks up the street, right?

Well, that's what the school system in my little slice of Appalachia tried to make me believe. Find you a man, sweetie, and get married. You're never going to be able to go to college, so find yourself a nice coal miner that won't beat you too often, and settle down.

Why?

I think why was my first word. Not Mom or Dad, not even cake, but WHY?

It took me a while of thinking, of pondering, but I finally convinced myself my teachers, the guidance counselor, and my over-zealous, fundamentalist Pentecostal upbringing were right. I needed to get to making me some babies and keep my trap shut.

Because, WHY kept coming out when I opened it.

One day, my high school senior-year English teacher kept me after class to ask me what school I was going to when I graduated. Huh?

You are a writer, she said to me. I needed to get an English degree. With a doubtful look and a buttload of disbelief I walked away.

And got married.

Stupid, stupid girl. What was worse? After the fiasco of the first one, I did it again!

Then, I was injured on my job as personal care assistant. You're going to be able to walk, I was told, but after a while, the injury is going to cause more problems. And one day you won't walk anymore.

Like hell!

Then, I had another bright idea!

I went back to school. I got a second divorce. I met my current partner. I researched religions, philosophies, and psychiatry. I went to Germany to study the Holocaust. I went to Poland to volunteer at Auschwitz. I formed a bond that is unbreakable with a man that drives me utterly insane but makes me feel like the world is there for me to walk on. I learned I was Mensa-material and rejected it for the total inanity of "well, my IQ is higher than yours." Intelligence does not equal sense. Not at all.

Today, I was asked if I'd ever considered being a writer when I was a child. If I ever thought that's what I'd do. The simple answer was no, as I put away my notebook full of stories. Astronaut, sure...but, then no because you have to be smart, right? Archeologist? Oh yeah, but, wait, smart and Indiana Jones says there's snakes. I hate snakes more than he does. Alright, well, I can manage a history degree with honors. So I did that.

Then, a masters degree in public administration and nonprofit organization. With honors. Wait, but I'm stupid. How?

Well, it seems I'm not so stupid.

And I reached for the stars.

And wound up in Portugal.

Because a boat trip down the eastern coast of America, headed to the open seas of the Caribbean turned into "I have to go back to England." His mother was dying.

That turned into "I don't want to go back to America. Let's go to Portugal. I'm freezing in England and that lady in the other caravan says it's warm in Portugal." That lady wasn't telling a fib. It's warm.

And here I am.

A writer.

A hillbilly.

In Portugal.

Wow!

Look at the stars!

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(picture courtesy of Pixabay. @cristof, I finished part two!)

If you're interested, part one is here...https://steemit.com/appalachia/@smuggly-sparrow/how-this-mountain-girl-from-west-virginia-ended-up-in-portugal-buckle-up-part-one