My parents live in Phoenix, and for about a year I have lived in Yuma. A couple times my mom and dad have driven down to Yuma and stayed at the Comfort Inn not far from my condo. I generally try to visit them in Phoenix every six weeks or so. I call them about twice a week. I would like to email them too but neither of my parents regularly checks their email inbox. Anyway, even though I’m no longer living in Phoenix, they pretty much know what I’m up to, most of the time. They know I have a...

Okay, it is 24 hours later and I still feel like writing about this, and since I have a few free moments, here it goes…

I am located in Yuma and work for the government. I am directly or indirectly in charge of about two dozen people. Many of these individuals are men, and a number of them are significantly older than I am. Still, I try to keep a sense of humor, even during working hours. One of my employees once said to me that I was “as wholesome as a New England milk maid”....

I have an assistant at work. Today he casually asked me if I had any concerns related to my safety, and living alone. I don’t tell my assist everything about myself, so he does not know that I “live alone” only about three days a week. The other four days I either have my boyfriend over for the night, or I’m staying at his place. But that still leaves three nights a week.

Five years ago, when I graduated from college and first lived on my own, I lived alone for about two...

I am at work but this is such a goofy story that I can’t wait until later to unload it in my idiotic blog. And it has a happy ending.

I have a mild anxiety disorder that can cause me trouble. One of the features of it is elements of obsessive-compulsive disorder. These come into play now and then when I’m driving a car, and sometimes with heights. I can also obsess over diseases, and this can lead to anxiety attacks. I can’t just “shut-off” these thoughts. They are literally...

In my idiotic blog I have repeatedly mentioned that I am in a relationship with a man who is significantly older than I am. Steve is his name. I can talk about a few somewhat sensitive and occasionally prickly things here in my blog, concerning the relationship, and other things, because of the few readers who bother with this blog, none personally know me. For me, the blog is sort of therapeutic.

Last Saturday I was introduced to Steve’s son, Mike. I write about it now because...