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Rue Wydown

Oh Bugger

Oh Bugger

Cdr Ruth Wydown’s Experiences on Earth

It was not my intention to annoy both my JAG representative and the investigator assigned to question my involvement in the Excalibur incident. They both assumed I would be fatigued, stressed and agitated by the length and depth of the questioning process. Nor was I expected to be as candid with my responses. Or truthful for that matter. Apparently I didn’t measure up to their preconceived notion of how a disgraced First Officer should react. But the straw that broke the camel’s back for both of them was my lack of perturbedness about the whole process. (Is that a word? Perturbedness? Probably not, but who cares - which I guess was part of my problem, wasn’t it?) It didn’t, and still doesn’t, phase me.

I have what they call an ‘it is what it is’ attitude. It’s not that I don’t care. Because I do care. Just take a look at my jacket, you’ll see a smattering of minor offenses (mostly practical jokes or disagreements with patients). This is the first major black mark on my career in twenty plus years. So yes, I care and yes I am upset. I worked hard to get where I am and to have thrown it all away like this.....sucks.

But I can’t go back and change history. Nor can I claim stupidity as a defense. I knew very well what I was doing when I agreed to this debacle. I have my reasons and I knew what the consequences would be. Nor am I afraid to face such consequences, such as they may be.

So the investigator is annoyed because I don’t be appear intimated by the process. In fact, I find it so fascinating that I keep peppering him with questions, derailing his train of thought and making his face turn this rare shade of chartreuse when he realizes that, yet again, we’ve been off topic for the past twenty minutes. I suppose I should stop, but I can’t help it, I’m learning something here.

And my JAG representative is annoyed that I haven’t shown any sort of motivation that he can leverage into a deal to save my career. Although I catch a glimpse of him now and then, trying not to laugh at the purpling-investigator. Even his patience is wearing thin by my inquires, response and reactions. I believe he’s now wondering how he managed to pull this assignment and how he can get out of it.

Am I screwed. Probably. Do I care. Yes. Can I do anything about it. Certainly, I can fight. But I can tell you what I’m not going to do.

Panic.

~~~~

I have to find housing for myself. Staying on the ship is out. Who knows when or if I’ll ever be able to return. So it looks like I’m stuck with base housing. The BOQ - Bachelor’s Officer Quarters - It’s not Ritz Carlton, and it wasn’t designed to be. It’s the temporary officer housing when ships are docked and the officers are stuck at HQ on StarFleet business. Usually populated with Vulcans, Trills, Andorians, Betazed, Bajorian, and the odd Klingon or Ferengi.Oh, and us off-worlders who can’t find suitable housing.

It serves your basic needs and meant to be transitory housing until you find something better, return to your ship or have a nervous breakdown because of the various shades of gray on the walls resemble the odd soupy concoction they tried to serve you in the mess.

Did I mention I hate the BOQ?

Do I have a choice though? Yes, I do. But alternative is unthinkable. It would bring a whole new level of chaos into my life that I don’t need right now, nor have the capacity (let alone the will power) to deal with right now. I *will* not ask my ex-husband for help no matter how much I hate the gray-green walls of my bedroom here. Or crave a good home cook meal. Or a softer bed. Or someone to bend an ear to. Or rub my feet. Or...oh bugger.

Help!

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