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Tuesday, June 7, 2011

milab mission

Hello, Eve! I'm posting so much on your Facebook page, I figured I should just go ahead and take the time to write to you. I've just returned from the beach and am not ready to return to the work grind right now anyway. Thinking of a shower first. It's been soooo long we've totally lost track of what we were talking about, so I'll just start fresh - that guy on your Facebook aside. Although I do find it disturbing how defensive people get of their personal conspiracy beliefs. Might as well raise a chapel to them and be done with. During and right after the Bin Laden mission was going on, I was fortunately in a position to hear some interesting things. It goes beyond that he hid behind a woman when his guards failed him and he was about to die. Or that my husband gave his entire box of 500 cigars to the boys who were still out in the field fighting when one of the higher officers was returning the field. (There were a lot more wounded out there than has been reported.) We were also shut down here at home. The phones wouldn't work right, my husband was blocked from contacting us here, and it trickled to me that one way they'd tracked down the location in Pakistan was by using people to follow his couriers home when they did things like fly in airports to various locations like Africa. It was a very difficult time for me because a lot that I had been forced to endure was finally coming full circle, including the vision of the mission I'd desperately tried to get word to Stargate about. It wasn't as hard as those in the field (some of which brought home actual footage we had briefly before the drive mysteriously died), but it was still an emotional upheaval. I could never have turned to you or anyone else because I wasn't allowed to even had I been able. And I'm having to bite my lip on your Facebook right now; so much I could say. So much I'm not allowed to say, except to you and maybe Bartley later. Maybe. So much intelligence I saw was accurate, including his location in Pakistan. So I'm telling you as one of the psychics that probably was one the job: I don't believe Alex Jones. Rating aren't that important, to belittle the loss of life our men went through on this mission. And it belittles me, too. It's bad enough that when it was over, Obama HAD to put in an appearance at Fort Campbell. He HAD to make it so my husband still couldn't come home to see me. So I complained on the telephone that it was bad enough he'd messed up my birthday and I'd sacrificed so much, but now he was taking credit for everyone else's hard work while keeping the families from being reunited. And what does he do in his speech? He claimed he remembered everyone there. (He'd never even been near that area, who was there for him to remember exactly?) And he thanked the families for their "intangible sacrifice", citing ruined birthdays as one such thing. .... I am still livid. I want a damn personal thank you. I want a medal for being dragged out of my bed at 2 am and put into a drugged stupor, for having to put up with this immature little bastard, and then not even being given a pat on the back that what I saw led us to the man they were after. And back pay. Humph. Anyway, something humorous happened the last time I went to "work." I was picked up with a bunch of people - I think they were people from around my neighborhood area because they looked and dressed like the class of people that live here. But I was taken aside by two men and told to "wait here" in the white waiting room that's near the office with the big windows that's near the underground rock train terminal. Unfortunately they had me in a small child frame of mind. "Wait here" doesn't mean anything to me in that state, so as soon as they were gone I walked out of the room to explore. I walked down the hallway (it's one of the older facilities with the low ceilings, heat, and pipes in the ceiling) until I got to a t-section. There was a muscular young Caucasian man in solid greens and the older hat walking down the hall. He had his sleeves rolled up in that 1950's fashion. (I've begun to notice the 1950's and 60's way of dressing and being prevails in this realm a lot.) I about-faced immediately to go back the way I had come because I did NOT want to be caught. I was almost back to the waiting room when a black woman in solid greens stepped out of the door to the terminal. She saw me and I saw her. I read her mind immediately: she thought I was one of her group. I was surprised to see a minority anything here in power, much less a Black woman. Her hair was in the sock bun military women wore, but she'd been on the job long enough her bun was starting to become unraveled. Her skin was a beautiful cocoa brown. She could also have been South American, Cuban... anything dark like that. So while I studied the grey hairs unraveling on her left temple, she spoke to me in three complete sentences that were laden with command and key words. I knew what she was doing. I courteously listened as she did this. She basically told me that I was supposed to be on a mission to go to space and fight, and that I needed to follow her in to rejoin the crowd. It wasn't my mission. I knew it wasn't my mission... but I miss space... so I followed her in. As I entered I could hear the end of the fight pep talk and the people shouting, "Go USA! Go USA!" and they lined up: they were all Caucasians, mostly women and a couple of children. I got at the end of the line. And then... not sure, but my cat came up to me. I picked him up and remember how heavy he was. And he leapt from my arms and I followed him and that's how I got separated from the group again; the vision of one of my other cats on the rocky ground mewing in pain. I tried to call for help but there was something in my mouth like a mouth guard or something, and I couldn't do it. I looked up and everyone had already boarded and left There were two guards at the terminal doors (they're big like large elevator doors.) who couldn't hear me cry. I was pretty upset when I opened my eyes in the bed. That's not the first time I've decided to act on my own and something came up to get me from it. I truly think I went somewhere that night. I find it interesting my kitties are used to get me to behave. And it's just funny. "I'm bored. I want to go to space. Well now. HERE'S an opportunity!" :-) Anyway, I hope you've been doing well over there. Not much else has happened for me lately. I think I'm bored. Yours, Blue