Got a huge offer. Tasks of inversion and interrogation

 Woke up this morning at 3:45 AM to find a strange email. Got offered a translation job by a HUGE French historian of monarchism. Nothing set in stone yet as he asked me to do Italian. I don't know any Italian. I'm totally of peasant stock and never took a single class of French but one high school course of sorts in college that I skipped a lot anyway. Think my translations are starting to baffle people. IT CAME FROM THE HEAVENS!! 

I went to look for someone whom I encountered a few weeks ago. Hope to see him again. Hope that poor soul is ok. I can see so much color in his soul. I would like to give him $100 and food. I might have went there really early. I avoid going outside (actually not just at night) unless it is to study. Just a lot of sexual harassment. My cross probably keeps people away from me. It's a 19th-Century relic that gives me a lot of powers. It fits right in my palm. I superimpose it often over Joan of Arc. 

I'm at peace about my stigmata. It was August 22nd. Same day on the side of my coffee shop/monastery where I dwell with my cross and cigarette, pacing back and forth about 50 feet, which is what I do all day, always in the state of mortification. (Thank you, Sainte Geneviève.) That was when I saw a burning visual of Joan of Arc. Husband was at the Jeep dealership. I didn't respond to his texts. Just way too in the moment.  Then they lied about the Jeep being ready. So I got the texts the next day that kept me from Cloud 9 (ecstacy). So sad and depressed. Stigmata grew by the day like the long part of the cross. Then the third day. 

My husband didn't take a picture. He remarked tonight that he doesn't think I would have wanted one taken deep down. And no, I didn't. I didn't even tell him about it for two days, just as I didn't when I was spitting blood after I saw the film on Padre Pio. Why disrupt the order? Then it disappeared after the third day. But geez on Tuesday that day did I woke so hard. Same on Wednesday. I worked like a maniac.

So why the Stigmata? It's all a mystery. But this is what I think. I fought some devils in my life. I fought a horrible pedophile in a life or death struggle that nearly killed me. That went on for 7 years. I never stopped. Forged ahead. Got persecuted for my translation project. I slept in the woods. I was willing to die for it. I got relief through sheer luck, or I might have ended up dead. My mother, like always - same one who threw me in the arms of that pedophile years earlier - mocked my project for years. We still talk. It's cordial, distantly loving, but I'll never want her in my circle again. It's complicated. She did get won over by my project eventually. Said last time: "Not bad translation," which is the most she'll ever say. Nothing stopped me. The yearning was too strong. And here's where we are! I guess I took the blows. Saint Francis of Assisi's didn't get his calling either

And that's the lesson: God is with me, and I'll one day be in the Kingdom of God. 

No one can ever know how hard it is to have such little support. I can't even really have friends. I don't take vacations. You're isolated. You're working on questions so deep that no one can get the subtlety of the questions. Only the Heavens answer those, after which the angels laugh and snicker, as if my torment is a source of amusement. And it is!! So I know that my work is not in vain. The Heavens are with me. That's why I got that burn. I'll never get one again (in my opinion). Or maybe it'll be something else... after all, I have not been branded yet. 

Guess I'm going to get back to work. Sort the inversions, make a unique translation for each issue, and extract the logic of French into English.