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I am not typically a superstitious person.

I will walk under a ladder, step on a crack intentionally, and pet any black cat that crosses my path.

I have however, come to hate years that end in six.

Born in 1967, the first six encounter was 1976.

That was the year my father began his "mid-life crisis."

(By the way, I hate to trivialize what he went through with that term, but it helps keep this story short.)

That was the year I, on occasion, visited the school psychiatrist instead of going to gym class.

I was just a kid, not really aware of the world around me, but there were changes, and struggles, and challenges for the whole family.

I remember more that it was rough on others around me, but don't remember much about my own behaviour.

In 1986, I was a freshman in college.

I had the distinct honor of being the one in my dorm that was chosen to be the stooge in a game that was called "Mind F***."

They told me they gave me messages and I got them wrong.

Like, "meet us at 1" but they all met at noon.

They routinely changed the book covers on my text books, sent me on wild goose chases, stole my homework, set my alarm clock back an hour, made a sport of messing with my head.

I was eighteen, angry, confused, irresponsible, and immature.

I was on academic probation after my first semester, and dropped out at the end of the year.

I saw a shrink again after that, for about a year.

In 1996, my abusive boyfriend of three years was shot and killed by one of his best friends - missing with no sign for three months.

I had no job, no money, no direction, no sense of self, and just lost the domineering force that had been my life (and my love) for three years.

I had given up all my friends for the relationship, and all his friends dropped me like a hot potato.

I learned about misplaced trust, and realized that you never, ever know about someone.

I learned about grief, humility, poverty, and depression.

I probably needed a shrink that year, but drank a lot of liquor instead.

There are five months of 1996 that I don't remember at all.

Frank saved me.

He came to my house where I had been in bed for two weeks. He cleaned the house, made dinner, made me take a shower, and spent hours brushing the tangles out of my hair which hadn't been combed in days.

When I sobered up, I was sociophobic, afraid to trust anyone other than Frank or family.

I didn't leave the property for almost a year (except to Mother's or the laundromat), and for another year, could not go anywhere alone.

I still tremble at the thought of entering a laundromat - and on a really bad day, will occasionally have trouble leaving the house.

Frank and I have come so far...

I tend to forget however, that we also have a long way to go. And we can go anywhere, do anything we put our minds to. And we can make it through anything - together.

Anyway, now that it is 2006, I seem to be having a little mid-life issue of my own - and Frank is too.

Why am I not surprised?

I didn't ask for it, didn't plan it, didn't see it coming - but am facing it nevertheless.

Calhoun is small and petty.

The world is so big.

I can no longer accept that this small lot in life is the rest of my life.

I was not destined to be a pawn, I was not trained for politics. I was not carved or created to settle in an environment of small minds.

It is not my place to change Calhoun County.

And I am no longer sure that Calhoun should, or can, be saved.

Mother says I have "outgrown" this job.

Boy, I sure hate to admit it when she's right, but...

I don't know how all of you out there are with faith, but I can't, after living my life, take the blessings and burdens and lessons I've been given and think there is no higher power.

I'm pretty sure He's trying to tell me that my work here is done.

Or that something really nasty is coming, and I need to get ready or get out.

Or that I've pledged loyalty to the wrong team, or have established my trust in the wrong places.

Or that I need to watch for opportunities, or a fork in the path because he has other plans for me.

It is a year ending in six after all, and although I do not visit "His House" regularly, I am, and always have been, at His whim.

So, today we're polishing the resume.

My resume makes me feel good, and why not?

There's all my accomplishments, my awards, my good deeds; all neatly listed on one page.

And, there's not a single year ending in six listed.

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Want to know more about DeLaHaye? Visit her web site at WV Travelers , or her online store at Impecunious Impressions, or read her weekly column at The Calhoun Chronicle.