And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time.
Death Cab for Cutie
I posted a countdown of days until things happen this year.
2 days til the storage space is empty and ready to be filled again.
3 days to Mexico.
Guru responded “making plans is a good way to hear god laugh.”
And I laughed.
That might have been true of other things in another time, but not this one. I smiled and started plotting my drive east.
I already know where things are going to go in my new room.
Father Time, Cronos, Saturn. He who teaches lessons over and over, with pop quizzes and final exams galore.
I snubbed my nose at him for years.
Not anymore. Now I am praying and smiling a lot.
Humbled before god.
I spent many years ignoring even the heaviest of pushes in directions that might have been good for me. Miscarriages, punches from those who were supposed to love me, signs and sisterwives.
How was any of that a good idea?
I’ve forgiven myself over and over for the bad decisions I’ve made.
Celebrate all the things I learned from my mistakes.
This might be another one, but it feels so right.
I know, I know, everything is as it should be. Dalai Lama says so.
I learned so many things because of what came before.
My life is firmly divided into before and after.
Sarah the Serial Monogamist became Super Sarah Single Girl.
I started recognizing miracles and they began happening in abundance.
Buddha also said, when you realize how perfect the universe is you will throw your head back and laugh at the sky.
I am howling.
I feel the cosmic pushes and embrace them.
4 summers ago I spent a great many days riding a great many rollercoasters. It was the beginning of my after and I cannot think of a better way to have spent that time. I had the beautiful burgeoning beginnings of my fuckboi collection. Woke up every morning in the woods. Sipping my coffee alone and naked on the porch. I have been grateful ever since. Even bought a trailer thinking I would make it into a tiny house, roam wild and free.
I was living alone, working on my own schedule and my friend Andrew Ryan Fox just so happened to have season passes to Canada’s Wonderland and a job that left him free weekdays.
So we went, often.
Rode Leviathan 5 dozen times if once.
It was a really good summer.
The summer I started writing articles for this very blog in fact.
Then he left me. Ran off to L.A. to make his name as a comic and marry not one, but 2 women. Engaged to 3 in a calendar year. It’s in his stand-up routine (links at the bottom). The way he tells it, its hilarious.
He’s nothing if not tenacious as fuck.
Fall down seven times stand up eight walking around in human form.
Love that fucker.
We’ve known each other a decade at least, met at a strip club, my home club for a long time. We were both roont for our own reasons and hell bent on self-destruction. Misery truly did love company and we bonded, but we made it through the muck and stayed friends.
Friends who ended up on rollercoasters that first summer I was single.
And it was good amen.
He also planted the idea in my head that I should go dance at a club he had worked at in St. John’s Newfoundland. Yep, Siren’s Cabaret. Went so far as to write me a glowing recommendation and send pics. Bless him.
But I wasn’t ready then. I had barely started becoming myself.
But there was a seed planted regardless, and it stayed dormant until my PIC brought up working at the same place this past summer.
It was supposed to be stripper mecca. Good clean easy money, ‘oh they will love you out there’.
I wasn’t even ready in November of this year, 3.5 years after he brought it up. But I went.
And the hardest part of going there was the leaving.
I loved it.
It wasn’t stripper mecca, such a place doesn’t exist anymore, but it felt like home.
I cried the whole way back and for most of the week after. Until I started scheming on how to get back, that made me feel a little better. Go for two weeks as soon as I can, and maybe a month in the summer. Not enough, but it was something and the idea appeased my sad soul enough to function.
I began to look at how I had even gotten there in the first place. Had the Last One stayed, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere, but he bolted in the night, leaving me to try and keep myself occupied. So I went away, twice. Bought the biggest suitcase I have ever owned and started wondering how much of my life I could fit in there…more than enough was the answer.
I started having flashbacks of my old jeeps jammed to the brim with all of my precious things, sleeping in cathouses, trailers, fitting everything artfully into one bedroom while everything else sat in storage and waited for me to return.
It all started to sound like a really good idea.
Every time I would think ‘well what do I do about…’ an answer presented itself.
My son moved to Toronto, into a great place.
I slid off the lease with ease after Panda and I had a righteous fight.
A friend was contemplating a second dog and is taking my wee Alice until I get settled.
I didn’t want the job that was waiting for me here, I don’t want to be here at all. This hasn’t felt like home since we moved in.
Other majickal things happened, my girl had a dream about me dancing and den mothering.
And the elephant in the room. What about the boy?
I started making these plans before I spoke to him. I can say without doubt this is for me…but (there is always a ‘but)
I was a wee bit frightened to tell the boy my plans.
Thought it’d scare him or make him feel pressured in some kind of way.
I’m going out there for me. Whatever happens with him, if anything, would just be a bonus.
But he knew I was up to something somehow.
So I blurted it out.
Now he wants to fly out to the ferry dock and drive me the last 9 hours home.
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