February 2017

Although it may have been enduring the damages done to me by myself and others that got me to where and how I am…I am what I am and it’s really okay.

I kinda like me.

I am sitting in the sunshine, in my sweaty sweats, writing to you fine people, whilst singing Justin Bieber at the top of my lungs.

Panda is in fine form as am I. Sun is shining and life is good.

Doesn’t hurt that I got laid.

I fucked him on the first date, and the second, and I don’t even care.

This is who I am as a person.

I was blessed to be born into a fine female form and I love sex.

Who am I to deny myself?

Besides, he smelled divine and is a sweetheart.

If I have to play games to get someone, I don’t want that fish. Throw it back and try again.

“He only want me when I’m not there? Better call Becky with the good hair.” (Beyonce)
Seriously. I know I have a pretty back, but come on, don’t make me turn it before you pay attention to me. Becky can have ya.

I get it, as I get most things but, ew. No.

I read “Why Men Love Bitches” at the behest of my ex best-friend. She saw me struggling and getting hurt and wanted to help, bless her. But basically? I am not a bitch. I’m not Becky.

The first few chapters of this book were great and I follow the ideals of ‘have your own life that you are happy with before you invite anyone else in.’

I totally did/do that.
Well, now I do.
This was not always the way, and I tended to assimilate into the men I dated like Borg or some other such shit. Never worked out as I ended up 7 of 9 more often than not.

The rest of it felt an awful lot like lying i.e…wait to text back, pretend you aren’t available even if you really are.

Nuh uh, fuck that. I am busy as fuck as is. No need or want to lie about it.

I text back fast, ingrained Canadian politeness I guess. Or maybe just because it feels good to get a random text that says ‘thinking about you.’ This happened, which added to my already good mood. I responded that just seeing his name made my princess parts tingle. Because it did.

I have a real hard time passing up sex, it is one of my favorite things.

There is nothing wrong with wanting what I want and being who I am, especially knowing that if they don’t like it and they leave, s’okay.

I have survived every unfortunate event in my life up until now. So statistically, I got this, whatever this happens to be.

Went on the first date with Cruz, ya, he has a name, weird right?
I explained the blog and that everyone gets a nickname, said I didn’t know his yet. He responded that Cruz was fine.

I’m inclined to agree.

He is fine.

I asked for change and to receive it I must also be it, and change.

Once upon a time I worked with a stripper whose given name was Justice, can’t really improve on that.

Where was I?

Oh ya. 20 minutes into meeting each other we were walking into a movie theater and I did what I do which is blurt out whatever I was thinking…he shushed me.

I stopped walking, looked straight at him and said “I don’t have a filter, if this is going to be a problem, just take me home.”

He didn’t.

He shushed me twice more and twice more I said, ‘nope’. I did lower the volume of my voice but I didn’t alter the content of what I was saying.

Now, to be clear, it was not a malicious shushing. It was an ‘I cannot fucking believe you said that out loud, I like it but I don’t know how to react’ shush.

He’s young.

As if I had to say that out loud. Y’all know me by now.

Also happens to be a Scorpio, I was unaware until yesterday but I really shoulda known.

I know me by now.

Guy Fawkes Day came up as we were sitting around chatting with Panda, they’ve both been to England and I haven’t. It’s his birthday. Of course it fucking is.

Whatever worries I had, that were so minuscule I didn’t even know they were there, dissipated in a puff of smoke.
Scorpios, in general, appreciate how and who I am. They love that I don’t lie. That wiggle room I give everyone is coveted by his kind instead of being ‘too much’.

I told him that if I fucked him on the first date he’d ghost. I realized (and blurted out) ‘and that’s fine actually.’

Because it is.

I joked with Panda that I’m so fucked from what came before that the littlest things make me happy, he said a couple sweet things and I’m still smiling about them. He showed up.

Upon further introspection maybe it isn’t because of the time called before. Maybe it’s because I’ve evolved to a point where it is just the little things make me happy.

This is a good way to be.

Went to Toronto to see my Drogo.

Remarked in the car that even though I am not all the way up to snuff, my current existential dilemma wasn’t near as crippling as it had been in times past.

Good omens.

I am getting better.

We haven’t seen each other in a year come May.

I get to look back on the times before, reminisce and see how far I’ve come.

Pretty fucking far.

I could barely see that far.

Before the pilgrimage to castle Drogo, I stopped in the market and ended up seeing oh Gelfling my Gelfling.

He cut his hair, lost his majicks a bit. S’okay.
Made him easier to swallow and be around, or I just got better. Little from column A, a little from column B.

This is me healing.

I had to go to the Chinese Hoodoo store. We had some bad juju up in this house.
The runes have been drawn, mirrors washed in holy water, I exorcised my bedroom and we are back to only letting love in this house. I bought new bed covers too. Out with the old.

Gelfling said ‘come back and get tattooed’ so I ran my errands at light speed. I was going to get him to put a bird on it…he wasn’t feeling all that great so we rescheduled. Not a bird now, a deer on my leg. Originally was going to be a deer skull with flowers, but it’s been overdone and I am over and done with the dead things.

I finally got to Drogo’s and met a direwolf, named Katie of all things.

We talked. I spoke of my ghosts. “I still don’t understand why they run” I said.

“You aren’t easy to leave, but you aren’t that easy to be around either.”

I am paraphrasing a lil bit.

Broken record of me being intimidating.

I get it, I truly do. I have been intimidated by men before, Drogo included and kinda topping the list. What could he possibly want with me when he is consistently surrounded by the most beautiful, talented, tattooed models in the world?

Yet, there we were.

I was sitting in a hockey arena watching the Zamboni, waiting for him to come out and play. Nerdy me scribbling all this down in a notebook so I didn’t forget.

It’s been 2 years of us knowing each other. We’ve had adventures and epic sex, he has taken my picture just like I was one of his other girls that I look on in awe.

He tells me what I need to hear, in a way that doesn’t hurt.

Here I am thinking I am not enough. He says I am too much. I’m inclined to believe him. He should know.

I forgot to put water in my vodka last night but I drank it anyways. I don’t want to be watered down either.

He listed all the reasons.

I am fiercely independent. I really don’t need anyone and that lends itself to a lack of control.

I am surrounded by a fairly impenetrable fortress of protective friends and exes, himself included.

I am highly intelligent and articulate.

He said I am a spectacular fuck, which, coming from him is a compliment of the highest order.

And, I just let people be themselves.

Herein lies a problem.

Most of the men I choose have no idea who they are. There is a pressure here to evolve.

The wiggle room I give them is …all.

It’s too much.

I’ve spent years exhuming and examining everything that I am.

I have forgiven, accepted and celebrated pretty much everything I have been and done.

It’s an ugly process, terrifying really to be this open and exposed. Vulnerable.

I should know.

And what I have learned and practice is unconditional love.

I don’t keep score.

They do.

I don’t think anyone owes me anything but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel like I am putting them into a debt they couldn’t possibly repay.

It’s easier to run than to step up and into this space I give them.

We had a talk about love the next morning.

What is it to me?

It was funny, I write about this almost every day and when put on the spot I stuttered and sputtered trying to define it.

I’ve long held the belief that to be loved I had to behave a certain way, to earn it. I know that isn’t right, so I give it without strings. I want to be loved the way I love, just because but this eludes me. I still feel like there are rules for me and no one else. If I was less loud, more damaged, more needy, less me maybe someone could love me. Maybe it would make them feel useful to fix me. But I am not broken anymore.

As far as I can figure…

Love is a warm safe place, like home, where you can just be yourself and be accepted.

There are pockets and places and people that make me feel that way, he is one of them.

I flit from house to house. I build, I get torn down and I rebuild again anyways. I have to.

I am a gypsy girl with a gypsy heart. I take home with me.

It’s in my bones.

I made a list the other day. Not at the behest of my guru but because of something he said.

All these men I have been with…

I called them out and by their names.

A list of hurt.

They Who Left.

Some ghosts, a catfish and the Others.

Men who have moved into a different position in my life.

I messaged the Giant the other day when I was flying apart.

He is many things. Frustrating is on the list, but he is also really good glue.

That thing where the Japanese mend broken pottery with gold…ya he does that.

He is the hero in my book. That is a literal statement.

He rescues me, twice. On paper.

In real life it has been a few more times than that but…he has also been the source of much angst and frustration I cannot even (begin to put into words). He sends me into full white girl mode every time I talk to him.

If you love me, then love me. Bratling brat.

I wrote him a do-over on how he treated me after I got assaulted in a parking lot on a tinder date gone wrong. I wanted to claim sanctuary in his kitchen for a bit until I felt safe enough to go home, but not-Becky the traveling waitress was on her way over.

And therein lies an epiphany or two…

I do get treated like gold by a couple of men. I cannot name them because they have wives. There is a sexual aspect to our relationship but I haven’t fucked them, lately.

There are those amongst my ex-lovers who have attained redemption.

I call Young Un for advice. He has heard me keen and wail and wonder why I am so easy to leave.

The Hulk sits patiently as I try to figure out where I went wrong.

And there are those who I slept with who have never hurt me.

They deserve to be named…celebrated, honored.

John, Nathan and Jason. They didn’t hurt me. They haven’t left me. I feel safe with them, and loved.

And Shane.

He messaged the other night as things were falling apart for Panda and our household was on high alert.

“What’s wrong Muffin.”

Always a statement, never a question with him.

He is numbered among a handful of men who feel a disturbance in the force when I have fear or pain in my heart and they rally.

All time, and life itself spirals out and in again. As we move further away from things we can glean a fresh perspective. Sometimes I need things to be close to figure them out. I accept this and have come to enjoy it.

Redemption is almost always possible.

With an exception or two, these men are all still in my life one way or another.

That list I made the other day…it is still within the realm of possibilities for a few of them to move from column A to column B.

The penitent man shall pass.

Football isn’t showing much consistency, but he never really did. He never really did anything bad either. I just wanted more than I got.

I usually do. Not much more, but something.

Just a little effort. Just show up.

On that note…after much discussion

I’m giving Lumberjack another shot.
I have to.
I am hardwired to.
“Tinder is a bucket of yuck. I just want you to show up.”
Said I would be home tomorrow after 4 and he should come fuck me or I’m done.

Sounds like an ultimatum when I say it that way, but it wasn’t.

Get out of jail free card or one of them conjugal visits.

I don’t know if he will actually show, but at least I will know I did my best.

I am not good at letting go, but I can roll with it.

I always do.

I love Wednesdays.

The patron god of Friday is Venus…its love day. One would think that would be my favorite, but it isn’t.

I love all day every day. I am love.

I was born on a Tuesday and have yet to receive my boon of grace. I still stumble but I am learning to make it part of the dance.

Mercury rules on Wednesdays. Mercury is my father planet and god. In my birth chart I was born whilst Mercury was positioned in the constellation of Gemini. Double up on my quicksilver tongue. Communication is key.

There is a block and a lock on my life.

I know it, I can feel it and by acknowledging it, its power is weakening. I can feel that too.

Communication.

The key.

Lord hear our prayer.

I brag about having a telephone to the gods. Sometimes I do. The god’s are tricksy things, mine are anyways. They are fallible and that is okay by me. I don’t believe in perfection, but I know it gets better than this.

Focus.

My Guru, who is among my direct lines said this to me… It’s a world of upright donkeys and you have taken a few hits, to be sure…You bruise most elegantly…and when they fade…nothing but dazzling contour remains…Chin up, Z-Belle… The shape-shifting will reveal all.

That is what I am waiting for, a shift. I can feel it coming like my bones know when it’s going to rain. But the land is so parched right now. Dry, barren, seedlings under the surface poised to push through the dirt and bloom. Spring is coming.

Today I pray.

I sent smoke signals up into the sky announcing my intentions.

I sprinkle holy water on my bed to start over. Baptisms.

Sage until the demons leave.

Draw runes on my door and salt the thresholds to keep out those with bad intentions.

Keep us safe in this house.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something lovely this way comes.

Salt circles, blood and holy water.

I know it gets better than this, show me how.

Whatever mischief has been done to me, let it be managed.

I’m capable of creating my own.

God our Father, your gift of water brings life and freshness to the earth; it washes away our sins and brings us eternal life. We ask you now to bless this water, and to give us your protection on this day which you have made your own. Renew the living spring of your life within us and protect us in spirit and body that we may be free to sin and come into your presence to receive your gift of salvation.

Also…

If we are to heal, let it be glorious. (Beyoncé)

With a grateful heart let the gates be opened.

Let the rains come.

Lord hear our prayer.

The pretty boy I liked left my last message unread.
We were supposed to go out Sunday night.
I don’t understand this. Never did.
Talk every day for a week then bail without reason or warning.

Unjinx my love life now please.

As a result, and for a distraction I went back on Tinder, just to see.

Found Lumberjack about 20 minutes into swiping. He had changed up his profile a bit, new pics, different bio.

It isn’t like I didn’t know. But now I really know, you know?

I mentally checked out when we didn’t go see the new Star Wars. Rogue One. That shoulda been his nickname, the rogue one. So perfect on paper but never around. Ah well…meme buddies for life.

I am not going to sit here and pretend it didn’t hurt. It did, but it’s been a dull ache for so long the quick, sharp stab felt kinda good by comparison.

I’m crying in fits and starts.

So that’s that then.

Second verse, back to the first.

That really extra pretty one I was talking to? I said, very plainly, “I am busy next week do you want to have dinner tomorrow or keep up this teasing thing.”

“When and where.”

I told him.

He never picked up the message.

Just like that.

Poof.

I don’t understand the game and I am not interested. Thanks for playing?

These ghosts speak a language I’m not fluent in.

If I want something I want it. I say so.

Why ask me out in the first place?

Ah well.

Football messaged me at 5:26 am with an apology for not getting back to me yesterday. So that was nice. My hopes aren’t high but he seems to be trying this time around.

Lumberjack would rather go back on Tinder than booty call me so there is that then.

I didn’t ask for much, I never do.

Tacos and snugglefucks. A little consistency. Just show up really.

Panda’s beau showed up mid messaging/ending with Lumberjack and I was bawling when I opened the door.

He is hella good to talk to and in doing so I realized something.

I have the emotional/romantic maturity of a 20 something, which explains a lot. Holy shit does it ever.

I spent 21 years being a mom and a wife. I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted or how to date. Still don’t really, but I do feel like I am getting there…agonizingly slow, with a massive body count.

Guru quipped last night “The day they don’t get a cute tag name from you is the day you don’t get undermined by them.”

He is not wrong. He is rarely wrong.

I nickname to protect them and out of habit. But my habits are really bad and no one is protecting me.

Time to break them.

His name was…

Leon, Jay, Matt, Matt, Saif, Jake, Giovanni, Nelson, Sam, Jeremy, Michael, Michael, Michael and Dennis.

As I sat on the porch contemplating this I had to stop being sad about it.
I don’t give attention to the negative anymore, or at least I really try not to.
So I tried to picture the positive.
I know EXACTLY what I want.
I want what I had with Young Un the First, the first Michael in fact.
We stayed in, we went out, we talked, snuggled and fucked a lot.
He was around a few times a week, no pressure or stress. He was just there.
He hated holding hands but he held mine.
We supported each other and damn he was so very easy on the eyes.
I want that again.
Not him, but the relationship type thing we had.
So be it.

‘I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.’
Arthur Miller — The Crucible

I have long prided myself on being this soft, loving, forgiving creature.

These boys who would ghost and then reappear out of thin air.

I never hated them, some I’d kept loving in abesntia.

To love me was to love a graveyard.

But who loved me?

Nobody really.

Being haunted is not the same as being loved.

I know I’m sounding like a broken record here, but this is how I build new habits.
Lather, rinse, repeat until it becomes the truth. Find the patterns and break them.

We find out the heart only by dismantling what the heart knows.
By redefining the morning, we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
— Jack Gilbert “Tear It Down”

so, um …

Football came back.

Did not see that coming.

I’d have put money down against it. If I was a gambling girl.

I suppose I am. Every time I try this dating thing yet one more time I’m indeed gambling for infinite stakes. What if this time I go numb?

I won’t.

The last 4 years, being left often, I’ve attained a lovely Zen state of calm about it and them.

This one?

He is as harmless as he is beautiful, which is to say very. Like a Roman statue come to life walking around my house. Yes, that’s fine. Uh huh.

A portal opened on the 10^th of February. I can feel it, see it, touch it, taste it and I can hear it right now in this very moment.

My telephone to god is loud and clear.

As I sat to write these words and this is what came through my speakers after I opened the word document.

Don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul
Honey, make this easy.
Leave it to the land, this is what it knows
Honey, that’s how it sleeps.

Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it
Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it.
Honey don’t feed it, it will come back.

I know who I am when I’m alone
Something else when I see you
You don’t understand, you should never know
How easy you are to need

Can’t be unlearned
I’ve known the warmth of your doorways
Through the cold, I’ll find my way back to you

Oh please, give me mercy no more.
Don’t you hear me howling babe?

Hozier, It Will Come Back (excerpts)

I’m howling now.

I hear them howling.

I had to make a distinction. For a long time I thought it had to be all or nothing. Forgive all or none. And since forgiveness is something I do for myself, it had to be all, right?

Yes.

Yes it did and yes I do. Even the most grievous of offenses and offenders.

I am still here.

My heart is still full of love to give.

As broken as I have been I keep getting up and trying one more time.

But I don’t have to bestow it on everyone.

Man up or get out. And stay out.

I have never been one to blame others for the ones that came before, and somewhere in there I forgot to actually place blame where it was due. That doesn’t mean holding grudges or hating anyone. It just means exercising caution. It means learning the difference between a war cry and a howl to be let back in the house.

It takes courage to come back and I know it. I admire it. But it takes more bravery to stay.

I want to be fought for, pursued. I want the attention I give out to come back to me.

Consistency. Presence, not presents.

I am a lover not a fighter.

Wolfling treated me like he had never touched me, never lain in bed with me naked, telling secrets. So no, you can’t come in.

The Poet is mentally ill and dangerous. He bit the hand that fed and I had to suck the poison out. Never again.

Giant sent me a cover of an old Kate Bush song wherein he likened me to a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo he buried in the yard.
Gravedigger.

I used to call him Charon, the escorter of souls.

I used to tend to the cemetery in my heart, but I have stopped.

I used to do a lot of things.

Now?

I am the keeper of my own scales, I guard the gates to my own heaven on earth. I weigh their hearts against the truth and see which way they deserve to be devoured, by me or if their souls are heavier than a feather I’ll feed them to Ammit.

I have become Anubis.

I was Cleopatra, I was young and an actress…
And I left the footprints, the mud stained on the carpet
And it hardened like my heart did when you left town
But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant
Damn your wife, I’d be your mistress just to have you around

Ya, I was her…late for this, late for that late for the love of my life.

(The Lumineers)

But my life isn’t over, and my love is intact. In fact it has grown exponentially.

The graveyard is no more. In its place is a garden quite like Eden, a lot of nudity and fruit and I am the guardian of it.

One more message from the gods as I was writing this. Something I needed to hear.

Sometimes I have to remember to make out like it never happened and that we were nothing, and I don’t even need your love…so now you’re just somebody that I used to know – Gotye

Some of them really were nothing.

Ain’t that something.

I have had the fortune cookie app on Facebook since before they were called apps.

It’s been 8 years, I rarely get a new one anymore, but when I do I mark it well.

I am many things, one of them is superstitious.

I have no religion per say, but I have my horoscopes, fortune cookies, sage, I pray to the sun gods on cold winter days and I have ‘ghost chaser’ incense…not sure if it runs them off or calls them home. I think it is up to me.

My favorite virtual cookie came up this morning. “You have the power to write your own fortune”.

YES! What I speak and believe, I become.

This blissfully already blessed morning.

The sun is shining, the gods are smiling and it’s going up to 13 degrees Celsius, 55 Fahrenheit.

It’s February, I live in Canada. This is rare.

But it happens. It happened just before Greg died in 1994. We spent the day together, part of a roving band of teenagers walking down the main street of our tiny little town, all in awe of this gift from Mama Nature in the midst of a long cold winter. The sun pouring down on us, promises of summer. It was one of my better days on the planet.

A week later it was freezing again and my whole world changed, but that was such a good day.

It happened again later in the 90’s. I was a dancer then, the temperature went way up, the clouds came down and enveloped the world. All of Yonge Street turned into a mist coated wonderland, streetlights glowing through the fog. I remember walking with friends, no real destination, all of us laughing, thinking this must be what heaven is like, or the gateway to it.

There cannot possibly have been only 2 days like this in my 42+ years on this planet. But those are the two that spring to mind on days like today.
I know what happened, in the past, when I have gotten into relationships I lose my magic. I get mired down in the day to day, the drama, the stress and I lose myself.

Amendment, I know I did that.

Lately, I have been feeling/getting better about it.

These unseasonably warm days in February have traditionally been magical-portal-gifts from the gods days.
Something wonderful always happens that pushes me onto a new path.

I am already walking it.

I’ve already been trying a new thing called sticking up for myself.
I’m talking to an exceptionally beautiful boy.
This is when my submissiveness would kick into high gear.
I wouldn’t be able to hear my own thoughts over my vagina waling ‘want want want’.
This is about the time I would disappear.
What I really want is to be treated right.
What I want is someone/something to look forward to.
What I really want is good conversations, cuddles that turn into snugglefucks, silly selfies, mini adventures and sleepovers.
This is new for me and I am feeling awkward about it.

Our Sara of Lords said ‘I will ask for what you want or something better.’

Scratch that mama. I want what I want. No offense to the gods, but I am a big girl now, I got this.

“My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.” Warsan Shire

On this blessed day of sun and warm, bring me sweetness.

And let it be glorious.

Please.

For a long time I thought the buzz around the Queen Bey was much ado about not much at all really.

I’ve been wrong before.

Bow down bitches.

I heard her referred to as ‘the queen’ and I understood it to a degree.
I saw what they saw, mostly. A beautiful, powerful, talented woman who carries herself with dignity and empowers other women.

Who run the world? Girls, girls.
Strong enough to bear the children then get back to business.

Can’t argue with that.

I’d be flipping between radio stations on long drives and pause when I heard Single Ladies, who among us hasn’t?

I’d wiggle in my car seat and sing off key before hitting the seek button again.

My sister put Crazy in Love on a mixed CD years ago and I’d do the same little dance instead of skipping over it. I didn’t skip over anything on that disc, it’s like my sister knows me, guilty pleasures and all.

That is all Beyoncé was to me for the longest time, a guilty pleasure not often indulged, but enjoyed in the fleeting moments I had with her.

Then three things happened.

The Biebs came out with a really good album and forced my perspective to change a bit.
He just made my ears so happy. (…trust me, do you trust me?)
I subsequently dropped the guilty part to my pleasure.
I was on my knees when nobody else was prayin’.

I was.

I moved in with Panda and was subjected to more top 40 music than I had bothered to listen to in almost my whole 40 years on the planet. I got a little choked up when Belly said ‘you call her a stripper that’s my ballerina…’ that was Black 19’s song for me.

And

Of course

Lemonade.

Flawless

I was late to the party. Super late.

Amongst my memories on Facebook yesterday was an SNL skit about white people losing their shit after Formation dropped, they realized Beyoncé was black and rioted. I found it funny without understanding the reason for it exactly.

https://www.facebook.com/snl/videos/10153910062511303/?pnref=story

7 months later I was leaving a mediocre tinder date a few towns over. He was still really sad about ex and what could have been a nice date became a therapy session and a walk on the beach with a belly full of tacos. I started the car and lo what to my wandering ears should appear? Sorry.

Unlike the Biebs, Beyoncé ain’t sorry. No no hell nah.

I too was caught up on an ex. He left me for Becky with the good hair, and to this day he still only want me when I’m not there.

I tried to change, closed my mouth more, tried to be soft, prettier, less awake (Warsan Shire)

From February on I hurt and I couldn’t find the magic words to stop it.

They were in a place I didn’t think to look…

I sat in that parking lot and the strength of that woman flowed through my shitty speakers and I felt better.

I have no shame in admitting (and I know I’m not alone here) Queen Bey helped me through.

Her anger was my anger.

I too had been betrayed.

Me and my most bomb pussy

Ashes to ashes, dust to side chicks.

Break out the red wine and crank the Lemonade album every time I felt myself faltering. The Warsan Shire spoken word. The incredible videos. All shot in NOLA, I recognized places and things that brought me joy. 72 hours spent in that city, soaking up magic, eating good food and being held by a beautiful boy.

HER GOD WAS LISTENING

Her heaven will be a love without betrayal

I played that song over and over. I started to believe this was possible.

7 months later Panda planned an anti-Valentine’s day party that just happened to coincide with the Grammy’s. I haven’t watched them since I ran away from home at 15. I watched 3 women slay Lady Gaga holding her own with Metallica, Adele being unapologetically human and Beyoncé emulating some sun god fertility goddess hybrid.

There is a curse that will be broken,
One thousand girls raise their arms,
Now that reconciliation is possible,
If we are going to heal,
LET IT BE GLORIOUS.

Her performance was incredible. She really does channel some ancient goddess from a time when women were worshipped.
We will be again.
When we are all dust the bards will tell tales of her, how she became queen in a land without a monarchy because of raw talent and her ability to raise women up…up…higher…there you go.

I understand the Queen moniker now.

Adele said ‘you made it alright for me and my friends to feel what we were feeling.’

I heard every song off this album in the order I needed to hear it.

I healed. I had to. Her words are magic.

As I was scouring YouTube this morning to write this, I saw a thumbnail for a video I hadn’t noticed before. All Night.

…the alchemist
you spun gold out of this hard life
conjured beauty
from things left behind
found healing
where
it
did
not
live
discovered the antidote
in your own kitchen
broke the curse
with your own
two
hands

So we’re gonna heal, we’re gonna start again.

Let the woman in doubt disappear.

Today marks the sixth anniversary of the last time I had anything to do with my farm life.

It always sticks in my head, not because it’s a holiday, but because on this day for the next 2 years I sat in free clinics getting tested for any lingering STD’s that fucker might have given me, thank the gods I came out clean.

Not for lack of trying on his part. You should see some of the women he cheated with.

Ya ya, I know we split the fall before but…and this is pretty gross…

I had traded my place as wife for the mistress.

I left Thanksgiving 2011 but… I cringe to admit, ex hubby and I had been holing up in hotel rooms once a week or so from Remembrance Day to Valentine’s Day.

I lied to borrow the car, I lied to someone I loved so I could disappear into the cold Canadian winter night for some mediocre sex and one last fight. It didn’t feel like a fight, it felt like finally giving up.

February the 14^th 2012 I laid in a beige bed staring at beige walls in a motel in Lindsay Ontario. Couldn’t sleep because his actual wife was blowing up his phone.

I had a moment of clarity on around midnight, he was snoring in one ear and his phone was buzzing in the other ear. “It’s always going to be like this.” Whether I had won the day or not.

That entire relationship was exactly that. Constant skirmishes and when the dust cleared one of us had the high ground, but neither one of us noticed we were in a swamp and nobody wanted that land anyways, high or otherwise.

I was high as a kite for the last 6 months of living there.

It stopped being worth it.

The battle was well lost.

Pat Benetar said ‘love is a battlefield’.

I respectfully disagree.

It shouldn’t be.

Lovers should be sanctuary from the wars that rage all day every day outside.

In your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
(Peter Gabriel)

Sisterwife tried to sully that song for me way back when. And for a while it worked.

Like everything else that was lost in that 7 years, I just took it back or let it go depending.

Home at last.

I learned something, in the 5 years since, that home is not an address or someone else’s arms, it was something I carried with me all along. Took me a long time to find it as I buried it in the rubble of a bunch of failed relationships.

Been digging myself out for 5 years now.

Setting up the rooms the way I want. Planting my own gardens. Picking my own colors. I make a beautiful bed and the boys who have wandered my halls call me sanctuary and magic. To them I am a lovely place to visit, somewhere safe where they can be themselves and just relax.

I like that.

A cheap beige hotel room can feel like heaven if you are content in your own heart. Or hell if you aren’t.

This isn’t my first Valentine’s Day alone, not sure if it will be my last and I am really not bothered at all.

I have had the lion’s share of romantic movie moments in my life and I know there are more to come.

It is a pretty amazing feeling to know you are complete on your own.

I’ve stitched up all the holes in my soul.

I’ve also hit that point in my life and leveling up that all I really want is Saturday night snugglefucks and Sunday morning pancakes.

But first sweep me off my feet, carry me over the threshold and come home.

I lead a decidedly strange life.

Jesus Christ, whoever dates me is going to have to deal with this.

I don’t ask for chaos, but it happens, often.

I don’t dwell entirely on this plane and sometimes I need help or have to give it, it’s mandatory.

Sara and I also had a good giggle about lost boys.

Um, fuck. I think I am Wendy.

Damnit.

Hmph.

When the truth fits I must wear it.

Also mandatory.

Why can’t I be Star, with a Michael coming to save me?

Because nothing about me needs saving. Although I did steal her wardrobe.

What I need is someone that understands, there will be lost boys. They are going to scratch at the door. A few of them will be quickly turned away, not today Satan, not today. Tomorrow looks bad too.

But the ones that are truly lost?

I am obligated to love them. Not like I love the one I’m with. A pat on the head, a quick darning of the soul when the holes start to show and a bedtime story about how lovely they are. Nothing more nothing less.

The above was written in the time called ‘before’.

I have left the graveyard. For good.

Nothing grows there and I was constantly cutting flowers to put on the tombs. Cutting myself down in the process, to the point where I was constantly bleeding out.

Now?

I deserve a rose garden.

I am not to be merely tolerated, I am to be adored.

Boys and the crushes I develop on them have been a hobby of mine for, pretty much the entirety of my existence.

I always felt so lucky to be chosen.

I forgot they were lucky too.

Blame it on my cripplingly low self-esteem.

I always wanted to be wanted, but what about what I want?

I correlated a list of ‘demands’ in my head yesterday, in anticipation of a dinner date with a new boy.

I have to say, I have dated some good looking men in my day but this one…I can’t even find the words to describe him. Stunning.

This time around?

I don’t care.

If I see red flags or feel disrespected in any way, I am done.
There will be no attachments without reason.
Treat me right or show yourself out.

Pick me up, take me out and be sweet to me.

I was thinking out loud to my Mandy Panda stating all of these things that I require and I had a twinge of feeling selfish.

But I ain’t.

Small gestures and courteous behavior begets great rewards.

I am kind, warm, supportive, a spectacular cook and I will happily have all the sex.

I know what I am and I know what I am not. I refuse to lie or manipulate, and I am perfectly happy alone.

There are no more lost boys. I am loyal and lovely.

If this last few years of my life have taught me anything it is that I am still viable and valuable.

I started this journey into singledom with a boy born on Halloween, a day for the dead.
That went down in flames and a friendship rose from the ashes. He’s buried in the graveyard with the rest of them.