February 2017

Would you rather hear the words “I love you” or be shown through action?

Action.

Hands down, every time.

I made a bad joke about dating Scorpios and their inability to pronounce the word love but good god do they ever show it.

It was flippant.

But it did get me thinking. Life is nothing but a series of little amazing moments.

Those are the things I want to take with me when I leave this earth.

It is February. Nothing good has ever happened in February.

The last year of my failed marriage, I locked myself in my room for the entirety of that month. Literally screaming at anyone who tried to come in. I would wake up at 6am, take the dogs out, get provisions and lock myself back in before anyone else woke up.

Halfway through this godforsaken month lands Valentine’s Day.

Never been my favorite holiday. In fact farm hubby bought sisterwife and me matching jeweled trinkets, which sent me into a further rage.

She was never my equal.

She wasn’t my nemesis either, so under qualified. But she belonged there and I did not hence the massive amounts of discord throughout that relationship.

I do so hate being somewhere I don’t belong.

I do so love where I am now.

The former reigning champion for ‘the worst month ever’ has been surprisingly pleasant this year.

Last year was okay for the first half.

It is the anniversary of the sub-zero barbeque that led to me being smitten as fuck with the Giant.

Effort.

I like that shit.

It was -30 degrees Celsius and he made me a steak on a charcoal barbeque. With all the trimmings.

6 days later he dumped me for the traveling waitress and it took me forever to let it go.

But I did.

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life. Post eclipse. No attachments, lanterns lit and sent into the sky the night before.

And I saw the Giant.

He invited me over 12 times, stating he was ‘afraid I would knock on his door and he wouldn’t be home’. See above where I hate being places I am not invited and I flippantly stated that he knew better and that I required 10 invites ‘just to be sure’.

Cue the ‘come over’ texts x 10.

I wasn’t going to go. For the most superstitious of reasons. I was afraid I would offend the gods I had sacrificed all my ghosts to the night prior.

Panda came home and we made a decision based on a bottle of wine to go over to hang with him and our Dear Robert. They fed us pizza and I had a glass of incredible scotch, brought home from Scotland.

She cussed him out on my behalf, she had every right to, she cleaned up the mess he left.

She said she was proud of me, so was I.

I’m actually over it.

The text that sparked the pilgrimage to his house simply stated “I was wrong”.

For a brief second I thought he meant about everything. And I realized, after a moment, I didn’t care.

I was simultaneously talking to another boy (who may or may not be a gift from the gods who read moon lantern messages) at the same time.

Trying to make dinner plans, he said he believed he would have a hard time keeping his hands off me.

To which I replied ‘that is more than alright’.

Here comes the transitional paragraph…

There is a book called The 5 Love Languages

1. Words of Affirmation(To be verbally acknowledged)
2. Quality Time(To enjoy companionship)
3. Receiving Gifts(To be given tokens of love)
4. Acts of Service(To have their partners do tasks for them)
5. Physical Touch(To be in contact via the body)

Everyone needs 1 or more of these things to feel valued in a relationship.

5 is my big one…I wither without human contact.

4 makes me happy and uncomfortable. I like it when people do things for me but somehow it throws me off. I think it is because I am a huge effort maker. Constantly looking for ways to add to the comfort and well-being of the people I love. Also it was a thing that I needed but never received in any of my long relationships. I am working on it.

I don’t know what the future holds.

But, as I was talking to Panda last night, I have realized what I want, and what I deserve.

Pick me up, take me out. Text me a couple times a day.

And yes, please touch me as much as is humanly possible.

…Believing I had supernatural powers
I slammed into a brick wall

Then I proceeded to bash my head off it a few times.

But that wasn’t until after I pulled a Blair Witch for a bit and just stood with my face in the corner.

I put myself on a time out for a few weeks. Or the universe did and I realized it was a really good idea so I rolled with it.

And then decided in my infinite wisdom to take one last kick at the hornet’s nest.

I emailed the Giant.

Never did save his number to my new phone, wonder how many times I would have drunk dialed him.

Mayhap a few.

But I was distracted. I had Black 19 and the return of Wolfling.

They’re gone.

The Giant conversation was … satisfying. But not in the way one would think.

He told me a handful of times last year that he loved me.

But his love remains inactive and afraid.

I said hey is this my problem
is this my fault?
If that’s the way it’s gonna be
I’m gonna call the whole thing to a halt

I should start listening Paul Simon (*all italics). As I am still crazy after all these years, and if I could just figure out one of the 50 ways to leave my lovers that’d be great.

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones

I found myself too tired to beg cajole or convince.

Giant asked me to have a scotch with him and then retracted the offer as the conversation went on.

He gets hard when I talk, even via email.

Oh look, I do have supernatural powers. Siren or Succubus so that’s that then.

I’ve been putting off asking the universe for the usual list of wishes and wants.

When I hit walls, get hurt or left I feel like I lose my swagger, mojo, juju etc.

So I invariably ask for them back.

But did they ever really leave?

I don’t think so. I had the power all along.

I tend to ask for one more thing with the list of 3.

My equal.

I kinda liked being in stasis this time around though. Vagina on lockdown. Ex-lovers offending me and removing themselves from my life, heart and mind beyond reconcile one by one in rapid succession.

Giant was the last. The last one I would have run back to.

But after that conversation?

Nope.

Just in time…

“An unusual celestial trifecta of a penumbral lunar eclipse, a snow moon, and a comet will occur on 10 February 2017”.

For the first time since I was 13 years old, my heart is unattached. There are no ties that bind, no what if’s or promises left.

Dobby is a free elf.

The full moon is in Leo, this is the gate through which all energies will flow until the eclipse in September.

You don’t drown by going with the flow, you drown by holding onto the things that weigh you down.

By forced catharsis, I am an empty vessel just in time for the eclipse.

I smudged and tidied.

The house is clean.

And so am I.

This self-imposed curse on my love life is lifted.

Let the next one who catches my eye be wonderful, worthy and have good intentions.

So mote it be.

Hello my pretties.

There are darknesses in life my child(ren) and there are lights, you are one of the lights. ~ Dracula

I am calling on the lights. I know you are there, I can feel you out there.

The world feels really dark right now and I believe we can change it.

I am walking into tomorrow an empty vessel on purpose.

I have my own quirks and rituals, we all do.

I am not here to tell you what to do exactly, but I am begging you in the name of whatever gods you pray to. Let’s do SOMETHING.

This house is spotless, the plants tended to. The mirrors are clean though I have yet to salt and smudge them.

I’m gearing up for tomorrow, doing some prep work for some spells of my own for me and mine.

It’s a special full moon.

Friday the 10^th of February hails the coming of a comet, a full snow moon and a lunar eclipse in Leo.

As far as I can figure, this is a gateway through which all energies for 2017 will be funneled.

A new new years if you will.

I’m going to call it a power point.

“All for one and one for all. The Full Moon in proud Leo on February 10, 2017, is a Lunar Eclipse that tosses a heavy dose of overindulgent self-expression into the cosmic mix. Lunar Eclipses are culminations of emotional cycles that have run their course, and they require us to leave something in the past.” (www.tarot.com)

Hmmmm.

Calling all witches and wise women, wolves, warlocks and those who stand with the white.

Seems like the perfect time to leave  behind the emotional turmoil that has been tangible, global and awful since January 19^th.

All for one and one for all.

Kill one save a thousand.

Now I am not proposing we kill he-who-shall-not-be-named.

I believe whole-heartedly in karma and the rule of three.

But I also believe that a collective expulsion of energy all aimed in the same general direction could alter the course of history.

Once upon a time I was a sad girl about a boy. I called up my best earth-witch friend and sat in a park bent over a candle.
By the pricking of our thumbs, he messaged 2 days later.

If two of us can pull that off on a waning gibbous moon with nothing but my love, our hearts and a couple drops of blood over a static filled phone line. Imagine what we all could do if we set our intent, together.

I propose tomorrow, we all send out an echo of peace and love, and maybe a little mischief.

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/02/lunar-eclipse-full-moon-in-leo-a-rare-chance-to-let-go-receive-limitless-love/

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
B^astille

Easy.

I’m not.

Optimism only gets me fucked over and hurt.

My whole life I have held the philosophy that everyone deserves my trust until they break it.

Sorry.

In my 43^rd year on the planet, after getting fucked over in rapid succession I have realized, beyond all doubt, that is the wrong fucking answer.

Once upon a time I knew what it felt like to not be trusted.

It sucked.

But at the time I had earned that, I was an asshole. I cheated and stole and lied. I fucked other girl’s boyfriends, shop lifted and invented whatever stories I had to, to get out of whatever trouble I was in.

Then I stopped, and in time with good behavior and penance I was forgiven.

I earned that too.

I know what it is like to want that so bad it hurts, so I gave it freely.

But you lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
And I tolerate you

Intolerance ~ Tool

See also “I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave.” Sober

How many licks does it take to get to the center of this Pollyanna Tootsie Roll Pop heart of mine?

By my count about 10. 10 licks with a whip, 10 times being chewed up and spit out.

My center isn’t holding. I am actually flying apart without my candy coating.

The hits have been coming in rapid succession and I haven’t had time to regenerate.

I haven’t fed and I am not myself when I am hungry. But what if what I am eating is poison anyways?

“(Regarding) your love life card. Do these guys not know how invested you’re willing to be with them (guilty myself)” so asketh the Giant.

I don’t think they care, you didn’t, why should they?

I talked to him last night. He sent a thinly veiled invite to sit down over a glass of scotch and revoked it an hour or so later.

“One more thing that might set your mind at least a little at ease.
Not only am I not drinking for the bulk of February, I have also taken a temporary vow of chastity until month’s end.
So, you are safe as house, at either of our houses.”

I had said I was safe, I was on lockdown, I am celibate for February, I would double knot my baggiest sweatpants and still. Not enough.

“Once way too drunk, twice shy.
I was going to ask what body part of mine you found most tempting so I could cover it.
But I think it might be my mouth…”

He bailed a few messages later.

After he told me I wasn’t wrong about my mouth.

I was reminded of an article I wrote for him in the time called before…

I think “he only want me when I’m not there” (Beyoncé) and that really sucks.

I feel as though (and I could be wrong) my vow of chastity was met with black excitement instead of comfort.

It is flattering to think (and be told) that he couldn’t be in a room with me and not want me. I can still get him hard just by speaking. He made it clear that I am not some previously discarded sex toy, that I am someone with character that he has a vested interest in. So that was nice.

But, in the interest of moving forward…that was also goodbye.

All I want is Saturday night sex and scotch. Followed by Sunday morning pancakes and some forehead kisses by someone who says ‘that’s my girl’ when the occasion calls for it.

I want symbiosis.

I want the kind of friendship I have with Panda, and Mandy Panda. Those who call me out on my bullshit and also leave me alone sometimes. Those who I can tell anything to without judgement. They who support me regardless of my folly.

I want to feel protected akin to the ones I call Home and Habibi. Two men, a million miles away, that have the uncanny ability to make me feel safe when the situation calls for it. I can also tell them anything and they invariably do answer “that’s my girl”.

I want someone I can share music with, like the Giant. He also pushes my conversational aptitude into something to behold. And the sex, ya that, but with less intimidation, more of what it could have been had I not been afraid…so

Inhibition, pillow forts, lightning kisses and movies like Black 19.

Earn my trust.

And above all things, someone who stays.

I purge my closet every so often.

Meant to do it when I got home from away.
But I didn’t bring back even a fraction of the amount of new clothes I usually do. Tight budget and I had this new outlook thing going… Quantity over quality.

I skipped over buying a Free People dress on for 70% off for 2 reasons.
It was gorgeous and it fit, but it wasn’t stunning.
And I had promised Black 19 I would buy him a rosary, $80 either way. I chose to come bearing gifts instead of treating myself.

Also begged the question, who am I?

Been asking that a lot lately.

But that isn’t what this is about.

This is about a pair of silk pants that I love. They feel so good on and they give me bubble butt.

During this most recent closet purge I pulled them out of their cubby and noticed a stain, I was sad, then nostalgic. Miracle of all miracles tide pen acted like a magic eraser and voila, all better. The pants will live to be worn on another first date.

As I stood, holding the pants, my mind drifted back to the last time I wore them.

First date with the Thai Fighter.

He and his roommate cooked dinner for me and mine.

Good times.

I had a brief wave of nostalgia and decided it was a good idea to look him up on Facebook and say “hey hope all is well.”

It is, he’s engaged.

I didn’t end up saying ‘hey’. I can’t.

I found out he was in a relationship the whole time he was with me.

That wasn’t exactly how he explained it to me.

He even told me he was coming back this year, not like a promise, more like a suggestion.

He ghosted like a pro a few weeks before he was supposed to go home, to her.

At least now I know why.

You know what would be really weird?

If one of them actually stuck around.

Let’s recap shall we? So far this year I found out…

Black 19 sold the rights to access me for 300 bucks.

Poet had 3 other girls on the line at the same time as me that I have met, who knows how many more.

Wait, let’s go even further back.

High School Sweetheart dated eeeerrrrrrbody but me when we lived in the same town, but I was okay to fuck ONCE. He’s married now.

BabyDaddy slept with my best friend.

The Waiter was bisexual and wandered off on Pride Day to “play chess”, came back all sweaty.

Another one stabbed himself in front of me and I stayed with him after so he didn’t kill himself.

The next one beat and raped me.

The one after that disappeared for two weeks to get back with his ex on the other side of the province ‘just to make sure’. Found out about that after we broke up 5 years later. He hit me more than once.

Then hubby and sisterwife fiasco. 7 years of perdition and cheating.

Then Pimp Daddy who earned his nickname by living off my stripper earnings while he quit job after job after job. Then threatened to testify against me in court.

That catches us up to the blog years.

Young Un the first took another girl to Niagara Falls in the truck he borrowed from me.

Sunday only wanted me once a week.

The Hulk bailed too. I get it, but fuck.

Gelfling, Wolfling ‘poof’ gone.

Then the guy who lied about his name and stalked me.

Then Giant left me for not-Becky the traveling waitress.

Haven’t seen the Lumberjack in 90 days.

Now the new Thai Fighter info and we are up to date.

I think I am going to die alone.

I laid in bed last night and that thought washed over me.

I think I am so punch drunk that I haven’t internalized the enormity of this.

I don’t even know if I care at this point.

That psychic I saw said I needed to focus less on the man I want and more on the relationship I want.

But see above where I have no reference point whatsoever.

Even the book is fucked. The two main characters don’t even live together and the whole thing is twisted.

I am almost done the book and I am trying to figure out how to pry her away from the Poet-type character she was originally in love with, but I forgot to make him a monster. To be fair, I didn’t have all the information when I started. I didn’t know about the others or that he is incapable of love.

For a minute I thought I should rewrite his parts, take the humanity out of him, but it’s too far gone.

I want it done and over with.

I have a fairy tale themed book I want to write, less gang bangs more dragons.

In this book, the Giant-type character rescues her.

“I wonder who I would run to if I was drunk in a room with everyone I ever loved.”

I don’t wonder, I know.

I have run to him drunk and sober a few times now. He ran to me a few times too.

But, as it stands

I was late for this, late for that
Late for the love of my life
But when I die alone
When I die alone
When I die I’ll be on time.

The Lumineers~Cleopatra

I always thought there would be a reckoning, you know? Like one day it would all make some sense.

But I’m tired of searching through the wreckage looking for clues.

I never like what I find anyways.

I’m exhausted by the dead resurrecting themselves with a resounding ‘sup?’

I feel like the conflict portion of my fairy tale should be over by now.

How much deeper into the woods do I need to go before I can have forehead kisses and pancakes on Sunday morning?

I am ready to close this chapter and move forward into my happily ever after.

I re-read old posts on here from time to time.

Lately more and more.

What a lucky fucking girl I was.

Sure every relationship I tried went down in flames, but I had extended moments of peace.

Now, I wake up in the morning, assess hangover level and attempt to go about a day in my random little life, it’s usually right about when I hit the button on the coffee maker that it hits me.

Donald fucking Trump is the president of the United States of America.

Happens all damned day until my head hits the pillow.

I post to my Facebook page, some political memes, stuff about love and strength and I have started adding the occasional panda video, just to give us all a break. They have been met with rousing choruses of ‘thank you, I needed that’.

Oh I know honey, I need it too.

But 20 minutes later, I’ll be washing the dishes or folding my clothes and here come the dread again…

Donald fucking Trump is the president of the United States of America.

I feel like I wandered into the Twilight Zone. This can’t be real.

Myself, and millions of other people are reeling in shock and awe, we can’t get past the first 4 stages of grief over one thing he does before he does one more thing and we are back at square one.

Angry, depressed, bargaining and so much denial.

But actually

Donald fucking Trump is the president of the United States of America.

The girl I was before had her ups and downs sure. But I remember I spent days upon days down at the beach last year without a care in the world, not a one.

I miss that peace.

Brother Matt says

The world isn’t going crazy…
The world has always been crazy, but now everyone can see it.

I am inclined to agree.

Yesterday Arnold Schwarzenegger asked Trump to switch jobs with him so “… people can finally sleep comfortably again.”

Nailed it.

Seriously

How do you sleep in a burning bed? In a bed of lies? In a bed of vipers?

This is a free fall into madness. There are no checks and balances because he just fires people and tweets nonsense.

Somebody has to do something. But who takes on the United States of America?

This has to be an inside job.

America is falling into a dictatorship because Donald fucking Trump is the president of the United States of America.

There are unconfirmed reports of migrant workers being rounded up in California.

It begins.

He has named progressive states “Sanctuary States” like that is a bad thing.

I can see the dystopia unfolding very quickly. Flint won’t be the only place without clean water, people are going to start getting really sick. Mexican border closing means 67% less fresh fruits and vegetables coming into the country, people will get hungry. I am afraid he is going to orchestrate a terrorist attack on a sanctuary city to push his agenda and punish them, a twofer if you will. Then martial law.

Bill Maher called it before Election Day.

He wasn’t wrong.

Trump has divided and conquered already. It wasn’t that hard. People are living in the dark ages and in fear of an imaginary enemy. Racism was already rampant, he just gave them a voice. I delete and ban 50-100 ignorant, evil comments a day on my page now.

Racism is a disease, a mental illness and it has to be brought kicking and screaming into the light.

It is quite literally bred in the bones of these people.

We can’t change them, but we can shame them. I will no longer passively allow the idea that one human being has more worth or rights to a comfortable life than anyone else based on any criteria whatsoever. There is no criteria, human is human, the end.

The perfect Skittles analogy.

Yes, I will eat the Skittles. I have raised my son to eat the Skittles.

There are others like us, I can see them. Mr. Roger’s mom always said when things get scary look for the people helping. I see them. Standing at Standing Rock, protesting, writing articles, refusing to deliver fake news, sifting through the ashes.

I hope at the end of this, when history remembers us, they call us the Skittle Eaters and they tell tales about how we brought down an evil Cheeto.

A friend of mine messaged the other day and said “I know you are stressed out right now but here is some good news Stephen Colbert is coming back this week.”

And lo, there was some light in the darkness.

My first thought was that Jon Stewart looked like he had aged a decade since November.

But there was this glint in his eye, a fire. And it warmed me.

He said very plainly that Donald fucking Trump is the president of the United States of America.

And it’s exhausting.

Amen

I can see why people gravitate to churches run by powerful well-spoken men looking for comfort and purpose.
I worship at the church of Jon Stewart, Trevor Noah, Bill Maher, John Oliver and Stephen Colbert. These are my saints and apostles.

I found a tiny glimmer of hope here, in this battle cry…

“We have never faced this before.
Purposeful, vindictive chaos.
But perhaps therein lies the saving grace of Donald J. Trump’s presidency.
No one action will be adequate. All actions will be necessary.
And if we do not allow Donald Trump to exhaust our fight, and somehow come through this presidency calamity-less and constitutionally partially intact, then Donald J. Trump will have demonstrated the greatness of America, just not how (he) thought (he) was gonna.”

http://www.rollingstone.com/tv/news/see-jon-stewart-warn-of-future-trump-executive-orders-w464293

I am ready and willing to fight. Gather the wise women and the witches.

And I don’t know a soul who’s not been battered
I don’t have a friend who feels at ease
I don’t know a dream that’s not been shattered
or driven to its knees
But it’s all right, it’s all right
For we’ve lived so well so long
Still, when I think of the road we’re traveling on
I wonder what’s gone wrong
I can’t help it, I wonder what’s gone wrong

…

We come on the ship they call the Mayflower
We come on the ship that sailed the moon
We come in the age’s most uncertain hour
and sing an American tune
But it’s all right, it’s all right
You can’t be forever blessed
Still, tomorrow’s going to be another working day
And I’m trying to get some rest
That’s all, I’m trying to get some rest

Paul Simon, American Tune

“I put the slippery sheets on the bed, you coming over?”

I wish he had never mentioned that he liked those ones better. I only have 2 sets and I change them every Sunday. Panda says it’s the only consistent thing in my life.

She is not wrong.

Everything else ebbs and flows, changes and rearranges whether I want it to or not.
I wonder if this is why I hate moving so much, I like my things where I like them. Something about my psyche is so tired of everything fluctuating. These people places and things beyond my control, I need sanctuary.

But what happens when you let the boy into your house? Into your bed?

Sanctuary isn’t so safe anymore. Memory foam pillows hold memories.

Suddenly there are holes in the landscape that I am forced to navigate around. Sometimes I forget and fall in.
Sometimes the trigger is something as redundant as a song, a taste or the feeling of high thread count Egyptian cotton sheets caressing my tired self after a long day out in the world

I used to love clean sheet day.

I would change them in the morning go have adventures all day and return home to the pleasant surprise. I am a goldfish girl for sure. Short attention span.

Now it stings a little even though the sheets are soft and my bed is warm.

I didn’t make my bed before I went away. When I came home it was how we left it and he crawled back in like nothing had changed.

But it had.

The psychic said in no uncertain terms he was lying to me. She described him perfectly. Her words tasted like truth in my mouth as I mulled it over. But it wasn’t bitter. So it didn’t matter. I liked his mouth too much to care, lies or no.

I missed my bed while I was away.

I missed him while I was away.

I miss him now that he has gone the way o the others, which is away.

This has been on A-rotation since I got home…

Touch down on the red eye
I got red eyes too
Headache from the red wine
No sleep when I think about you
When I think about you

If I stop for a minute
If I sink back in it
It’ll hurt like hell
If I slip for a minute
If I stop forgetting
It’ll hurt like hell

Yeah, you hurt like hell

First bite in a long time
Reading last week’s news
Hit snooze for the third time
No sleep when I sleep without you
When I sleep without you

(Hurt Like Hell ~ Heydaze)

I have had a hard time sleeping, bed feels cold and empty when it’s just me.

I have a harder time not missing him on Sundays.
It was my only guaranteed day off and he’d invariably come over.
Get the freshly washed sheets dirty.
But before that we would braid our limbs on the couch, make pillow forts, wrap ourselves in blankets and each other, and talk over movies in hushed whispers. Kiss each other for no reason other than we could and we wanted to.
I spent last Sunday wrapped in a blanket on the couch and my skin remembered his.
It hasn’t been long enough for my cells to regenerate.
My body quite literally ached with the want for him to be touching me.
And I was alone in the house. No fortress of blankets and pillows and boy arms holding me together, keeping me safe.

I got through it.

This too shall pass.

I added a bag of Doritos to the nostalgic war on my senses. He was always getting hungry for junk food in the middle of the night. I kept chocolate and chips in the house for him. Bought juice for the first time in a long time so he had something to drink in the morning.

I miss him stealing my sleep, stealing kisses, stealing the blankets.

My skin loved him, I had that plasma ball feeling again. Purple tendrils of energy and light reaching out from my core dancing along the synapses and nerve ending following the paths made by his fingertips.

Hadn’t felt that in a good long while.

Met both those fire-fingered boys in the same place, almost on the same day, a year apart.

And they are both gone.

I am a year older and wiser. I only cried the once this time.
Last time I had never ending tsunamis raging and storming in my tear ducts.
I cried biblical proportions 40 days and 40 nights.

I couldn’t get out of bed.

This time I just changed my sheets and moved on with my life.

Except Sunday. And the time I pulled those sheets out of the dryer, because I knew they would never smell like him again and it kinda hurt like hell.

If it gets bad I will burn them and buy new ones. But I don’t think it will come to that.

If there were two of them, that means there are more and we will find each other in the dark.

Not no fucks.

I rarely give fucks anymore. The world is a mess and I am worried but it is way bigger than me or that boy that never called me back or the never ending saga of the dramarama survivor game played out nightly at the strip club I work at.

If Bill Murray taught me anything it is that you will be stuck in an infinite loop of the same old same old until you figure out how to get it right.

So, on this note, on this day before Groundhog Day I have a tiny announcement to make.

I think it is time to be celibate. No boys, no dates, no sex.

I picked the shortest month on purpose, I am not good at this. I love boys. Muscly yummy sexy sweaty boys with sex on top. And I love sex, like a lot a lot.

Spent yesterday working on the book and jerked off twice.

I haven’t been writing any blog posts at all and I know this one is going to suck all the balls I won’t be sucking but it really feels good to just ramble on about nothing.

I think that is the key, the nothing.

I haven’t been writing because nothing has happened to shake up my strange little life. No great personal crisis has arisen that needed working out here no grand epiphanies or new adventures.

My word count goal for today was 2000, I am not even close, because I came over here to blather on instead.

I needed it, I missed you guys.

I got a lot of other things accomplished in absentia.

Being on lockdown is not the worst thing ever, feels like rest.

I came back from away with a renewed sense of purpose and that quickly fell apart.

I was going to slough off old habits and build new. But it was grey for all but 14 hours in January and I got tired and mired in the muck of life.

I am still smoking…speaking of

Okay back now.

I am still drinking.

Missed the gym today due to a righteous hangover.

Blah blah blah.

But rent got paid, laundry got done, I did actually make it to the gym. More blah blah blah.

I have been singing the same song for weeks now. And I am not alone.

I noticed a trend on my Facebook feed yesterday. My sisters in sorrow were remarking that they were feeling a little better. We follow similar patterns of ups and downs and in this I found a glimmer of hope.

With reason.

I woke up this morning at 9 am, which is totally normal. What was not normal is that for a second there I thought I was going to get away with feeling okay after a night of hard drinking. Turns out I was still drunk, but I forced myself outside because…

The sun came out.

It’s still out.

This is exciting.

The birds are singing, people are smiling, and Panda is in an infectiously good mood.

I realized today that it is the eve of Imbolc.

One of my most favorite of days. Loosely translates to the Quickening. The sap starts running in the trees and the ewes start lactating. Feels a lot like hope to me.

It is entirely possible that I picked the worst time to shut down my sex life, what with all the quickening and running and renewed hope, but it doesn’t feel that way.

Feels like a self-imposed month of grey days. Stasis. A real effort at hibernating before I get reborn in spring.

I have to take next week off work for medical reasons and in that week I will try to knock out all of the things I haven’t been able to accomplish since I got back. I am forever doing what Jane says and trying again tomorrow. Now if I could just stop reliving the rest of the song like some Groundhog Day loop and really be done with Sergio instead of telling him to wait right here for me.

I’m gonna kick tomorrow.

The book is going quite nicely. 3407 words done yesterday, still patching and fleshing out old work, changing pronouns and tenses. I also found things I had forgotten I had written and good god damn they are good.

The afterword is done, I just need to get her from point A to point Z with a minor plot twist. Which will be a lot easier without any real life plot twists.

So, without further ado, all fuckboys past, present and future. Don’t bother knocking, I’m home, but you can’t come in. Try again in March.