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March 31, 2017

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Fuck Monster Fallout

March 31, 2017

I have no idea why I wasn’t expecting this but I wasn’t.

I also have no idea if this is actually gonna post or not. I’m writing this on a Mac (shudder) and everything is weird. Even the mouse scrolls backwards. I can’t cut and paste, so this is uber disjointed.

Kinda like the last few days.

Here there be fallout and fuckmonsters.

I am finally seeing why I was the one worth leaving (Postal Service)

Well that has a whole new meaning now doesn’t it?
They call it enlightenment because damn, this feels lighter.
Has nothing to do with me exactly. Apparently it’s not so much that I am hard to be with, I am however, almost impossible to explain to the rest of the world.

I suppose I should have known, precautions should have been taken. Maybe ease them into it honey, the things you adore about me are not for everyone. I actually forgot how bad I am on paper. Remember when you asked me if you were too much and I said yes but so am I? Ya that.

Meanwhile I have made a point of surrounding myself with people both real and virtual friends who find happiness in mine, as I do with them. Bliss in ignorance I guess, mine…not this new stuff I am dealing with.

Sarah is having a good day, the bells ring out in the kingdom of Facebook and there is great rejoicing. But those people actually know me, know how sad I used to be and how far I have come. Unconditional love is a beautiful thing.

To the people just joining us I appear to be a party girl stripper with a fetish for younger guys, a potty mouth and hang ups about my ex. That’s about all that can be gleaned in a half an hour.

Um no, I am none of those things. Wait, I do swear a lot. Drink less than most, drugs never. Exes? I have a few. Over some of them, friends with the others. I dig in the dirt to heal. I learn new things every day. I am ever changing and evolving.

There’s no drama here, unless someone else brings it, and this is how I cope.
Sit down, think about it and write it out.

If you really wanna know me, there are Cliff’s Notes I could post those things, but I don’t think you do. Easier to skim and decide.

It’s impossible to get the toothpaste back in the tube, once something is out, it’s out. I’m not much for making messes myself, why bother, this way I don’t have to clean them up.

I’ve had to defend my choices lately, in a way that hasn’t happened before.

The answer is no, I don’t have a fetish for younger guys.

On the surface it looks that way I know. I know what I write, and why I write it that way. I have been the one living my life this whole time.

Sex sells and I am comfortable with my sexuality. I am comfortable with my choices and my partners. Even if it blows up or goes away I stand by what I did.

I am realizing that it’s not normal, this comfort level I have attained.

I am not about to backpedal, not for anyone. I lived my life in hiding. That’s no life at all.

They are not fetishes, they are not toys or experiments, they are people.

I’ve been down a hundred roads of hurt and I refuse to visit the things I went through onto other people. Do no harm take no shit. But I end up taking a lot of shit.

In the last 5 days I have been outright bashed and judged by women I have never met. It hurts, reminds me of high school and is making me twitch and squirm.

Thoughts like ‘maybe I am wrong’, ‘maybe I should pull the blog down’ are taking up residence in my head and I don’t like it.

I left the land of ‘should’ when I stopped hiding.

“Should” got me mired down in 2 bad marriages, countless bad jobs and contributed to some seriously sub par parenting on my part.

There are those of us who see white picket fences as prison bars. I am one of them.

It took me years and years to get here to the land of ‘what I want is actually important’.

Right now? I want him.

Not because he’s young, but because he is who he is.

I’ve known bad men, and good ones.

He is one of the good ones. He has attained a level of self awareness and honesty it took me decades to fight for and achieve and it’s just natural for him.

He is strong, determined, honest to an incredible degree, introspective, humble, kind sweet, hardworking, responsible and impetuous at the same time and ya, I call him a fuck monster, but that is really just a bonus.

I also get to call him ‘mine’ because we agreed, for the foreseeable future, we don’t want anyone else.

I won’t hold him back if that changes. We humans have fought wars about ‘owning’ other human beings and all came out on the side of ‘thats bad mmmkay’.

We gently remind each other in a joking way of our age difference, but really? It’s not a thing. It’s more important that we support each other, care about each other, are really attracted to each other and call the other one out on our bullshit. Those are the important things, not numbers. I am already a better person for knowing him, what does it matter what year he was born?

I am not so foolish as to believe that he is going to stay this way. The mental growth from 25-42 is substantial. I am not the same girl as I was at 25, I barely even recognize her anymore. Difference between me and him? He is already light years ahead with a self acceptance I am still growing into and currently fighting to keep.

I know I’ll be fine and if it is within my power to contribute to his well-being, so will he.

I wish he had the same luxury as I do, this incredible support system of other humans who only ask of me that I be happy and well, and sometimes help them move or pick them up from the airport. And he does now, by proxy. If you are beloved by me you are beloved by my people.

This is how I will leave him, if we grow apart, better than I found him.

(that didn’t happen)

 

regular lust

Hard to Swallow

March 31, 2017

I have come to realize my sin is pride. It was not I who drove the wolves away, it was God.
(Mother Abigail, The Stand by Stephen King)

Massive paraphrasing but you get the idea.

We all partake in the seven deadlies, my favorite being lust, least favorite being a tossup between gluttony and envy. Although with anything but food, I do indulge in some things to excess, especially lusty things.
Envy ain’t my thing. I have attained a state of being that is truly happy when others are happy. I make my own green pastures and lie down in them, I shall not want.

I did allow myself to be proud, or maybe I was rejoicing in the pride someone else felt about me a little too much.

And it was definitely not I who kept the wolves at bay, I know this now.
It was god…and I swung the door wide open and let them come a runnin’ back in.

Maybe not wolves…hyenas maybe? Wolves I have been known to love and howl with. These are something else. Carrion eaters mayhap.

I stopped taking scissors to the parts of me that others don’t like.
I am what I am.
Take it or leave it.

Sidenote: I am also not an asshole and can glean when a few of those things need trimming or amending especially when making the transition from single to taken.

What I’ve found myself doing instead is wiggling. Trying to shimmy and squish myself into spaces made for me by others. See how well that worked out for James Franco in 127 Hours, he had to cut off his arm for being somewhere he didn’t fit.

Second verse same as the first.

Sleeping limbs from hands being tied.

Pins and needles.

Those are traditionally used for sewing things together. So why am I feeling torn apart.

Well you see Dear Reader, I forgot how bad I am on paper.

So bad, all ink stains and scribbles. Parables and prose and porn, lots and lots of porn.

This is why the men who leave me find cardboard cut-out versions of me that cook hamburger helper and can’t fuck right.
It’s easier than trying to explain me.

But what happens when someone stays, appreciates the little things, takes my tantrums in stride, sits with me after a stage show and says he’s proud of me and scours the blog so he can learn me better. Even with all of the sharp bits and risks of paper cuts…

Suddenly and by proxy, I am kinda proud of me too.

It’s funny, I always wondered what I looked like through the eyes of others.

Some think I am awful, dangerous even. I know this, its fine.

The ones who know me know I am clumsy and kind.

He thinks I am beautiful.

I think I am all of those things. I wear different faces in different places…but with him I get to take my masks off and just feel at home.

I have strived to be this loving accepting creature. Creative and unafraid. Naked and okay with it in a society where we are told to cover up, calm down, fit in and bleat like the rest of the sheep.

They say the things we despise in others are the things we despise about ourselves and it’s true. But I think it can go the other way too, when we find ourselves reflected in others.

He looks at me and I can see the good things about myself.

I am not wrong, I am just rare, and so is he.

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