March 2017

I did one of those Facebook quizzes “what would the title of your biography be?”

Mine was “That didn’t go as planned.”

Spooky right?

It’s like Facebook knows me.

I have been flying by the seat of my pants for quite some time now, pretty much the whole time.

Or I was…

I noticed a phenomenon I entitled “Meh”.

I’d be chatting with some random dude, we’d make plans, he’d go poof and instead of getting upset the Royal We would simply shrug it off.

I thought I was evolving a bit, worried that I was becoming cold, hard, jaded…but that wasn’t it. I’m not that girl, right?

Jackass ‘enlightened me’ decided I had just began to accept that everything is as it should be and not to worry.

A little from column A and one more thing…

I couldn’t begin to tell you when I started protecting myself.

This isn’t in my wheelhouse at all. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until…

Cruz read the blog. Not the whole thing. Not sure what he read exactly.

I am kinda freaked out right now.

We were lying in bed yesterday, talking. I said something about my relationship status on Facebook being blank for years, he corrected me.

Habibi, I forgot about Habibi. I didn’t forget so much as I know what happened there, everyone knows. Two friends tried to date and it didn’t go well, but for a week there was the big blue thingee on Facebook.

I wasn’t lying, I had just glossed over it in my mind.

I gloss over a lot of things. It’s how I have survived this long, I highly recommend it.

Except when I accidentally say something that isn’t true.

I write everything here, process what happened and attempt to move forward.

But, I have left this trail of breadcrumbs in case anyone wants to find me, the real me.

Cruz said it looks like I like fucking a lot of younger guys, asked me if he was just another monster for my bed and this blog. Asked if he was a fetish.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra.

Ouf.

It really looks like that doesn’t it.

Fuck.

Yuck.

No.

I swear that’s not it at all.

Truth is, I have slept with 10 guys in 4 years. 4 in the 10 years before that. Attempted to date a few of them and none of it went anywhere, except me crying a lot trying to figure out where I went wrong.

I started ‘dating’ younger guys because the likelihood of attachment should have been less.
But it wasn’t. I got attached, and I got shredded.

Mistakes were made.

I came out of being married not knowing who I was, what I wanted or how to date.
I was in 5 sequential, long-term relationships spanning 19 years. Never single. I don’t know if I ever knew how to date.

The blog is part of that. Trying to learn. Figure shit out. Having a quarter million someones listening to me when that hasn’t happened for the majority of my time on this planet was just a bonus.

I write about sex because it sells. And because I do love it.

Especially with him. He is a fuck monster. My fuck monster. Had I ever gotten around to giving him a nickname, that’d have been it.

But I changed.

Literally right before I met him. I changed.

Everything changed really.

I put my foot down, and shook my fists at the sky.

We worked magic in this house and whatever bad juju hex was upon my love life was lifted.

I felt it go as tangible as the pinprick that drew blood.

We smudged until the air turned blue.

I bathed in holy water. I anointed my bed with it too.

I wanted to start over. And it worked.

I received my boon.

But I carried my old mindset into my new life.

I was treating him like he was one of the others.

Calling him by his name is not enough.

What is wrong with me?

What happened to not carrying baggage and assessing everyone as an individual?

He has turned a few choice phrases aimed at figuring out where we stand.
I spit out these preprogrammed, safe answers trying not to spook him?

That ain’t right.

He asked yesterday if he was too much compared to other men.

I said yes and smiled.

Asked him the same question right back, am I too much compared to other women?

He smiled.

And of course he said yes.

I had a moment the other day wherein I realized I would really miss him if he bailed.

Maybe he won’t.

I had the good fortune the other day to be in one of those moments.

One of those moments that I knew to be precious, that I can barely be explained, but I will try.

It would be a pretty terrible website if I didn’t at least attempt to describe the events that occur in my life.  I think the reason people come here is the curiosity of “what is Sarah up to today?”
I suppose the alternate would just be varying lists, things I have done, things I want to do, groceries needed etc. No one would want to read that. I am already bored just thinking about it.

I am a shitty poet. Rambling is more my thing. I have moments where a turn a pretty good phrase, but they are few and far between.

I wrote an article last year called High Five wherein I reiterated and celebrated 5 glorious moments in my life. That is one of my favorite articles to re-read. Some of the things I have written cut and maim upon re-opening. I remember how vulnerable and dumb I was when I had those thoughts and those feelings.

I saw on old Facebook post about finding the outfit I wore out with the Giant on our last date and how I collapsed, sobbing into a pile of dirty laundry…devastated. I wrote a whole article around that moment where I crumbled.

I talked to him the other day. I’m fine, he’s fine. It is all a matter of time and perspective.

But that isn’t what this is about.

I believe our memory is somewhat of a cup. Events get poured in, like water, displacing and diluting some of the old. That is why I write them here. My cup is as infinite as my capacity for writing things down. Feelings and perceptions change over time, but here I have concrete proof that once upon a time…

I sat, lounged really, on a comfortable leather sofa, bathed in rays of sunshine, and watched a very beautiful boy pick up and acoustic guitar and start playing some of my favorite songs for no reason.

It was -16 C outside, but inside was warm. He had invited me over, my car started and I went, so it was already a good day. We made it 5 minutes past hellos before our clothes were off and we fucked on the aforementioned couch. Afterwards we had gone out in search of food, he ordered a pita the size of his head. Came home and thought about watching a movie, but didn’t. Instead he started to play.

Blackbird.
Over the Hills and Far Away.
Paint it Black.
Never Going Back.
Mess is Mine by Vance Joy, I love this.
Some Pearl Jam and then one of my most beloved and memory soaked albums, Hozier.

I will not ask you where you came from
I will not ask you, neither should you

We sat and talked about music while he played, he would shoot me this devilish, challenging smirk every time he would start to play a new song. I started playing ‘name that tune’ in as few notes as possible.

I called John Mayer on a Jack Johnson song by accident which led to pulling up Mr. Mayer on YouTube and a song I hadn’t heard before.

Watching this beautiful, energetic boy sitting in the sunshine, playing and singing along with Queen of California, it hit me.

This is one of those memories I am going to hold onto and cherish for a long time to come. The dust motes dancing in the sunshine, him looking up from playing to gauge my reactions, my cheeks hurting, my body sated and warm, my ears and eyes happy. A rapid series of perfect mental photographs that will become a flip book in my mind one day.

I often wonder if I am destined for dementia. I have worked in a continuing care wing of a hospital, those who were no longer in control of their minds had two modes; reliving bliss or reliving trauma. I was 13 at the time, a candy striper and I think even then I made a promise to myself to catalog the good things and let the bad ones go.

This has served to be both lifesaving and detrimental to me.

I remembered so much of the good (and rare) little moments of my farm life that I got lost in that forest for the want of a few trees.

And now?

Now I remember dolphins, oceans, colour throws. Hiking up waterfalls. The sense of accomplishment that came from battling the elements in Milton alone. Getting on planes, belly laughs at brunch, long car rides by myself singing at the top of my lungs. The beach, the water, the beach some more. The boys of summer. Patios and brunches galore. And ordinary days turned bliss with amazing soundtracks, sunshine and good company.

Like this day.

This perfectly ordinary day where I was simply happy being serenaded.

Hello beauty, hello strange
Hello wonder, what’s your name?

He put the guitar down eventually, climbed on the couch next to me, hovering and smiling.

“I wanna fuck you” he said smiling and biting his bottom lip.

“So fuck me then.” I replied.

And he did, and in this moment I am happy. (Incubus)

I am taking my girl out tomorrow, haven’t seen her in ages, and she hasn’t been to our favorite place in waaaay too long. I said ‘this must be remedied.’

She said “how does it feel to facilitate remedies to people in so many ways?”

“Like penance and peace.”

I love being the remedy. I have drank of the sweet water from that well until I wasn’t thirsty anymore.

I love the lightening that occurs on someone’s face, in their eyes as that lightbulb of clarity turns on, their shoulders when they shrug off that weight when I say ‘baby, I have been there and I can promise it’s going to be okay.’

Brother Matt posted something about how it is of vital importance to spill your guts about the messes we have made. Other people are in the mess and need a way out. Or at least to know they aren’t alone.

As I say all of my truths out loud, and I mean all of them, I feel lighter too. We call this shrugging and winning. The world is enough of a burden without all of us carrying all that weight alone.

I will be forever grateful that I was alive in the time of social media. Not for the cat memes, but for the sense of home I have found in these islands of people who say ‘me too’.

I am the girl who always felt strange.

I thought it impossible for my inner dialog to be ‘normal’. It wasn’t, and for that I am also eternally grateful. I thought myself rather insane. In retrospect and after much introspection… I think we all are, just some of us end up owning it. Especially after we have pushed ourselves to the brink.

Mick Jagger said “all children must go through a period of going crazy, I mean you don’t want it to end in death but…”

I’m paraphrasing because I can’t find the quote. I cut it out of a Seventeen magazine a million years ago and it is in a photo album somewhere.

This may or may not have saved my life. Having that permission to be crazy from an adult. A bat-shit insane, talented adult who did enough cocaine to fill my apartment, but still. Permission regardless.

I went crazy.

I did.

I did stupid, death defying, self-destructive things. Locked myself into situations, that by all logic, I should not have escaped from. I am Houdini or the gods had a plan. Or a bit of both.

I am walking, talking, tangible proof that you can be an absolute piece of shit human being and still find redemption.

Rough transition sentence ahead…

I met someone, it’s what I do.

And he’s young, this is also what I do.

I think either by the grace of said gods or however I vibrate in the universal energy of things these young ones I find have evolved somehow. They come to give and take from me and we are well met, always.

Black 19 had spent 2 years in jail, mostly in solitary. Confronting what it was like to be truly alone. And although he turned out to be a little shit, we had that common ground. I had sequestered myself in the middle of nowhere and found out who my friends really were.

The Giant, also young, is a mortician. By vocation he is a death eater. He swallows what we are all most afraid of. Something in him that made him gravitate to that line of work, something deep and profound. So, by default all my dealings with him were deep and profound.

We don’t need men to be “gentlemen.” We need men to do peyote and face their deep cores of emptiness, then return to the village humbled.  ~Alena Smith

I am inclined to agree.

Not just men though, all of us.

This new one came along right after he had hit a really low point and decided to make some changes.

I have no trust for anyone who is straight edge that doesn’t know what it feels like to lay on cold linoleum praying for death, puking, crying and high as a kite all at once.

I know what it is like to dwell in the crazy underground shit filled garage of rock bottom. And it is a long climb out. I know what it is like to be clean for a while and fall right back into that pit of despair.

Rock bottom is the most solid foundation to build yourself from.

“I used to be…” is an empowering statement. It comes when you can accept your flaws and leave them behind you.