Agape, Archipelagos and Door #3

January 9, 2017

Turn the key and engine over
Let her go, let somebody else lay at her feet.

~Gaslight Anthem

I went to Cassadaga Friday.

We were early so I took Panda to Bob Evan’s for her first biscuits and gravy experience.

She was a happy Panda.

As we were finishing Agape by Bear’s Den came on the muzak.

I was happy at first, then left with a sense of foreboding. The last time I heard that song anywhere that I didn’t deliberately play it I ended up eating a pot cookie and having one of the weirder more uncomfortable afternoons of my adult life. It worked out in the end, but fuck that was weird.

Scared me a bit as we drove into the psychic community.

I was hyper aware of omens.

Panda felt like we were going to get murdered. I felt calm and good.

Our Sara of Lords and her beautiful daughter met us there. Flashbacks of last year but I am so much happier now.

I was told my lady was busy. Second choice wasn’t available either. Almost bowed out, but I didn’t.

Went with door #3

She was a little exuberant for my tastes. Over explained things with irrelevant metaphors.

She read my palms first and then my cards.

Palms were a strange mix of what I was and what I have become.

Panda sat in an armchair behind me and was my peanut gallery, quipping ‘yep’ and ‘nope’ depending.

Psychic lady got to my heartline and she was waaaaaaaaaay off, to the point where I couldn’t control an eye roll.
Until she pointed out the spaces betwixt the lines.
Islands she called them. The emptiness representing chaos, rejection, betrayal, insecurity.

Apparently I carry archipelagos of heartache in my palms.

It’s not that I didn’t know this, I just thought I hid it well. Played through the pain.


I stopped her mid read.

“I have everything in my life pretty much handled, except romantic relationships. I can’t seem to get that right.”

Her news wasn’t all that great nor that surprising.
There was a glimmer of hope for the end of this year…ya, I’ll wait.
I needed a break anyways. Like a real one.
She said I could date without feels.
We shall see.

The cards were…really swordy. Opposition everywhere.

Difficulty with transportation, this isn’t new or news.

It then came up blatantly that a current romantic someone was outright lying to me, about dumb shit too.
I had an inkling.
No one’s phone fucks up that frequently.
No one is that busy.

I pulled a card for clarification. Queen of Cups covered the Page of swords.

I am the only one that can stop this.

If it walks like a fuckboi and talks like a fuckboi. It’s probably a fuckboi.

Time to change your status from boo to bootycall.

Or just fuck off.

I’m fine with that too.

She said it had to be me that ended things. Never been my greatest strength, but see above where I am not good at this. Maybe, definitely it’s time for change.

An ex is coming back to try and reconcile. I narrowed it down to two titans. I think I know who and I know what to say and do. He left me on a deserted island and I’ll find my own way back to civilization, thanks.



Ya, that right there.

I am just watering flowers on graves that only I visit.

That’s the thing about cemeteries. Nothing grows there unless tended to and the dead don’t notice.
It’s just for the living that can’t let go.

So, moving forward. Leaving the grave yard behind, letting the bones rest…what do I do?

She said something incredibly astute.

I have written upon ye olde blog many imageries of the men I am with, was with, wanted to be with.

I have written the most flowery descriptions of their best qualities, immortalizing them, glossing over their flaws with some high grade primer until they are visions of perfection. Little gods.

These are the floral arrangements I adorn their graves with.

Also, upon ye olde blog I rip open all my scars and idiosyncrasies, all of my weird and strange, my imperfections in an attempt to understand and accept them. I don’t celebrate myself with the lavishness I expend on them, or at all really.

I put myself down a lot.

I figure if I can speak true, I can conquer my insecurities.

Here’s the thing…

They are flawed too.

And I love them as is.

Do I not deserve the same?

I do.

She told me to stop dreaming and manifesting the man I want, and start figuring out what kind of relationship I want.

Seems like a simple thing, but it struck me as rather profound.

Like the truth.

Dream Love, 11:11 A Wish for my Pet Monster and who knows what others…all descriptions of quite literally my dream guy.

I think I want one of those bae things.
But what do I do with it?
How often do they eat?
Do I have to take it for walks?

I said in the last post that I want to eat better, work smarter, write more, smoke less, cry a lot less.

How do I fit a boy in there?

Not a huge conundrum really. Evenings and weekends.

After I am done doing my shit. Me first.

Yes, I would like a bae, eat foods with it, walk with it, snugglefuck it.

I want abundant amounts of fun, passionate sex.
To touch and be touched.
To laugh loud and often.
Strength. Chivalry.
Compatible schedules. I don’t want to see him all day every day, but thrice a week would be nice.
I want someone to look forward to.
Good morning and goodnight texts with some smiles in between.
The freedom to be both derpy and graceful.
Trust and acceptance.
To be shown off and taken out as well as staying home and snuggling.
Adventures both together and separate.
Partnership with his masculinity provoking and enhancing my feminine.
Teaching and learning from each other.
Friendship both with each other and each other’s friends.
I want, above all things, to feel safe and wanted.
Understood and appreciated.
I want to look at them and be looked at like we both won the lottery finding each other.
Ricky Fitz and Jane Burnham.

I’m not in a rush. I’m in a rut and the only way out is to climb out on my own.

I have things to do, places to go, money to make and words to write.

Matthew Hussey said “Unrequited love is worship.” It is time to experience something equal and even.



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