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I am an honorary member of the Scorpio tribe.

Magical, mystical creatures, most of them. One foot in this world and the other, well, in the others.

Forever confounded by the behavior of low men and women. Me too my darlings, me too.

I don’t hold grudges like they do, into the afterlife it seems.

Once this is out, I consider all matters closed. Not negotiable.

I’ve deemed these women who feel the need to follow my life for ugly reasons, inconsequential. 

It saddens me that they put weight on my opinions and actions. That’s no way to live. Worry about your own.

Scorpio 101

I will ignore you so thoroughly you will question your existence.

And honestly girls? You should be questioning your own existence.

Be like Elsa, let it fucking go.

I don’t have the time for this, my energy is precious and much better spent. I am on vacation so I am giving y’all an hour. Nothing more.

Mermaid, whom we not-so-lovingly refer to as Big Tuna whenever her name gets mentioned (and we never say it 3 times, no no) said “Sarah has left Sirens, I can finally go back.”

Pardon me?

This raises a few questions.

Um. How did she know I was leaving. Seriously creepy. She is barely an afterthought to me. I honestly never think of her unless her name gets mentioned, and then I simply remind the speaker of the 3x rule, lest we invoke the creature from the black lagoon, and get on with my day.

I wouldn’t even mention her now, she’s just a segue.

In no way was I ever responsible for preventing her from returning to Sirens. She is her own gravedigger.

Mind you, I never wanted her freakshow fuckbaby of a boyfriend either. I guess some people just get ideas in their heads and they can’t see the truth.

All done now.

I have had a reoccurring conversation with Attica lately about winning.

She dissolved a roommate/friendship situation lately.

She had to.

She was taking inventory of money spent and lost, damage done and decided that she won.

“Why do you have to win? At the end of the day, you got your stuff out, you have a nice life and you get to keep being you, isn’t that enough?”

She agreed, she still half jokes about winning, but I watched her evolve a little bit before I left.

When my own roommate situation went septic it wasn’t much different. Accusations and name calling galore, not by me. But I still live there, sorta. It’s not winning, it is the simple refusal of allowing anyone else to fuck with my happiness. Keep your part of the peace or leave.

Rules of engagement?

Don’t engage.

I survived my mother’s house. Weak and young and unprepared.

Silence, legion, save your poison
Silence, legion, stay out of my way

Tool, Jambi

Like seriously sisters. Stahhhp already.

Bad Sarah hasn’t come into view in a long time. Good job puddin.
All done now.

The idea of having to fight for someone doesn’t appeal to me at all.

I might step back and wait, but I subscribe to the school of thought that if a man feels the need to choose between me and another, that ain’t my man.
Take him, please. Fuck him as best you can and try to keep him out of my inboxes.
Be kind and learn CPR for the love of God.

Final boss’ current stalks me too. “She already told me you were in a bad mood.”

Just wow. Seriously?

Why?

I ain’t even in the same time zone.

All done now.

Do you all need to get together and form a support group? Call Stompy Magoo, Susan, Jen and Anastasia too. They all think I am the devil incarnate.

The thought that prompted all of this was the following conversation with Wolf.

Once upon a time, there was a game going around on Facebook.

Describe me in one word.

Sisterwife called me “Enduring”.

I retaliated by calling her a Leptictidium. Latin for ‘delicate weasel’. It’s a now extinct rodent from the Eocene period.

I am so clever it hurts sometimes.

And baby, I AM enduring. We can do this together.

Every time her death gets mentioned the invariable question is

“How does that make you feel?”

My knee jerk reaction was ‘I feel nothing’

I have re-evaluated this.

I feel bad. 

She lived in fear of my return until she died. I never told her not to worry.

Not sure it would have helped, but at least my conscience would have been clear.

She isn’t the only one. I have a handful of women who live in fear of me. I don’t care for it.

I lack the simplicity of language to explain to them I don’t want what they have.

I should probably write an article about that. 

4 years ago I was talking to my friend Tristan.  I love him, his wife and their daughter dearly. They adopted me as the weird auntie years ago when I needed it. I have often found it hard to form relationships with women who aren’t strippers. I was expressing my gratitude for his wife not worrying about us hanging out.

“I don’t compete with other women.”

He chuckled and said, “That makes you even more dangerous.”

“I respect what they have, and I have no desire to take what isn’t mine.”

“Because you are a good woman.” He said.

The idea of owning another person has never really appealed to me anyways, being owned? Totally different story. But we already talked about that, and I am certain I will bring it up again.

I realize this sounds hypocritical all things considered.

There will be no homewrecking here.

Because, the absolute truth is I don’t want what she has.
I don’t want a big house.
That particular kind of lifestyle never appealed to me.
(see above where I survived my mothers house)
I don’t care for busy work. I looked after a giant chalet in Milton for years. My reaction to 1000 days spent scrubbing floors? I bought a trailer that I could have spotless in half an hour or less. Again, my time and energy is better spent.

I live my life out loud in my own way, not filtered on Instagram. Cartoon hearts don’t do it for me. I know better validation than this. My own and his.

I don’t need the marriage or status. I respect her as the keeper of the children. That is sacred. I have no quarrel with her.

I want the parts of my Wolf that he doesn’t show anyone else.
Dirty, dark, powerful and beautifully strange. Just like me.
Symbiotic.

No one has to worry about me coming back to claim what isn’t mine.  

I am good where I am, being loved the way I love.

Anger is just grief in the wrong house.

I was in the wrong house.

Lucky for me, I am on my way home.

FB: what you doing?

Me: angry crying, why do you ask?

FB: don’t do that

Me: you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore

not yours not yours not yours

Funny note. I work with a woman who is a dom. She is strong and beautiful. Part of her Halloween get up was a riding crop. She swatted me with it playfully and I caught it before she did it a second time.

“That’s not yours to hit. I am already owned.”

She squealed with delight and we had a lovely conversation that will work itself into a post, probably sooner than later.

I wasn’t submissive with Final Boss, but I was accommodating.

Wow, I can totally see the issue with that word now.

Never showed emotion, never complained. Overuse of the words “I understand” and my patented “okay baby”. There was no need for conflict.

I do understand. It is okay baby.

And this is not conflict. I didn’t fight then, I am not going to start now.

Nothing to fight for.

I saw what he said, I threw up in my mouth a bit. Angry cried and now it’s done.

Well, 3am drug induced rambling apologies. If he said sorry one more time I would have gone where he was to and hit him. Anger is just grief in the wrong house. He was not in my house.

Wolf said “you tried harder than most would have.”

I did. It’s what I do.

And it’s enough.

I am enough. Always was.

I am writing my own closure and a eulogy.

He said he didn’t have enough patience for a relationship. I had enough for both of us. And I will let you in on a little secret. Seeing each other multiple times a week, calling me when you have a pulled muscle and can’t move, hanging out with your friends, with mine, feeding me, fucking me, cuddling and watching nature documentaries. That’s a relationship, or as much of one as I expected. I never asked for a damned thing, except one supper out somewhere so I could wear a new dress I bought. Never happened. The tags are still on and the weather has gone too cold to wear it here. It wasn’t meant for here and I wasn’t meant for him.

My best girl said “there is no better woman for him than you.”
She knows us both, she is one of the few that have seen us together. She knows.

I know. Somewhere close to the surface, he knows it too.

I forgot to ask myself if there was a better man for me than him.

There is.

Someone who balked at the idea of me being accommodating. Someone who expressed concern about me being alone when he couldn’t be with me, before he realized how precious my alone is to me. Someone who considers my quality of life when I transport myself closer to him. Someone who is plotting and scheming to make sure I am financially capable of looking after myself doing what I love. Someone who trusts me enough to say “you can fuck him goodbye if you need to.”

I will tell you the god’s honest truth. He looked good when I saw him. He has this cheeky but ravenous look when he sees me, and I looked really good. I know I did. But as the truth came out and my back went up and I started to get angry, he said my name. Repeatedly. I don’t think he ever had before, he never had to.

I didn’t like the sound of my name coming out of his mouth.

I physically recoiled from the noise of it.

He doesn’t know me at all.

It took me 4 shots of whiskey and about 10 minutes to piece together everything he was saying.

There was an audible click as the picture became crystal clear. My face changed. My eyes sparked cold fire. My spine turned to steel and I laughed.

He said my name, in an attempt to stop me I guess. Nails on a chalkboard.

I said I was done and I walked out the door.

That would have been when the credits should have rolled.

But there were 2 late night phone calls full of no’s.

My roommate told him point blank “you are a real piece of shit if you don’t at least go say goodbye to that girl.”

He didn’t, I knew he wouldn’t and I didn’t need him to.

I am not that girl anymore.

I always loved the idea of this.
Danger outside, shelter inside.
Tired? Weary? (did it take you long to find me)
Come in and rest.

All of these traits and skills I have been learning and honing for years are finally making sense.

Its so fucking cool!!!

This encompasses the book, this blog and my Facebook page.

Better part of a decade at the farm getting cheated on.

The years I spent with someone else’s man in my bed.

Moving here and the shedding of all my things, including my magic.

The years in Milton alone, learning how to love solitude.

And even moving to Hamilton, to my tiny third floor apartment with crooked floors and crown molding.

Once upon a tiny apartment…

Did I ever tell you the whole story of Hot Neighbor?

I know I told you all of how I would see this boy around my neighborhood, I was always a mess or in a rush or both. And he still looked at me with lusty eyes. And I him. He was strawberry blond, freckled and looked chiseled almost, all perfect curves and sharp angles.

Did I tell you my son came upstairs one day and said “Ma, I got a job roofing.” And my belly dropped a bit, dangerous, shitty work but I was still proud. I will always be proud.

Did I tell you he asked if he could bring a coworker up to smoke pot after work one night and “I said sure honey, I am not home anyways.”

Did I tell you when said coworker walked in the door, he looked around at my little gypsy nest and immediately asked my son who he lived with.

“My mom.”

“Does she have long dark hair and a lot of tattoos?”

“Ya, that’s her, don’t worry, she thinks you’re hot too.”

Coworker was Hot Neighbor.

He walked into my house and knew it was mine, without even knowing my name.

“This place looks like you look and feels like I thought you might feel. Warm, welcoming, safe and strange.”

He came back with wine and pie as offerings and my door stayed open to him until we moved.

Scorpios have always been better at explaining the inexplicable than most.

They just know things. I have learned from them.

Young un the First was a Scorpio too, Halloween baby.

He walked into the Milton house and declared it sanctuary, then revised his original statement when he realized it wasn’t the bricks and mortar. It was me. He was the first one to say it.

You carry this feeling of home wherever you go. Bless him.

I am learning what it means.

In its entirety.

It is one thing to be a beacon, a guiding light.
Stella Polaris (told you I would give you a star).

I am also a safe place, I know this. I am the archives and the temple.
I am a conduit, I know what to say, how to fix and soothe.

When the world is too much, come here boo, I gotchu.

And for a long time that was enough.

But what about when I was lost?

I learned to self soothe. Mostly. Sometimes I’d cry out loud enough that my ghosts would rally. A select few I can call on to help me with this conundrum or other. But when the work is finished, they go back from whence they came and I would tend to the bones alone.

Do I deserve what I give?

Have I earned it?

Is it even something that must be earned or is it a birthright or karma, or all three of these things.

This path of mine has not been easy. I admit a lot of that is my own doing, making the harder or stranger choices. I have reconciled this. My pain has not made me hard, doesn’t make me feel justified in violence. The opposite really. Anything I have endured I shield others from.

Maybe I do deserve it. A taste of my own medicine. Physician, heal thyself.

Deserve.

What a strange word.

Do I deserve to be happy? 

You believe I do.

You message me every morning. 

You kiss my forehead whenever I present it to you.

You listen when I’m scared or excited.

You know by doing these things you are contributing to my happiness. 

Please take that leap and realize I feel the same about you. 

Please also take the leap and realize that the things that please wolves are much too carnal for the sheep.

He thinks I am giving him gifts, this Wolf of mine.
Trust, liberation, libations, debauchery, all of me really.

Sanctuary.

The core of what I am.

Just so happens I am not a pious church full of ridiculous rules and a judgmental god.

We don’t sacrifice here. Only rejoice.

I am a temple to honor the old ones.

Every fuck a prayer and an offering.

They are very pleased.

I understand fully what it means to hold space for someone.
And finally what it feels like to have them hold space for me.

To him I am his princess, he is the castle and the wolf who guards it.

He is my long sought after safe haven and I his.

Me: I’m shaking and smiling and tearing up bit.
        I’m not even overwhelmed.
        This is relief. Absolute pure relief.

Him: I feel the same way. Fucking relief, I can’t explain it any other way…

Amen

This is gonna be a twofer and I have no idea how to transition, but transition I will.

Okay so.

Got it.

2 quotes of the night.

1. I feel you like a fever breaks.

(We will get back to that.)

2. Me: we aren’t together anymore but I am not gonna go running around fucking his friends.
Him: I respect that. Plus I am pretty scared of him to be honest.
Me: everyone is.

There it is.

Let it be the finale of seem.

Final Boss was the actual finale. I can’t be with anyone here anymore even if I wanted to. And I don’t.

I got epiphanies to the left of me, omens to the right. Here I am stuck in the middle of the ocean without you.

I read something today, read it before.

He doesn’t love you
He just loves the feeling
of being loved by you.
Arch Hades

We call that a nutshell ‘round here.

Fuuuuuuuck me runnin’, that’s astute.

I have spent YEARS perfecting how I love. It’s beautiful. Like a stained-glass window. Colorful pieces of what I have gleaned gleaming when the light hits just right. Held together with anchors and veins of leaden what not to do. Weights and lightness in perfect mosaic.

I messaged Giant the other day. I needed to know what it felt like to be loved by me.

He said “Like a warm, reassuring figure behind me.”

Good answer babe.

I can tell you the moment it stopped. When romantic love for Final Boss just became phipila. Concerned but detached. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, but I do not want to participate in the good.

He called after weeks of radio silence and asked me “who do I gotta hit”. No hello, no how are you. Just concern and action.

It was 4am, I had been drinking. I couldn’t wrap my head around what he was saying or why he was saying it.

Turns out he had read a Facebook post about me having a stalker. That doesn’t happen here, I posted it more out of shock than for attention. I said I was fine. The creep had flown away and was in Ontario somewhere as far as I knew. I wasn’t worried. He said he would fly to Toronto. My first thought was ‘awwwww’. Second was, why did you leave me here if you give a shit.
(this was internal dialogue. I would never cuss him to his face.)

He closed the conversation by saying ‘take care of that pussy for me’.

And then promptly hung up.

There is a god. I didn’t get a chance to drunkenly blurt the truth.
That’s a sober conversation. He deserves that much.

I tossed and turned during the night. None of that sat well with me.

Not yours anymore. Not yours. Not yours.

things I held sacred that I dropped
Audioslave

I have been dropped a lot. I land on my feet.

If you wanted me and my precious pussy safe you would be here making sure we are. If you were sooooo worried about me and my pussy, well…you had an all access pass and you got on a plane and flew away. Discounting the 4.5 months he was unable. And that’s another thing. Why I have I heard from him less now than I did then when he was in prison.

I know all the answers. I don’t need to go over them again. The end result is the same.

And I let go.

My fortune cookie today said “to love is to forgive”.

Already done.

Nothing to forgive. It was fun, then it was awful, then it was fun, then it was over.

I already know the why of him. I had to stay a little longer and he kept me tethered.
And he’s really good fuckboy repellent, so there’s that then.
He is still keeping me safe in absentia, I am grateful for that.

So that takes care of quote number 2.

I must have tricked myself at some point into thinking I couldn’t have physical and metaphysical safety together in one person.

I suppose if I had never experienced such a thing, how would I know?

I forgot the cardinal rule. If I believe it I will see it.

Funny story.

And probably our bumpy transition paragraph.

I once wrote letters to Final Boss in prison. He didn’t read them. He had no idea what I wanted or how I felt when he got out. I once wrote him a paragraph summation. He didn’t read that either. At least he admitted it. It explains a lot.

I’m not a reader, he said.

I am a fucking writer.

What was I thinking?

I suppose there is some safety there for me. It’s scary having my guts spilled out and on display. The world, as a collective whole, loves to judge women like me. I think I come off rather clumsy and slutty most of the time. I regret using certain nicknames and phrases early on. But I have to forgive myself for not knowing before I knew.

How could I?

I feel you like a fever breaks.

Same baby.

Like waking up from a dream of prolonged mediocrity and stumbling into paradise.

Paradise is in your eyes. I miss them.

Who even talks like this?

I do.

Wolf does.

He is a Viking with a vocabulary.

Came across the ocean to ravage and pillage my body, and did that oh so well. Then laid in bed with me and spoke of quantum entanglements and deciphering messages from the ether.

Never have I ever been able to speak or fuck so freely.

I suppose if I exist, there must be others.

I always told the young ones they would find someone like me, eventually.

Said it was a blessing that they knew what was possible. Don’t settle my darlings.

I didn’t think about me, or what I was missing.

Until I met the culmination of every Pornhub search, every prayer I sent to the gods, everything I am but couldn’t find in another, all wrapped up in a beautiful package. Labeled very clearly with wolves and words, so I couldn’t mistake he was for me.

A man walks into a bar.

And suddenly, I am free.

You all know him as the Last One.

On a long enough timeline, names get named.

He emailed me this past week.

He got a new phone. Asked for my number, but said he’d understand if I didn’t want to give it to him.

Left me wondering if he was fresh out of the last relationship and not quite into the next. I am the empty space between his monkey bars. He hasn’t yet learned that serial monogamy is a slow death of who you could be, who you actually are, away from someone.

Normally I would muster my politeness and kindness. Message him back, reassure him that I am okay, make sure he was okay.

But I paused.

For a few days, I paused.

Never done that before.

He and I are on some discernable schedule, wherein I randomly pop into his head and he emails or texts. I can’t find a pattern to it, never looked at it very closely.
I text back, if he’s drunk it gets sexual. I stop it. Or it remains civil until it peters off until I once again pop into his head.

The timing of his checking in stopped me. It was the 2 year anniversary of the week we spent an amazing few days together. Consummated and labeled the relationship. I met his friends and family. We went to the quarry with my friends and made plans for the next weekend. But he never showed. Blocked me on everything and disappeared without a word.

I opened the email with fresh Facebook memories in my head. I mean I usually mark certain anniversaries in my head. The Christmas Eve I met Giant. Thanksgiving and Paddy’s day with the Hulk, those are easy to remember. But other days of personal significance are celebrated or mourned as well. But in this instance I was somehow gifted with the ability to pull way back, out of my own muddled head and see very clearly the timeline and decisions I made between then and now.

I am here because of him.

I sent him this instead of my number.

Unfinished Symphonies

I am prone to own every decision, every move I make, good or bad. Even if it isn’t me that ends things, I take my share of the responsibility plus a bit extra to be safe. And I do with this as well. Moving to a different time zone on a cold grey rock in the Atlantic is a pretty huge life choice to make over a break-up.

But that isn’t exactly it. I got on the plane to come here as a last-ditch effort to salvage my friendship with Panda. But it made it worse.
I got on a plane because the Ti-Cats lost that season so I had two weeks off. I got on a plane because a batch of beer wasn’t ready to be bottled at my other job and I had 2 weeks off.
I got on the plane to come here because I had become Bella in the second Twilight where the seasons changed outside her bedroom window but she didn’t move. Just wrote sad things and woke up in the night screaming in the bed they had shared. I think I watched a lot of Twilight that month as well.

I got on the plane because I couldn’t keep sleeping in the bed I had shared with him in the room I had set up for the two of us. Everything placed with him in mind. Room for the dog, bed up against the wall away from the window. Painted the prettiest most soothing teal. He was never in that house.

He messaged me on my second trip out here. Said he would be at that house with flowers the next morning. Wanted to take me out proper, start over. But I didn’t live there anymore. Just added an extra touch of what the actual fuck to the surrealness of driving through the Maritimes in the dark on the way into whatever this is.

What happened once I got here is not his fault, no more that you can blame any catapult for where exactly the rocks land, or if they get made into houses after they are thrown.

I am not who I was before the trauma of him. Or the ones that came before, and I am sure the next catacalysmic event that occurs will change me one more time. I am molten and moving. But at some point, from all of this pressure, I will become a diamond. Hard and cold and beautiful.

I sat at the bar on Tuesday, reminiscing with an old friend. We fight sometimes, go long periods without talking or seeing each other. Then on some magical nights, when the moon is just right, we talk, and laugh and enjoy each other’s company. On nights like those, and others (when the moon is full and blue), I am grateful.

There is one thing I am certain of in life. Well 2 really.

Everything is as it should be, because it is.

And at some point, just as crystal clear as the path that led me here appeared to me the other day, the reason for me being here will show itself too. Sooner than later if the portents are correct.

It has been a bizarre journey. Fraught with peril, sadness and fuckboys of epic proportions.

But all god does is watch us and kill us when we become boring. We must never ever be boring*.

I was talking to the Big Bad Wolf a few days ago. I am afraid and I am trying to reconcile my fear.

“I’m not entirely comfortable with how I feel at the moment but I am also someone who runs towards the inexplicable and overwhelming.”

This IS who I am and what I do.

So thank you my darling Trevor trebuchet, the rocks that were carelessly thrown have become a foundation for something that still has to play itself out.

At least I am not boring.

Chuck Palahniuk*

If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.

 Second attempt at a post today. Let’s see where this goes.

I am in limbo. I acknowledge this and I am sorta kinda dealing.

I am pretty sure I already wrote this, but I have this theory that I died sometime last year, maybe the year before and this is hell. I re-watched The Good Place. That didn’t help put this theory to rest. No spoilers, but you should really watch it if you haven’t.

“Ever get the feeling that the writers are on season 5 of your life and they are just making shit get really ridiculous?” anonymous random quote.

And ya, I do.

It is plot twist after plot twist. Proverbial funeral after funeral for people I cared about, imaginary futures that never came to fruition and outdated versions of me who cared about those people that did me dirty and imagined those futures that never existed.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The format for my WordPress has changed and I don’t care for it.

Maybe I don’t like change.

Maybe it reminds me that I have been neglecting this, and many other things. If I had kept writing like I used to, I’d be used to it by now.

4 years I wrote at least twice a week, and a book on top of that. I wrote the above a week ago and never sat back down. Just paid out my yearly 300 to keep this thing going. Suppose I should say something.

I had a woman message me out of the blue saying she appreciated me, and the page and this blog. She said “maybe the blog is the book.”

It just might be.

Huh.

Thanks Karen.

_____________________________________________________________________________

If I were to look back over the years, the lion’s gate portal has always been a time of joy and change. Last year I was gearing up to come here, ran into an old friend and went swimming, had the most joyous of days and some upside down sex.

This year was no different.

Sex and change aplenty. Made some money and got right with my gods.

Today is the black moon, Venus and Mars just had a great conjunction, and I feel like that will be the end of the star stuff for a while. And that is okay. I came out clean and happy.

Leveled up with the Final Boss. The other one sorta came around and then went away again. Decided it was okay to message Sex Walking and that went okay for a minute. Even if that never comes to fruition, it’s nice to have some intelligent flirtation in my life again.

Lover Come Back is playing right now, and I am pretty sure it’s Giant’s birthday.

When I think back on him, and I do often, he is the definition of ‘worth it’. Nothing with him was easy, except the times we were together in the same room, then he was easy like Sunday morning. I had to do a lot of learning to love him. How can you love someone that much and not put a label on it? Si Cut, as is.

Which reminds me.

Talked to ex hubby at great length yesterday.

Rehashing and lessons on motherfucking lessons. I ended up in tears at one point. He didn’t say anything bad, I broke my own heart.

I realized a few things. The most poignant being, I didn’t love him as is.

Also…

We would have had a much better relationship without other people in it.

And I don’t mean the obvious sisterwife issue, yes, I had a sisterwife. He says he still gets shunned because people saw that as an abusive relationship, and I suppose it was in a way. But not the way they think. Got me thinking about small towns and rumor mills, fishwives and gossip queens.

I am always shocked when I hear something about myself. I guess I think I don’t matter enough to exist when I am not in the room.

Had a brief conversation with the Final Boss yesterday.

Went something like this

Me: half the bar came back to my house last night at 4am

Him; ya, I heard

Me: about the after party?

Him: everything

Me: Now what?

Him: you tell me

So I did. I had coked out strippers and customers coming in and sitting on my bed. Finally got to sleep around 5:30. It was roomies birthday week so he got a hall pass. A month ago I would have been in a bad mood about it for a month, but I am feeling better about everything lately. So it’s fine.

Except.

This is a small town, if not in population, then in mentality. Like the 50’s, but with internet and smart phones.

I told him I wish I was doing what everyone thought I was doing, which is I have 27 boyfriends and get laid constantly, like some kind of bakery, take a number, now serving customer 242.

I don’t actually wish that. But still, sick of people saying shit about me.

I suppose the lesson is there are always consequences, even for the things we don’t do.

But wolves don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

I am not a saint, never claimed to be. Just a girl who wants to love and be loved.

Ain’t that the fucking truth. I am really tired of waiting. So tempted to set everything on fire and start over. I have that option right now. I always do.

I watched Goodfellas last night. It’s been years. And I realized something.

2 things actually. Samuel L Jackson has a cameo appearance.
And
There are 2 kinds of Karen’s in the world.
The first wants to speak to the manager.
And the second?

I know there are women, like my best friends, who would have gotten out of there the minute their boyfriend gave them a gun to hide. But I didn’t. I gotta admit the truth. It turned me on. (Karen)

Until they turned rat at the end, none of their life seemed that bad to me. I kinda liked it.

I promised my girl Sarah I would write something.

Promised Sexy Peaants too.

Him and Lucy are the only ones I have been able to have a secret language with since I have been here.

Truth be told I miss him.

There is a meme that makes the rounds, actually 3 that will be cited here. Such proper wording for memes, but whatev’s, write what you know.

The first

Once you have mastered the art of dating fuckboys you must face the final boss.

Jail Bae/Mister has yet a new nickname.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Final Boss. Lucy and I dubbed his such as he slid into her DM’s before she got here.

Sarah says she doesn’t like him. Unfortunately, I do. He’s a good man. I won’t speak against him. When he said “out of sight out of mind” it wasn’t a challenge, it was a warning. I get it now. I broke my own heart with unrealistic expectations and that thing where I want to universe to unfold on my timeline, which is usually in the vicinity of now.

His boys made fun of me for taking away the Netflix. I said ‘when this current one changes her password and locks you out, you can have mine again.’ Then I saw her name on the tv screen and I knew who it was. Not a nemesis, just a girl I used to know.

Her?

I haven’t been a saint. He pointed that out. There was an overlap at the beginning. But I stayed faithful while he was a way and for a long minute before and after that. Much to my chagrin, irritation, anger and pride. I did the thing.

Then he dumped me, and for a minute there I had a different boyfriend.

And for a minute it was good, then it went back to same same no different.

I think I got so excited about the concept of boyfriend that I disregarded how I ought to be treated, twice. I am low maintenance. But this is really low. FB said he thought he would be bothering me if he wanted me over more than once a week. What planet are you on? That is literally all I wanted. Same thing, more often. He also said he didn’t really read the letters I sent, just looked at the pictures, I figured as much.

The other one just never shows up. He was good for a minute, checking in once or twice a day. Now, back to the nothing.

Fuckboy phone portal phenomenon. Wherein they text and immediately get lost in time and space and resurface days/weeks/months later. With a resounding ‘sup’. Or the newfie version, “y’at?”

Final Boss took the boyfriend thing very well. Said a pleasant goodbye, and then booty called me 72 hours later. Bless him. It was a hard no to say.

I was talking to Mark yesterday. I had posted a status about only being 55-75% satisfied with my life right now. I am trying to switch over from dancing to waitress and one of the shifts I thought I was getting, I am not getting. I threw a fit. Then woke up the next morning to cramps and blood. The situation was pout worthy, but I cried in the alley. 75% with work, less than 55 now with the mens.

The second

Your hoeness gets deleted with every period. Sins washed away with the blood of Christ.

If this is true, after this morning, I am immaculate. Motherfuckingchristsballs. Stood up, walked 2 feet and my floor and legs looked like a crime scene. I wasn’t even awake, and my first thought was “NO, not the rug.” Second thought, was I need coffee to deal with this. And at least it’s not on the sheets.

When Final Boss bootycalled me last week, I simply said “Can’t”

FB: period?

Me: boyfriend

FB: oh, I’m sorry

The former never stopped us before, ask my nice white sheets taking up space in the landfill.

Full moon tomorrow. Even if I hadn’t already known, the bloodbath would have been a dead giveaway. I am anticipating some kind of cosmic fuckery. Lion’s Gate is closing. It was a good one this year.

The third

God is love. But Lucifer does that thing with his tongue.

Normally I run to Our Sara of Lords to be absolved, but … this time it was Sexy Peaants who played priest in a box.

SP: How’s is the kiwiqueen of everything tonight

(He calls me the best things. And gives really good advice. I explained what had happened since last we spoke)

SP: Just stop putting your heart into it… get fucked and get fucked good. They don’t care about you the care about fuckin so play the same game baby

Me: That’s what my girl said last night

SP: Ya well listen to her

Me: Hence the ice pack

SP: Bahahahahaha. Well good ice packs are better than boxes of tissues. Ice your vagina don’t wipe you tears

Me: Quote of the week. You get a whole week peanut

SP: Hahahaha yes babys. Remember that now

Me: Fucking devil penis magic. I did give him a full list of why he might be Satan walking on earth. He agreed with me

SP: Get whatever you can for you babe … no one else gonna do you like you … so get it babe. You deserve to be fucked by the devil… I’m not there to do it so someone else better step up and break you off proper haha

Me: I love you

I do love him. He said I was a pistachio in a bowl of peanuts among a thousand other things. In the time called before we stayed in bed, both with righteous hangovers for an entire day, just listening to music, making out and telling stories. Sustained contentment.

I am handling things I thought I couldn’t handle. The reality isn’t near as bad as I thought it would be.

If they’ve taught me anything at all, it’s how to live without them.

I am a slow learner, but I get it.

Day 131 without sex

I have become a meme in that series of memes.

And to be absolutely honest, day 23 felt exactly like that. Day 90 it started getting easier, sorta.

Almost there.

Hairdresser pulled my hair yesterday but I kept it in context. There is a bit of logic left in this place. Not much mind you. See last weeks post about slip sliding away into oblivion.

I have no patience left.

What I do have is a deep, carnal ache every night when I try to fall asleep.

One would think I would be having good sex dreams, I think I did last night but I can’t remember.

I can remember the one crooked tooth at the side of his smile. How his biceps are bigger than my thighs. That look he would get, the other looks. All the looks. The sound of his voice. The sound of deep, guttural growls and by contrast a giggle here and there.

Was supposed to be 9 days until I got to go see him, but the powers that be have dictated otherwise. So it’s 15 to 20. Which is fine. Car still isn’t back and I still need a money miracle. Any time now.

I stopped writing for a while so I can’t remember when, but the other powers that be decided it was a good idea to have me walk the gauntlet of exes. I passed that test, and the last one, all the tests.
Then a monkey wrench.

I haven’t been attracted to another man since I met this one. Like not a bit. Girls at work say this or that guy is so hot. I don’t see it. The parade of men and boys I was once smitten with did nothing for me.

The other night as I was tending bar a man walked up to the bar and I had to turn away, mouthed the words “oh shit”. Turned back around and he had rolled up his sleeves. Of course he had tattoos. More ‘oh shit’.

Then he pulled a mind fuck and talked. In an Australian accent with a smattering of Texan. And a 135 IQ.
And he likes scotch. And and and…

He’s married.

There is a god.

He came back the next night and we both spit out the truth, so that was good.

One of the girls at work told me to take it as a sign that if this didn’t work out, there are others. I don’t want the others. But I get it.

Married dude is also a Leo. I had a king on his knees. Therein is the lesson.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

I had to do a deep clean on the girl’s house this past weekend. I dreaded and postponed it for too long.

Fuck, that place is the prison where my ghosts live. The chair I missed and bruised my tailbone still in the kitchen. So much blood spilled on that bathroom floor. I could hear the echoes of Stompy stomping. The Creep gave me a mirror once upon a time and I found it in the upstairs hallway turned into a corner like one of the kids from Blair Witch. Every pulled muscle, 42 days of broken toe. The 4am girl fights, the 5am crackhead cleaning brigades. The birds singing at night. The storms that shook the house. The storms that shook me. Every tear and scream that landed in the pillows.

The last room I cleaned was the first room I lived in.

I put the mirror back where it was supposed to be. Cleaned it. Swept every bit of dust and bad juju up off the floor and called all of my power back to me.

I felt it come rushing in.

I feel better.

Then the man came.

Then my man called, but I missed it.

If you haven’t had a jail bae, missing calls is the fucking worst. Not quite as bad as the prolonged silences, at least I know I am not forgotten.

And at least I know I have my swagger back.

Now I just want my Mister.

I drank last night.

Not happy about it. Sullied my 42 days without my birthday as an excuse.

Now I get to clean the girl’s house and open the bar.

Not happy about that neither. I like opening the bar, but the $20 cab and smell of cleaning products, not so much. I don’t have a hangover per say, but I don’t feel so shit hot either.

But first. I write.

Seems like the bulk of Canada is experiencing a very fall like summer. We are no exception. I wore my winter coat to work last night. Not happy.

Roomie 2 read what I wrote yesterday, or maybe just the title and retaliated with a post that said ‘naysayer and proud of it’. I guess that’s that then. Not happy, but it is what it is.

Another acquaintance checked on me yesterday, which started out nice, then quickly descended into what happens with every male in my life when I mention Mister, which is more saying of the nay. I don’t know what is worse, actually I do…they think I am dumb and weak and possibly crazy. Underestimate me all you want. I’ve been through shit that would kill the average person. I am fine. Thanks.

Kidlet was off work sick for almost 2 months. They are holding his pay even though he has been back for a cycle. Not happy. He might get something next week and found a cash job in the meantime. He is definitely my child. Back him into a corner and he walks through walls.

Work sucked last night, no bones about it. 2 insanely drunk bachelor parties and a lot of “Sarah, I know it’s not your job but could you ________.”
I did the things. Around 1:30 I’d had enough and decided to join them instead of beating them.

Beating them was the reason I quit drinking in the first place. Fuck or fight, and I have not been getting laid sooooooo, that energy had to go somewhere. I had a lot of repressed rage as a child, it’s coming back around. It’s funny. Old behavior patterns come bubbling up to the surface when we aren’t paying attention.

I am slipping. I can feel it.

You know the nearer your destination the more you’re slip sliding away.

Goddammit Paul, you know that’s the absolute truth.

He was right. This last stretch is the fucking worst.  The first 41 days weren’t so shit hot either, but I am looking back at them fondly, like walking with cake. Day 99 got a bit easier, double digits being what they are. I cannot begin to imagine what he is going through right now.

19 to 24 more days. 127 down. I don’t know where I am going. My car still isn’t back, I haven’t booked anything because I don’t know the exact date, and I am a fucking planner. Might just have to wing this one. I planned everything before and look where it got me.

I kinda know where I’m going. A city I have never been to. Gotta go see about a man.

I looked at maps and air bnb’s. I know the ferry schedule. I know how long it takes to get from one side of this island to the other, it’s pretty much one highway all the way. But nothing definitive. Technically I should have anxiety about this, but I don’t. I have a dress with the tags still on, it’s red and easily removed, so I know what I am changing into once I hit the mainland.

I also know that the amount of money I have sent and am owed back is exactly what I need to get where I’m going. Funny how that works.

I was cuddling with my Haitian hoodoo mamabear last night at the bar. Before the drinking. I was close to crying and she knew it. The girls that have been around me for extended periods of time just know when I have storms inside, especially her. Because she wants to, she actually gives a shit about me. She loves Mister, known him for years. Brings me comfort to listen to her tell me how lovable he is and she likes listening to my stories about him. We know the same version of him and she says the idea of us together makes her happy, me too mama, me too. She was trying to get me to say that I love him. I don’t know yet. Which is a switch, I am always the one who knows someone/something/somewhere is going to be important before I know why. With him I didn’t. I called him a dumbass a few minutes after we met. He was pouring double screwdrivers on heartburn. I called him a dumbass and gave him some Tums. He came back the next day and said “take my number.” No question, just a statement.

He told me a few dates in, “I knew what you were before I knew your name”.
His third text “we’re going to be together a lot, might as well start now.” I didn’t believe him, but I also couldn’t argue with that. He has this matter of fact way about him. It’s ridiculously attractive.

So I just showed up.

Maybe that’s how this goes.

I just show up.

My girl entered a contest to be on the cover of a tattoo magazine. She’s gorgeous. I met her years ago, during the Drogo chapter of my life. I was chillin’ with him and she was getting her picture taken. He’s a multi tasker. We had already fucked, swam, eaten, fucked one more time and I was lounging before round 3.

I am always scared of meeting new women. Especially beautiful ones. In under 20 minutes we were bonding over post baby bellies and remedies. Drogo walked into the room as I had my index finger hooked in the waistband of her outfit and was looking down her panties and we were having a good giggle. Sadly, he did not have his camera in hand. Would have been one of those perfect candid shots. But alas, it is just burned into my memory instead.

I have a few of those. Picture perfect memories of which there is no proof outside my mind that they ever happened. My kneeling in front of a rather Rubenesque stripper named Christienne, with two pairs of pliers, putting her clit ring back in. the morning after the night before as I stared in wonder out of the window in the empty mansion, naked except for some thigh highs, warm and happy and overwhelmed.

I have no idea where I was going with this.

Started it a week ago probably.

I am not myself anymore.

I couldn’t tell you when I stopped writing, I mean I could look on here and trace back the decline in my words. The weeks that went by and I said nothing instead of posting 3 articles every 7 days.

America is terrifying and kinda on fire. I am house mom stripper on a weird little rock in the Atlantic. People have come and gone. And come back, and come back one more time, and just a few more times for good measure. I have hired some of the worst strippers/human beings on the planet. One refused to leave my house for 8 days and screamed obscenities and cursed my name for the duration of her overstay. I kept drinking and quitting in longer and shorter intervals. Its been 40 days with a birthday slip up, for the record. I met someone I care about deeply and it’s been a challenge.

It isn’t like I didn’t have shit to say.

Laptop was in a coma, but normally I would have gone running to the geek squad and had it fixed within 24 hours.

Maybe being here, living at the girl’s house for 6 months, separated from my dog and 90% of my stuff n things, and friends and family had something to do with it. The great delete of a year ago March or April. Wherein I took down things I had written, never done that before, and it kinda coincides.

Could be the 6 months of heavy drinking. The 18 days home after said six months wherein I only had to time to do a few things and come running back here. For this.

I don’t know if I like this.

I mean I can list all the things I don’t like. But who has the time.

My magic seems broken here. I have even tried doing things completely opposite to the mainland, but I can’t seem to get my power back. Just now and again in small doses. Blood majicks and the phone hasn’t rung yet.

Ha, Momo’s old trick worked.

She said “if you ever forget what you are doing, go pee, it will come back to you.” Just peed. Got it.

The tattooed girl on the cover of the magazine. Some dude decided to mansplain to her how these contests work blah blah scam blah blah blah. Spent more time telling her why she was stupid than it took for me to vote, twice, and share the link to my page so other people could vote.

I remember now

NAYSAYERS GONNA SAY NAY.

So I have 2 roommates. One is the epitome of health. She is at the gym for the 9^th time this week (not exaggerating).

I was/am battling my own addictions and issues. She tough loved me and like I said, 40 days booze free with one fuck up. Also found a non douchey vape and have had less than a pack of cigarettes in a week after a pack a day habit for almost 30 years. I have a Thanos sippy cup at work now instead of a whiskey sippy cup. 40 ounces of water a go and I try to get through 3 per shift. I am hydrated. Can’t sleep for shit now, but I am fucking hydrated.

During a tough love session at the beginning of all this, wherein I laid on the grass in the park with a killer hangover and she ran 5km in circles around me, we came back to the house mid discussion on how my life was falling apart and roommate number 2 chimed in. Viciously. Like way too much. Like I sequestered myself in my room for 2 or 3 days, only leaving to shower eat and work.

I bawled for about 6 hours straight. The weight of everything I have been carrying, crushing me, almost to panic attack mode whre I couldn’t breathe.

And then it hit me.

Don’t take critisism from someone you wouldn’t take advice from.

He is Miss Havasham, married the prettiest girl on the island and it didn’t work out so now he is mad about it and tortures himself and others.
Strip club DJ’s in the 90’s were kings of the world. Strippers too. Now we are barely scraping by. I accept this and have alternate plans. He doesn’t. He just went down the road to the other strip club.

Naysayers gonna say nay.

I remember sitting in his Jeep one night mentioning what I would have done for someone else who was supposed to go to prison and roomie 2 saying no one had ever done anything lke that for him.

And yet, not once but twice roomie number 2 went at me so personally and rude I ended up in tears. We were supposed to be friends. And ya, I nagged him about all of his bad habits, including the ones that culminated in his termination, but I did it out of love, not schadenfreude. I also made sure he ate real food and changed his sheets. I understand misery loves company, and it takes way less effort to wallow in your own shit than to actually do something. But come on.

My PIC who happens to be a mutual friend even said to him “Sarah is incredibly forgiving and we have been through a lot. You should try talking to her, make some effort.”

But there is no effort. Just dirty dishes in the sink and a flippant comment about how this is ‘on me.’

It ain’t.

He is hell bent that my relationship is in my head and won’t work and I am just wasting my time.

But it’s mine to waste.

And what about that thing where no one ever showed him that kind of effort. Why deny another man that?

because…

2 kinds of people in the world. I had to go through this so you should too. and I had to go through this and I will do everything I can to keep you from it because I know it sucks.

Love not shown is love wasted ~ Michael Xavier.

I have that tattooed on my ribs for fuck sakes.

And the other times I tried dating on this island ended as badly as anything has ever ended. So what is wrong with being celibate for 140 days and saving myself from those horrors for someone I believe is worth it?

And what if it does work out?

What about that.