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Mondays are the hardest.

Sundays aren’t so shit hot either.

Sundays I change the sheets that he never slept on and a bed he hasn’t laid down on yet.
In this room I made for the both of us.

I metamorphosized again. March into April was goo phase galore.
Wings are still wet and fragile.
Any fucking time now.
Surviving not thriving.

But my cocoon is splendid.

I realized the gypsy tea room was a regression to how I wanted to be in high school and shortly thereafter, but I never had the means, and shortly thereafter I became a mom, so what I wanted got put on the back burner until…right before I came here really.

Here.

Whoa oh oh oh oh

Here.

I ask myself what am I doing here.

Alessia Cara

I say Mondays are hard, but it’s the shortest night of the week at work, Tina 2 Chains is here and we are getting wings before work. And historically speaking, he calls more often on Tuesdays. I wrote it all down.

I am grateful for this room considering the events of the last few weeks. The universe timed this (and everything ever) perfectly. I needed a sanctuary and I have it.

Fight flight or freeze.

I am frozen.

We all are.

Meat popsicles.

Stripper burritos.

Metaphorically and in reality. The weather here sucks so bad.

I said if this doesn’t work out, I am packing up and leaving.

This was met with a rousing chorus of “no”.

Again, frozen girls don’t move. Just breathing and waiting.

This is the longest I have gone without hearing from Him.

I actually sat down and went through my call logs and texts. Looking for numbers and gaps. He was around more often than I thought. Not now, but then. He warned me about this last stretch and I will abide the warning.

Kinda proud of myself. I stayed brave. Wavering now. Crying a bit more than I was before. But it’s me, I cry, that is an integral part of who I am. And god knows it’s been a rough 111 days. Weeks went by in chaotic splendor and I have no idea how I kept breathing, much less moving forward.

Everything got fucked up and just kept changing and rearranging in ways that could not possibly have been predicted. Except I fucking told you so.

I would really like to be able to say those words again, about this.

Someone called me enduring once. She meant it condescendingly, but I am.

Even when I feel like I can’t keep going, I do.

It helps that I get little pushes from the universe. And I do trust the universe. Timing is always perfect even if it doesn’t suit my ego.

Friends of mine have their anniversary today, and one of the posts said something about ‘the best decision we ever made.’ I said those words. And the tarot cards say it’s not so bad*

Actually, the tarot cards said it was going to be glorious. Kings and Queens of Promise.**

Past me keeps leaving present me, presents. Words of encouragement, reminders I have been through worse. And the knowledge that I can get myself out of anything I get myself into. I don’t want out just yet. I’ll just persevere and see what happens. I made it this far.

Self-doubt is a motherfucker.

I found myself ready to let go, making ready with the funeral arrangements and a drunk girl at work swooped in and reminded me how beautiful and amazing I am. That he really does want to change and that, in her opinion, knowing both of us incredibly well, this is a really good idea.

Hard to argue with drunky voodoo mamabear stripper. She is Haitian hoodoo to my white girl witch and I love her. Out of the mouths of beautiful babes. She played with my hair and kissed my forehead.

Part of the doubt was… do I even remember how to do this?

I ended up answering my own question

Me: I don’t even know if I know how to girlfriend anymore anyways.

All I know is how to stay loyal, cook and fuck a lot.

Her: ….

Me: that’s a good girlfriend isn’t it?

Her: that’s wifey

Ok, so maybe I know exactly what I am doing. And maybe everything I ever learned makes sense now.

I’m an optimist.
If this isn’t meant to be then it will catapult me closer to wherever that is.
And I will always know I truly tried.

I want it to be this.

The best decision I ever made.

*The Wombats
**30 Seconds to Mars

I said “if this doesn’t work out I’m leaving.”

She said “you can’t.”

Never got around to telling me why not.

But truth be told.

I don’t like the way my ghosts behave here.

Too many mistakes and hauntings I can’t handle.

Um, excuse me? Cosmos, Karma, Universe, Papa Mercury…whomever is deciding to send in the clown parade? The above statement was not a challenge.

I wrote that, unprompted, Wednesday night.

Nothing bad had happened, I had just made up my mind about something else.

Lead me not into temptation.

There is no temptation here, just ghouls and goblins. Irritants and examples of what not to do.

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground

…

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

…

And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It’s a fine romance, but it’s left me so undone
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope
It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil (in me)
Looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Well what the hell, I’m gonna let it happen to me

Shake it Out
Florence and her glorious Machine

It IS hard to dance with the devil on your back, or in the audience.

And given half the chance, I would take almost all of it back. I am now the queen of denial.

Let’s pretend that never happened.

Torn between calling this Send in the Clowns, and Shake the Baby, Shake it Out.

The week of Paddy’s Day was the last week of the dead. Sometimes they come back.

And just when I think I am done…

This seems a shitty thing to be writing about after such a long hiatus.

But, I am feeling trapped in my room and my life yet again. Might as well leave myself some kind of time capsule for when al of this is over and a new chapter or 5 have begun.

I do that. In Facebook memories and on here. 3 years ago (right around now) I considered giving this blog up for a man I hadn’t met yet, but had spoken to for days and days over the course of 2 years. Who I thought cared, and maybe in his own sick and twisted way he did. But I deserve better, I know that now.

If I can love someone as is, and I do. I deserve the same.

I am also comfortable enough being alone, that I don’t have to settle.

To all the ones who had the chance to do right by me and didn’t. Fuck you.

Mark said last night “all men should have a healthy fear of women.”

This came on the heels of a few people saying they are scared of me. Truth be told, I am too, but we will get to that later.

When asked for an explanation, he put it like this.

Say you are at a zoo, there are 50 people in an enclosure petting a bear. You could go in and pet the bear too and nothing bad could happen, or you could poke the bear and it might start mauling people. It could even start mauling people if you don’t poke it. Knowing this is a healthy respect and fear of the bear.

There was a boy at the bar poking the bear. I am the bear.

But I have to be nice to customers, and that is all he is. A customer.

6 hours later I wasn’t so nice.

I am on a fairly permanent patience breach. That cup was long filled and now the smallest splash sends me over the edge. I had to quit drinking, like finally HAD to.

I was regressing and getting violent. This is the part where I was scaring myself.

I got white girl whisky wasted a few weeks ago, ghost showed up. Lied through his teeth while speaking to me and by the end of it he said, “I’m sorry, I am a piece of shit.” To which, according to eyewitnesses, I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook the baby and roared an agreement.

Really wish I could remember doing it. Secondhand satisfaction will have to do.

My heart is a graveyard and the bodies won’t stay down. I don’t even care anymore.

I got through the first poltergeist rattling his sad gold chain. Figured that was enough for the night.

Nope. Universe said, “you forgot one”.

I looked across the bar at this man who looked very familiar. Watched him for a good 5 minutes. Still wasn’t sure.

Walked up to him, and asked “do I know you?”

“Oh my god, Sarah?”

Fucking fuck.

I then found myself going toe to toe with a biker and had him cower. His buddies too. “What did you do to her dude? She’s terrifying.” They gave me a wide berth after. Wish the others would get the message and stop poking the bear.

When I said this island was haunted I didn’t mean double down and send in the worst and the last of the clowns in the same fucking night.

Ferfucksakes

It wasn’t a challenge.

At least that’s done then.

I find myself uttering the words “well now I know you aren’t dead” a little too often here.

Biker guy said he was home from Alberta because his dad died. I said sorry for your loss and walked away.

In the immortal words of Stephen King “no great loss.”

He was absolutely inconsequential. One good date, one bad, then ghost. Never slept with him. Glad I didn’t. Truth be told, I had forgotten about him almost entirely. But for some reason, the universe wants me to cut ALL loose ties, and burn the edges to stop the fray.

Can I be done now?

I am so bad at math.

Mercury is in Gatorade again, and I feel like it has somehow been made worse by the Gatorade joke.

Like Papa Mercury is pissed at all of us for mocking him in his retrograde flight through the night sky. Even his most beloved children.

What a clusterfuck.

I can’t seem to find my motivation at all. Like none, nowhere. I am in a duck and cover holding pattern. I slept on dirty sheets for an extra two days because I just couldn’t get it together to put new ones on. Laundry sat in the dryer for a week. I cooked some food, got a haircut and did the absolute bare minimum.

Last night a hurricane rolled through. Pelting rain and crazy winds. Today it is relatively warm, the sun is out and there is no hint of a breeze.

 Shit changes that fast.

And then nothing changes. “All I asked was that you stop fucking my friends over and clean the bathroom every now and again.” That was December. Nothing changed except she got way too drunk and I helped her. I moved back into the house and she just kept doing shitty shit. I ignored it as long as I could.

She just fucked them harder and I can’t remember the last time I cleaned the bathroom. She never bothered and I am on strike.

I have 2 directions I could go in at this point. I am standing at the crux of the Y.

Ima just stand here for a bit and wait for the ground to either start or stop shaking.

I will make no major decisions until March 26^th. The day Papa mercury stops flying backwards in the sky. And the day I calculated Jail Bae would have phone access. But Lexi had a missed call from him yesterday. I can pretend he lost my number again, but that window is going to close shortly. Depending on how long it takes to process mail at a federal prison. That would also mean some other dude is looking at my tits right now.

My stoicism is waning.

I am feeling like Tinkerbell, I need attention, or I die. Next week that will change again I am sure. I will find my brave and clean the house.

I too am in retrograde, spinning backwards. Broken communication, lethargic and just generally feeling shitty.

I had the most delicious lucid dream yesterday. I closed the bar Sunday night, came home sober and couldn’t sleep. Dear John was messaging a warning, a day late. And Biker Body Pillow was not doing great. So I stayed up as long as I could. But I had a staff meeting at 10am and got maybe 3 or 4 hours sleep. I needed a nap.

I am not a napper. 90% of the time I wake up feeling shittier than I did before I put my head down. But this was different. Livid, lucid sex dream starring mister, complete with full physical sensation. To the point that I woke up and looked around my room to see if there was someone there. I did not want to wake up.

Then I spoke to Lexi, told her about the dream and got smashed on the rocks of reality when she said she missed a call from him. I really didn’t want to wake up.

Nothing can be done about any of it.

It is what it is, or it isn’t.

The forecast was all negative numbers until last night. Now we have a week of positives.

I am either going to move upstairs or I am going to move out.

I sat in the kitchen after a rather draining shift at work last night and remembered how much I love the sound of water running through the eaves. Everything was a frozen mess in stasis for weeks. Mama Nature gave us a bit of a reprieve maybe Papa Mercury will too.

Even if he doesn’t, it’s only 2 more weeks.

My fortune cookie today said I won’t get any rainbows without the rain and my tarot card reading said my emotional and spiritual needs will be met.

Because planets, and cards, fortune cookies and horoscopes.

This is the part where I get superstitious.

http://live.ezezine.com/ezine/archives/3_11/3_11-2019.03.04.00.08.archive.html?fbclid=IwAR1S7dTjN-_srkmIxA_eHrPfgIKW5-6GR4JWR-GHeeBm3Gkav6v0Tqa1NAg

I expect you’ll be a paragon of persistence, doggedness, and stamina.

I am that. I will get back there. But right now, I just want to have another nap like yesterday’s.

Sleep does not come easy to the newly sober.

Still in that bad habit of having a couple whiskeys before I leave work.

Thankfully, less that before. But before was a whole lot. Soooooo…

Baby steps.

I didn’t work last night so I was not led into temptation.

My kryptonite booze and boys.

Trying to trade whiskey for water. Succeeding somewhat.

But the boy thing is proving to be a cakewalk.

Those that once turned my head are just turning my stomach.

I severed a thread last night.
I had to.
I think it was the 3rd of 4th racial slur that caused my vagina to permanently and audibly slam shut.
I’m better than being some toddler’s neglected toy and I’m most definitely not free porn.

Speaking of free porn.

Like I said, I couldn’t sleep last night. So I started scrolling though old (private) photo albums on Facebook looking for tiddie pics to send to jail bae.

I have an album called “holding area”. Basically a dumping ground for everything that was in my phone from when my actual real and single life started in Milton and continuing through the first year in Hamilton. Not everything, just everything I deemed important for that 2/3 year period.

It was interesting to see the progression of how much better I have gotten at taking selfies. Revisit old rooms and moments.

I found great comfort in the realization that the things that I once deemed paramount and archive worthy, didn’t really matter to me anymore. Means I am evolving and more importantly, if something is hurting me now, there exists a future where it doesn’t bother me one bit. I will get there. It’s science.

Found some tiddies. And some fond memories. Held a silent vigil for some of the cute outfits I have loved and lost. Mourned the moving on of a few foster dogs. Remembered why I loved the Giant so. That boy had a way with words as well as his hands and other things.

Then this ancient text popped up.

“YOU MUST NOT READ FROM THE BOOK!!!” (every smart dude in any horror movie ever with an ancient mummy or curse or whatever)

Normally I would tear up. Shark week is here. But instead of my usual tears, there came a slightly angry smirk. The one that denotes everyone should clear the area immediately. But it was just me, in my comfy bed, face lit up with the light from my cellphone screen and an epiphany.
I had one very loud, clear thought.

I am a really fucking good girlfriend.

Followed by

I am fucking hilarious.

Followed by

Dear every dude I’ve tried to date or did date until you disappointed the fuck outta me til I couldn’t take it any more and I STILL stuck around and kept trying way after I should have stopped…

Y’all are dumb.

Usually I am all love and light and forgiveness and holding space and handing out advice and get out of jail free cards sprinkled liberally like never ending confetti.

“She broke down and let me in.”

But not last night at 4am.

I ain’t even mad.

There is no vengeance here. Just clarity.

No pompousness. Just facts.

All y’all who left me or pushed me away are dumber than a bag of hammers. I was right in front of you the whole time. Dumbass.

Y’all got to live with that.

This dude included.

He still messages me from time to time. Not lately. They all do.

We made our peace. He copped to being an asshole. I think he is trying with the one he has. Good for them.

Made my peace with all but 4. The things they did were illegal and unforgivable. I still have scars.

“Never going back again.”

Brian and I were having a chat in the jeep the other day, about some old plan I had to accommodate an ex, once upon a time. “I was going to go stay with Tina 2 Chains so I could work and visit while he was away.”

He said

“You have singlehandedly changed my idea of what a relationship could be. The amount of effort you put in when you care about someone…I have never experienced that before.”

He isn’t sure if this makes him sad or optimistic or both.

Probably both.

Raise the bar and put in some effort.

I feel the same way.

I was more in awe of the idea that I have a friend as good as Tina 2 Chains who would support me in my foolishness. That was the big deal to me. Not what I was willing to do, but what she was willing to do for me. I suppose this road goes two ways. I would walk to New Brunswick and carry her back if she asked me. I love her.

I have a framed quote next to me that simply states “Do you love?” I ripped it out of a Stephen King book. Salem’s Lot I think. I have carried it with me since I was a teenager.

And the answer is a resounding yes. Yes I do.

The love I have wasted on those who could give a fuck about me is all. Can you imagine if I end up getting some of that love back? It is going to be glorious.

“You don’t know what it means to win.”

Love is never wasted. Love is infinite and it’s not like I am going to run out.

Just got slapped in the face with a huge amount of disappointment lately and I am reassessing.

I love and I reassess, it’s what I do.

To me, the thing I said I would do for the ex, didn’t seem like a big deal really. I mean I guess it is. Moving everything, again, to be closer to someone who can’t move. It was pointless and fruitless. I still don’t regret it. I am happy here and now.

I was raised by women who deeply loved their men and showed it daily. One nurturing action at a time.

And I, myself, am a really good woman. Not just because of how I was raised but because I have loved and been loved badly and I have made a decision to never do that again. I am where vicious circles and cycles go to die.

I hunted online for a quote I remembered reading once. Couldn’t find it. So I shall paraphrase.

“I am a good woman” I screamed. Not at anyone in particular, just to remind myself.

And that is what happened at 4am. Reading this old text to an ex.

And I realized what I am capable of, by remembering the things I have done.

I will sit in the rain and hand you (the correct) tools while you fix your brakes, just so we can hang out.

You want to have sex 6 or 9 times in the middle of the night while I am on my period on my new, white Egyptian cotton sheets? Okay baby. I can always get new sheets. Time spent and memories are way more important than things. Same goes for the dress that got ripped because we couldn’t get me out of it fast enough and the couch I squirted prolifically upon. It’s just a couch.

You want Chinese food at 5am? That I can’t do…but I will make you a sammich and rub your back til you fall back asleep.

Sex and sammiches.

Love and understanding.

Need me to come get you at 3am because it’s time to rest? I’m putting my pants on right now. Sure I’ll pick up weed on my way. Get in the car baby, I already moved the seat alllll the way back.

Alternately. I have other things to do if you need/want to be alone or do other things.

I am good being alone.

I have my own friends if you want to go be with yours. Have fun babe.
I am equally good amongst the friends. There is no question who I belong to if I belong to you.
I am good with the mamas and the baby mamas too. I don’t compete with other women. I respect their space in your life. They were here before me.

I have things to keep me occupied if you want to watch sports, like making sammiches and blowing you at halftime.

There’s a lot of sex and sammiches happening here.

I don’t nag. Perfectly capable of doing 99% of everything by myself.

I hate fighting.

I hate shopping and would rather do it quickly and alone. Unless its 3am and we are picking up stuff for sammiches at the 24 hour grocery store. That’s fun.

I am comfortable in my body. I don’t worry about how I look or sound during sex which means I am ALL in, all the time. If I am having an orgasm, you’re gonna know about it. If I haven’t had an orgasm you’re gonna know about it as I change positions to make sure I do. I got this.

I could be meeting the queen of England on hair washing day and still be ready in under an hour. I won’t make you wait for much of anything.

I look equally cute in sweat pants and sun dresses. I own a plethora of both. You can dress up or dress down, if I am attracted to you, I just am.

I make my own money. I don’t want yours. I will help with your hustle and I have my own. You can buy me a coffee and I will hold it as precious as the Hope diamond.

I can cook (beyond sammiches) or we can go out. I don’t care. I won’t eat your fries and I always know what I want to eat, it’s usually tacos. You can always have some of my fries.

______________________________________________________________________________

So endeth my resume I guess. I don’t really need one. I am what I am. Like it or leave.

I was scared after being single for so long. What would I do with an actual boyfriend?

Then came the second part of the epiphany.
Just keep being me.

Love him.
Rub him.
Fuck him.
Feed him.
Support him.
Give him space.
Let him be himself and just enjoy all of that.

I got this.

(Bold + quotations = Fleetwood Mac, Never Going Back Again)

I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath for 2 weeks, but I was.

She asked me the other night, after the oxygen returned…

“How did you fall so fast.”

“I just did.”

There is more to it than that. I was waiting.

2. When you meet him, outside the grocery, along the boardwalk, beneath the overpass, you will not know what he is. He will be neither too charming, nor too handsome. Not thunder*. Not Polish

There was something though.

One of my favorite Stephen King quotes ever is “the ecstasy of perfect recognition.”

It’s a little fancy, but it fits.

He said “I knew what you were the first time I saw you.”

24 hours later came the first ‘my girl’. I found it when I was scrolling back to establish a timeline, and because I miss him.

6 hours after that (and this is hilarious) I was on a work call at 2:42 am tryna calm my drunk girl down about a wall block, phone in one hand, and his cock in the other.

It was a Tuesday.

I slept in his bed alone that night, safe in the knowledge there was a monster on the couch guarding me while I slept. Woke up, politely excused myself, refused his offer of cooking me breakfast, left him to sleep.

Expected nothing again. This is the island of lowered expectations after all.

Lower…

Nope, lower than that.

Even lower…

There ya go.

But…

6 days later he said I was an angel.

Then came the forehead kisses.

Forehead kisses are how men absorb all the sense in your brain. Stay woke sis.

Ya, I am totally not gonna do that.

Fell asleep in the same bed, and an hour or so of me lying awake, sore and sated, he rolled over and wrapped himself around me. And it was good, amen.

4 days later we were out at a sports bar with all of his friends watching UFC and his every muscle and movement made me feel like a well-protected queen.

I am the queen of many things, one of them is doing things backwards. I don’t know if it’s backwards per say or if my intuition is this many splendored thing, that if I leave her to her own devices leadeth me to green pastures.

I do speak of parts of myself in the third person, creepy as it is. I am a collection of factions all driving this body and mind of mine. And it is a glorious thing when they are all in agreement.

We are.

I now have the luxury of my laptop back, so a) I can write again, and b) I can look at my fortune cookie on Facebook.

Today’s was “every flower blooms in it’s own sweet time.”

It does. I know this.

Maya Angelou — ‘Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.

Maybe I am stupid. It’s entirely possible, considering the things love has done to me. But in my 45^th run around the sun, I doubt I could change if I tried. And I don’t really want to. I like me this way.

I am not saying it’s love, it’s too soon. But there is something and it feels good.

I owe Sarah this 3^rd chapter, left her hanging long enough.

No, not that Sarah, and not me either. My sweet cheerleader Sarah who supports me in all my folly.

I didn’t realize the weight on my chest until it was lifted.

I exhaled as I hung up from my 3 minute phone call, I was afraid it wasn’t going to be enough, but, as it stands there was reverence and respect in his voice. I thought I was underprepared, but he didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already researched and figured out on my own.

“Already ordered the pictures and bought envelopes, just waiting for you to get where you’re going.”

“That’s my girl.”

 If he’d have said “that’s my girl” one more time my vagina exploding would have been audible from outer space.

I already am that. I decided this.

“You’re going to be my best friend for the next 4 months aren’t you.”

No question mark, just a statement.

“That’s the plan.”

As if I planned any of this.

There is a quote from Four Weddings and a Funeral that always stuck with me.

Tom is talking to Charles after the funeral, and he says “Unlike you, I never expected the thunderbolt.”

I did.

And I do.

And it was there, and it was good.

*Jeanann Verlee was wrong about just that one thing. There was a low rumble of thunder, like a vibration in my chest. “Who is that?”

She also says, “you were made for this.” And I am.

Oh wait, she was wrong about 2 things…

8. When you find him in his room, thrashing the sheets, pressing his palms into the wall, howling. His face a river. Close the door.

He fights in his sleep. He warned me. And the first night we slept in the same bed, he fought. I put my hand on his forehead and said “hush baby, it’s okay.” He giggled in his half sleep and held onto me tighter, and for a long while, he hushed.

Something so empowering about being able to calm a monster.

Not tame  mind you, just soothe.

I’ve had a lot of practice here, on this island. A small army of boys and men who would do just about anything for me and who listen when I tell them to stop. Breathe. Come back from the edge of madness and just be here with me for a minute.

“Baby stop.” and they stop.

you were made for this

122 days

There is a funny story about my Nana and Papa wherein when he came back from Europe after the war there was a pact made by his family to NOT tell my grandmother he was home because, and I quote, “Once Neva knows he is home we will never see him again.” It was one of those half jokes soaked in truth.

There is another story about my parents where in my dad disappeared to California and my mom drove 3 days to go get him. Sharrie boiled water in the mountains to make spaghetti at a campground somewhere out west. I love both these stories.

I‘m on the list to go visit while he is away, he reminded me, like he had to. Not thought about much else. 2 day drive, but still.

I doubt he will disappear from the world and into me when he gets back, but I know I will get a good 24 hours here and there.

“Its so weird to see him settling down, I’ve known him forever.”

“I doubt that.” I said.

“No honey, this is as settled as he gets.”

That’s enough.

I should have called the last one the Drawing of the Three. But it wasn’t good enough.

It was what it was meant to be, a prelude.

There was some fussing on the Facebook page about it. Chill Winston.

And I already made my decision. Didn’t have to draw anything, not straws or graphs. I might ask my girl to pull some tarot cards for me, but I am not there yet.

I don’t remember much about English class but I am sure there is a term for such things, chapters with no other purpose than to close out one sub story and introduce a new character or theme. If there isn’t, doesn’t matter, I did the thing. And as I hit publish a solitary crow did a very close fly by on the other side of my window. Uh oh.

Coulda smashed in to the window, that woulda been worse.

Ever the optimist. Maybe I just didn’t see the second. (that’s not how this works)

I have no idea how any of this works. My WordPress updated in my absence and navigating it is vexing. There are blocks now where a blank document should be. I just want to write.

If this is a test of my willpower I’ll save everyone the suspense.
No is not a word that comes easily off my tongue.
I’m failing and could use a little divine intervention. 
Please please please

This was my status the other night. My boss and my Bayne checked on me.

Everyone thought it was about booze.

It wasn’t. My other kryptonite. Boys.

Someone asked me if they could touch my butt and I had a hard time saying no. He wasn’t in the room thankfully, just in my phone. He only lives there.

In this latest installment of misheard lyrics I found some strength. This song is on heavy rotation in the soundtrack of my life. Radio, mall, Brian’s jeep, at work and because I just put it on YouTube so I could quote it.

Some Nights. Fun

That’s alright, I found a martyr in my bed tonight, stops my bones from wandering away.

That’s not what it says

It’s wondering who I am

S’okay. I will keep it the way I heard it. I am the martyr in my own bed and my bones shall not wander, even if my mind wonders. And I know exactly who I am, so that’s a good thing

See also…

And some nights, I’m scared you’ll forget me again
Some nights, I always win (I always win)
But I still wake up, I still see your ghost.

I do see his ghost, often, walking down the street at night, picturing him under me when I so much as take an extended blink. The time I said he was the worst idea I ever had and he wouldn’t let go until I took it back. I was on top of him then too. Climb on the beast and ride.

He is a beast of a man. Good thing I am a lion tamer and the queen of everything.

I kept that moniker even though I had to give up being a pistachio. I had to. I am so sorry sexy peeants.

I had a thought last week, I was in the kitchen cooking and tearing up because I was missing him, but this was a good thought. So good in fact that I couldn’t help but laugh and grin a stupid, cheek hurting grin. It lasted a few days. I still have the occasional doubt, who wouldn’t, but this thought is whatever the light deer was to Harry Potter, specto patronus. Fuck that took me a long minute, I actually felt my brain cramping. This thought is keeping my self-doubt from sucking all the happiness out of me.

To explain this thought I must return to my 24^th year upon the planet. I had an impossible crush on an impossible man. Such a pain in my ass, and 21 years ago I was nothing like I am now, well maybe a bit, but my self esteem was rock bottom, my superstitions were high and this crush was HUGE. All consuming, there wasn’t much of me to be consumed at that point, but still.

And here, I sadly admit that I stalked the fucker. Not one of my prouder moments.

You must remember 21 years ago we didn’t have the technology that we do today wherein I know what so and so had for dinner and my phone pings when my friends are nearby. I knew where he would be on certain nights and I went to there.

Some nights, we’d go home together and some we didn’t.

Some nights I called it a draw.

This went on for the better part of a year.

I would try to stop and start seeing someone else, and he’d waltz back into my life and that would be that. I would drop my treat of the week and make the quick fall back into limbo with him.

I had never had a not boyfriend before. This was also way back before I began living in the land of friends with benefits and other such arrangements.

And it felt like limbo. Sometimes it was heaven and sometimes it was hell, and a whole metric fuck ton of limbo.

I tried to change to fit him. Not a fun thing to admit either. I wore more black, became a stripper, went to bars I didn’t particularly care for. Back in the day I was constantly morphing to suit whoever I was around/dating. I didn’t know myself one little bit. I kept the stripping and the witchy wardrobe, still a witch.

The point of the story is. After 10 months of martyrdom and metamorphosis. We ended up together, proper. He was my first marriage proposal. And for a long while, we had a really good relationship.

Lion taming takes patience, strength and fortitude. I am perseverance personified.

You’re the king and I’m your lionheart.

Of Monsters and Men

$400 bucks and 5 months later I now have a functioning laptop again.

Turns out my Word issues were due to a failed Microsoft office renewal and my hard drive was failing.

I wasn’t wrong when I said the poor girl was in a coma. I just thought it was a bad update.

I didn’t panic. I was way to lackadaisical about it to be honest. Kept waiting for roomies buddy to come fix it, that never happened. Then hemorrhaged money for 3 months, plus winter driving.  Excuses excuses.

I am now sitting in the kitchen, smoke in hand, John Mayer singing Comfortable. Brian playing video games in the living room that is soon to be mine, and things feel alright. Made a beautiful lasagna and it feels and smells like home again.

I am amalgamating my bedroom and living room into the first floor living room with a door. Its going to be a lot of work, but worth it. I need a project that doesn’t include drinking and passing out. I am trying again. Fall down 7 times, stand up 8. More like 777 and 778 but whatev’s. Takes 3 weeks to make or break a habit. I have 19 left. I got this.

I planted hyacinth bulbs the other day. I had to do something. This winter refuses to let go gently and is going out with a fucking bang. Subzero wins the week. Balmy -4 on Monday is about all we have to look forward to, and the bulbs, can’t forget the bulbs. I smell hyacinths and I am 4 years old on a warm spring day, playing in the dirt and my mom is laughing. I plan to have the room done in time for them to come into the light.

My amaryliss bloomed and went rather quickly. So did the man she was named after.

Had a dream my orchid bloomed again. That would be nice.

Once upon a time a woman I knew told me houseplants can thrive or die depending on who was around when they were brought home. I had a deliciosa that refused to grow, I bought it with someone awful. So now I don’t know if its my superstition affecting them or if its true.

2 days ago marked a year since I pulled up in front of the girls house. My only plants there were the other amaryliss with the other name and an orchid in a teapot that didn’t make it past the Nope. Still no regrets.

Wait.

I have one regret. His name is Jeff and he is a colossal piece of manipulative rapey shit. Other than that, even with the blackouts and the bruises, being known as the girl who cries and the craziness, I wouldn’t change a minute.

Maybe one or two. I regret not asking for morning sex before he left. I am greedy and he likes it.

Pussy is on lockdown for 127 more days.

I am having a hard time with tenses. Past, present or future.

Dear John is gone. He wants babies and a wife. The wife part I could do, but no babies.

The Lovely One too. Samesies. But we had some really amazing kitchen music parties before he left. Titties, Tito’s and tacos.

This is why I had that rule about not dating anyone in their 30’s without kids. Could never stand in the way of the agony and ecstasy that is parenthood and that is the age men start getting nesty. Putting that rule back in place. These two stung a bit.

I could have kept them going if I wanted to. But I didn’t. Could have made more effort, but why postpone the inevitable. Plus they both work away.

And I was otherwise preoccupied.

So begins the story of he who shall not be named. I have a name for him, but we will get to that later.

This guy walks into a bar…

With a bunch of guys I know, my people. Never seen him before. Couldn’t stop staring, stammered when I asked him what he wanted to drink. He smirked. My vagina exploded.

And the rest is a complicated messy story that has a lot of explosions, a beginning and a middle, and I can’t see the end.

I really don’t want to.

But for now I am in a holding pattern. She who waits.

6 weeks after the fact I finally got around to mentioning him to my PIC. She said “why didn’t you ask me about him before?” Well, first she said RUN RUN RUN, then she asked that.

“I didn’t have time.”

Within 20 minutes we had both asked who the other was and within 24 hours he came back to give me his number. Later that night I was angry fucking him after a dramatic bullshit night at work. I still have a scar I wear quit proudly from that night, I hope it stays.

Figured he was going to be another one off. Texting the next day I said “thanks, I needed that.” And he replied “anytime.” I said I had been on this island long enough to know you never plan ahead. But he kept showing up.

He kept showing up specifically when he needed rest and respite. And I was flattered to be honest. It is nice to be seen for what I am. Sanctuary with sex and sammiches. I figured out that if I gave him a back rub before bed he was less likely to fight in his sleep. I am spectacular sanctuary.

Figured out a lot after that first night. Still learning.

I now have jail bae and I don’t know what I am doing. Thank fuck for Lucy and Lex.

126 days by the time I publish this.

I am the kind of girl who likes having something to look forward to. See above where I planted bulbs that won’t be ready until April 30^th.

I am also the kind of girl who likes having someone to look after. Especially a giant, full on alpha male who growls when he is fucking me then tickles my back til I fall asleep. I like being seen and appreciated for what I am. I like feeling safe even though sleeping next to him is akin to sleeping next to an angry bear that is just coming to after a long winter and he’s mad about it. When I touch him and say hush, he hushes and smiles. I like how protected I feel standing next to him.

I like the earth shattering kaboom I felt when I saw him, and I like that he recognized it too.

I like that he is 40 and fucks like he’s 20, but better.

I watched an episode of Cheaters a thousand years ago.

Narrator: She watched A LOT of episodes of Cheaters back in the day.

Ya, ya, I did. Back in the day when I found really basic shit entertaining. Like Maury and Jerry. But anyways, this one episode featured a really cute little young, alt couple. She had green hair, I remember, they were both skinny and had collections of bad tattoos and worked minimum wage jobs, probably left home young, smoked a lot of pot and drank a lot of coffee while smoking unfiltered cigarettes listening to indie music. They’d have been typical hipsters had it been now, but this was then.

Long story fairly short, boy thought girl was cheating. Survey and surveillance said yes indeed she was. And when the grand finale confrontation happened she was tied to a canopy bed, surrounded by a bunch of kids in hard hats and reflective vests and not much else, with a dildo barely blurred on the bed. Boy ran and covered her up, untied her while the cameras rolled on and the conversation went something like this…

Girl: What was I supposed to say? “I want you to dress up like a construction worker and fuck me in the ass?”

Boy: Well, ya.

She cried tears of relief, they hugged and I swear to god, I think they made it.

That’s the problem with being relatively single and just dating casually. Never get a chance to build up that trust or get bored enough to experiment much. 3rd date is a little too early to say ‘hey, do this fairly kinky thing to me, I saw it on Pornhub and I wanna try it.’

I really do want to try that thing. Can’t get past the 3rd date.

None of this is neither here nor there. Once again it’s been over a week since I wrote anything. There was a super full wolf blood moon eclipse yesterday and shit got weird. Nothing to do with the moon, shit is always weird here. Especially on Thursdays apparently.

It was a weird week in general, things happened that I can’t speak about but my hopes were less than zero, so that was fine. Just tryna get through another wintery week of doom.
Cue ‘some dude walks into the bar’, asks for me by name, I recognize him, ya we met before, said we might go out, never happened.
Surprise!

What would have been weird is if we actually did go out, but alas.
I think I might be dead and all I see are ghosts. Some prettier than others.

Also neither here nor there, except when the Thursday dude bought way too many rounds for all the girls at the bar at 7:30 which caused Havoc and Mayhem, then pulled me aside in the middle of me being sober and trying to keep everything from exploding

(Narrator: She did NOT keep everything from exploding)

and said “I know that blog post was about me.”

Wait, what?

“What manner of man is this?” (Bram Stoker’s Dracula)

Like seriously? We met once and got drunk. Not blog worthy, until this next level narcissistic shit.

Nope, nuh uh. Not you. Hadn’t thought about you in a really long time, like 5 to 10 minutes after you left last time. And then the fat man to that little boy of a bomb, “(Stalker) Sarah and I were talking about it.”

Wait…what?

I laughed.

Then he got a handful of messages from her (which I was shown) and from some girlfriend he failed to mention (you left your phone open on the bar) and I wandered off. Dodging bullets like Neo in the Matrix after following the white rabbit into Wonderland. Stupid rabbit. Tricks and kids.

How is this still a thing? sis, STAHHHHHHHP.

Said blog post could have been about anyone. He never did mention which exact post it was. Probably one about Dear John (most likely, something about here and away), or maybe the Lovely One.
Could have even been the Last One, he still messages from time to time, or He Who Shall Not Be Named, not The Boy, I don’t write about THAT anymore…there is another that is just my not so little secret.

THAT is done.

Much to the chagrin of a few overly romantic folks who really wanted THAT to work out. And there was a time that I did too. But reality kicked in and his ex is still stalking me and according to him I have 30 boyfriends, which actually equals 2 dick appointments, of which he is neither, who are aware that there are others.

(find the others)

I need to find the others. Or I need to shut up and wait. Who knows what I need. According to Google a search for “Sarah Needs” comes up a blog post I wrote called exactly that, or in the quick search
1. Love
and
2. Batteries,
in that order.
Sounds about right.

Other Sarah needs a hobby or a job with the FBI. Adopt some cats and knit them sweaters, just keep my name out of your fucking mouth child.

What I need is someone I can trust and on this tiny island of gossip and craziness, that doesn’t happen much. I did let my guard all the way down with the Lovely One and did a quadruple shot of whiskey before we left the bar, which culminated in me telling him he was ‘so pretty’ a hundred times if once (he really is pretty, his mom said so too.) Normally righteously wasted me wants to go home and curl up in a ball, but I curled up next to him instead, and it was good amen.

I wandered into the last couple weeks with this feeling of “something is gonna give”. So I sat back and waited. Lo and behold it was me. I stopped doing some of the self destructive shit I did, traded it in for even more destructive self destructive shit. And there was a great kaboom and it was good.

I am feeling more optimistic than I have in a long time. Change is coming, I think sometime in March or April. But in the meantime, I am having belly laughs and grinning like a Cheshire cat instead of bitching and crying like Alice. I might yet get to try that thing I saw on Pornhub.

And I don’t have to dodge bullets.

I know where the car is parked
I know where the cupboards are
I know he isn’t you.

Tori Amos
Hey Jupiter

Sometimes I am not sure where my car is, Brian leaves it places, better than driving drunk by far.
None of the cupboards have doors, so that’s taken care of.
And of course I can tell them apart. I know who is who, and who isn’t and what is bad for me and I do them anyways.

The parable of the snake is me. I am the woman who picks them up, warms them up and gets bit.
Luckily I am also the anti venom.
Its not like bee venom or poison ivy where the toxins accumulate.
Suck it up, spit it out and around we go again.

(Oh look, another purdy snake.)

For all I know Jupiter is still in retrograde and for all my starry eyed witchyness, I couldn’t tell you what that means, nor if its even true.

I can say this.

…this little masochist is ready to confess….

Same song.

Same girl, different bad decision.

If we date at the level of our self esteem, and god help me but I believe this to be true, seriously, god help, like now, please. I am in some serious trouble here. Where was I going with this…

I am a masochist, I gravitate to pain. I wish I could stop.

I had this great opening line for a post and then I stepped in puppy pee, lost it in the clean up.

I am definitely losing it.

Surrounded by drunk toddlers, playing chess with no rules, on a season of Survivor. Cherry Bombs and hurricanes with stripper names.
And here I am, stuck in the middle, relatively alone.

I am on a carousel. Faces change, circumstances don’t.

At least I got laid this time.

And a UTI and scrambled hormones from Plan B.
I only cried a little, no wait, a lot. That was how I spent New Years Eve. Constantly reminding myself ‘these are not my hormones’. Over and over on a loop, spiked with ‘somebody do something’ and a lot of ‘fuck it’ after 2 am and sprinkled with some tears.

I had to give up my superstition of whatever happens on New Year’s is what will continue for the year. This is the island of opposites, thank fuck. Even if it is, wouldn’t be a lot different than last year and I made it through. Perspective is a beautiful thing. I can gladly say the things that once held power over me, don’t anymore. Time does heal, answers always come when they are ready and not a minute sooner. We will get there. But for now I go round and around. Not a fan of the carousel but it’s better than standing still I guess. Roller coasters are always preferred.

I missed my roller coasters this year. And my swimmable ocean, 6 am wake ups on the balcony watching the birds and looking for dolphins. Writing, I get a lot of writing done there. Hours on the road, days really. Gives me lots of time to think and not much else. The nostalgia, I has that.  Keeps coming up in my Facebook memories, I should be just getting back from Florida. My eyes turquoise from swimming, my skin tanned from the sunshine, my face brighter, my heart lighter. I couldn’t get away in time. I went to Ontario instead. It’s okay. It is what it is.

Chris D’elia does this stand up bit about drunk girls and how we make no sense. He isn’t wrong. It has been adopted into the vernacular.
Lines like “Is it what it isn’t?” and “is that your crocodile?” No, its a snake and it’s not mine either. They are never mine. I just pick them up and get bitten remember, and none of us are wearing pants and no one wants to take my job.

Nothing matters to a drunk girl at all, but I am still trying to be sober. And ya, some of it matters.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XrTj7g714g

My current mental war is between it is what it is, and fight for what you want. Actually that is always what it is. I am tired of fighting and like I said, on a long enough timeline the truth comes out and everything makes some kind of sense.

It is what it is is winning. I knew what I was getting into and it went the way I knew it would. And if the above statement is true (not that one the other one where I stated we date at the level of our self esteem) then please don’t give me what I want. My vagina is an idiot, maybe not an idiot, but definitely a masochist.

In 9 weeks it will be mid March. At some point the trees will start to bud, the leaves and the sun will come back. The neighbors lawn will be full of crocuses, I will be able to at least dip my toes in the ocean, see the whales, wear a sundress, sit outside and be happy. The thing that is making me sad right now will have subsided to a dull ache that only hurts on cold days.

I am not even that sad. It is what it isn’t. It was never gonna be.

I forget where I was going with this.

I forget why I came here.
It happens.

Thankfully with less frequency than the time called ‘before’, but when yet another dude lets me down, I get an old familiar ache, like a long healed broken bone on a cold day, or a phantom limb that itches. Same same, here we go again. How long is it going to hurt this time around and around and around.

Then Brian and I go late night tipsy grocery shopping, or the cabbie takes the route where I can see the boats in the harbor, or something on my car breaks and I go way up the shore and find myself covered in grease laughing at a stubborn bolt in a garage. Playing with a floppy eared dog looking out over the cove as the sun goes down and I am content in the moment.

I think that is the answer. To all the dilemmas, the snakes and the heartache.

“It’s having a thing and then losing it that’ll kill ya.”*

I thought that, I really did. But now I don’t know. Having a thing and enjoying it in the moment, for what it is, then letting it go gracefully, that might be the thing that saves me.

It is what it is.

 

*Cold Mountain

 

 

 

 

I no longer have an operational Microsoft program in which to write and edit before I put things here.

This has shown me what a horrible speller I am and I know I am rusty as fuck, can’t blame that on the lack of a program.
I am using this as a diary and nothing more. There is no eloquence here, I don’t remember how to do this and that’s okay. It will come back.

I had no idea where I was going with this when I sat down. Still not entirely sure. I woke up an hour earlier than usual today and decided to write.

That’s all life is, waking up and deciding.

There’s an article tickling the tip of my tongue, The Green Blanket, Old Ringtones and other Portals through Time. This isn’t it. I have notes somewhere and I am looking at the green blanket right now. Wrapped in a different one, fuck it is some fucking cold today. I am praying the bartender left the heat on at the bar. We have been half naked meat popsicles for 2 days now.

I just wrote the words “it will come back” and it set off a chain of thoughts. I am now listening to Hozier. This was my Hulk album. I remember driving on the 401 back from Toronto late at night and almost having to pull over hearing Take Me to Church. Went home and pre-ordered the album. Loved it. Still do. Google says it came out in 2013, time flies. That was the first year of my singleness. The year of Michaels and trip to Los Angeles.

It was a really good year. Started with an ice storm and ended with a Christmas alone in Narnia prepping for a court case that I ended up winning on my own, with a whole bunch of awesome in between. I miss Narnia and I miss being that isolated and alone. When the Lovely One took me out to the big house in the woods a while back I was hit with glorious nostalgia, standing naked in the window looking out at nothing but trees and snow.

Ya, I hear you. Can you hear me?

I’m howling too.

“Are you coming home for Christmas” the Last One asked.

“No honey, that isn’t home anymore.”

(and neither are you.)

I still haven’t found it exactly. but I like it here. Its been the best of times and the worst.

Whole lotta too little too late.

I eluded to the existence of 3 potentials in my last post. Potential is not the right word at all. Very little here is viable. Nothing grows and no one stays. There was a night a few weeks back wherein a lot of the men I have become friends with were all in the bar at the same time. My feet didn’t touch the ground for a full ten minutes, getting scooped up in bear hug after bear hug. I remembered why I came here and was hit with how much things have changed in a year. I left with the Lovely One.

I highlighted the word NEED in the lyrics that prompted this post. I swear, for 5 years I heard “how easy you are to leave”. Leave, need, home, hope. My brain is a funny thing. I am easy to leave, I think I am easy to need as well.

If we are telling the whole truth, I am just easy. If I like you I like you. I am not complicated. I enjoy being loving and kind. Not in a rush to change that, not sure I could if I tried at this point. Biker Body Pillow thinks I have been alone long enough to be dangerous. I am not changing for anyone.

The second non viable potential, let’s call him Nein and 3/4. Just an emphatic no and his track record for failed attempts to see me. Nope has been taken. He scratched at the door last night and I didn’t let him in.

So, of course today we had a full on conversation and he was sweet to me.

Honestly so sick of this shit. Just feels like a shitty game all the time. I know the rules, I have to pretend to not care, or actually get pushed to that point where seriously zero fucks are available and then they come back. It’s bullshit.

He leaves in a week and a 25% success rate is not worth shaving my legs for. Vibrator is charged and I have pornhub. I’m good thanks.

Vagina is protesting that last statement. Shut up sis. It’s all just broken promises and my head hurts from rationalizing shitty behavior.

The Lovely One seems to be on a 10-12 day cycle wherein he remembers I exist. i am expecting a text in the next 24 hours. Fuck he is pretty to look at. Porno mouth, porno grin. But there is a lot of cocaine on this island, Everyone is doing it or dealing it or both. Which makes that situation non viable as well.
Sucks, we made plans while he was away. We were supposed to have 5 weeks of cooking, snuggling and fucking. He saw my bedroom upon the internet and wanted to sleep in the gypsy nest, but he never came by.
He tried once.
A for effort I guess.
Vagina is also protesting that last statement. I’ll allow it.

What we allow is what will continue.

I saw an interview with Kristen Bell, she was talking about her husband and when they first started dating. He said something along the lines of “you can’t keep storming off every time we have a fight. I love you but I love myself more and I am not going to spend the rest of my life living like this.”

There it is.

Everything can be unlearned. I don’t want to spend my life like this.