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There really is no such place.

All the girls in the middle hear alternately that the west or the east is better. All the girls west and east hear tales of the middle and the opposite coast.

Every place is what you make of it really and so far I have made a mess here.

I am not proud.

But this is as close as I have come to home since I was part of a hand-picked group of girls chosen to revamp a club. That was my heyday. Made more money than god, no rules, no extras and I did amazing stage shows and was paid accordingly.

Before the accident, before the massive decline in the industry.

I know it’s not coming back and that is okay.

I came back.

This is my swan song.

I have 2 years left in me and then I will be “Sarah the writer”, probably bartend too. But I got about 2 weeks left in me if it keeps going this way.

You put a bunch of people with not enough supplies to go around, on a tiny island and whaddya get?

An episode of Survivor.

I don’t like games and alliances. That was my marriage. Sneaky backstabbing, head games galore.

Twisted lies and utter horseshit as I sat on the couch trying to maintain my Zen.
My mantra?
Its okay, I know what I said and I have the screenshots.

I thought I left that world behind, but out of the frying pan into the fire.

Truth be told, I would rather be in the fire, it is warmer there and I have a chance to be reborn from the ashes.

For now I am a dentist pulling teeth and a firefighter, putting out the flames as they erupt.

And an impatient, slightly charred phoenix.

But I have to remember.

My last boss sat me down at the bar one night and told me I had a small army of girls willing to do whatever I said, called me Mama Billy (my old dancing name), high priestess of the place, queen of everything, master manipulator, he went on for about 3 minutes straight. I know he was trying to make fun of me and be insulting, but there was some reverence in there and a whole lotta ‘I have no idea how to deal with you’.

Work with me then, not against me.

Bless him, after a year of fighting me on everything, he decided to start using my ‘talents’ and I gladly let him. Everything simmered down for a good long time.

That has also been indicative of a lot of the clubs I worked at, especially the last one with its iron clad hierarchy, Halo at the top and the rest of us in an unpredictable pecking order underneath.

I was Queen B, which made her Queen A.

She ruled her changeroom and I took care of the girls in mine. For the most part we had a good system going after we ironed things out. But we are both gone and all kingdoms fall apart sometimes. It can’t be helped.

I was so happy to get out of that microcosm. When it was bad it was very very bad and when it was good…it still fucking sucked.

I almost reposted https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/open-letter-to-the-girls-i-work-with.html

But then I realized the butthurt is real and I remembered my last up down relationship and the fact that they take everything personally and cannot seem to grasp dates and times.

I made a couple good points in that article though. I remember why I wrote it. I had 2 girls at work that needed saving, but they were bitey venomous things. And I remember the parable of the woman and the snake. She helps said snake, gets bitten and the only explanation was “you knew what I was when you picked me up.”

I have been down this road before. At work and at home. I know how it ends.

I don’t need anti-venom if I don’t get bit. My snake charming days are behind me.

I know exactly what that was. I just didn’t hear the rattle until it was almost too late.

I am out of practice and have forgotten how to play the game. I was hanging out with a girl who I did not realize was something akin to bipolar on an upswing and she crashed and tried to take me with her.

She lied to me and about me. I cannot abide.

I am on a one strike rule. Unless you are fucking me and it’s good, then the number strikes I will allow seem to rise exponentially with the orgasms I get out of it.

Speaking of…

No sign of the boy.

I had hoped he would come after I told the ocean I was home, and him and it was his birthday.

That was a massive let down that took days to recover from. And another meltdown. Fukushima sized.

No real money yet but that is typical for here this time of year. Sometimes you can know exactly what you are getting into and still get slapped with the reality of it. Sometimes you can ignore all the signs and get slapped with that too. Hugs and punches baby, not enough hugs and too many punches.

I really do need a hug and a $1000.

Been drinking too much, the stage fright is real. So is the shyness.

Ya know, the usual.

This post seems to be about as scattered as I feel right now. Which is a lot.

The voice in my head keeps telling me to hang on, spring is coming. And I know this to be the truth. I have been here before, kneeling and reeling from way to many kicks when I was already down.

But I got back up every other time and I will again.

Fall down seven times, stand up eight.

The fun thing about being me is that eighth time, I get to fly.

When I get dragged this far, I know something wonderful is coming.

I’m realizing how hand shy I really am.
Unless I’m touching you…Ima think you’re a ghost.

Left myself that reminder in my Facebook memories.

Sadly, things haven’t changed much, ghosts in the machines, haunting me.

Lost fuckboi nation having a party in my inboxes

“I got new rules I count em”

Fuck

Been out of my room 5 times today, there is an ancient 90’s stereo ghetto blaster type thing in the kitchen of the cathouse, always dialed to a top 40’s station. And I swear to the lord 5/5 times I have been to said kitchen, I got new rules I count em hits my eardrums. It’s starting to resonate and make some sense.

One, don’t pick up the phone
You know he’s only calling ’cause he’s drunk and alone
Two, don’t let him in
You’ll have to kick him out again
Three, don’t be his friend
You know you’re gonna wake up in his bed in the morning
And if you’re under him
You ain’t getting over him

I’ve got new rules, I count ’em
I’ve got new rules, I count ’em
I’ve gotta tell them to myself

She isn’t wrong this Dua Lipa.

And maybe I keep hearing it because I am not listening.

I read somewhere once upon a time that you can be shown all the signs, but unless you are ready, it doesn’t matter.

An angel of the lord could appear in my kitchen and say “what up dummy” and give me a good shake and I would still drag my feet on some things. I think this is just part of being human.

This is a new situation for me. I always forgive these men who leave me. Welcome them back when they come scratching on my door in the middle of the night, but this is new. He wants to pick up where we left off, calling me wifey, making promises and I don’t know if I believe him or if I even want him to.

It’s like some kinda déjà vu and I don’t know how to say no.

I got new rules. Or I should.

I gotta talk about the Last One and then I have to talk to him.

Actually maybe a little chat with all the ones who have been popping up in my inboxes since I made the decision to walk away from my old life and start a new one.

Mostly I just wanna say Fuck You. You weren’t around when I needed you, you don’t get to come running when I don’t.

Fair weather fuck friends.

The old DJ from work, immortalized in Monday Night Lights…”too bad you are leaving especially now that I am single as fuck.”

Really? How am I not swooning from the romance there, Jesus wept.

Another guy from another job “Now that you’re going away I can tell you I had a crush on you”. Wasn’t a secret sweets, and I ignored it because I wasn’t interested.

High School Sweetheart thinks that now he’s divorced I should drop this life I want and built to come running out there to him. No. I am sorry, but no. 3 years ago I decided to let that go and I have no desire to pick it back up.

Legs broke? You can’t get on a plane?

Why is this always on me?

I waited 26 years 20 of which I was raising a child so sorry if I didn’t uproot my child’s life for a “maybe, we’ll see.” And sorry I didn’t stick around after you gave the generous offer of working in my province 2 days a week so we could fuck and then you could go home to your family. You know that life you built and chose and I stayed out of and respected. Just asking for the same courtesy.

Those are easy to walk away from. HSSH a little harder than the rest but see above where I have had 3 years practice.

I know why I came here.

Wait, back up, I know why I came here the first time.

A month prior to my first trip the Last One disappeared, leaving a massive hole in my soul. I was inconsolable. So much so that when Panda said ‘let’s get on a plane and work in buttfuck nowhere’ I just shrugged and said okay. Went through the motions. She was trying anything and everything to get me out of my head. And it worked. Maybe a little too well.

I felt whole here, complete and happy deep down in my bones.

Two weeks later as we were leaving, I cried.

Walked around the house like a ghost still, just for different reasons.

Home wasn’t home anymore, I left too much of myself here.

And now I am back.

Still wasn’t feeling quite right but I have realized, I dragged too much of my past with me into this future.

Time bent for me, just backwards.

I have been on a loop.

Then I read this…

Gemini (May 21-June 20)
No one can be somewhat pregnant. You either are or you’re not. But from a metaphorical perspective, your current state is a close approximation to that impossible condition. Are you or are you not going to commit yourself to birthing a new creation? Decide soon, please. Opt for one or the other resolution; don’t remain in the gray area. And there’s more to consider. You are indulging in excessive in-betweenness in other areas of your life, as well. You’re almost brave and sort of free and semi-faithful. My advice about these halfway states is the same: Either go all the way or else stop pretending you might.

http://www.freewillastrology.com/horoscopes/20180301.html

This is beyond astute, it’s super astute. It is ultra-mega supreme truth.

Oh Rob, how do I thank thee? Let me count the ways, or maybe I’ll just do as you say. The best show of gratitude is follow through.

I keep going back to that last card reading I had. First comes sacrifice, then comes love.

I have to let go and make room for the new.

The book is delayed because of a typesetting issue.

I don’t know what my excuse is.

Or maybe I do.

Whenever I am feeling like my soul is sluggish I look internally to see what I am doing not wrong exactly, but what have I not done that I could be doing.

I am behind on some things and ahead on others.

I got here a week and a day before I was supposed to.

Like today should be the day I drive to the ferry.

Never been a fan of the word should. But ya.

Shoulda woulda coulda.

I’m behind on wedding photos. Getting settled in seems to have stalled somewhere around 80%. This magical new routine and new life that was supposed to be easy, hasn’t been easy at all.

I’ve not had a successful week. Flipping my schedule was harder than anticipated, my budget was way off. There are more girls here than I thought there would be, and less customers. And the Last One showing up threw a wrench in everything.

It shouldn’t.

Logical me knows I have to let go. It was in the cards. Sacrifice comes before Love. But I thought he was already gone. And my heart doesn’t want to hurt him.

I had a dream last night that I couldn’t get my shit together in time to leave, that there was too much left hanging, that I hired some help and all they did was overcharge and rearrange everything I’d already arranged, and I couldn’t pay the bill. My stuff was in limbo. Help arrived just before I woke up. And I saw some beautiful lamps, let there be light.

I think I have mastered the art of patience, I speak fondly and frequently of the long game. But sometimes, like right about now, as the predicted forecast for this week looks like some binary code for who-knows-what 1-1-0-0-0-1-1, I must accept that I am in Atlantic Canada and I left early spring behind.

The universe knows what is best even if it isn’t on my timeline.

I think the same thing happened when I finally hit send on the manuscript for the book. I thought it would be easy to sell 500 copies, make my money back and a cushion.

As it stands it’s more like 100 and they were more expensive than anticipated. And then there is the delay.

“If you build it he will come.”

I believe this with my whole heart, I do. But I forget poor Kevin Costner had to almost lose everything, drive to the other side of the country and deal with everyone thinking he was batshit insane before everything worked out in the end.

I also have to remember life is not a movie, although I do get my share of movie moments.

I have enough left to pay storage for the month of March.

And maybe that is part of it.

Maybe I have to start from absolute zero.

I left all my cushions behind when I came here.

Unconditional love. Unconditional sex. Unconditional income. My desk my bed my dog my kid my everything, except what fit in the car.

I left my winter coat behind in optimism. Whoops.

5 years ago, I couldn’t quite tell you where I lived or who I was with or what I was doing, but I left myself this note

i live a pretty blessed life.
i always get what i need and sometimes what i want, if it’s good for me and lines up with the direction i should be traveling in.
i am grateful for what i have and the luck i receive.
do what you can with what you have where you are and always be ready for miracles, because magic happens all around us every day, we just need to open our eyes and see it.

Thanks past me.

I know I was not actually in the best place back then, but compared to where I had been it was heaven and Shangri-la and Nirvana all wrapped up with a pretty bow called optimism.

Just goes to show, we never really know what the future holds.

This decision felt light and right and good 99.9% of the time.

And that teeny bit of fear was all past garbage that needed clearing out anyways.

I drove across the country and landed here, in the place that makes my soul happy.

I keep hearing that I am brave, but I can’t imagine not being here. It was an alignment of all my everything.

And maybe I am just early, I drove into the future, makes sense it would take a little while for everything to catch up.

So mote it be.

Well, that was embarrassing.

I have found that y’all love it when I admit my flaws and faults.

This was one of the hardest things I ever had to conquer. I don’t know at what stage in my early development I decided that making mistakes was the worst thing I could do, but I did.

I remember my first school project in grade 2. We were supposed to collect leaves, press them and name the trees we got them from.

I decided in my little 7 year old head my teacher would like it if I made it into a book. Everyone else had Bristol board. I remember feeling a massive amount of shame for not following the instructions. So much so that I am sitting on my bed in the cathouse recalling something that happened 36 years ago with alarming clarity.

I find myself often recalling one thing or another and inevitably stating ‘fuck, I gotta let that go’.

Some things slip into oblivion with ease, others not so much.

I can let the leaves go now. I was a creative and imaginative child. She was a good teacher.

And everyone makes mistakes. Me especially.

I messaged my manager today and apologized.

I hit a wall last night.

Not like a fist through drywall, although I did notice there is one upstairs and I wondered about it. I spent a lot of time upstairs last night and not in the good way.

You see dear readers, I failed to nap before work and ended up napping AT work.

Not cute and not classy.

There was whiskey involved.

There usually is.

I didn’t do a single dance and my stage shows were really lackluster.

The girls were sweet to me and checked on me, expressed concern. I do really like this new group of women I am surrounded by.

I think what happened is everything finally caught up with me.

I traveled 36 hours from home…pretty much because the universe told me to.

Now what?

I was speaking to my girl today. She lives in the wilds of Pennsylvania and we are both feeling a massive haboob. A desert storm without a desert, just swirling dust and no hope. The limbo, the void, the nothing.

The worst.

I am torn between shaking my fists at the gods and stomping my feet saying “I did the thing, now do yours” and having a nap right here.

I am tired, that journey took a lot out of me. It is time to admit it.

Add to it the chaos and magic and sadness between my last visit and coming back home.

I moved myself, my son, went to Florida and Mexico. Had the Giant, lost him and had him back. The Last One came and went and came back again. That Swain boy said he would come get me when I got to his island then I misplaced him too. My heart has taken a beating as of late.

I got a little lost on the way here, like actually lost.

I think that my life is following the same pattern, just on a slight delay.

My body is living in the future and my brain has yet to get here.

I don’t know what to do about the Last One. I feel detached almost. Like I am enjoying talking to him but I don’t trust that it is real or will ever come to fruition. And do I really want it to? Another one of my girls said maybe it was best if I didn’t bring my past with me into this future. And that sounds like truth. But he is so pretty.

My usual course of action is to look at the stars to see if there is any cosmic fuckery afoot, but Mercury is rather direct right now, so that ain’t it.

But I think I found something to explain what is happening, beyond the blatantly obvious going through a massive life change in February.

And that is part of it. We’re in the emptiness. Blue moon in January, Blue moon in March but the dreaded February? Not a thing.

This is a time to rest, the cosmos says so.

In a week it will be March, there will be the first of two full moons and the icy grip of February will lessen.

I know everything will become clear, like I know spring will come.

But in the meantime, I need a nap, then maybe some divine intervention.

Still haven’t heard from the Swain boy. And I am ready to publicly admit, he is 75% of the reason I am here.

I have done much more foolish things in the name of romance.

And I am sure I will again.

This time feels easy and good.

The first day I flew, clear roads, no traffic, just a cool grey day. Second day I struggled with icy roads, lack of windshield washer fluid, so many transport trucks and just general yuck. But then I saw the harbor and it was good, amen. As I pulled on the push door to my tiny warm cabin on the ferry bringing me here, everything was alright again. The ocean rocked me to sleep and I woke up refreshed and determined. I watched the sun come up as we left the ferry. Saw the second eagle that last day too, that ‘10 hours of driving to get me the rest of the way home’ day. That section of the drive that I was dreading but was the easiest part really, because I knew I was coming home. The roads were dry, I played leap frog and slingshot around at least 100 transports. Got tucked in with some good ol’ boys in pickup trucks hauling wood and skidoos. Reminding me of the boy in a good way. Stopped for gas and heard the accent again and it was so very good.

I made it.

I surprised myself on the journey. Pushed through Quebec and into New Brunswick the first night. The roads were clear and I was running on pure adrenaline. I finally got to a hotel 14 hours after I had left.

I was unaware, however, of how few and far between the towns are in that particular province.

I drove around a quaint little town for about 45 minutes trying to find the hotel, up narrow pothole covered and ice sheet streets, everything seeming to be the mythical place of our forefathers 5 miles uphill.

But I made it. And the woman checking me into my very lovely room old me I was brave.

Am I?

There is a fine line between bravery and foolishness.

I didn’t really plan this part of things at all. I planned the rest of it almost to death. Even drew a picture of my room so I knew what to bring. I bought a map in case I lost phone signal, but really I was just winging it. Never let my gas tank get below half, blindly followed the GPS onto a logging road after waking up in a much shaken snow globe.

I caught myself twice realizing what I was doing, leaving the only province I have ever lived in and driving 3 days away into an uncertain future. But those thoughts dissipated as quickly as they came. And I just kept driving.

I ate what a normal person would have consumed in a day over the 3, I spent in the car.

Fasting before feasting I suppose.

My back is still spasming and I have to work tonight.

I shouldn’t say ‘have to’, I want to.

I am ready to get this part of my life started.

And I really need a desk, I am sitting on the floor, typing away. Laptop on a trunkful of smokes I brought.

I feel like I have hit a giant reset button on my life and it feels clean and good and fresh. So do I, extra-long shower last night and I dyed my hair.

Time to come out of my cocoon.

There are a few things I wish I had done before I left.

I forgot to change my address and so the socks I ordered are in limbo somewhere.

The shoes I ordered came in today, the day I was to start this. I got my google calendar notification as I was writing this.

It simply said ‘leave’.

But I already left.

I was too exhausted to go see Giant one last time. My forehead aches to be kissed still, but we closed the circle with bacon and eggs in the place we had our first date, and I remembered what he ordered. I am not gonna lie, he looked like heaven and sex walking. My god.

I truly did not know I possessed that much strength, to walk away like that.

But then, somehow, I ran.

I bailed a week early, I was too impatient to leave. And of course there was cosmic fuckery.

I keep getting that line from Kill Bill in my head “You didn’t think it was going to be that easy did you?”

The Bride’s answer echoes of my own “For a minute there I actually did.”

There has been an abundance of smooth sailing, lots of serendipitous pushes in this direction. My son landing his dream job and finding a great apartment in the city of his choice.

Panda and my inability to get along like we used to.

My general discontent with a house I built for a man who disappeared. I could never sleep quite right in that room.

But, in the way that sometimes storm swells come up outta nowhere and interrupt smooth sailing…

The Last One came back the night I left Ontario. Part of the reason it took me so long to find the hotel. I was pulled over on the side of the road trying to pick my jaw up out of my lap.

He said he was planning on coming over Monday, romantic gesture. And when I said I didn’t live there anymore he demanded I turn around and come back, offered to pay my way and let me live at his house.

Lead me not into temptation.

Or do. Its fine.

Everything is fine.

Nothing is gonna fuck up the eagles juju.

I forgot to mention, the two times doubt started creeping into my mind about what I was doing, overhead flew two bald eagles.

My 3^rd and 4^th sightings ever.

I know I am doing the right thing by being here, the birds and my gut say so.

Dress torn in ribbons and in bows
Like a siren she calls to me
Sleep comes like a drug
In god’s country.

U2

It isn’t the stars pulling my hair. It’s the ocean.

I want to go home.

I started packing January 17^th.

And as with every other January in the history of Januarys that was approximately 3 and a half years ago.

I got over my post vacation depression, did my Mexican laundry and packed all my favorite summer things right away. It was the only way to get through it.

I have been shopping three times. Twice with my girl’s, to our favorite places, Value Village, Plato’s Closet and once alone at Target. Panda left me alone at target, came home with waaaaay too much stuff.

I have been living out of a bag and a laundry basket for 3 weeks now. I forget how to dress cute.

Everything staying went to storage a week ago.

And I still have one more drop off trip.

Yesterday it rained and we braved the weather for a mediocre brunch. Pink Starfish drove me home and I explained that although I love them, I can’t be here anymore.

I have to go home.

I fast forwarded my trip by a week. Got sick and bed bound for 2 days after seeing the Giant through the worst of his sickness.

It’s out barbecued steak in -30 C anniversary today.

I think I fell in love with him that day. I don’t think, I know.

It’s our goodbye breakfast tomorrow. And I have nothing to wear.

He won’t care. He has seen me crying on the floor and in my drunken stripper glory, boujee as fuck and in sweat pants.

I was scrolling through Instagram this morning looking for pics to post for my new job.

A bar beyond appropriately named Sirens.

I am a mermaid.

I know this now.

Maybe some kind of fairy siren hybrid. But the water. That vast expanse of blue and salt.

It’s pulling me.

I have decided to reinvent myself.

I don’t want to be the girl who lives in sweatpants for days on end. It is time to be cute and get back out into the world.

Fake it till I make it.

As I scrolled I saw photographic proof of Mexico, and the Caribbean blue my eyes became. I saw the end of November at Giant’s house covered in kittens. I saw Florida and remembered the idea I had about ‘how much of my life can I fit in a suitcase, and can I live like this? One room, one closet, 5% of my things.’

And the answer was yes.

If I was near the water, absolutely yes.

The only fear I have left is ‘am I going to be able to jam all this stuff in my car with room for the dog’. And a little concern about the last leg of the journey. 9 hours through a very long highway with nothing but trees and adorably named towns here and there.

But I am my father’s daughter in these moments.

He loves to drive, and spent years packing 4 girl’s worth of stuff into varying vehicles for road trip after road trip. I learned from the best.

I am following a predicted high pressure system. Sunshine and clear skies almost all the way.

Then, finally, after sacrifice…

Unpacking all these treasures I have been denying myself, shedding my old skin…

And becoming a new me.

I have to remember that, just because someone tells me the astrological sign of the person they are interested in, it doesn’t necessarily mean they want me to impart my wisdom on what it’s gonna be like to date that particular person.

Especially if my experiences were less than pleasant.

Destroy the middle it’s a waste of time, from the perfect start to the finish line ~ Daughter

Panda met a Gemini. I am one, so was farm hubby.

I let what happened with him taint what came flying out of my mouth about this man of hers I have never met.

In retrospect, I can no more blame the things he did on the day he was born than I can blame the weather for dropping 17 degrees overnight in February.

Nature, nurture and choices. Or weather patterns. Or something. He had a bad mama.

Besides, when he was good he was very, very good but when he was bad he was horrid.

Wolfling was a Taurus with a bad mama, and he was sweet to me.

People are people. They will do what they will. And a lot of it has to do with the chemistry between us. Orange juice is lovely and gasoline is useful, but put them together and you get napalm.

We have another friend involved with a dude and we can all very plainly see his disinterest in her, but all she sees are the occasional and random acts of kindness. We have all been there. He feeds her just enough to keep her alive and not one crumb more.

If I had to guess? He’s a Gemini too. Or just a damaged man. There are plenty of those wandering the world.

I have a book, which of course is packed away so I can’t quote it, called Sexual Astrology. It probably came out in the 70’s and probably had a lot to do with everyone asking everyone else what their sign was.

It is a fairly astute book, fails to explain the why behind things and I think whoever wrote it had a bad experience with a Scorpio or 3. Rather vicious description that I will not repeat, we all know I love my Scorpios and I will not speak against them lest I lose my honorary place amongst their tribe.

My girl just married a Scorpio and has thanked me more than once for the articles I have written offering some kind of explanation for why they are the way they are and the benefits of dating them, and basically how to deal. They are not of this world. Just visitors.

What of this idea that the signs have changed because the stars have moved?

My answer to this is a resounding nope. Astrology is a man-made idea and construct, like any religion. We should update the bible too considering the world has moved on, but we won’t. Astrology isn’t a religion, but the rules still apply. It’s a belief system, it will behave in the way those who believe dictate.

Besides, you could be a Sagittarius in love with a Cancer and not believe me at all. So don’t.

It’s just an idea.

Like I said, people are people. You vibe with who you vibe with, we love who we love, end of story. I don’t believe in horoscopes any more than I believe in fortune cookies, so just a lil bit really. But…and there is always a “but”…there are basic personality traits that can be attributed to the signs.

My friends do come to me for advice often, and usually my second question is ‘when is his birthday’. It’s just ingrained in me now.

I’ve tried to break it down in the simplest of terms when queried “who should I date.”

In the grand scheme of things you should date who you are attracted to, who you vibe with and who loves you.

But astrologically speaking, you should date within your own element or the one that compliments yours.
If you believe in that kind of thing. And I do.

Aries are the babies of the zodiac, and fire children at that which makes them fun, but hard to handle.

Fire and water don’t mix.

The 4 elements are fire, water, air and earth. Air feeds fire. Water feeds earth…ya dig?

Fire                                        Earth                                     Air                                          Water
Aries                                      Taurus                                  Gemini                                 Cancer
Leo                                         Virgo                                     Libra                                      Scorpio
Sagittarius                           Capricorn                             Aquarius                              Pisces

According to the books I am supposed to be happiest with my fellow air signs.

But, I have loved my Aquarians, and they are mystics and wonderful, but they can’t tell time. Maddening.

I have had my 3 Libras and while I still love them like the soulmates they are, they remain elusive i.e. with other people. But because it’s real love, I’m good as long as they are happy. Also they play this never ending game of chase and it gets exhausting running from the person you really want to be with.

We behave in the way our element behaves. Fire burns, water flows, earth is solid and air…is free spirited and does what it wants.

I have had my most tumultuous relationships with those of fire. And I enjoyed the warmth, for the most part.

There is a separate theory as well, which breaks down the signs into ages. Average life span is 72 years divided by 12 = 6. Aries are the human age equivalent of a 0-6 year old. The toddlers. Taurus’ are coming into some kind of self-awareness. Gemini the impetuous teenagers, Cancer the angst ridden life questioning 20 somethings, etc. till we get to our mystical Aquarians and our sage, yet forgetful brethren of Pisces.

I also have a very earth heavy chart, but that is a whole other kettle of fish. Along with cusps and exceptions to every rule which aren’t really rules, like I said, just an idea. And I am running high on my word count.

Plus I still have to finish packing.

I have to go see about a boy.

He’s a Pisces.

THIS is what God Said to Each of The Zodiac Signs!

If pride goeth before a fall
Humility comes before flying.

I wrote that.

However you end up on your knees…start there, be grateful for what you have been given and for what is coming, then rise.

Hope is a beggar, have faith instead.

Faith and flux.

It all comes down to flux. And whether we can roll with the punches.

On February 2^nd 2011 I got a message out of the blue that ended up changing the course of my life in a rather violent, but absolutely necessary way. Catapults are weapons of war after all. But it worked. I launched.

I’d been sitting on a decrepit lily pad in a stagnant pond for far too long.

The call was from my dear ex, asking to see me.
And although it took some time, I eventually did. Farm hubby found out months later and I was kicked out of the house for the last time.

All the things that happened were, at the time, traumatic. Nothing was worse than staying somewhere I didn’t belong.

I have learned to recognize that feeling of my soul being in discord and to DO something about it before it hits critical and messy and having to leap from lover to lover and back into the fire before I find peace.

Hence this move.

My soul knows where it wants to be.

Yesterday I sat and baked in the sun on the porch after a night out with friends before an amazing home cooked meal with my parental units. And today is a blustery bullshit winter wonderland of snow and I can’t find the good snow shovel and I burned the tube cookies.

Flux. Change. Alternate realities and parallel universes.

My son believes that every time we go to sleep we wake up in a different version of our universe. One soul, split into pieces wandering the continuum.

I don’t think he is wrong.

Nothing changes forever, same path…try try try…get seemingly nowhere, then ka boom. You wake up in what feels like a different version of your life.

I believe in parallel lives in alternate realities, so much so that sometimes I can’t distinguish between what is happening here and where I am and who I am with on a different timeline. Sometimes my poor soul gets attached and confused.

I have to let go. I have to let everything go.

Some of it is easy, like pants that don’t fit. Some things are harder. Like those with a heartbeat.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cd468xU1S8Y

Sacrifice.

The Gods are demanding one and so I shall abide.

I keep going back to my December mentality and state. And I am chuckling at myself just as much as I believe my deities are, which sounds a lot like an earth shaking righteous guffaw.

The earth is moving and so am I.

My guru said the best way to make god laugh is to make plans. I pishposhed him and the idea of that. This is my destiny, this is my path. The sailing was so smooth at that point I had no reason to fear.

The gods decreed otherwise.

The boy is MIA. I keep looking at the massive stacks of my stuff in the dining room and having little bouts of fear, mixed with excitement but the fear is there.

I have done this before. This leap of faith and it ended badly. First to Timmins at age 19, where I shipped my 4 boxes of worldly possessions ahead of me, just to get there and hate it. But I was stuck. Money was spent and I had to make do.

Then to the farm where I was told I never had to move again. I remember a rolling of my gut, like I knew it was a lie.
But I didn’t get in the U-Haul and turn around. I unpacked and was stuck again.

Maybe this third time is the charm. I am being somewhat more logical about things.
My ‘stuff’ safely stored for 6 months while I make educated decisions about my future.
I now know the difference between soulmates, twin flames and just some charismatic dude.

And I know my gods.

What they want and need.

I believe my boon is somewhere on that rock in the middle of the Atlantic. I also know ‘nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight’.*

And that we must let go of the life we had planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.
Joseph Campbell

I have a laundry list of things I am letting go of. Autonomy for one, giving up this house, separation from 95% of my things. For a locked door and a small room in a cathouse filled with whatever I can fit in my car.

We just moved here. Just got settled, and I am running again.

My son is staying here and starting his own life.

Puppers is with a sitter until I decide what to do with myself.

Financial security.

All my friends.

And the Giant.

When I first made this plan he was otherwise occupied, but now he is as mine as he ever will be and I am leaving anyways.

Hard to find the balance between cocky and confident. And I realize I wasn’t saying thank you emphatically or often enough, so thank you.

If nothing else, I want to try.

Sat in the car with kidlet yesterday and likened how I have been feeling to running in the water. The deeper I get, the harder it is. I am expending an equal amount of energy, but not getting very far.

But, when you are a siren and the ocean calls you home, you dive in.

*Bruce Cockburn

I am sorting a packing, in between sorting and editing wedding photos.

It’s kinda the same thing.

What is a treasure, what needs tweaking, what stays what goes.

Everything in folders or boxes labeled various things.

I have an excessive amount of clothes.

When I need to find my Zen it comes to me quickly in thrift stores, touching things people used to love. I can’t bear to leave them behind. I am getting better. I used to own 17 white tank tops, back in the Milton days of the walk in closet. It was glorious. I had never been out of a relationship before and so I had all my money and all my closet to myself.

I went a little crazy and only ever wore a quarter of it.

Then I once said it out loud, this confession of the 17 white tank tops, and it felt kinda gross. Not something to be proud of at all.

So I set about purging. I haven’t stopped since.

I am getting better at letting go, and not hoarding. Quality over quantity.

Not just with clothes, with people too.

I had my cards read a week ago.

First was sacrifice.

Done and done, well almost.

The minute I leave my girl’s house early one February morning, kiss my puppers goodbye for 6 months and start the journey east, leaving all of my people, my safety nets and 90% of my things behind it will be complete.

Then comes love.

Well then comes 3 straight days of driving, one night asleep on a boat, one more day driving, 2 days of painting and unpacking, then 6 straight days of work.

And at some point, love.

It’s in the cards.

I am leaving love behind as well, and it’s alright.

There are 2 kinds of things I pick up at thrift stores. My precious, the ones that elicit butterflies in my belly because I am so happy to have finally found them and I cannot wait to wear them. And the things I pick up that find their way to others, because they are perfect for them.

I am not always a keeper, just a waystation sometimes it seems.

I love the same way. I can enjoy and adore things that I know are not mine to keep. I can hold them safe until they find their way home.

It is easier when things get tied up in neat little packages of completion. The regret is lessened.

And we were almost there.

Until Giant’s new girl tried to make him a baby daddy way too fast and he had to leave. Leaving him available once again.

The circle must be closed. Probably at the diner with the circus mural one cold morning before I go.

But what of these pocket panties?

Once upon an October, when Giant had expressed interest in his hot neighbor we had an inside joke wherein if she caught me leaving the house I could be explained away by being just a friend, a gay one at that. I dressed accordingly with more than a splash of plaid.

She did catch me one night. I was walking to my car and she was walking her dog. This is how I knew what she looked like. Pretty little thing. Prisoner of her hormones, but pretty nonetheless.

It’s been warm and he has come back to me. And in my sorting packing and purging I found my buffalo checked spring jacket, last time I wore it things were so much different and yet kinda the same. With panties in the pocket. I was looking for those.

Just as I am a keeper and a waystation for wayward things. Sometimes things and people find their way back to me. Sometimes they take the long way around, like panties in a pocket, waiting for a warm enough day to wear that jacket.

I am reminded of the idea that if you really love something you should let it go. Let it find its way back.

The ex of that Swain boy messaged yesterday, telling me they were trying to work things out and to leave him be.

I acquiesced. Who am I to argue? She’s just a little girl full of spite. I let her win this one.

A large part of me doesn’t believe her.

Even if it is true, I am not worried.

I know what he is and I know it will be alright. I will find him again one warm night and I won’t lose him again.

One more month.

One more song.

One more smoke.

Lovely lady lusty eyes when he said something sweet. I forget to turn them off sometimes.

And there go my panties and my legs up around my head.

He couldn’t wait until we got downstairs.

Said panties were placed reverently across the armchair. Whomever came first had to go back upstairs and get them.

I knew it was going to be me.

Sometimes I know.

Some days I can predict the future.

When I was in my funk of last week and my heart was as heavy as the clouds and as cold as a witch’s tit, I knew it would end.

That I would feel warm and happy again at some point.

I always know, but sometimes the sads hit so hard they steal my memories of any happiness and hide them away somewhere in my room that I don’t have the energy to leave or clean.

But deep down I know.

My survival rate for all the bad shit and the bad moods and the huge mistakes is 100%.

Sometimes life is a waiting room and you forget why you are there until your number gets called and you move to the next room.

I was the kid who wanted to stay up late so I didn’t miss anything.

I stopped doing drugs for the same reason.

Somewhere in my marrow is ingrained the idea that something new is always around the corner.

Good or bad, at least it’s different.

I figured Friday would be a good day and it was.

Weather Network said sunny and warm. That always helps.

I have been re-watching True Blood and I found myself in dire need of a forehead kiss. Some affection, human contact, you get the idea.

I have been chipping away at the monumental amount of things I have to do before I go, even though it was like trying to run in the water with weighted feet dragging the corpses of my exes and a lot of baggage behind me. Both literal and figurative baggage.

I am doing this thing called reverse packing. Pretty much everything that is going with me is already packed. Clothes, jewelry, the scarce few knickknacks and witchy things I am bringing for beauty and comfort.

Panda and I went shopping. I got secondhand Free People clothes. My favorites. And I packed them immediately.

Reasoning that they will be my reward for getting there, painting the walls, settling in. I think that red suitcase won’t make it out of my trunk for a week or two while I get settled.

It is weird to be living in a half room, with a half life. Just waiting to run away. Chipping away at the things that need to be done. Everyday I’m shuffling.

But like I said. I knew Friday was gonna be better. Even before I had a dangling carrot.

Friday was approximately my 2 year first date anniversary with Giant give or take a day or two. Who now makes up 10% of my posts. One would think I had a thing for him.

I do.

It’s called love. Unconditional, all-encompassing love.

Love without ownership and no rules.

He is not mine. We joked that when he was 35 he might wander back to reclaim what he forgot to claim in the first place.

But it won’t be like I imagined. He is selling the house I had once fantasized about having a room up in the attic to write, the same room we sat in where my panties were reverently removed while John Mayer crooned about something or other. My life changing inspired him to do some of his own it seems. I also joked about having nowhere to come home to if he moved, the guest room should have been sanctuary. Or more realistically his bed.

I remember the first time I saw his room. It is navy and white and pretty much perfect. Dark wood everywhere. He exposed one of the brick walls and made a headboard out of reclaimed wood. I have spent many hours holding onto that headboard for dear life. When he fucks me so good I forget my name and eats my pussy like it’s the last supper.

Friday was good for a few reasons actually, Panda got a 60 inch TV for the living room and was not home so…Pornhub in high def instead of on my old little phone I keep for such things. I hadn’t been masturbating as much as usual, but I started again this week. It did elevate my mood in a noticeable way.

I used to jerk off before I would see him, to try and keep my libido from screaming at me the whole time he was geographically close. I did it yesterday because I could.

So when he went down on me I immediately pulled him up for a kiss, just to check that I didn’t taste like toys.

I didn’t.

I haven’t had sex since November. I was saving myself and he was otherwise occupied. But how could I not. He is my lightning Giant.

Would be an affront to the Gods if I didn’t take my peace when it was offered.

I think I will always fuck him like it’s the last time, because it could very well be.

When I come back from away in August who knows where we will be. No more bedroom with the brick wall.

We fell asleep in soft, tangled bedding touching just enough to acknowledge the other.

I was woken up at 5am by the loudest of purrs. He has 2 kittens, Gary and Larry. They found me a warm and cozy thing to sleep on, and I fell back asleep to kitten kisses. And woke up a few hours later to forehead kisses.

He drove me home in the dark of the morning, John Mayer still playing on the stereo in his big black truck.

I said “I’ll see you soon”, and I will.