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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.

As per usual I am either early to or late to the party.

Never did get my timing right. But I suppose if it is indeed MY timing, it has to be right.

37 days until I leave and I haven’t packed a thing.

Been home 2 days and I have barely moved. I walked the dog, I got the milk, I tidied the house, but that second load of laundry is still damp in the dryer and I have yet to shower.

I got my period the day we were to fly out. Went from a hint of pink in the morning to Carrie at the prom in about 6 hours, just as we were finishing dinner and getting on the buses to the airport.

Pain level was about an 8 by the time I got settled in on the plane. Settled is a nice lie for being crammed in like sardines with one of my ribs folding under and pain shooting through my back, knees, everywhere.

That was my Blue Monday. Friday night until…now kinda.

I decided yesterday was going to be my last non-productive day. Woke up at 6:30 this morning and went back to bed for 2 hours. S’okay. 8:30 is still good. Baby steps. And considering all I want to do is sleep till Friday when it is supposed to get warmer here for a couple of days, 2 hours is a tiny compromise.

I was scrolling back through that wonderful/awful Facebook feature ‘on this day’, I realized something. I spend a lot of time waiting. Especially in the winter. Waiting for it to get warmer, waiting for spring, just waiting.

Still kinda doing it now, 12 days until I see my vacation peeps. 37 days till I hit the road.

What a massive waste of time.

Life is happening right now whether I choose to participate or not.

I saw a Tumblr post about how Tumblr posts about self-care are kinda bullshit. And I have to kinda agree. The cult of “Unable to Even” advocates it being okay if you don’t shower, eat bad food or none at all and stay curled up in a blanket fort coloring and or binge watching fluffy tv shows on Netflix.

And it IS okay. To a degree and for a time.

I am not here to tell you how to deal.

But, for me, it feels better to actually DO something. Even if it is just to make a gentle list of what needs to be done. I have a running list next to my laptop. The one thing I did yesterday was important but I can’t even cross it off because I forgot to write it down.

I wish I had saved this video I saw. It’s about changing your life with the miniscule decisions you make throughout the day. Starting with waking up in the morning and not hitting snooze. That is where I am at right now. I can feel it, I am hitting snooze on my whole life. Time to wake up, drink coffee and kick my own ass into gear.

I had this divine energy and motivation before I left for Cozumel. Just need to find it again.

I haven’t heard from the boy since before I left and I know this isn’t helping my mental state at all. This isn’t the longest we’ve gone without talking, and I do have to remind myself I am not moving for him. I am moving for me. There is money to be made and a life to live out there, and it is where I want to be.

It’s funny because I can see my life here, I am in it. And I can see my life there. The room I will have, all my things put away. I can see going to work and writing in my new space. It’s the in between. The chasm between here and there that seems impossible.

All things are possible.

Time marches on whether we want it to or not.

It is time to start moving forward.

After one more coffee though.

I managed to do laundry yesterday. Felt like Hercules.

There is an interesting and assorted pile of things to deal with next to my laptop. Tangled jewelry and receipts. I need to head to the antique market and find jars for my shells both from Cozumel and still from Florida, they are sitting in the Tupperware I brought them home in.

I leave here in 40 days and 40 nights, so the shells are really the least of my worries. I have a whole life to sort out pack up and move. I have 500 wedding photos to sort through and process, a book to get published, bills to pay and 3 piggy banks that need to get dumped into one of those change sorting machines. I might just have more than enough to pay off my parking tickets so I can get a new sticker before I go.

But for now, here I sit, in the pajamas I pulled on at 6am yesterday after a very long day of traveling back here.

My closet door is ajar and the aforementioned clean clothes are sitting in mountain form at the end of my bed.

I can’t turn around or look left or right, all I see are pesos, and empty pack of gum I doled out to the kids before we got on the plane, Danielle’s silver elephant charm once lost and now found and that giant pile of laundry.

I am not ready to deal.

I spent yesterday listlessly wandering the main floor of the house, half-heartedly tidying. Not writing, not looking at the photos I took. Just browsing the internet and when it got dark I watched a few episodes of True Blood. On season 4 now. It is my favorite.

Taking too many breaks in between to smoke my Mexican Marlboros, my lungs hurt a bit. My whole chest hurts and it isn’t just the cigarettes.

My heart hurts.

I talked to Danielle last night. She asked how I was, said the girls were weepy. Me too mama, me too.

“Reality sucks” she said.

No shit mamabear, no shit.

My reality? I had 4 hours sleep after sleeping for 2 on a plane, sick and in a lot of pain. The long walk to customs. Fight at the baggage claim. And then having to say goodbye to my new weird and wonderful little family.

I miss all my other kids from other mothers.

I’m a high functioning introvert so, being at a resort on an island with 60+ strangers just in our group, as well as staff, and other guests, made me twitchy. But the kids made it better. Long walks on the beach with Katie looking for shells and sharks teeth, having a purpose, dealing with the crazy neighbors the night before the wedding or wiping ice cream of Lexi’s face made me feel better.

I would disappear for an hour here or there and just sit on my tiny porch and invariably Cass, Haley or one of the boys would walk by and check in.

I know this is post vacation let down.

I miss the sun and the sea. My eyes have returned to grey. My tan is already starting to fade and the sun, although out today and warming things up a bit, seems weak by comparison.

I’m home in a house that has never felt quite right. I have been gone for exactly half the time I’ve lived here. In my head I am already gone again.

I came back to chaos. I haven’t heard from that Swain boy since before I left and the air hurts my face here.

I know everything is going to get better, probably sooner than later.

I will tick a few things off the to-do list and then it’ll be time to go.

And before I go I get to see everyone one more time.

At least there is that to look forward to.

Never have I ever.

Never have I ever been to a destination wedding.

Never have I ever shot a destination wedding.

Never have I ever been to Mexico or anywhere far really.

Never have I ever been in the Caribbean Sea.

Never have I ever been bitten by a cockatoo.

But that is another story for another day.

Also, never have I ever slow danced with a boy at a wedding. It was extra amusing because on the other side of the pavilion Danielle was there and for a minute I was transported back to all the school dances where I sat alone (or sometimes with her) when the slow songs came on.

I felt like I was getting some kind of closure or cosmic do-over.

It was a really beautiful night.

I wanted to stand up at the wedding and say things, but my shyness stopped me.

I am both better on paper and terrible on paper depending on the context.

This is better.

6 years ago at a Lodge far, far away I sat in Muskoka chairs next to a rather lovely fire pit and hashed things out with a girl I met when I was 7 years old.

Through the magic of Facebook she found me.

And when she mentioned coming to the place I was working for a weekend with her man, I agreed, but with panic. I was at the beginning of my becoming…panic was a daily occurrence. But I agreed.

We didn’t have the easiest go in public school. I have long described it as a totem pole with Kim at the top then the 2 Christine’s, then Elizabeth with one spot left at the bottom, which I fought her for as often as the opportunity presented itself, otherwise I was alone on the playground.

And that really sucked.

What sucked even harder was how I treated her.

I bullied her and I knew it.

I told her so the minute our asses hit the chairs around that fire pit.

She said she knew and she forgave me.

And in doing so she allowed me to make peace. I am forever grateful.

That was also when I met her now hubby, I will get back to that in a second.

It is hard to put into words the women we have become. Polar opposites from the shy outcasts we were. I had the added joy of being here with 50+ of their closest friends and witnessing how loved and accepted and valuable she is to everyone around her.

She is the center everyone gravitates to and she is loved beyond measure.

She also lives a life that makes me tired just hearing about it. Involved in everything, never sits down and manages to hold it all together. She is fearless and motivated and it is starting to rub off on me.

I still panic sometimes. This very trip is something that would have quite easily had me spiralling out.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t because Danielle was in charge. She has grown into this fierce woman who has the ability to make everyone feel safe, entertained and cared for. I am blessed to have her in my life and to be here.

Back to Brian.

When I met him my first thought was ‘why is she with him?’ he seemed like he was made of stone, I couldn’t glean the slightest bit of personality out of him at all. I didn’t understand, but she seemed happy and I am aware that no one really knows the real intimacy between two people except the two people in the relationship.

Then I met him again, and realized he is made of stone, but in the best of ways. He is solid and strong and for as ‘in charge’ as Danielle is, he is her rock, she is stronger with him and it is a joy to witness.

She reads the blog to him. I wrote the Scorpio post a million years ago. She read it to him and felt understood. He is of that tribe and they are not easy to love, but so very worth it. She told me it made things ‘easier’ for her and it is the most sincere compliment I have ever received on anything I have ever written.

That goes for every conversation we have had.

We have so much history. It’s comforting.

We met at the age of 7, parted ways at 15 and came back together at 37.

The way she says my name sounds like home. And if you have been reading up until this point you know how precious that is to me. That feeling of belonging and acceptance.

Her life mirrors mine, all the mess and the muck and finally the becoming.

We fail and we fall and we get back up and keep living and loving.

In her I find support and validation for not becoming bitter.

In them I see the potential of two people to mesh so completely and beautifully together that you cannot imagine them apart.

Thank you for letting me be here and showing me what Is possible.

I saw this a million years ago.

It struck me. I wasn’t sure how, but it did. Enough to save it.

I did not like the idea of being half of anything.

In the time called before I disappeared into men. Carved off chunks of myself to fit them.

I never knew who I was outside of how I belonged to other people.

It made me a ghost girl and a pretty shitty partner, because the parts of myself I sliced off were never really gone and they would come back kicking and screaming to be recognized. So I would pick up my pieces and leave, just to do the exact same things again.

Until I stopped.

I took my time in the cabin in the woods and put myself back together.

And I really liked it. I actually quite like myself.

Had a few crushes here and there and fought against my old ingrained habit of molding myself around them, and mostly succeeded.

It came with the realization that I had lost everyone I had deemed important up until that point, and not only had I survived it, I had thrived.

Also, they weren’t important. I wasn’t myself, so the girl they loved was just a reflection of what they wanted me to be.

That isn’t love.

In fairness I didn’t love them either. Covetousness is not love, nor is dependence.

Lost in love is still lost and loss.

When I started tending to my own soul, really listening to what I wanted and needed and actually doing those things, I met a new manner of men. Men who would get excited when my eyes lit up about something I was excited about. I felt heard and appreciated, more food for my soul.

And I thought, wow, it doesn’t get better than this.

Once my soul was healed and whole, her mates began to appear, and it was good amen.

But they wandered off one by one. Still in my heart, kicking the shit out of it late at night (Mark Harpur)

Which always made me think, if they were really that important, they’d be here.

So I learned my lessons, figured out the color red when it came to flags and just learned to enjoy them while they lasted.

And I figured Plato was full of shit.

I wanted this to be true instead.

I felt whole and good and I was happy being alone with myself.

I am alright being wrong.

Once upon a time, on an island far, far away, a voice in my head demanded I kiss a boy before he left the bar I was in.

I complied.

I closed my eyes for a minute and saw us together in a big white bed.

We were smiling and naked.

2 days later I learned the true meaning of compulsion. There was no force nature nor I possessed that could keep my hands off him, they flew on their own. So did my words.

2 days after that, the vision of the big white bed came to fruition and it was unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I have felt a lot of things.

He feels the same.

The absence of doubt.

The ecstasy of perfect recognition ~ S.K.

I didn’t know what it was beyond magic.

I posted a lot of articles, trying to remember, trying to leave it where it was, just some magical night and a new experience.

But I couldn’t.

Neither could he.

I posted an article about that night, and another about the crushing feeling of loss when he drove away and I flew home.

Someone, and I wish I could remember her name, said “this is the most accurate description of a twin flame meeting that I have ever read.”

I panicked.

I’ve long rejected that term and idea as new age bullshit propaganda.

I have met soul mates, and that was good enough, amen.

It’s funny because I have long recognized the old gods as my gods. The myths were my bible to be read and decoded and followed.

I love those gods because they are fallible, somewhat human and tricksy as fuck.

I did some research, just out of curiosity, and as i was reading I thought to myself, “oh fuck, this is exactly what happened.”

No one wants to acknowledge only having half a soul. It’s not an easy thing to admit. Until I realized my half is full as is.
This is just some kind of cosmic bonus.

A gift from my tricksy gods.

I have no idea what the future holds, except I am heading back east.

He asked me to come home.

I had a rather painful conversation with the Last One, on New Year’s Eve.

In retrospect, it was absolutely perfect timing.

Everything is, I just forget sometimes.

I’d stayed home that night to finish the final edit on the book and totally did that very thing, kinda proud. Panda ordered pizza. I was watching Suicide Squad when the clock struck midnight and drank a glass of pink champagne in my favorite pajamas.

I managed to make it to the end of the movie without falling asleep. Apparently this is the year of finishing things. I like that.

When Harley Quinn made her sad face and said she ‘lost her puddin’, it didn’t make me feel any kind of way. Every other time it had hurt my heart, so much so that I wrote an article questioning what kind of love story I am writing for myself if a blatant case of Stockholm Syndrome made me weepy and heartsick.

I think I am better now.

That particular conversation started with him sending me a pic of lobster. After a week or two of no contact.

He is not my lobster. I figured that out while he was away and I was away and I did the thing he was worried about me doing and I fucked a fisherman and my whole life changed. But I didn’t tell him that part. Seemed unnecessarily cruel, and just unnecessary all things he mentioned since he’s been back.

Felt like a suckerpunch when he messaged me in Florida he let it slip he started dating someone mid-November.

Said he didn’t want to dump her over the holidays and ruin Christmas. Old Me kicked in and I said I understood. And I do to a degree. Understanding is my curse gift.

Then he asked for nudes.

I would love to say I was a responsible adult and didn’t send them, but I already had, before he let mentioned her. I wonder if her name is actually Becky. Except I don’t really care, good hair or no.

The pics I sent BEFORE he brought her up catapulted him from emailing to texting, there was a dick pic involved.

He said he was sad he lost my old pics when he deleted everything. Which should have elicited the response, “well you shouldn’t have deleted me and everything then should you have?”

But I didn’t.

I have a hard time being cruel even when it is warranted.

He immediately and magically ‘found’ my number.

I think the phrase “well that escalated quickly” applies.

I tried to be patient, but seeds of doubt grew like kudzu, which is to say rapidly, covering everything.

Then there was whole thing that happened with the Swain boy, who just so happens to be the absolute absence of doubt.

I wrote https://www.ourladyoflustandgrace.com/echoes.html November 6^th and sent it to the Last One. He started dating her a week later. He knew how I felt. That fact in itself was painful enough. But there’s more.

He also came to town recently and respected my no contact request. But I feel like if I was that important he would have knocked on my door.

These are the things I told him on New Year’s Eve.

Fuck it sucked. But I had to rip all the veils off and really see what was happening. It wasn’t pretty.

Nothing about this was pretty. Ghosts and ghouls rarely are. I’m done being haunted.

He showed back up when I was in Florida. I emailed him, my monthly check in and said I went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, it made me think of him and I hoped he was well.

A few hours later, as I was getting ready for dinner my computer made a bing, and lo there was the last one, and my heart got happy because he wasn’t dead and that was good because I had been worried for 62 days that he was. No one would have thought to tell me, I knew this. It was all too new when he vanished. Almost like it never happened.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, now that I have all the information, it didn’t.

He threw around words like ‘wife’ and forever.

Then reminded me I can’t have kids, as if I didn’t remember.

Kids that we had talked about and he didn’t want when he was with me.

I am past the point of arguing. I shouldn’t have to bribe or convince someone to be with me.

My girl Mia read my cards when he left, said he would come back, but he wouldn’t be the same.

She was right. She always is.

Good thing is, I changed too.

I am saying my goodbyes as they present themselves. Not forcing anything, just letting things fall away as they may.

I know the horror and pain that comes from being ghosted, my heart was once a haunted house. But the ghosts are slowly checking out and making room.

Giant got his goodbye in the attic room where we have spent day’s worth of hours listening to music and talking about life, the universe and everything. He said he was happy sad about me leaving. I reminded him it’s okay to feel more than one way about something.

Big Spoon popped up in my Instagram and I offered to write him a reference letter for the next girl. He really is a good man. He deserves a good woman. He will find her.

I think maybe the gift I give to the young ones is a jumping off point on how they could/should be treated.

We show each other what is possible.

And then I say goodbye.