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I did one of those Facebook quizzes “what would the title of your biography be?”

Mine was “That didn’t go as planned.”

Spooky right?

It’s like Facebook knows me.

I have been flying by the seat of my pants for quite some time now, pretty much the whole time.

Or I was…

I noticed a phenomenon I entitled “Meh”.

I’d be chatting with some random dude, we’d make plans, he’d go poof and instead of getting upset the Royal We would simply shrug it off.

I thought I was evolving a bit, worried that I was becoming cold, hard, jaded…but that wasn’t it. I’m not that girl, right?

Jackass ‘enlightened me’ decided I had just began to accept that everything is as it should be and not to worry.

A little from column A and one more thing…

I couldn’t begin to tell you when I started protecting myself.

This isn’t in my wheelhouse at all. I didn’t even realize I was doing it until…

Cruz read the blog. Not the whole thing. Not sure what he read exactly.

I am kinda freaked out right now.

We were lying in bed yesterday, talking. I said something about my relationship status on Facebook being blank for years, he corrected me.

Habibi, I forgot about Habibi. I didn’t forget so much as I know what happened there, everyone knows. Two friends tried to date and it didn’t go well, but for a week there was the big blue thingee on Facebook.

I wasn’t lying, I had just glossed over it in my mind.

I gloss over a lot of things. It’s how I have survived this long, I highly recommend it.

Except when I accidentally say something that isn’t true.

I write everything here, process what happened and attempt to move forward.

But, I have left this trail of breadcrumbs in case anyone wants to find me, the real me.

Cruz said it looks like I like fucking a lot of younger guys, asked me if he was just another monster for my bed and this blog. Asked if he was a fetish.

Thunderpunch to the heart chakra.

Ouf.

It really looks like that doesn’t it.

Fuck.

Yuck.

No.

I swear that’s not it at all.

Truth is, I have slept with 10 guys in 4 years. 4 in the 10 years before that. Attempted to date a few of them and none of it went anywhere, except me crying a lot trying to figure out where I went wrong.

I started ‘dating’ younger guys because the likelihood of attachment should have been less.
But it wasn’t. I got attached, and I got shredded.

Mistakes were made.

I came out of being married not knowing who I was, what I wanted or how to date.
I was in 5 sequential, long-term relationships spanning 19 years. Never single. I don’t know if I ever knew how to date.

The blog is part of that. Trying to learn. Figure shit out. Having a quarter million someones listening to me when that hasn’t happened for the majority of my time on this planet was just a bonus.

I write about sex because it sells. And because I do love it.

Especially with him. He is a fuck monster. My fuck monster. Had I ever gotten around to giving him a nickname, that’d have been it.

But I changed.

Literally right before I met him. I changed.

Everything changed really.

I put my foot down, and shook my fists at the sky.

We worked magic in this house and whatever bad juju hex was upon my love life was lifted.

I felt it go as tangible as the pinprick that drew blood.

We smudged until the air turned blue.

I bathed in holy water. I anointed my bed with it too.

I wanted to start over. And it worked.

I received my boon.

But I carried my old mindset into my new life.

I was treating him like he was one of the others.

Calling him by his name is not enough.

What is wrong with me?

What happened to not carrying baggage and assessing everyone as an individual?

He has turned a few choice phrases aimed at figuring out where we stand.
I spit out these preprogrammed, safe answers trying not to spook him?

That ain’t right.

He asked yesterday if he was too much compared to other men.

I said yes and smiled.

Asked him the same question right back, am I too much compared to other women?

He smiled.

And of course he said yes.

I had a moment the other day wherein I realized I would really miss him if he bailed.

Maybe he won’t.

I had the good fortune the other day to be in one of those moments.

One of those moments that I knew to be precious, that I can barely be explained, but I will try.

It would be a pretty terrible website if I didn’t at least attempt to describe the events that occur in my life.  I think the reason people come here is the curiosity of “what is Sarah up to today?”
I suppose the alternate would just be varying lists, things I have done, things I want to do, groceries needed etc. No one would want to read that. I am already bored just thinking about it.

I am a shitty poet. Rambling is more my thing. I have moments where a turn a pretty good phrase, but they are few and far between.

I wrote an article last year called High Five wherein I reiterated and celebrated 5 glorious moments in my life. That is one of my favorite articles to re-read. Some of the things I have written cut and maim upon re-opening. I remember how vulnerable and dumb I was when I had those thoughts and those feelings.

I saw on old Facebook post about finding the outfit I wore out with the Giant on our last date and how I collapsed, sobbing into a pile of dirty laundry…devastated. I wrote a whole article around that moment where I crumbled.

I talked to him the other day. I’m fine, he’s fine. It is all a matter of time and perspective.

But that isn’t what this is about.

I believe our memory is somewhat of a cup. Events get poured in, like water, displacing and diluting some of the old. That is why I write them here. My cup is as infinite as my capacity for writing things down. Feelings and perceptions change over time, but here I have concrete proof that once upon a time…

I sat, lounged really, on a comfortable leather sofa, bathed in rays of sunshine, and watched a very beautiful boy pick up and acoustic guitar and start playing some of my favorite songs for no reason.

It was -16 C outside, but inside was warm. He had invited me over, my car started and I went, so it was already a good day. We made it 5 minutes past hellos before our clothes were off and we fucked on the aforementioned couch. Afterwards we had gone out in search of food, he ordered a pita the size of his head. Came home and thought about watching a movie, but didn’t. Instead he started to play.

Blackbird.
Over the Hills and Far Away.
Paint it Black.
Never Going Back.
Mess is Mine by Vance Joy, I love this.
Some Pearl Jam and then one of my most beloved and memory soaked albums, Hozier.

I will not ask you where you came from
I will not ask you, neither should you

We sat and talked about music while he played, he would shoot me this devilish, challenging smirk every time he would start to play a new song. I started playing ‘name that tune’ in as few notes as possible.

I called John Mayer on a Jack Johnson song by accident which led to pulling up Mr. Mayer on YouTube and a song I hadn’t heard before.

Watching this beautiful, energetic boy sitting in the sunshine, playing and singing along with Queen of California, it hit me.

This is one of those memories I am going to hold onto and cherish for a long time to come. The dust motes dancing in the sunshine, him looking up from playing to gauge my reactions, my cheeks hurting, my body sated and warm, my ears and eyes happy. A rapid series of perfect mental photographs that will become a flip book in my mind one day.

I often wonder if I am destined for dementia. I have worked in a continuing care wing of a hospital, those who were no longer in control of their minds had two modes; reliving bliss or reliving trauma. I was 13 at the time, a candy striper and I think even then I made a promise to myself to catalog the good things and let the bad ones go.

This has served to be both lifesaving and detrimental to me.

I remembered so much of the good (and rare) little moments of my farm life that I got lost in that forest for the want of a few trees.

And now?

Now I remember dolphins, oceans, colour throws. Hiking up waterfalls. The sense of accomplishment that came from battling the elements in Milton alone. Getting on planes, belly laughs at brunch, long car rides by myself singing at the top of my lungs. The beach, the water, the beach some more. The boys of summer. Patios and brunches galore. And ordinary days turned bliss with amazing soundtracks, sunshine and good company.

Like this day.

This perfectly ordinary day where I was simply happy being serenaded.

Hello beauty, hello strange
Hello wonder, what’s your name?

He put the guitar down eventually, climbed on the couch next to me, hovering and smiling.

“I wanna fuck you” he said smiling and biting his bottom lip.

“So fuck me then.” I replied.

And he did, and in this moment I am happy. (Incubus)

I am taking my girl out tomorrow, haven’t seen her in ages, and she hasn’t been to our favorite place in waaaay too long. I said ‘this must be remedied.’

She said “how does it feel to facilitate remedies to people in so many ways?”

“Like penance and peace.”

I love being the remedy. I have drank of the sweet water from that well until I wasn’t thirsty anymore.

I love the lightening that occurs on someone’s face, in their eyes as that lightbulb of clarity turns on, their shoulders when they shrug off that weight when I say ‘baby, I have been there and I can promise it’s going to be okay.’

Brother Matt posted something about how it is of vital importance to spill your guts about the messes we have made. Other people are in the mess and need a way out. Or at least to know they aren’t alone.

As I say all of my truths out loud, and I mean all of them, I feel lighter too. We call this shrugging and winning. The world is enough of a burden without all of us carrying all that weight alone.

I will be forever grateful that I was alive in the time of social media. Not for the cat memes, but for the sense of home I have found in these islands of people who say ‘me too’.

I am the girl who always felt strange.

I thought it impossible for my inner dialog to be ‘normal’. It wasn’t, and for that I am also eternally grateful. I thought myself rather insane. In retrospect and after much introspection… I think we all are, just some of us end up owning it. Especially after we have pushed ourselves to the brink.

Mick Jagger said “all children must go through a period of going crazy, I mean you don’t want it to end in death but…”

I’m paraphrasing because I can’t find the quote. I cut it out of a Seventeen magazine a million years ago and it is in a photo album somewhere.

This may or may not have saved my life. Having that permission to be crazy from an adult. A bat-shit insane, talented adult who did enough cocaine to fill my apartment, but still. Permission regardless.

I went crazy.

I did.

I did stupid, death defying, self-destructive things. Locked myself into situations, that by all logic, I should not have escaped from. I am Houdini or the gods had a plan. Or a bit of both.

I am walking, talking, tangible proof that you can be an absolute piece of shit human being and still find redemption.

Rough transition sentence ahead…

I met someone, it’s what I do.

And he’s young, this is also what I do.

I think either by the grace of said gods or however I vibrate in the universal energy of things these young ones I find have evolved somehow. They come to give and take from me and we are well met, always.

Black 19 had spent 2 years in jail, mostly in solitary. Confronting what it was like to be truly alone. And although he turned out to be a little shit, we had that common ground. I had sequestered myself in the middle of nowhere and found out who my friends really were.

The Giant, also young, is a mortician. By vocation he is a death eater. He swallows what we are all most afraid of. Something in him that made him gravitate to that line of work, something deep and profound. So, by default all my dealings with him were deep and profound.

We don’t need men to be “gentlemen.” We need men to do peyote and face their deep cores of emptiness, then return to the village humbled.  ~Alena Smith

I am inclined to agree.

Not just men though, all of us.

This new one came along right after he had hit a really low point and decided to make some changes.

I have no trust for anyone who is straight edge that doesn’t know what it feels like to lay on cold linoleum praying for death, puking, crying and high as a kite all at once.

I know what it is like to dwell in the crazy underground shit filled garage of rock bottom. And it is a long climb out. I know what it is like to be clean for a while and fall right back into that pit of despair.

Rock bottom is the most solid foundation to build yourself from.

“I used to be…” is an empowering statement. It comes when you can accept your flaws and leave them behind you.

Although it may have been enduring the damages done to me by myself and others that got me to where and how I am…I am what I am and it’s really okay.

I kinda like me.

I am sitting in the sunshine, in my sweaty sweats, writing to you fine people, whilst singing Justin Bieber at the top of my lungs.

Panda is in fine form as am I. Sun is shining and life is good.

Doesn’t hurt that I got laid.

I fucked him on the first date, and the second, and I don’t even care.

This is who I am as a person.

I was blessed to be born into a fine female form and I love sex.

Who am I to deny myself?

Besides, he smelled divine and is a sweetheart.

If I have to play games to get someone, I don’t want that fish. Throw it back and try again.

“He only want me when I’m not there? Better call Becky with the good hair.” (Beyonce)
Seriously. I know I have a pretty back, but come on, don’t make me turn it before you pay attention to me. Becky can have ya.

I get it, as I get most things but, ew. No.

I read “Why Men Love Bitches” at the behest of my ex best-friend. She saw me struggling and getting hurt and wanted to help, bless her. But basically? I am not a bitch. I’m not Becky.

The first few chapters of this book were great and I follow the ideals of ‘have your own life that you are happy with before you invite anyone else in.’

I totally did/do that.
Well, now I do.
This was not always the way, and I tended to assimilate into the men I dated like Borg or some other such shit. Never worked out as I ended up 7 of 9 more often than not.

The rest of it felt an awful lot like lying i.e…wait to text back, pretend you aren’t available even if you really are.

Nuh uh, fuck that. I am busy as fuck as is. No need or want to lie about it.

I text back fast, ingrained Canadian politeness I guess. Or maybe just because it feels good to get a random text that says ‘thinking about you.’ This happened, which added to my already good mood. I responded that just seeing his name made my princess parts tingle. Because it did.

I have a real hard time passing up sex, it is one of my favorite things.

There is nothing wrong with wanting what I want and being who I am, especially knowing that if they don’t like it and they leave, s’okay.

I have survived every unfortunate event in my life up until now. So statistically, I got this, whatever this happens to be.

Went on the first date with Cruz, ya, he has a name, weird right?
I explained the blog and that everyone gets a nickname, said I didn’t know his yet. He responded that Cruz was fine.

I’m inclined to agree.

He is fine.

I asked for change and to receive it I must also be it, and change.

Once upon a time I worked with a stripper whose given name was Justice, can’t really improve on that.

Where was I?

Oh ya. 20 minutes into meeting each other we were walking into a movie theater and I did what I do which is blurt out whatever I was thinking…he shushed me.

I stopped walking, looked straight at him and said “I don’t have a filter, if this is going to be a problem, just take me home.”

He didn’t.

He shushed me twice more and twice more I said, ‘nope’. I did lower the volume of my voice but I didn’t alter the content of what I was saying.

Now, to be clear, it was not a malicious shushing. It was an ‘I cannot fucking believe you said that out loud, I like it but I don’t know how to react’ shush.

He’s young.

As if I had to say that out loud. Y’all know me by now.

Also happens to be a Scorpio, I was unaware until yesterday but I really shoulda known.

I know me by now.

Guy Fawkes Day came up as we were sitting around chatting with Panda, they’ve both been to England and I haven’t. It’s his birthday. Of course it fucking is.

Whatever worries I had, that were so minuscule I didn’t even know they were there, dissipated in a puff of smoke.
Scorpios, in general, appreciate how and who I am. They love that I don’t lie. That wiggle room I give everyone is coveted by his kind instead of being ‘too much’.

I told him that if I fucked him on the first date he’d ghost. I realized (and blurted out) ‘and that’s fine actually.’

Because it is.

I joked with Panda that I’m so fucked from what came before that the littlest things make me happy, he said a couple sweet things and I’m still smiling about them. He showed up.

Upon further introspection maybe it isn’t because of the time called before. Maybe it’s because I’ve evolved to a point where it is just the little things make me happy.

This is a good way to be.

Went to Toronto to see my Drogo.

Remarked in the car that even though I am not all the way up to snuff, my current existential dilemma wasn’t near as crippling as it had been in times past.

Good omens.

I am getting better.

We haven’t seen each other in a year come May.

I get to look back on the times before, reminisce and see how far I’ve come.

Pretty fucking far.

I could barely see that far.

Before the pilgrimage to castle Drogo, I stopped in the market and ended up seeing oh Gelfling my Gelfling.

He cut his hair, lost his majicks a bit. S’okay.
Made him easier to swallow and be around, or I just got better. Little from column A, a little from column B.

This is me healing.

I had to go to the Chinese Hoodoo store. We had some bad juju up in this house.
The runes have been drawn, mirrors washed in holy water, I exorcised my bedroom and we are back to only letting love in this house. I bought new bed covers too. Out with the old.

Gelfling said ‘come back and get tattooed’ so I ran my errands at light speed. I was going to get him to put a bird on it…he wasn’t feeling all that great so we rescheduled. Not a bird now, a deer on my leg. Originally was going to be a deer skull with flowers, but it’s been overdone and I am over and done with the dead things.

I finally got to Drogo’s and met a direwolf, named Katie of all things.

We talked. I spoke of my ghosts. “I still don’t understand why they run” I said.

“You aren’t easy to leave, but you aren’t that easy to be around either.”

I am paraphrasing a lil bit.

Broken record of me being intimidating.

I get it, I truly do. I have been intimidated by men before, Drogo included and kinda topping the list. What could he possibly want with me when he is consistently surrounded by the most beautiful, talented, tattooed models in the world?

Yet, there we were.

I was sitting in a hockey arena watching the Zamboni, waiting for him to come out and play. Nerdy me scribbling all this down in a notebook so I didn’t forget.

It’s been 2 years of us knowing each other. We’ve had adventures and epic sex, he has taken my picture just like I was one of his other girls that I look on in awe.

He tells me what I need to hear, in a way that doesn’t hurt.

Here I am thinking I am not enough. He says I am too much. I’m inclined to believe him. He should know.

I forgot to put water in my vodka last night but I drank it anyways. I don’t want to be watered down either.

He listed all the reasons.

I am fiercely independent. I really don’t need anyone and that lends itself to a lack of control.

I am surrounded by a fairly impenetrable fortress of protective friends and exes, himself included.

I am highly intelligent and articulate.

He said I am a spectacular fuck, which, coming from him is a compliment of the highest order.

And, I just let people be themselves.

Herein lies a problem.

Most of the men I choose have no idea who they are. There is a pressure here to evolve.

The wiggle room I give them is …all.

It’s too much.

I’ve spent years exhuming and examining everything that I am.

I have forgiven, accepted and celebrated pretty much everything I have been and done.

It’s an ugly process, terrifying really to be this open and exposed. Vulnerable.

I should know.

And what I have learned and practice is unconditional love.

I don’t keep score.

They do.

I don’t think anyone owes me anything but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel like I am putting them into a debt they couldn’t possibly repay.

It’s easier to run than to step up and into this space I give them.

We had a talk about love the next morning.

What is it to me?

It was funny, I write about this almost every day and when put on the spot I stuttered and sputtered trying to define it.

I’ve long held the belief that to be loved I had to behave a certain way, to earn it. I know that isn’t right, so I give it without strings. I want to be loved the way I love, just because but this eludes me. I still feel like there are rules for me and no one else. If I was less loud, more damaged, more needy, less me maybe someone could love me. Maybe it would make them feel useful to fix me. But I am not broken anymore.

As far as I can figure…

Love is a warm safe place, like home, where you can just be yourself and be accepted.

There are pockets and places and people that make me feel that way, he is one of them.

I flit from house to house. I build, I get torn down and I rebuild again anyways. I have to.

I am a gypsy girl with a gypsy heart. I take home with me.

It’s in my bones.

I made a list the other day. Not at the behest of my guru but because of something he said.

All these men I have been with…

I called them out and by their names.

A list of hurt.

They Who Left.

Some ghosts, a catfish and the Others.

Men who have moved into a different position in my life.

I messaged the Giant the other day when I was flying apart.

He is many things. Frustrating is on the list, but he is also really good glue.

That thing where the Japanese mend broken pottery with gold…ya he does that.

He is the hero in my book. That is a literal statement.

He rescues me, twice. On paper.

In real life it has been a few more times than that but…he has also been the source of much angst and frustration I cannot even (begin to put into words). He sends me into full white girl mode every time I talk to him.

If you love me, then love me. Bratling brat.

I wrote him a do-over on how he treated me after I got assaulted in a parking lot on a tinder date gone wrong. I wanted to claim sanctuary in his kitchen for a bit until I felt safe enough to go home, but not-Becky the traveling waitress was on her way over.

And therein lies an epiphany or two…

I do get treated like gold by a couple of men. I cannot name them because they have wives. There is a sexual aspect to our relationship but I haven’t fucked them, lately.

There are those amongst my ex-lovers who have attained redemption.

I call Young Un for advice. He has heard me keen and wail and wonder why I am so easy to leave.

The Hulk sits patiently as I try to figure out where I went wrong.

And there are those who I slept with who have never hurt me.

They deserve to be named…celebrated, honored.

John, Nathan and Jason. They didn’t hurt me. They haven’t left me. I feel safe with them, and loved.

And Shane.

He messaged the other night as things were falling apart for Panda and our household was on high alert.

“What’s wrong Muffin.”

Always a statement, never a question with him.

He is numbered among a handful of men who feel a disturbance in the force when I have fear or pain in my heart and they rally.

All time, and life itself spirals out and in again. As we move further away from things we can glean a fresh perspective. Sometimes I need things to be close to figure them out. I accept this and have come to enjoy it.

Redemption is almost always possible.

With an exception or two, these men are all still in my life one way or another.

That list I made the other day…it is still within the realm of possibilities for a few of them to move from column A to column B.

The penitent man shall pass.

Football isn’t showing much consistency, but he never really did. He never really did anything bad either. I just wanted more than I got.

I usually do. Not much more, but something.

Just a little effort. Just show up.

On that note…after much discussion

I’m giving Lumberjack another shot.
I have to.
I am hardwired to.
“Tinder is a bucket of yuck. I just want you to show up.”
Said I would be home tomorrow after 4 and he should come fuck me or I’m done.

Sounds like an ultimatum when I say it that way, but it wasn’t.

Get out of jail free card or one of them conjugal visits.

I don’t know if he will actually show, but at least I will know I did my best.

I am not good at letting go, but I can roll with it.

I always do.

I love Wednesdays.

The patron god of Friday is Venus…its love day. One would think that would be my favorite, but it isn’t.

I love all day every day. I am love.

I was born on a Tuesday and have yet to receive my boon of grace. I still stumble but I am learning to make it part of the dance.

Mercury rules on Wednesdays. Mercury is my father planet and god. In my birth chart I was born whilst Mercury was positioned in the constellation of Gemini. Double up on my quicksilver tongue. Communication is key.

There is a block and a lock on my life.

I know it, I can feel it and by acknowledging it, its power is weakening. I can feel that too.

Communication.

The key.

Lord hear our prayer.

I brag about having a telephone to the gods. Sometimes I do. The god’s are tricksy things, mine are anyways. They are fallible and that is okay by me. I don’t believe in perfection, but I know it gets better than this.

Focus.

My Guru, who is among my direct lines said this to me… It’s a world of upright donkeys and you have taken a few hits, to be sure…You bruise most elegantly…and when they fade…nothing but dazzling contour remains…Chin up, Z-Belle… The shape-shifting will reveal all.

That is what I am waiting for, a shift. I can feel it coming like my bones know when it’s going to rain. But the land is so parched right now. Dry, barren, seedlings under the surface poised to push through the dirt and bloom. Spring is coming.

Today I pray.

I sent smoke signals up into the sky announcing my intentions.

I sprinkle holy water on my bed to start over. Baptisms.

Sage until the demons leave.

Draw runes on my door and salt the thresholds to keep out those with bad intentions.

Keep us safe in this house.

By the pricking of my thumbs, something lovely this way comes.

Salt circles, blood and holy water.

I know it gets better than this, show me how.

Whatever mischief has been done to me, let it be managed.

I’m capable of creating my own.

God our Father, your gift of water brings life and freshness to the earth; it washes away our sins and brings us eternal life. We ask you now to bless this water, and to give us your protection on this day which you have made your own. Renew the living spring of your life within us and protect us in spirit and body that we may be free to sin and come into your presence to receive your gift of salvation.

Also…

If we are to heal, let it be glorious. (Beyoncé)

With a grateful heart let the gates be opened.

Let the rains come.

Lord hear our prayer.

The pretty boy I liked left my last message unread.
We were supposed to go out Sunday night.
I don’t understand this. Never did.
Talk every day for a week then bail without reason or warning.

Unjinx my love life now please.

As a result, and for a distraction I went back on Tinder, just to see.

Found Lumberjack about 20 minutes into swiping. He had changed up his profile a bit, new pics, different bio.

It isn’t like I didn’t know. But now I really know, you know?

I mentally checked out when we didn’t go see the new Star Wars. Rogue One. That shoulda been his nickname, the rogue one. So perfect on paper but never around. Ah well…meme buddies for life.

I am not going to sit here and pretend it didn’t hurt. It did, but it’s been a dull ache for so long the quick, sharp stab felt kinda good by comparison.

I’m crying in fits and starts.

So that’s that then.

Second verse, back to the first.

That really extra pretty one I was talking to? I said, very plainly, “I am busy next week do you want to have dinner tomorrow or keep up this teasing thing.”

“When and where.”

I told him.

He never picked up the message.

Just like that.

Poof.

I don’t understand the game and I am not interested. Thanks for playing?

These ghosts speak a language I’m not fluent in.

If I want something I want it. I say so.

Why ask me out in the first place?

Ah well.

Football messaged me at 5:26 am with an apology for not getting back to me yesterday. So that was nice. My hopes aren’t high but he seems to be trying this time around.

Lumberjack would rather go back on Tinder than booty call me so there is that then.

I didn’t ask for much, I never do.

Tacos and snugglefucks. A little consistency. Just show up really.

Panda’s beau showed up mid messaging/ending with Lumberjack and I was bawling when I opened the door.

He is hella good to talk to and in doing so I realized something.

I have the emotional/romantic maturity of a 20 something, which explains a lot. Holy shit does it ever.

I spent 21 years being a mom and a wife. I didn’t know who I was, what I wanted or how to date. Still don’t really, but I do feel like I am getting there…agonizingly slow, with a massive body count.

Guru quipped last night “The day they don’t get a cute tag name from you is the day you don’t get undermined by them.”

He is not wrong. He is rarely wrong.

I nickname to protect them and out of habit. But my habits are really bad and no one is protecting me.

Time to break them.

His name was…

Leon, Jay, Matt, Matt, Saif, Jake, Giovanni, Nelson, Sam, Jeremy, Michael, Michael, Michael and Dennis.

As I sat on the porch contemplating this I had to stop being sad about it.
I don’t give attention to the negative anymore, or at least I really try not to.
So I tried to picture the positive.
I know EXACTLY what I want.
I want what I had with Young Un the First, the first Michael in fact.
We stayed in, we went out, we talked, snuggled and fucked a lot.
He was around a few times a week, no pressure or stress. He was just there.
He hated holding hands but he held mine.
We supported each other and damn he was so very easy on the eyes.
I want that again.
Not him, but the relationship type thing we had.
So be it.