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‘I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.’
Arthur Miller — The Crucible

I have long prided myself on being this soft, loving, forgiving creature.

These boys who would ghost and then reappear out of thin air.

I never hated them, some I’d kept loving in abesntia.

To love me was to love a graveyard.

But who loved me?

Nobody really.

Being haunted is not the same as being loved.

I know I’m sounding like a broken record here, but this is how I build new habits.
Lather, rinse, repeat until it becomes the truth. Find the patterns and break them.

We find out the heart only by dismantling what the heart knows.
By redefining the morning, we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
— Jack Gilbert “Tear It Down”

so, um …

Football came back.

Did not see that coming.

I’d have put money down against it. If I was a gambling girl.

I suppose I am. Every time I try this dating thing yet one more time I’m indeed gambling for infinite stakes. What if this time I go numb?

I won’t.

The last 4 years, being left often, I’ve attained a lovely Zen state of calm about it and them.

This one?

He is as harmless as he is beautiful, which is to say very. Like a Roman statue come to life walking around my house. Yes, that’s fine. Uh huh.

A portal opened on the 10^th of February. I can feel it, see it, touch it, taste it and I can hear it right now in this very moment.

My telephone to god is loud and clear.

As I sat to write these words and this is what came through my speakers after I opened the word document.

Don’t give it a hand, offer it a soul
Honey, make this easy.
Leave it to the land, this is what it knows
Honey, that’s how it sleeps.

Don’t let it in with no intention to keep it
Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it.
Honey don’t feed it, it will come back.

I know who I am when I’m alone
Something else when I see you
You don’t understand, you should never know
How easy you are to need

Can’t be unlearned
I’ve known the warmth of your doorways
Through the cold, I’ll find my way back to you

Oh please, give me mercy no more.
Don’t you hear me howling babe?

Hozier, It Will Come Back (excerpts)

I’m howling now.

I hear them howling.

I had to make a distinction. For a long time I thought it had to be all or nothing. Forgive all or none. And since forgiveness is something I do for myself, it had to be all, right?

Yes.

Yes it did and yes I do. Even the most grievous of offenses and offenders.

I am still here.

My heart is still full of love to give.

As broken as I have been I keep getting up and trying one more time.

But I don’t have to bestow it on everyone.

Man up or get out. And stay out.

I have never been one to blame others for the ones that came before, and somewhere in there I forgot to actually place blame where it was due. That doesn’t mean holding grudges or hating anyone. It just means exercising caution. It means learning the difference between a war cry and a howl to be let back in the house.

It takes courage to come back and I know it. I admire it. But it takes more bravery to stay.

I want to be fought for, pursued. I want the attention I give out to come back to me.

Consistency. Presence, not presents.

I am a lover not a fighter.

Wolfling treated me like he had never touched me, never lain in bed with me naked, telling secrets. So no, you can’t come in.

The Poet is mentally ill and dangerous. He bit the hand that fed and I had to suck the poison out. Never again.

Giant sent me a cover of an old Kate Bush song wherein he likened me to a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo he buried in the yard.
Gravedigger.

I used to call him Charon, the escorter of souls.

I used to tend to the cemetery in my heart, but I have stopped.

I used to do a lot of things.

Now?

I am the keeper of my own scales, I guard the gates to my own heaven on earth. I weigh their hearts against the truth and see which way they deserve to be devoured, by me or if their souls are heavier than a feather I’ll feed them to Ammit.

I have become Anubis.

I was Cleopatra, I was young and an actress…
And I left the footprints, the mud stained on the carpet
And it hardened like my heart did when you left town
But I must admit it, that I would marry you in an instant
Damn your wife, I’d be your mistress just to have you around

Ya, I was her…late for this, late for that late for the love of my life.

(The Lumineers)

But my life isn’t over, and my love is intact. In fact it has grown exponentially.

The graveyard is no more. In its place is a garden quite like Eden, a lot of nudity and fruit and I am the guardian of it.

One more message from the gods as I was writing this. Something I needed to hear.

Sometimes I have to remember to make out like it never happened and that we were nothing, and I don’t even need your love…so now you’re just somebody that I used to know – Gotye

Some of them really were nothing.

Ain’t that something.

I have had the fortune cookie app on Facebook since before they were called apps.

It’s been 8 years, I rarely get a new one anymore, but when I do I mark it well.

I am many things, one of them is superstitious.

I have no religion per say, but I have my horoscopes, fortune cookies, sage, I pray to the sun gods on cold winter days and I have ‘ghost chaser’ incense…not sure if it runs them off or calls them home. I think it is up to me.

My favorite virtual cookie came up this morning. “You have the power to write your own fortune”.

YES! What I speak and believe, I become.

This blissfully already blessed morning.

The sun is shining, the gods are smiling and it’s going up to 13 degrees Celsius, 55 Fahrenheit.

It’s February, I live in Canada. This is rare.

But it happens. It happened just before Greg died in 1994. We spent the day together, part of a roving band of teenagers walking down the main street of our tiny little town, all in awe of this gift from Mama Nature in the midst of a long cold winter. The sun pouring down on us, promises of summer. It was one of my better days on the planet.

A week later it was freezing again and my whole world changed, but that was such a good day.

It happened again later in the 90’s. I was a dancer then, the temperature went way up, the clouds came down and enveloped the world. All of Yonge Street turned into a mist coated wonderland, streetlights glowing through the fog. I remember walking with friends, no real destination, all of us laughing, thinking this must be what heaven is like, or the gateway to it.

There cannot possibly have been only 2 days like this in my 42+ years on this planet. But those are the two that spring to mind on days like today.
I know what happened, in the past, when I have gotten into relationships I lose my magic. I get mired down in the day to day, the drama, the stress and I lose myself.

Amendment, I know I did that.

Lately, I have been feeling/getting better about it.

These unseasonably warm days in February have traditionally been magical-portal-gifts from the gods days.
Something wonderful always happens that pushes me onto a new path.

I am already walking it.

I’ve already been trying a new thing called sticking up for myself.
I’m talking to an exceptionally beautiful boy.
This is when my submissiveness would kick into high gear.
I wouldn’t be able to hear my own thoughts over my vagina waling ‘want want want’.
This is about the time I would disappear.
What I really want is to be treated right.
What I want is someone/something to look forward to.
What I really want is good conversations, cuddles that turn into snugglefucks, silly selfies, mini adventures and sleepovers.
This is new for me and I am feeling awkward about it.

Our Sara of Lords said ‘I will ask for what you want or something better.’

Scratch that mama. I want what I want. No offense to the gods, but I am a big girl now, I got this.

“My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.” Warsan Shire

On this blessed day of sun and warm, bring me sweetness.

And let it be glorious.

Please.

For a long time I thought the buzz around the Queen Bey was much ado about not much at all really.

I’ve been wrong before.

Bow down bitches.

I heard her referred to as ‘the queen’ and I understood it to a degree.
I saw what they saw, mostly. A beautiful, powerful, talented woman who carries herself with dignity and empowers other women.

Who run the world? Girls, girls.
Strong enough to bear the children then get back to business.

Can’t argue with that.

I’d be flipping between radio stations on long drives and pause when I heard Single Ladies, who among us hasn’t?

I’d wiggle in my car seat and sing off key before hitting the seek button again.

My sister put Crazy in Love on a mixed CD years ago and I’d do the same little dance instead of skipping over it. I didn’t skip over anything on that disc, it’s like my sister knows me, guilty pleasures and all.

That is all Beyoncé was to me for the longest time, a guilty pleasure not often indulged, but enjoyed in the fleeting moments I had with her.

Then three things happened.

The Biebs came out with a really good album and forced my perspective to change a bit.
He just made my ears so happy. (…trust me, do you trust me?)
I subsequently dropped the guilty part to my pleasure.
I was on my knees when nobody else was prayin’.

I was.

I moved in with Panda and was subjected to more top 40 music than I had bothered to listen to in almost my whole 40 years on the planet. I got a little choked up when Belly said ‘you call her a stripper that’s my ballerina…’ that was Black 19’s song for me.

And

Of course

Lemonade.

Flawless

I was late to the party. Super late.

Amongst my memories on Facebook yesterday was an SNL skit about white people losing their shit after Formation dropped, they realized Beyoncé was black and rioted. I found it funny without understanding the reason for it exactly.

https://www.facebook.com/snl/videos/10153910062511303/?pnref=story

7 months later I was leaving a mediocre tinder date a few towns over. He was still really sad about ex and what could have been a nice date became a therapy session and a walk on the beach with a belly full of tacos. I started the car and lo what to my wandering ears should appear? Sorry.

Unlike the Biebs, Beyoncé ain’t sorry. No no hell nah.

I too was caught up on an ex. He left me for Becky with the good hair, and to this day he still only want me when I’m not there.

I tried to change, closed my mouth more, tried to be soft, prettier, less awake (Warsan Shire)

From February on I hurt and I couldn’t find the magic words to stop it.

They were in a place I didn’t think to look…

I sat in that parking lot and the strength of that woman flowed through my shitty speakers and I felt better.

I have no shame in admitting (and I know I’m not alone here) Queen Bey helped me through.

Her anger was my anger.

I too had been betrayed.

Me and my most bomb pussy

Ashes to ashes, dust to side chicks.

Break out the red wine and crank the Lemonade album every time I felt myself faltering. The Warsan Shire spoken word. The incredible videos. All shot in NOLA, I recognized places and things that brought me joy. 72 hours spent in that city, soaking up magic, eating good food and being held by a beautiful boy.

HER GOD WAS LISTENING

Her heaven will be a love without betrayal

I played that song over and over. I started to believe this was possible.

7 months later Panda planned an anti-Valentine’s day party that just happened to coincide with the Grammy’s. I haven’t watched them since I ran away from home at 15. I watched 3 women slay Lady Gaga holding her own with Metallica, Adele being unapologetically human and Beyoncé emulating some sun god fertility goddess hybrid.

There is a curse that will be broken,
One thousand girls raise their arms,
Now that reconciliation is possible,
If we are going to heal,
LET IT BE GLORIOUS.

Her performance was incredible. She really does channel some ancient goddess from a time when women were worshipped.
We will be again.
When we are all dust the bards will tell tales of her, how she became queen in a land without a monarchy because of raw talent and her ability to raise women up…up…higher…there you go.

I understand the Queen moniker now.

Adele said ‘you made it alright for me and my friends to feel what we were feeling.’

I heard every song off this album in the order I needed to hear it.

I healed. I had to. Her words are magic.

As I was scouring YouTube this morning to write this, I saw a thumbnail for a video I hadn’t noticed before. All Night.

…the alchemist
you spun gold out of this hard life
conjured beauty
from things left behind
found healing
where
it
did
not
live
discovered the antidote
in your own kitchen
broke the curse
with your own
two
hands

So we’re gonna heal, we’re gonna start again.

Let the woman in doubt disappear.

Today marks the sixth anniversary of the last time I had anything to do with my farm life.

It always sticks in my head, not because it’s a holiday, but because on this day for the next 2 years I sat in free clinics getting tested for any lingering STD’s that fucker might have given me, thank the gods I came out clean.

Not for lack of trying on his part. You should see some of the women he cheated with.

Ya ya, I know we split the fall before but…and this is pretty gross…

I had traded my place as wife for the mistress.

I left Thanksgiving 2011 but… I cringe to admit, ex hubby and I had been holing up in hotel rooms once a week or so from Remembrance Day to Valentine’s Day.

I lied to borrow the car, I lied to someone I loved so I could disappear into the cold Canadian winter night for some mediocre sex and one last fight. It didn’t feel like a fight, it felt like finally giving up.

February the 14^th 2012 I laid in a beige bed staring at beige walls in a motel in Lindsay Ontario. Couldn’t sleep because his actual wife was blowing up his phone.

I had a moment of clarity on around midnight, he was snoring in one ear and his phone was buzzing in the other ear. “It’s always going to be like this.” Whether I had won the day or not.

That entire relationship was exactly that. Constant skirmishes and when the dust cleared one of us had the high ground, but neither one of us noticed we were in a swamp and nobody wanted that land anyways, high or otherwise.

I was high as a kite for the last 6 months of living there.

It stopped being worth it.

The battle was well lost.

Pat Benetar said ‘love is a battlefield’.

I respectfully disagree.

It shouldn’t be.

Lovers should be sanctuary from the wars that rage all day every day outside.

In your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
(Peter Gabriel)

Sisterwife tried to sully that song for me way back when. And for a while it worked.

Like everything else that was lost in that 7 years, I just took it back or let it go depending.

Home at last.

I learned something, in the 5 years since, that home is not an address or someone else’s arms, it was something I carried with me all along. Took me a long time to find it as I buried it in the rubble of a bunch of failed relationships.

Been digging myself out for 5 years now.

Setting up the rooms the way I want. Planting my own gardens. Picking my own colors. I make a beautiful bed and the boys who have wandered my halls call me sanctuary and magic. To them I am a lovely place to visit, somewhere safe where they can be themselves and just relax.

I like that.

A cheap beige hotel room can feel like heaven if you are content in your own heart. Or hell if you aren’t.

This isn’t my first Valentine’s Day alone, not sure if it will be my last and I am really not bothered at all.

I have had the lion’s share of romantic movie moments in my life and I know there are more to come.

It is a pretty amazing feeling to know you are complete on your own.

I’ve stitched up all the holes in my soul.

I’ve also hit that point in my life and leveling up that all I really want is Saturday night snugglefucks and Sunday morning pancakes.

But first sweep me off my feet, carry me over the threshold and come home.

I lead a decidedly strange life.

Jesus Christ, whoever dates me is going to have to deal with this.

I don’t ask for chaos, but it happens, often.

I don’t dwell entirely on this plane and sometimes I need help or have to give it, it’s mandatory.

Sara and I also had a good giggle about lost boys.

Um, fuck. I think I am Wendy.

Damnit.

Hmph.

When the truth fits I must wear it.

Also mandatory.

Why can’t I be Star, with a Michael coming to save me?

Because nothing about me needs saving. Although I did steal her wardrobe.

What I need is someone that understands, there will be lost boys. They are going to scratch at the door. A few of them will be quickly turned away, not today Satan, not today. Tomorrow looks bad too.

But the ones that are truly lost?

I am obligated to love them. Not like I love the one I’m with. A pat on the head, a quick darning of the soul when the holes start to show and a bedtime story about how lovely they are. Nothing more nothing less.

The above was written in the time called ‘before’.

I have left the graveyard. For good.

Nothing grows there and I was constantly cutting flowers to put on the tombs. Cutting myself down in the process, to the point where I was constantly bleeding out.

Now?

I deserve a rose garden.

I am not to be merely tolerated, I am to be adored.

Boys and the crushes I develop on them have been a hobby of mine for, pretty much the entirety of my existence.

I always felt so lucky to be chosen.

I forgot they were lucky too.

Blame it on my cripplingly low self-esteem.

I always wanted to be wanted, but what about what I want?

I correlated a list of ‘demands’ in my head yesterday, in anticipation of a dinner date with a new boy.

I have to say, I have dated some good looking men in my day but this one…I can’t even find the words to describe him. Stunning.

This time around?

I don’t care.

If I see red flags or feel disrespected in any way, I am done.
There will be no attachments without reason.
Treat me right or show yourself out.

Pick me up, take me out and be sweet to me.

I was thinking out loud to my Mandy Panda stating all of these things that I require and I had a twinge of feeling selfish.

But I ain’t.

Small gestures and courteous behavior begets great rewards.

I am kind, warm, supportive, a spectacular cook and I will happily have all the sex.

I know what I am and I know what I am not. I refuse to lie or manipulate, and I am perfectly happy alone.

There are no more lost boys. I am loyal and lovely.

If this last few years of my life have taught me anything it is that I am still viable and valuable.

I started this journey into singledom with a boy born on Halloween, a day for the dead.
That went down in flames and a friendship rose from the ashes. He’s buried in the graveyard with the rest of them.

Would you rather hear the words “I love you” or be shown through action?

Action.

Hands down, every time.

I made a bad joke about dating Scorpios and their inability to pronounce the word love but good god do they ever show it.

It was flippant.

But it did get me thinking. Life is nothing but a series of little amazing moments.

Those are the things I want to take with me when I leave this earth.

It is February. Nothing good has ever happened in February.

The last year of my failed marriage, I locked myself in my room for the entirety of that month. Literally screaming at anyone who tried to come in. I would wake up at 6am, take the dogs out, get provisions and lock myself back in before anyone else woke up.

Halfway through this godforsaken month lands Valentine’s Day.

Never been my favorite holiday. In fact farm hubby bought sisterwife and me matching jeweled trinkets, which sent me into a further rage.

She was never my equal.

She wasn’t my nemesis either, so under qualified. But she belonged there and I did not hence the massive amounts of discord throughout that relationship.

I do so hate being somewhere I don’t belong.

I do so love where I am now.

The former reigning champion for ‘the worst month ever’ has been surprisingly pleasant this year.

Last year was okay for the first half.

It is the anniversary of the sub-zero barbeque that led to me being smitten as fuck with the Giant.

Effort.

I like that shit.

It was -30 degrees Celsius and he made me a steak on a charcoal barbeque. With all the trimmings.

6 days later he dumped me for the traveling waitress and it took me forever to let it go.

But I did.

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life. Post eclipse. No attachments, lanterns lit and sent into the sky the night before.

And I saw the Giant.

He invited me over 12 times, stating he was ‘afraid I would knock on his door and he wouldn’t be home’. See above where I hate being places I am not invited and I flippantly stated that he knew better and that I required 10 invites ‘just to be sure’.

Cue the ‘come over’ texts x 10.

I wasn’t going to go. For the most superstitious of reasons. I was afraid I would offend the gods I had sacrificed all my ghosts to the night prior.

Panda came home and we made a decision based on a bottle of wine to go over to hang with him and our Dear Robert. They fed us pizza and I had a glass of incredible scotch, brought home from Scotland.

She cussed him out on my behalf, she had every right to, she cleaned up the mess he left.

She said she was proud of me, so was I.

I’m actually over it.

The text that sparked the pilgrimage to his house simply stated “I was wrong”.

For a brief second I thought he meant about everything. And I realized, after a moment, I didn’t care.

I was simultaneously talking to another boy (who may or may not be a gift from the gods who read moon lantern messages) at the same time.

Trying to make dinner plans, he said he believed he would have a hard time keeping his hands off me.

To which I replied ‘that is more than alright’.

Here comes the transitional paragraph…

There is a book called The 5 Love Languages

1. Words of Affirmation(To be verbally acknowledged)
2. Quality Time(To enjoy companionship)
3. Receiving Gifts(To be given tokens of love)
4. Acts of Service(To have their partners do tasks for them)
5. Physical Touch(To be in contact via the body)

Everyone needs 1 or more of these things to feel valued in a relationship.

5 is my big one…I wither without human contact.

4 makes me happy and uncomfortable. I like it when people do things for me but somehow it throws me off. I think it is because I am a huge effort maker. Constantly looking for ways to add to the comfort and well-being of the people I love. Also it was a thing that I needed but never received in any of my long relationships. I am working on it.

I don’t know what the future holds.

But, as I was talking to Panda last night, I have realized what I want, and what I deserve.

Pick me up, take me out. Text me a couple times a day.

And yes, please touch me as much as is humanly possible.

…Believing I had supernatural powers
I slammed into a brick wall

Then I proceeded to bash my head off it a few times.

But that wasn’t until after I pulled a Blair Witch for a bit and just stood with my face in the corner.

I put myself on a time out for a few weeks. Or the universe did and I realized it was a really good idea so I rolled with it.

And then decided in my infinite wisdom to take one last kick at the hornet’s nest.

I emailed the Giant.

Never did save his number to my new phone, wonder how many times I would have drunk dialed him.

Mayhap a few.

But I was distracted. I had Black 19 and the return of Wolfling.

They’re gone.

The Giant conversation was … satisfying. But not in the way one would think.

He told me a handful of times last year that he loved me.

But his love remains inactive and afraid.

I said hey is this my problem
is this my fault?
If that’s the way it’s gonna be
I’m gonna call the whole thing to a halt

I should start listening Paul Simon (*all italics). As I am still crazy after all these years, and if I could just figure out one of the 50 ways to leave my lovers that’d be great.

Many’s the time I’ve been mistaken
And many times confused
Yes, and often felt forsaken
And certainly misused
But I’m all right, I’m all right
I’m just weary to my bones

I found myself too tired to beg cajole or convince.

Giant asked me to have a scotch with him and then retracted the offer as the conversation went on.

He gets hard when I talk, even via email.

Oh look, I do have supernatural powers. Siren or Succubus so that’s that then.

I’ve been putting off asking the universe for the usual list of wishes and wants.

When I hit walls, get hurt or left I feel like I lose my swagger, mojo, juju etc.

So I invariably ask for them back.

But did they ever really leave?

I don’t think so. I had the power all along.

I tend to ask for one more thing with the list of 3.

My equal.

I kinda liked being in stasis this time around though. Vagina on lockdown. Ex-lovers offending me and removing themselves from my life, heart and mind beyond reconcile one by one in rapid succession.

Giant was the last. The last one I would have run back to.

But after that conversation?

Nope.

Just in time…

“An unusual celestial trifecta of a penumbral lunar eclipse, a snow moon, and a comet will occur on 10 February 2017”.

For the first time since I was 13 years old, my heart is unattached. There are no ties that bind, no what if’s or promises left.

Dobby is a free elf.

The full moon is in Leo, this is the gate through which all energies will flow until the eclipse in September.

You don’t drown by going with the flow, you drown by holding onto the things that weigh you down.

By forced catharsis, I am an empty vessel just in time for the eclipse.

I smudged and tidied.

The house is clean.

And so am I.

This self-imposed curse on my love life is lifted.

Let the next one who catches my eye be wonderful, worthy and have good intentions.

So mote it be.

Hello my pretties.

There are darknesses in life my child(ren) and there are lights, you are one of the lights. ~ Dracula

I am calling on the lights. I know you are there, I can feel you out there.

The world feels really dark right now and I believe we can change it.

I am walking into tomorrow an empty vessel on purpose.

I have my own quirks and rituals, we all do.

I am not here to tell you what to do exactly, but I am begging you in the name of whatever gods you pray to. Let’s do SOMETHING.

This house is spotless, the plants tended to. The mirrors are clean though I have yet to salt and smudge them.

I’m gearing up for tomorrow, doing some prep work for some spells of my own for me and mine.

It’s a special full moon.

Friday the 10^th of February hails the coming of a comet, a full snow moon and a lunar eclipse in Leo.

As far as I can figure, this is a gateway through which all energies for 2017 will be funneled.

A new new years if you will.

I’m going to call it a power point.

“All for one and one for all. The Full Moon in proud Leo on February 10, 2017, is a Lunar Eclipse that tosses a heavy dose of overindulgent self-expression into the cosmic mix. Lunar Eclipses are culminations of emotional cycles that have run their course, and they require us to leave something in the past.” (www.tarot.com)

Hmmmm.

Calling all witches and wise women, wolves, warlocks and those who stand with the white.

Seems like the perfect time to leave  behind the emotional turmoil that has been tangible, global and awful since January 19^th.

All for one and one for all.

Kill one save a thousand.

Now I am not proposing we kill he-who-shall-not-be-named.

I believe whole-heartedly in karma and the rule of three.

But I also believe that a collective expulsion of energy all aimed in the same general direction could alter the course of history.

Once upon a time I was a sad girl about a boy. I called up my best earth-witch friend and sat in a park bent over a candle.
By the pricking of our thumbs, he messaged 2 days later.

If two of us can pull that off on a waning gibbous moon with nothing but my love, our hearts and a couple drops of blood over a static filled phone line. Imagine what we all could do if we set our intent, together.

I propose tomorrow, we all send out an echo of peace and love, and maybe a little mischief.

http://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/02/lunar-eclipse-full-moon-in-leo-a-rare-chance-to-let-go-receive-limitless-love/

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?
B^astille

Easy.

I’m not.

Optimism only gets me fucked over and hurt.

My whole life I have held the philosophy that everyone deserves my trust until they break it.

Sorry.

In my 43^rd year on the planet, after getting fucked over in rapid succession I have realized, beyond all doubt, that is the wrong fucking answer.

Once upon a time I knew what it felt like to not be trusted.

It sucked.

But at the time I had earned that, I was an asshole. I cheated and stole and lied. I fucked other girl’s boyfriends, shop lifted and invented whatever stories I had to, to get out of whatever trouble I was in.

Then I stopped, and in time with good behavior and penance I was forgiven.

I earned that too.

I know what it is like to want that so bad it hurts, so I gave it freely.

But you lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
You lie, cheat, and steal
And I tolerate you

Intolerance ~ Tool

See also “I will find a center in you, I will chew it up and leave.” Sober

How many licks does it take to get to the center of this Pollyanna Tootsie Roll Pop heart of mine?

By my count about 10. 10 licks with a whip, 10 times being chewed up and spit out.

My center isn’t holding. I am actually flying apart without my candy coating.

The hits have been coming in rapid succession and I haven’t had time to regenerate.

I haven’t fed and I am not myself when I am hungry. But what if what I am eating is poison anyways?

“(Regarding) your love life card. Do these guys not know how invested you’re willing to be with them (guilty myself)” so asketh the Giant.

I don’t think they care, you didn’t, why should they?

I talked to him last night. He sent a thinly veiled invite to sit down over a glass of scotch and revoked it an hour or so later.

“One more thing that might set your mind at least a little at ease.
Not only am I not drinking for the bulk of February, I have also taken a temporary vow of chastity until month’s end.
So, you are safe as house, at either of our houses.”

I had said I was safe, I was on lockdown, I am celibate for February, I would double knot my baggiest sweatpants and still. Not enough.

“Once way too drunk, twice shy.
I was going to ask what body part of mine you found most tempting so I could cover it.
But I think it might be my mouth…”

He bailed a few messages later.

After he told me I wasn’t wrong about my mouth.

I was reminded of an article I wrote for him in the time called before…

I think “he only want me when I’m not there” (Beyoncé) and that really sucks.

I feel as though (and I could be wrong) my vow of chastity was met with black excitement instead of comfort.

It is flattering to think (and be told) that he couldn’t be in a room with me and not want me. I can still get him hard just by speaking. He made it clear that I am not some previously discarded sex toy, that I am someone with character that he has a vested interest in. So that was nice.

But, in the interest of moving forward…that was also goodbye.

All I want is Saturday night sex and scotch. Followed by Sunday morning pancakes and some forehead kisses by someone who says ‘that’s my girl’ when the occasion calls for it.

I want symbiosis.

I want the kind of friendship I have with Panda, and Mandy Panda. Those who call me out on my bullshit and also leave me alone sometimes. Those who I can tell anything to without judgement. They who support me regardless of my folly.

I want to feel protected akin to the ones I call Home and Habibi. Two men, a million miles away, that have the uncanny ability to make me feel safe when the situation calls for it. I can also tell them anything and they invariably do answer “that’s my girl”.

I want someone I can share music with, like the Giant. He also pushes my conversational aptitude into something to behold. And the sex, ya that, but with less intimidation, more of what it could have been had I not been afraid…so

Inhibition, pillow forts, lightning kisses and movies like Black 19.

Earn my trust.

And above all things, someone who stays.

I purge my closet every so often.

Meant to do it when I got home from away.
But I didn’t bring back even a fraction of the amount of new clothes I usually do. Tight budget and I had this new outlook thing going… Quantity over quality.

I skipped over buying a Free People dress on for 70% off for 2 reasons.
It was gorgeous and it fit, but it wasn’t stunning.
And I had promised Black 19 I would buy him a rosary, $80 either way. I chose to come bearing gifts instead of treating myself.

Also begged the question, who am I?

Been asking that a lot lately.

But that isn’t what this is about.

This is about a pair of silk pants that I love. They feel so good on and they give me bubble butt.

During this most recent closet purge I pulled them out of their cubby and noticed a stain, I was sad, then nostalgic. Miracle of all miracles tide pen acted like a magic eraser and voila, all better. The pants will live to be worn on another first date.

As I stood, holding the pants, my mind drifted back to the last time I wore them.

First date with the Thai Fighter.

He and his roommate cooked dinner for me and mine.

Good times.

I had a brief wave of nostalgia and decided it was a good idea to look him up on Facebook and say “hey hope all is well.”

It is, he’s engaged.

I didn’t end up saying ‘hey’. I can’t.

I found out he was in a relationship the whole time he was with me.

That wasn’t exactly how he explained it to me.

He even told me he was coming back this year, not like a promise, more like a suggestion.

He ghosted like a pro a few weeks before he was supposed to go home, to her.

At least now I know why.

You know what would be really weird?

If one of them actually stuck around.

Let’s recap shall we? So far this year I found out…

Black 19 sold the rights to access me for 300 bucks.

Poet had 3 other girls on the line at the same time as me that I have met, who knows how many more.

Wait, let’s go even further back.

High School Sweetheart dated eeeerrrrrrbody but me when we lived in the same town, but I was okay to fuck ONCE. He’s married now.

BabyDaddy slept with my best friend.

The Waiter was bisexual and wandered off on Pride Day to “play chess”, came back all sweaty.

Another one stabbed himself in front of me and I stayed with him after so he didn’t kill himself.

The next one beat and raped me.

The one after that disappeared for two weeks to get back with his ex on the other side of the province ‘just to make sure’. Found out about that after we broke up 5 years later. He hit me more than once.

Then hubby and sisterwife fiasco. 7 years of perdition and cheating.

Then Pimp Daddy who earned his nickname by living off my stripper earnings while he quit job after job after job. Then threatened to testify against me in court.

That catches us up to the blog years.

Young Un the first took another girl to Niagara Falls in the truck he borrowed from me.

Sunday only wanted me once a week.

The Hulk bailed too. I get it, but fuck.

Gelfling, Wolfling ‘poof’ gone.

Then the guy who lied about his name and stalked me.

Then Giant left me for not-Becky the traveling waitress.

Haven’t seen the Lumberjack in 90 days.

Now the new Thai Fighter info and we are up to date.

I think I am going to die alone.

I laid in bed last night and that thought washed over me.

I think I am so punch drunk that I haven’t internalized the enormity of this.

I don’t even know if I care at this point.

That psychic I saw said I needed to focus less on the man I want and more on the relationship I want.

But see above where I have no reference point whatsoever.

Even the book is fucked. The two main characters don’t even live together and the whole thing is twisted.

I am almost done the book and I am trying to figure out how to pry her away from the Poet-type character she was originally in love with, but I forgot to make him a monster. To be fair, I didn’t have all the information when I started. I didn’t know about the others or that he is incapable of love.

For a minute I thought I should rewrite his parts, take the humanity out of him, but it’s too far gone.

I want it done and over with.

I have a fairy tale themed book I want to write, less gang bangs more dragons.

In this book, the Giant-type character rescues her.

“I wonder who I would run to if I was drunk in a room with everyone I ever loved.”

I don’t wonder, I know.

I have run to him drunk and sober a few times now. He ran to me a few times too.

But, as it stands

I was late for this, late for that
Late for the love of my life
But when I die alone
When I die alone
When I die I’ll be on time.

The Lumineers~Cleopatra

I always thought there would be a reckoning, you know? Like one day it would all make some sense.

But I’m tired of searching through the wreckage looking for clues.

I never like what I find anyways.

I’m exhausted by the dead resurrecting themselves with a resounding ‘sup?’

I feel like the conflict portion of my fairy tale should be over by now.

How much deeper into the woods do I need to go before I can have forehead kisses and pancakes on Sunday morning?

I am ready to close this chapter and move forward into my happily ever after.