July 2018

Okay squirrels, time to rally.

I’ve been exploring old playlists from when I lived in Milton. Mentioned it to kiddo and he said simply “send them”.

It remains our happiest of places.

I was the most content I’ve ever been there in the summertime. Hummingbirds, laying naked on the porch to dry off after all showers. Collecting rainwater to wash my hair. I started this blog there. Had lovely lovers. Had more than enough room for wayward souls to stay until it was time to go again, and I remained. Queen of the castle, on land that was never mine, but that was okay. All the space and half the responsibilities.

I became single and in being alone, found myself again. Stopped compromising the bits of joy I found for anyone or anything. Realized life is just a string of wonderful moments sprinkled liberally throughout the daily routine of living.

Winters were tough but I felt so fucking accomplished surviving each one. I endured, and began to love prolonged bouts of solitude. I learned to quiet my mind. I realized no one was coming to rescue me and that is okay too.

So where the fuck did I put that girl?

She is welcome back any fucking time now.

I miss her strength and purpose.

I regressed too far.

I told my first lie since 2011, and it was a thundercunt move, a really big bad.

As an intro to a 1300 word apology I listed off what I had endured since I got here, 5 months ago.
Not as an excuse, but an introduction to my headspace.

I have not been myself since I got here. Every day I question why I came at all. I don’t feel like I have anywhere to return to and occasionally I am gifted small joys in the form of boys or a good night or a visit from friends, but most of the time I am feeling really dark, beaten down and frustrated.

I have been/worked through a bruised tailbone, a miscarriage, and evil death 6 week cold and now a broken toe (day 42).

I have been through Hurricane Stompy, Crazy and Manipulation. (Girls I work with)

And the boy I came here for loves to pop into the bar and not talk to me after filling my head with sunshine about getting a place together, meeting his mom etc. all while his ex-girlfriend stalks and harasses me in no semblance of pattern that I can figure out.

I survived the Mega Creeper, the Nope and now Mister loving me, then leaving me, then rubbing my nose in it.

I have boys from home calling me home and then disappearing too.

I have been drinking an excessive amount and I am scaring myself. My behavior has been abhorrent. I keep fucking everything up. I can’t find my feet and I keep stumbling. And I don’t know what to do.

Seeing it all laid out like that scared the shit out of me.

It’s all drudgery, peppered with putting out fires and being let down over and over.

There are bits of joy, but they leave me as quickly as they came. I miss my girls. I miss my Zen, my mojo and my majicks.

We are heading out of Cancer and into Leo. I would rather being roaring than crying. It’s time.

We are smack dab in the middle of eclipse season and for people like me, it means the truth is coming, I can see behind all the things.

The Lion’s Gate is about to open and I am so pleased.

I have a trunk in my room filled with the belongings of girls who are all set to return soon.

I keep getting my hopes up thinking, okay maybe this is why I came here. Whatever the ‘this’ of the moment seems to be.
A big bad one in particular that I do not wish to speak of right now. I am scared of how angry I am.

Once upon a time I was super-mega ultra-angry at a boy for being a fuckwit and hurting me and I let out a righteous shriek of mad into the ether. He called me 5 minutes later to tell me someone had just smashed the window on his truck…500 km away in Montreal.
So since then I have tried to keep my fury contained.
It’s really fucking hard today.

I am the thing they held sacred, and dropped*.

And I am not holding myself sacred. I know this.

Today I wished for clarity. Give me a shove towards what is best for me, and make it a good push, I am so damned stubborn.

(*Audioslave)

Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Sarah is crying on the green couch over a boy again.

I know that’s not how it goes. But I did wake up at 9 yesterday morning (still drunk) and my eyes were swollen from bawling. I blacked out and woke up, not in my bed, but in Sexy Giraffe’s room, where I was supposed to be, but with no idea how I got there.

We had a pact not to drink but the H.A showed up and ya, whiskey whiskey whiskey.

They were throwing me money to sit and drink with them, I ended up leaving early. My last clear memory sitting on the stoop with my friend Adam wiping tears from my cheeks telling me I am too beautiful to be crying over a boy.

And yet, here we are.

I wasn’t going to write about him. I was going to keep him to myself and just enjoy.
But then…he bailed and it hurt.

My psychic witch girl from North Carolina sent me a Taylor Swift video that night.

I know she knows all and sees all but every once in a while she hits me with some truth and I get shook.

I was scrolling through messages trying to put the night back together and saw it.

You see me in hindsight
Tangled up with you all night
Burn it down
Some day when you leave me
I bet these memories follow you around

Oh Tay Tay, how did you become my spirit guide? I’d rather be Miley, come in like a wrecking ball and end up in Malibu.

You would explain the current, as I just smile
Hoping I just stay the same and nothing will change
And it’ll be us, just for a while

I will never understand why boys and men get so fucking excited about me and then run.

You are going to regret this, ask the others.

Talk to the Hulk and the Giant. Ask the Last One.

Listen to the ones from high school who still beg for a second chance.

On a long enough timeline they all come back.

There is a line from the movie Lost Boys I quote often when this kind of thing happens, and the irony is not lost…puns intentional…”they pulled a mind fuck on us and talked.”

He rescued me when my car broke down. He played tour guide and host to my dear friend Valkyrie. We hiked to the Grebe’s Nest on Bell Island and he had an epic hangover, but pushed through. He bought her a lobster. Took me to the Keg and introduced me to his friends. We took it slow and easy.

Said he loved how it felt when I touched him. Called me his porn star in the morning after fetching me coffee, letting me drink it and then fucking me one more time before he took me home.
Then he bailed.

He looked me dead in the face and said he really liked me.
Asked if I had a passport.
Said he wanted to keep me.
Called me magic with reverence in his voice.
Had my number saved in his phone as “The Good Witch.”
Took pics of my footprints on the beach and me walking his doggos.

Now this … nothingness.

He didn’t have to say any of that, I knew what it was.

Dirty pillow talk.

The extra fucky part is that I knew what he was when I found him and I let him grow on me. He did step up. He did follow through, until I fucked him.

THAT WASN’T SEX. THAT WAS WORSHIP.

So, ya, this is hurting way more than it should.
Been down this road so many times they named it after me.

He had plans to leave this place. I wasn’t going to get in the way. I don’t want to be here anymore either.

As close as we can figure, he caught feelings too, at an inconvenient time. But the timing is never perfect. Or he is a fuckboi of epic proportions. Probably a little from column A, and a little from column B. I told him he was Peter Pan.

He was a want and not a need. I suppose that is terrifying unto itself.

I’ll live.