December 2018

I no longer have an operational Microsoft program in which to write and edit before I put things here.

This has shown me what a horrible speller I am and I know I am rusty as fuck, can’t blame that on the lack of a program.
I am using this as a diary and nothing more. There is no eloquence here, I don’t remember how to do this and that’s okay. It will come back.

I had no idea where I was going with this when I sat down. Still not entirely sure. I woke up an hour earlier than usual today and decided to write.

That’s all life is, waking up and deciding.

There’s an article tickling the tip of my tongue, The Green Blanket, Old Ringtones and other Portals through Time. This isn’t it. I have notes somewhere and I am looking at the green blanket right now. Wrapped in a different one, fuck it is some fucking cold today. I am praying the bartender left the heat on at the bar. We have been half naked meat popsicles for 2 days now.

I just wrote the words “it will come back” and it set off a chain of thoughts. I am now listening to Hozier. This was my Hulk album. I remember driving on the 401 back from Toronto late at night and almost having to pull over hearing Take Me to Church. Went home and pre-ordered the album. Loved it. Still do. Google says it came out in 2013, time flies. That was the first year of my singleness. The year of Michaels and trip to Los Angeles.

It was a really good year. Started with an ice storm and ended with a Christmas alone in Narnia prepping for a court case that I ended up winning on my own, with a whole bunch of awesome in between. I miss Narnia and I miss being that isolated and alone. When the Lovely One took me out to the big house in the woods a while back I was hit with glorious nostalgia, standing naked in the window looking out at nothing but trees and snow.

Ya, I hear you. Can you hear me?

I’m howling too.

“Are you coming home for Christmas” the Last One asked.

“No honey, that isn’t home anymore.”

(and neither are you.)

I still haven’t found it exactly. but I like it here. Its been the best of times and the worst.

Whole lotta too little too late.

I eluded to the existence of 3 potentials in my last post. Potential is not the right word at all. Very little here is viable. Nothing grows and no one stays. There was a night a few weeks back wherein a lot of the men I have become friends with were all in the bar at the same time. My feet didn’t touch the ground for a full ten minutes, getting scooped up in bear hug after bear hug. I remembered why I came here and was hit with how much things have changed in a year. I left with the Lovely One.

I highlighted the word NEED in the lyrics that prompted this post. I swear, for 5 years I heard “how easy you are to leave”. Leave, need, home, hope. My brain is a funny thing. I am easy to leave, I think I am easy to need as well.

If we are telling the whole truth, I am just easy. If I like you I like you. I am not complicated. I enjoy being loving and kind. Not in a rush to change that, not sure I could if I tried at this point. Biker Body Pillow thinks I have been alone long enough to be dangerous. I am not changing for anyone.

The second non viable potential, let’s call him Nein and 3/4. Just an emphatic no and his track record for failed attempts to see me. Nope has been taken. He scratched at the door last night and I didn’t let him in.

So, of course today we had a full on conversation and he was sweet to me.

Honestly so sick of this shit. Just feels like a shitty game all the time. I know the rules, I have to pretend to not care, or actually get pushed to that point where seriously zero fucks are available and then they come back. It’s bullshit.

He leaves in a week and a 25% success rate is not worth shaving my legs for. Vibrator is charged and I have pornhub. I’m good thanks.

Vagina is protesting that last statement. Shut up sis. It’s all just broken promises and my head hurts from rationalizing shitty behavior.

The Lovely One seems to be on a 10-12 day cycle wherein he remembers I exist. i am expecting a text in the next 24 hours. Fuck he is pretty to look at. Porno mouth, porno grin. But there is a lot of cocaine on this island, Everyone is doing it or dealing it or both. Which makes that situation non viable as well.
Sucks, we made plans while he was away. We were supposed to have 5 weeks of cooking, snuggling and fucking. He saw my bedroom upon the internet and wanted to sleep in the gypsy nest, but he never came by.
He tried once.
A for effort I guess.
Vagina is also protesting that last statement. I’ll allow it.

What we allow is what will continue.

I saw an interview with Kristen Bell, she was talking about her husband and when they first started dating. He said something along the lines of “you can’t keep storming off every time we have a fight. I love you but I love myself more and I am not going to spend the rest of my life living like this.”

There it is.

Everything can be unlearned. I don’t want to spend my life like this.

High de ho.

Holy shit, yet another long minute since I have been here.

I miss this. I do. I feel like I am doing myself a disservice, how am I supposed to remember if I don’t write things down?

The trek up the hill after a massive blizzard, 200 feet of 2 foot drifts to crash on a couch in a deserted empty house in the woods. Worth it though. Mostly.
The cock blocking staff party well after I had given up.
The continuation of giving up. Letting go and letting God. Not despair, just a shrugging of shoulders. It is what it is.
The worst idea I have ever had, which is what this is going to end up being about.

It took me forever to log into my account. 5 reset passwords and a forgotten username.

I miss my laptop, prior to the shittiest Windows update ever, the great crash of October 2018. She now has dementia. Takes forever to do things, has forgotten and forsaken me. In an added note of hilarity, I decided, while waiting to log in yet again, to put pen to paper. Threw out 5 pens. I don’t love the one that worked, heavy and clunky with no smoothness to it. But it worked. Everything is a metaphor. And god might be trying to tell me something.

I am, at my best, a bad listener. I ask for signs, the misinterpret them on purpose to suit myself. And look where that got me. 3000 km from home on some drunken promises that were forgotten by morning. But not by me.

So here I am.

I do what I can with what I have where I is.

A year ago today I announced my intention to move here after sitting on the idea for 6 weeks.

I rarely keep quiet that long, but if I check the dates, probably been that long since I wrote something here. Still, not like me at all. I think I am changing again. I would like to keep the writing, and the page. These are good things. My optimism can return any time now. Libido too.
My patience is waning. My innate desire and compulsion to contribute to the happiness of others can fuck right off.

I have to leave for work in 2 hours, totally forgot about that as I was attempting to get in here. I fell asleep in my clothes, it’s hair washing day. Had 2 girls cancel and Brian is sick. I have no choice at this point. Better to save my days off, I think something good is coming.

I have hit this level somewhere past hand shy though. It scares me a bit.

Let down after let down after let down.

I took to covering his mouth when he’d promise tomorrow, or anything at all really. Didn’t change anything. But my superstitions are hard to let go of. They are bred in my bones.

I heard and old Russian proverb. Pray to God, but row to shore.

Praying isn’t enough, heaven knows I tried.

When I went back to Ontario I decided to appease the gods. No use praying for sex and turning it down when it presents itself, I shall not squander the gifts I have been given. I saw the Giant. And it was good, amen.

I thought it had started a trend. I had an amazing date/week with a wonderful man, who sadly lives 19 hours away. I miss him. Funny story. When we finally got around to having sex (half a dozen times) every time he would leave the room, I could hear my pussy whispering “come back now please”. She’s still doing it, just more of a shout now.

I waited for another to come back from away, but it didn’t go well. Too bad, he was lovely too.

And then…

Oh and then…

I was talking to Biker Body Pillow last night (we both had Christmas booty calls that didn’t follow through and were both irritated at best)
I wrote a brief point form list of all the reasons my bc was a bad idea,
He’s rude
Inconsistent
We bicker when we’re fucking
Probably slept with half the strippers on the island
and a whole lot more I cannot go into
Blah blah blah
then stated, “but, vagina likes him”.

BBP in his glorious wisdom and blessing/curse of always telling the truth said

“Dude you sure it’s your vag that likes him and not your constant need for self destruction?”

To which I replied “No, I am not even remotely sure, in fact I think that’s it.”

Last night was the 4th attempt at said booty call. 1 outta 4 is not great odds. 25%. If I only did 25% of my work, or only showed up for one shift in 4, I’d be fired.

So that’s it then.

Time to realize some people ain’t worth my time at all.

And maybe quash that need for self destruction.