June 2019

Day 131 without sex

I have become a meme in that series of memes.

And to be absolutely honest, day 23 felt exactly like that. Day 90 it started getting easier, sorta.

Almost there.

Hairdresser pulled my hair yesterday but I kept it in context. There is a bit of logic left in this place. Not much mind you. See last weeks post about slip sliding away into oblivion.

I have no patience left.

What I do have is a deep, carnal ache every night when I try to fall asleep.

One would think I would be having good sex dreams, I think I did last night but I can’t remember.

I can remember the one crooked tooth at the side of his smile. How his biceps are bigger than my thighs. That look he would get, the other looks. All the looks. The sound of his voice. The sound of deep, guttural growls and by contrast a giggle here and there.

Was supposed to be 9 days until I got to go see him, but the powers that be have dictated otherwise. So it’s 15 to 20. Which is fine. Car still isn’t back and I still need a money miracle. Any time now.

I stopped writing for a while so I can’t remember when, but the other powers that be decided it was a good idea to have me walk the gauntlet of exes. I passed that test, and the last one, all the tests.
Then a monkey wrench.

I haven’t been attracted to another man since I met this one. Like not a bit. Girls at work say this or that guy is so hot. I don’t see it. The parade of men and boys I was once smitten with did nothing for me.

The other night as I was tending bar a man walked up to the bar and I had to turn away, mouthed the words “oh shit”. Turned back around and he had rolled up his sleeves. Of course he had tattoos. More ‘oh shit’.

Then he pulled a mind fuck and talked. In an Australian accent with a smattering of Texan. And a 135 IQ.
And he likes scotch. And and and…

He’s married.

There is a god.

He came back the next night and we both spit out the truth, so that was good.

One of the girls at work told me to take it as a sign that if this didn’t work out, there are others. I don’t want the others. But I get it.

Married dude is also a Leo. I had a king on his knees. Therein is the lesson.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

I had to do a deep clean on the girl’s house this past weekend. I dreaded and postponed it for too long.

Fuck, that place is the prison where my ghosts live. The chair I missed and bruised my tailbone still in the kitchen. So much blood spilled on that bathroom floor. I could hear the echoes of Stompy stomping. The Creep gave me a mirror once upon a time and I found it in the upstairs hallway turned into a corner like one of the kids from Blair Witch. Every pulled muscle, 42 days of broken toe. The 4am girl fights, the 5am crackhead cleaning brigades. The birds singing at night. The storms that shook the house. The storms that shook me. Every tear and scream that landed in the pillows.

The last room I cleaned was the first room I lived in.

I put the mirror back where it was supposed to be. Cleaned it. Swept every bit of dust and bad juju up off the floor and called all of my power back to me.

I felt it come rushing in.

I feel better.

Then the man came.

Then my man called, but I missed it.

If you haven’t had a jail bae, missing calls is the fucking worst. Not quite as bad as the prolonged silences, at least I know I am not forgotten.

And at least I know I have my swagger back.

Now I just want my Mister.

I drank last night.

Not happy about it. Sullied my 42 days without my birthday as an excuse.

Now I get to clean the girl’s house and open the bar.

Not happy about that neither. I like opening the bar, but the $20 cab and smell of cleaning products, not so much. I don’t have a hangover per say, but I don’t feel so shit hot either.

But first. I write.

Seems like the bulk of Canada is experiencing a very fall like summer. We are no exception. I wore my winter coat to work last night. Not happy.

Roomie 2 read what I wrote yesterday, or maybe just the title and retaliated with a post that said ‘naysayer and proud of it’. I guess that’s that then. Not happy, but it is what it is.

Another acquaintance checked on me yesterday, which started out nice, then quickly descended into what happens with every male in my life when I mention Mister, which is more saying of the nay. I don’t know what is worse, actually I do…they think I am dumb and weak and possibly crazy. Underestimate me all you want. I’ve been through shit that would kill the average person. I am fine. Thanks.

Kidlet was off work sick for almost 2 months. They are holding his pay even though he has been back for a cycle. Not happy. He might get something next week and found a cash job in the meantime. He is definitely my child. Back him into a corner and he walks through walls.

Work sucked last night, no bones about it. 2 insanely drunk bachelor parties and a lot of “Sarah, I know it’s not your job but could you ________.”
I did the things. Around 1:30 I’d had enough and decided to join them instead of beating them.

Beating them was the reason I quit drinking in the first place. Fuck or fight, and I have not been getting laid sooooooo, that energy had to go somewhere. I had a lot of repressed rage as a child, it’s coming back around. It’s funny. Old behavior patterns come bubbling up to the surface when we aren’t paying attention.

I am slipping. I can feel it.

You know the nearer your destination the more you’re slip sliding away.

Goddammit Paul, you know that’s the absolute truth.

He was right. This last stretch is the fucking worst.  The first 41 days weren’t so shit hot either, but I am looking back at them fondly, like walking with cake. Day 99 got a bit easier, double digits being what they are. I cannot begin to imagine what he is going through right now.

19 to 24 more days. 127 down. I don’t know where I am going. My car still isn’t back, I haven’t booked anything because I don’t know the exact date, and I am a fucking planner. Might just have to wing this one. I planned everything before and look where it got me.

I kinda know where I’m going. A city I have never been to. Gotta go see about a man.

I looked at maps and air bnb’s. I know the ferry schedule. I know how long it takes to get from one side of this island to the other, it’s pretty much one highway all the way. But nothing definitive. Technically I should have anxiety about this, but I don’t. I have a dress with the tags still on, it’s red and easily removed, so I know what I am changing into once I hit the mainland.

I also know that the amount of money I have sent and am owed back is exactly what I need to get where I’m going. Funny how that works.

I was cuddling with my Haitian hoodoo mamabear last night at the bar. Before the drinking. I was close to crying and she knew it. The girls that have been around me for extended periods of time just know when I have storms inside, especially her. Because she wants to, she actually gives a shit about me. She loves Mister, known him for years. Brings me comfort to listen to her tell me how lovable he is and she likes listening to my stories about him. We know the same version of him and she says the idea of us together makes her happy, me too mama, me too. She was trying to get me to say that I love him. I don’t know yet. Which is a switch, I am always the one who knows someone/something/somewhere is going to be important before I know why. With him I didn’t. I called him a dumbass a few minutes after we met. He was pouring double screwdrivers on heartburn. I called him a dumbass and gave him some Tums. He came back the next day and said “take my number.” No question, just a statement.

He told me a few dates in, “I knew what you were before I knew your name”.
His third text “we’re going to be together a lot, might as well start now.” I didn’t believe him, but I also couldn’t argue with that. He has this matter of fact way about him. It’s ridiculously attractive.

So I just showed up.

Maybe that’s how this goes.

I just show up.

My girl entered a contest to be on the cover of a tattoo magazine. She’s gorgeous. I met her years ago, during the Drogo chapter of my life. I was chillin’ with him and she was getting her picture taken. He’s a multi tasker. We had already fucked, swam, eaten, fucked one more time and I was lounging before round 3.

I am always scared of meeting new women. Especially beautiful ones. In under 20 minutes we were bonding over post baby bellies and remedies. Drogo walked into the room as I had my index finger hooked in the waistband of her outfit and was looking down her panties and we were having a good giggle. Sadly, he did not have his camera in hand. Would have been one of those perfect candid shots. But alas, it is just burned into my memory instead.

I have a few of those. Picture perfect memories of which there is no proof outside my mind that they ever happened. My kneeling in front of a rather Rubenesque stripper named Christienne, with two pairs of pliers, putting her clit ring back in. the morning after the night before as I stared in wonder out of the window in the empty mansion, naked except for some thigh highs, warm and happy and overwhelmed.

I have no idea where I was going with this.

Started it a week ago probably.

I am not myself anymore.

I couldn’t tell you when I stopped writing, I mean I could look on here and trace back the decline in my words. The weeks that went by and I said nothing instead of posting 3 articles every 7 days.

America is terrifying and kinda on fire. I am house mom stripper on a weird little rock in the Atlantic. People have come and gone. And come back, and come back one more time, and just a few more times for good measure. I have hired some of the worst strippers/human beings on the planet. One refused to leave my house for 8 days and screamed obscenities and cursed my name for the duration of her overstay. I kept drinking and quitting in longer and shorter intervals. Its been 40 days with a birthday slip up, for the record. I met someone I care about deeply and it’s been a challenge.

It isn’t like I didn’t have shit to say.

Laptop was in a coma, but normally I would have gone running to the geek squad and had it fixed within 24 hours.

Maybe being here, living at the girl’s house for 6 months, separated from my dog and 90% of my stuff n things, and friends and family had something to do with it. The great delete of a year ago March or April. Wherein I took down things I had written, never done that before, and it kinda coincides.

Could be the 6 months of heavy drinking. The 18 days home after said six months wherein I only had to time to do a few things and come running back here. For this.

I don’t know if I like this.

I mean I can list all the things I don’t like. But who has the time.

My magic seems broken here. I have even tried doing things completely opposite to the mainland, but I can’t seem to get my power back. Just now and again in small doses. Blood majicks and the phone hasn’t rung yet.

Ha, Momo’s old trick worked.

She said “if you ever forget what you are doing, go pee, it will come back to you.” Just peed. Got it.

The tattooed girl on the cover of the magazine. Some dude decided to mansplain to her how these contests work blah blah scam blah blah blah. Spent more time telling her why she was stupid than it took for me to vote, twice, and share the link to my page so other people could vote.

I remember now

NAYSAYERS GONNA SAY NAY.

So I have 2 roommates. One is the epitome of health. She is at the gym for the 9^th time this week (not exaggerating).

I was/am battling my own addictions and issues. She tough loved me and like I said, 40 days booze free with one fuck up. Also found a non douchey vape and have had less than a pack of cigarettes in a week after a pack a day habit for almost 30 years. I have a Thanos sippy cup at work now instead of a whiskey sippy cup. 40 ounces of water a go and I try to get through 3 per shift. I am hydrated. Can’t sleep for shit now, but I am fucking hydrated.

During a tough love session at the beginning of all this, wherein I laid on the grass in the park with a killer hangover and she ran 5km in circles around me, we came back to the house mid discussion on how my life was falling apart and roommate number 2 chimed in. Viciously. Like way too much. Like I sequestered myself in my room for 2 or 3 days, only leaving to shower eat and work.

I bawled for about 6 hours straight. The weight of everything I have been carrying, crushing me, almost to panic attack mode whre I couldn’t breathe.

And then it hit me.

Don’t take critisism from someone you wouldn’t take advice from.

He is Miss Havasham, married the prettiest girl on the island and it didn’t work out so now he is mad about it and tortures himself and others.
Strip club DJ’s in the 90’s were kings of the world. Strippers too. Now we are barely scraping by. I accept this and have alternate plans. He doesn’t. He just went down the road to the other strip club.

Naysayers gonna say nay.

I remember sitting in his Jeep one night mentioning what I would have done for someone else who was supposed to go to prison and roomie 2 saying no one had ever done anything lke that for him.

And yet, not once but twice roomie number 2 went at me so personally and rude I ended up in tears. We were supposed to be friends. And ya, I nagged him about all of his bad habits, including the ones that culminated in his termination, but I did it out of love, not schadenfreude. I also made sure he ate real food and changed his sheets. I understand misery loves company, and it takes way less effort to wallow in your own shit than to actually do something. But come on.

My PIC who happens to be a mutual friend even said to him “Sarah is incredibly forgiving and we have been through a lot. You should try talking to her, make some effort.”

But there is no effort. Just dirty dishes in the sink and a flippant comment about how this is ‘on me.’

It ain’t.

He is hell bent that my relationship is in my head and won’t work and I am just wasting my time.

But it’s mine to waste.

And what about that thing where no one ever showed him that kind of effort. Why deny another man that?

because…

2 kinds of people in the world. I had to go through this so you should too. and I had to go through this and I will do everything I can to keep you from it because I know it sucks.

Love not shown is love wasted ~ Michael Xavier.

I have that tattooed on my ribs for fuck sakes.

And the other times I tried dating on this island ended as badly as anything has ever ended. So what is wrong with being celibate for 140 days and saving myself from those horrors for someone I believe is worth it?

And what if it does work out?

What about that.