November 2019

I am an honorary member of the Scorpio tribe.

Magical, mystical creatures, most of them. One foot in this world and the other, well, in the others.

Forever confounded by the behavior of low men and women. Me too my darlings, me too.

I don’t hold grudges like they do, into the afterlife it seems.

Once this is out, I consider all matters closed. Not negotiable.

I’ve deemed these women who feel the need to follow my life for ugly reasons, inconsequential. 

It saddens me that they put weight on my opinions and actions. That’s no way to live. Worry about your own.

Scorpio 101

I will ignore you so thoroughly you will question your existence.

And honestly girls? You should be questioning your own existence.

Be like Elsa, let it fucking go.

I don’t have the time for this, my energy is precious and much better spent. I am on vacation so I am giving y’all an hour. Nothing more.

Mermaid, whom we not-so-lovingly refer to as Big Tuna whenever her name gets mentioned (and we never say it 3 times, no no) said “Sarah has left Sirens, I can finally go back.”

Pardon me?

This raises a few questions.

Um. How did she know I was leaving. Seriously creepy. She is barely an afterthought to me. I honestly never think of her unless her name gets mentioned, and then I simply remind the speaker of the 3x rule, lest we invoke the creature from the black lagoon, and get on with my day.

I wouldn’t even mention her now, she’s just a segue.

In no way was I ever responsible for preventing her from returning to Sirens. She is her own gravedigger.

Mind you, I never wanted her freakshow fuckbaby of a boyfriend either. I guess some people just get ideas in their heads and they can’t see the truth.

All done now.

I have had a reoccurring conversation with Attica lately about winning.

She dissolved a roommate/friendship situation lately.

She had to.

She was taking inventory of money spent and lost, damage done and decided that she won.

“Why do you have to win? At the end of the day, you got your stuff out, you have a nice life and you get to keep being you, isn’t that enough?”

She agreed, she still half jokes about winning, but I watched her evolve a little bit before I left.

When my own roommate situation went septic it wasn’t much different. Accusations and name calling galore, not by me. But I still live there, sorta. It’s not winning, it is the simple refusal of allowing anyone else to fuck with my happiness. Keep your part of the peace or leave.

Rules of engagement?

Don’t engage.

I survived my mother’s house. Weak and young and unprepared.

Silence, legion, save your poison
Silence, legion, stay out of my way

Tool, Jambi

Like seriously sisters. Stahhhp already.

Bad Sarah hasn’t come into view in a long time. Good job puddin.
All done now.

The idea of having to fight for someone doesn’t appeal to me at all.

I might step back and wait, but I subscribe to the school of thought that if a man feels the need to choose between me and another, that ain’t my man.
Take him, please. Fuck him as best you can and try to keep him out of my inboxes.
Be kind and learn CPR for the love of God.

Final boss’ current stalks me too. “She already told me you were in a bad mood.”

Just wow. Seriously?

Why?

I ain’t even in the same time zone.

All done now.

Do you all need to get together and form a support group? Call Stompy Magoo, Susan, Jen and Anastasia too. They all think I am the devil incarnate.

The thought that prompted all of this was the following conversation with Wolf.

Once upon a time, there was a game going around on Facebook.

Describe me in one word.

Sisterwife called me “Enduring”.

I retaliated by calling her a Leptictidium. Latin for ‘delicate weasel’. It’s a now extinct rodent from the Eocene period.

I am so clever it hurts sometimes.

And baby, I AM enduring. We can do this together.

Every time her death gets mentioned the invariable question is

“How does that make you feel?”

My knee jerk reaction was ‘I feel nothing’

I have re-evaluated this.

I feel bad. 

She lived in fear of my return until she died. I never told her not to worry.

Not sure it would have helped, but at least my conscience would have been clear.

She isn’t the only one. I have a handful of women who live in fear of me. I don’t care for it.

I lack the simplicity of language to explain to them I don’t want what they have.

I should probably write an article about that. 

4 years ago I was talking to my friend Tristan.  I love him, his wife and their daughter dearly. They adopted me as the weird auntie years ago when I needed it. I have often found it hard to form relationships with women who aren’t strippers. I was expressing my gratitude for his wife not worrying about us hanging out.

“I don’t compete with other women.”

He chuckled and said, “That makes you even more dangerous.”

“I respect what they have, and I have no desire to take what isn’t mine.”

“Because you are a good woman.” He said.

The idea of owning another person has never really appealed to me anyways, being owned? Totally different story. But we already talked about that, and I am certain I will bring it up again.

I realize this sounds hypocritical all things considered.

There will be no homewrecking here.

Because, the absolute truth is I don’t want what she has.
I don’t want a big house.
That particular kind of lifestyle never appealed to me.
(see above where I survived my mothers house)
I don’t care for busy work. I looked after a giant chalet in Milton for years. My reaction to 1000 days spent scrubbing floors? I bought a trailer that I could have spotless in half an hour or less. Again, my time and energy is better spent.

I live my life out loud in my own way, not filtered on Instagram. Cartoon hearts don’t do it for me. I know better validation than this. My own and his.

I don’t need the marriage or status. I respect her as the keeper of the children. That is sacred. I have no quarrel with her.

I want the parts of my Wolf that he doesn’t show anyone else.
Dirty, dark, powerful and beautifully strange. Just like me.
Symbiotic.

No one has to worry about me coming back to claim what isn’t mine.  

I am good where I am, being loved the way I love.

Anger is just grief in the wrong house.

I was in the wrong house.

Lucky for me, I am on my way home.

FB: what you doing?

Me: angry crying, why do you ask?

FB: don’t do that

Me: you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore

not yours not yours not yours

Funny note. I work with a woman who is a dom. She is strong and beautiful. Part of her Halloween get up was a riding crop. She swatted me with it playfully and I caught it before she did it a second time.

“That’s not yours to hit. I am already owned.”

She squealed with delight and we had a lovely conversation that will work itself into a post, probably sooner than later.

I wasn’t submissive with Final Boss, but I was accommodating.

Wow, I can totally see the issue with that word now.

Never showed emotion, never complained. Overuse of the words “I understand” and my patented “okay baby”. There was no need for conflict.

I do understand. It is okay baby.

And this is not conflict. I didn’t fight then, I am not going to start now.

Nothing to fight for.

I saw what he said, I threw up in my mouth a bit. Angry cried and now it’s done.

Well, 3am drug induced rambling apologies. If he said sorry one more time I would have gone where he was to and hit him. Anger is just grief in the wrong house. He was not in my house.

Wolf said “you tried harder than most would have.”

I did. It’s what I do.

And it’s enough.

I am enough. Always was.

I am writing my own closure and a eulogy.

He said he didn’t have enough patience for a relationship. I had enough for both of us. And I will let you in on a little secret. Seeing each other multiple times a week, calling me when you have a pulled muscle and can’t move, hanging out with your friends, with mine, feeding me, fucking me, cuddling and watching nature documentaries. That’s a relationship, or as much of one as I expected. I never asked for a damned thing, except one supper out somewhere so I could wear a new dress I bought. Never happened. The tags are still on and the weather has gone too cold to wear it here. It wasn’t meant for here and I wasn’t meant for him.

My best girl said “there is no better woman for him than you.”
She knows us both, she is one of the few that have seen us together. She knows.

I know. Somewhere close to the surface, he knows it too.

I forgot to ask myself if there was a better man for me than him.

There is.

Someone who balked at the idea of me being accommodating. Someone who expressed concern about me being alone when he couldn’t be with me, before he realized how precious my alone is to me. Someone who considers my quality of life when I transport myself closer to him. Someone who is plotting and scheming to make sure I am financially capable of looking after myself doing what I love. Someone who trusts me enough to say “you can fuck him goodbye if you need to.”

I will tell you the god’s honest truth. He looked good when I saw him. He has this cheeky but ravenous look when he sees me, and I looked really good. I know I did. But as the truth came out and my back went up and I started to get angry, he said my name. Repeatedly. I don’t think he ever had before, he never had to.

I didn’t like the sound of my name coming out of his mouth.

I physically recoiled from the noise of it.

He doesn’t know me at all.

It took me 4 shots of whiskey and about 10 minutes to piece together everything he was saying.

There was an audible click as the picture became crystal clear. My face changed. My eyes sparked cold fire. My spine turned to steel and I laughed.

He said my name, in an attempt to stop me I guess. Nails on a chalkboard.

I said I was done and I walked out the door.

That would have been when the credits should have rolled.

But there were 2 late night phone calls full of no’s.

My roommate told him point blank “you are a real piece of shit if you don’t at least go say goodbye to that girl.”

He didn’t, I knew he wouldn’t and I didn’t need him to.

I am not that girl anymore.