I am more than two girls truly, but this will do for now.
Facebook memories still come up and remind me of all the times called before.
10 years ago I had a really nice camera and took farm photos in the winter. They were pretty, but only because I know my angles and how to hide the junk or make it work.
I still do it. I put the camera down when it became a burden, but my phone works just fine.
I hated the farm every winter. So much stress and stuck in the house.
I just need to know where I was, so when everything gets dark, I have something to hold onto or alternately I can remember nothing is quite that bad.
I feel like I had a nice break from November until recently.
The people spoke and the Cheeto was banished. And for like 60 beautiful days, I didn’t see or hear much about it.
I left the attic for a while. No longer a prisoner of old mistakes.
I went out and made new ones.
Sure shit was crumbling around me as the Tower collapsed, but it does that.
How many times have I torn down and rebuilt? Can I even count? Do I even want to?
Nah.
Fuck it.
More times than I have fingers and toes.
Post election… even though that dragged on and on and took its sweet time sorting itself out…I started feeling like I could breathe again. Not deep breaths, but shallow ones without the world on my chest.
The first 3rd of my journey was quite lovely.
I am remembering it fondly.
Sometimes life just gets really heavy and I’ll carry it, I have no choice really, but I break in the process.
I am more gold than pottery now.
My last post was a schism. I about ended up in the abyss.
I have wrapped my head around a few things. I have someone to pick me up from surgery. Good Karen offered to come look after me, and she can get around quarantine on a healthcare worker visa.
Having even just the tiniest bit of a plan in place is semi soothing.
10 lovely people have subscribed to my Patreon account, and I thank you all from the bottom of my thickening little heart.
I am still scared but it’s manageable. Today.
I had someone very wise tell me “Now that 45 is over, let it be over. He is irrelevant.”
And I did, and it was good, amen.
Then Wednesday happened.
I realized how much I had enjoyed posting non-political content to Our Lady of Lust and Grace.
It was a nice reprieve, I am thinking now I ought to change the name, Our Lady of Fury and Rage.
I have been trying to move stateside for 7 years now. Something always went sideways. Kiddo got sick and moved home. I lost my job. The trailer I bought was too big for the jeep I had to tow and the money I had saved was enough for a tow package OR to reno the trailer. Not both. I had to rescue dogs, stay for this boy or that one, lived with Panda for 3 years then did the lateral move to perdition.
Gee, I wonder why none of that ever worked out.
Last year I had 38/40 pages of paperwork filled out for dual citizenship. Then Covid happened and it looked like the Republic of Gilead was about to become real, still does.
I chickened out.
I was invited 9 times and it wasn’t enough for some reason.
Split again.
Was that a self-fulfilling prophecy wherein I talked myself out of being happy or was I just a responsible adult for the first time in the history of ever?
Vizzini said go back to the beginning.
So here I is.
The beginning of becoming.
I mentioned in the DMT article* that I’d hoped to come out of it changed. I know I am a powerful person in here somewhere and I have long been striving to pull her to the forefront of my being.
I asked to be the pistachio queen of everything, I got nothing and then Wednesday happened.
My fear turned to rage, and I power posted anti 45 everything to Our Lady of Lust and Grace, same as I focused on BLM when I watched George Floyd die. Same as we all should have.
To me, it is morally irresponsible to have a page that big and not be an advocate for change.
Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God.
I moved all the love and light over to my Sarah, Good Witch page and my righteous anger spilled elsewhere.
I am both of these women.
I want to scream, and I want to heal, and I know that carrying everything around inside with no outlet is no way to live.
I am so many things. A stripper and a writer, both who believe in true love and justice for all.
I am a witch and a healer, and I am also small and scared of everything that is happening in my life and outside of my bubble.
I have to accept and embrace all that I am.
And I need to go back to what I was.
The trailer idea was a good one, but it needed refining, distilling, work and logic.
Back to the beginning.
The idea in itself was sofa king GOOD.
Why did I let it go?
Tiny, mobile house, stateside somewhere warm. I had thought Georgia, because I love Georgia, but I love California and Louisiana too.
Smaller trailer is a must, back up plans plural, Patreon as opposed to trying to make money off the blog. Budgets and savings. Access to a job, friends. Head inland during hurricane season.
I couldn’t do it before because my safety net was so cushy. I had a stable full of boys, a house full of friends, a son who needed me, 3 really good jobs and a town that suited me.
One by one all of those things have all fallen away gently or been ripped away violently.
Plus, I am totally fine admitting I was afraid.
I always wanted something to be good enough just because I decided it was what I wanted.
The blackness I was so scared of is absolute freedom.
It’s funny. Liberation is bliss to some and paralyzing to others.
Sometimes both, in equal amounts.
I said my plan out loud 3 times to 3 different touchstones, mostly just to test what my gut says.
No flips, no flops, not wrenching.
Just okay.
*DMT article available exclusively on Patreon https://www.patreon.com/sarahthegoodwitch