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If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.

 Second attempt at a post today. Let’s see where this goes.

I am in limbo. I acknowledge this and I am sorta kinda dealing.

I am pretty sure I already wrote this, but I have this theory that I died sometime last year, maybe the year before and this is hell. I re-watched The Good Place. That didn’t help put this theory to rest. No spoilers, but you should really watch it if you haven’t.

“Ever get the feeling that the writers are on season 5 of your life and they are just making shit get really ridiculous?” anonymous random quote.

And ya, I do.

It is plot twist after plot twist. Proverbial funeral after funeral for people I cared about, imaginary futures that never came to fruition and outdated versions of me who cared about those people that did me dirty and imagined those futures that never existed.

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The format for my WordPress has changed and I don’t care for it.

Maybe I don’t like change.

Maybe it reminds me that I have been neglecting this, and many other things. If I had kept writing like I used to, I’d be used to it by now.

4 years I wrote at least twice a week, and a book on top of that. I wrote the above a week ago and never sat back down. Just paid out my yearly 300 to keep this thing going. Suppose I should say something.

I had a woman message me out of the blue saying she appreciated me, and the page and this blog. She said “maybe the blog is the book.”

It just might be.

Huh.

Thanks Karen.

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If I were to look back over the years, the lion’s gate portal has always been a time of joy and change. Last year I was gearing up to come here, ran into an old friend and went swimming, had the most joyous of days and some upside down sex.

This year was no different.

Sex and change aplenty. Made some money and got right with my gods.

Today is the black moon, Venus and Mars just had a great conjunction, and I feel like that will be the end of the star stuff for a while. And that is okay. I came out clean and happy.

Leveled up with the Final Boss. The other one sorta came around and then went away again. Decided it was okay to message Sex Walking and that went okay for a minute. Even if that never comes to fruition, it’s nice to have some intelligent flirtation in my life again.

Lover Come Back is playing right now, and I am pretty sure it’s Giant’s birthday.

When I think back on him, and I do often, he is the definition of ‘worth it’. Nothing with him was easy, except the times we were together in the same room, then he was easy like Sunday morning. I had to do a lot of learning to love him. How can you love someone that much and not put a label on it? Si Cut, as is.

Which reminds me.

Talked to ex hubby at great length yesterday.

Rehashing and lessons on motherfucking lessons. I ended up in tears at one point. He didn’t say anything bad, I broke my own heart.

I realized a few things. The most poignant being, I didn’t love him as is.

Also…

We would have had a much better relationship without other people in it.

And I don’t mean the obvious sisterwife issue, yes, I had a sisterwife. He says he still gets shunned because people saw that as an abusive relationship, and I suppose it was in a way. But not the way they think. Got me thinking about small towns and rumor mills, fishwives and gossip queens.

I am always shocked when I hear something about myself. I guess I think I don’t matter enough to exist when I am not in the room.

Had a brief conversation with the Final Boss yesterday.

Went something like this

Me: half the bar came back to my house last night at 4am

Him; ya, I heard

Me: about the after party?

Him: everything

Me: Now what?

Him: you tell me

So I did. I had coked out strippers and customers coming in and sitting on my bed. Finally got to sleep around 5:30. It was roomies birthday week so he got a hall pass. A month ago I would have been in a bad mood about it for a month, but I am feeling better about everything lately. So it’s fine.

Except.

This is a small town, if not in population, then in mentality. Like the 50’s, but with internet and smart phones.

I told him I wish I was doing what everyone thought I was doing, which is I have 27 boyfriends and get laid constantly, like some kind of bakery, take a number, now serving customer 242.

I don’t actually wish that. But still, sick of people saying shit about me.

I suppose the lesson is there are always consequences, even for the things we don’t do.

But wolves don’t concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

I am not a saint, never claimed to be. Just a girl who wants to love and be loved.

Ain’t that the fucking truth. I am really tired of waiting. So tempted to set everything on fire and start over. I have that option right now. I always do.

I watched Goodfellas last night. It’s been years. And I realized something.

2 things actually. Samuel L Jackson has a cameo appearance.
And
There are 2 kinds of Karen’s in the world.
The first wants to speak to the manager.
And the second?

I know there are women, like my best friends, who would have gotten out of there the minute their boyfriend gave them a gun to hide. But I didn’t. I gotta admit the truth. It turned me on. (Karen)

Until they turned rat at the end, none of their life seemed that bad to me. I kinda liked it.

I promised my girl Sarah I would write something.

Promised Sexy Peaants too.

Him and Lucy are the only ones I have been able to have a secret language with since I have been here.

Truth be told I miss him.

There is a meme that makes the rounds, actually 3 that will be cited here. Such proper wording for memes, but whatev’s, write what you know.

The first

Once you have mastered the art of dating fuckboys you must face the final boss.

Jail Bae/Mister has yet a new nickname.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you, the Final Boss. Lucy and I dubbed his such as he slid into her DM’s before she got here.

Sarah says she doesn’t like him. Unfortunately, I do. He’s a good man. I won’t speak against him. When he said “out of sight out of mind” it wasn’t a challenge, it was a warning. I get it now. I broke my own heart with unrealistic expectations and that thing where I want to universe to unfold on my timeline, which is usually in the vicinity of now.

His boys made fun of me for taking away the Netflix. I said ‘when this current one changes her password and locks you out, you can have mine again.’ Then I saw her name on the tv screen and I knew who it was. Not a nemesis, just a girl I used to know.

Her?

I haven’t been a saint. He pointed that out. There was an overlap at the beginning. But I stayed faithful while he was a way and for a long minute before and after that. Much to my chagrin, irritation, anger and pride. I did the thing.

Then he dumped me, and for a minute there I had a different boyfriend.

And for a minute it was good, then it went back to same same no different.

I think I got so excited about the concept of boyfriend that I disregarded how I ought to be treated, twice. I am low maintenance. But this is really low. FB said he thought he would be bothering me if he wanted me over more than once a week. What planet are you on? That is literally all I wanted. Same thing, more often. He also said he didn’t really read the letters I sent, just looked at the pictures, I figured as much.

The other one just never shows up. He was good for a minute, checking in once or twice a day. Now, back to the nothing.

Fuckboy phone portal phenomenon. Wherein they text and immediately get lost in time and space and resurface days/weeks/months later. With a resounding ‘sup’. Or the newfie version, “y’at?”

Final Boss took the boyfriend thing very well. Said a pleasant goodbye, and then booty called me 72 hours later. Bless him. It was a hard no to say.

I was talking to Mark yesterday. I had posted a status about only being 55-75% satisfied with my life right now. I am trying to switch over from dancing to waitress and one of the shifts I thought I was getting, I am not getting. I threw a fit. Then woke up the next morning to cramps and blood. The situation was pout worthy, but I cried in the alley. 75% with work, less than 55 now with the mens.

The second

Your hoeness gets deleted with every period. Sins washed away with the blood of Christ.

If this is true, after this morning, I am immaculate. Motherfuckingchristsballs. Stood up, walked 2 feet and my floor and legs looked like a crime scene. I wasn’t even awake, and my first thought was “NO, not the rug.” Second thought, was I need coffee to deal with this. And at least it’s not on the sheets.

When Final Boss bootycalled me last week, I simply said “Can’t”

FB: period?

Me: boyfriend

FB: oh, I’m sorry

The former never stopped us before, ask my nice white sheets taking up space in the landfill.

Full moon tomorrow. Even if I hadn’t already known, the bloodbath would have been a dead giveaway. I am anticipating some kind of cosmic fuckery. Lion’s Gate is closing. It was a good one this year.

The third

God is love. But Lucifer does that thing with his tongue.

Normally I run to Our Sara of Lords to be absolved, but … this time it was Sexy Peaants who played priest in a box.

SP: How’s is the kiwiqueen of everything tonight

(He calls me the best things. And gives really good advice. I explained what had happened since last we spoke)

SP: Just stop putting your heart into it… get fucked and get fucked good. They don’t care about you the care about fuckin so play the same game baby

Me: That’s what my girl said last night

SP: Ya well listen to her

Me: Hence the ice pack

SP: Bahahahahaha. Well good ice packs are better than boxes of tissues. Ice your vagina don’t wipe you tears

Me: Quote of the week. You get a whole week peanut

SP: Hahahaha yes babys. Remember that now

Me: Fucking devil penis magic. I did give him a full list of why he might be Satan walking on earth. He agreed with me

SP: Get whatever you can for you babe … no one else gonna do you like you … so get it babe. You deserve to be fucked by the devil… I’m not there to do it so someone else better step up and break you off proper haha

Me: I love you

I do love him. He said I was a pistachio in a bowl of peanuts among a thousand other things. In the time called before we stayed in bed, both with righteous hangovers for an entire day, just listening to music, making out and telling stories. Sustained contentment.

I am handling things I thought I couldn’t handle. The reality isn’t near as bad as I thought it would be.

If they’ve taught me anything at all, it’s how to live without them.

I am a slow learner, but I get it.

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.

Mondays are the hardest.

Sundays aren’t so shit hot either.

Sundays I change the sheets that he never slept on and a bed he hasn’t laid down on yet.
In this room I made for the both of us.

I metamorphosized again. March into April was goo phase galore.
Wings are still wet and fragile.
Any fucking time now.
Surviving not thriving.

But my cocoon is splendid.

I realized the gypsy tea room was a regression to how I wanted to be in high school and shortly thereafter, but I never had the means, and shortly thereafter I became a mom, so what I wanted got put on the back burner until…right before I came here really.

Here.

Whoa oh oh oh oh

Here.

I ask myself what am I doing here.

Alessia Cara

I say Mondays are hard, but it’s the shortest night of the week at work, Tina 2 Chains is here and we are getting wings before work. And historically speaking, he calls more often on Tuesdays. I wrote it all down.

I am grateful for this room considering the events of the last few weeks. The universe timed this (and everything ever) perfectly. I needed a sanctuary and I have it.

Fight flight or freeze.

I am frozen.

We all are.

Meat popsicles.

Stripper burritos.

Metaphorically and in reality. The weather here sucks so bad.

I said if this doesn’t work out, I am packing up and leaving.

This was met with a rousing chorus of “no”.

Again, frozen girls don’t move. Just breathing and waiting.

This is the longest I have gone without hearing from Him.

I actually sat down and went through my call logs and texts. Looking for numbers and gaps. He was around more often than I thought. Not now, but then. He warned me about this last stretch and I will abide the warning.

Kinda proud of myself. I stayed brave. Wavering now. Crying a bit more than I was before. But it’s me, I cry, that is an integral part of who I am. And god knows it’s been a rough 111 days. Weeks went by in chaotic splendor and I have no idea how I kept breathing, much less moving forward.

Everything got fucked up and just kept changing and rearranging in ways that could not possibly have been predicted. Except I fucking told you so.

I would really like to be able to say those words again, about this.

Someone called me enduring once. She meant it condescendingly, but I am.

Even when I feel like I can’t keep going, I do.

It helps that I get little pushes from the universe. And I do trust the universe. Timing is always perfect even if it doesn’t suit my ego.

Friends of mine have their anniversary today, and one of the posts said something about ‘the best decision we ever made.’ I said those words. And the tarot cards say it’s not so bad*

Actually, the tarot cards said it was going to be glorious. Kings and Queens of Promise.**

Past me keeps leaving present me, presents. Words of encouragement, reminders I have been through worse. And the knowledge that I can get myself out of anything I get myself into. I don’t want out just yet. I’ll just persevere and see what happens. I made it this far.

Self-doubt is a motherfucker.

I found myself ready to let go, making ready with the funeral arrangements and a drunk girl at work swooped in and reminded me how beautiful and amazing I am. That he really does want to change and that, in her opinion, knowing both of us incredibly well, this is a really good idea.

Hard to argue with drunky voodoo mamabear stripper. She is Haitian hoodoo to my white girl witch and I love her. Out of the mouths of beautiful babes. She played with my hair and kissed my forehead.

Part of the doubt was… do I even remember how to do this?

I ended up answering my own question

Me: I don’t even know if I know how to girlfriend anymore anyways.

All I know is how to stay loyal, cook and fuck a lot.

Her: ….

Me: that’s a good girlfriend isn’t it?

Her: that’s wifey

Ok, so maybe I know exactly what I am doing. And maybe everything I ever learned makes sense now.

I’m an optimist.
If this isn’t meant to be then it will catapult me closer to wherever that is.
And I will always know I truly tried.

I want it to be this.

The best decision I ever made.

*The Wombats
**30 Seconds to Mars

I said “if this doesn’t work out I’m leaving.”

She said “you can’t.”

Never got around to telling me why not.

But truth be told.

I don’t like the way my ghosts behave here.

Too many mistakes and hauntings I can’t handle.

Um, excuse me? Cosmos, Karma, Universe, Papa Mercury…whomever is deciding to send in the clown parade? The above statement was not a challenge.

I wrote that, unprompted, Wednesday night.

Nothing bad had happened, I had just made up my mind about something else.

Lead me not into temptation.

There is no temptation here, just ghouls and goblins. Irritants and examples of what not to do.

Regrets collect like old friends
Here to relive your darkest moments
I can see no way, I can see no way
And all of the ghouls come out to play
And every demon wants his pound of flesh
But I like to keep some things to myself
I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’ve been a fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around
Our love is pastured such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground

…

And it’s hard to dance with a devil on your back

…

And given half the chance would I take any of it back
It’s a fine romance, but it’s left me so undone
It’s always darkest before the dawn

And I’m damned if I do and I’m damned if I don’t
So here’s to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope
And I’m ready to suffer and I’m ready to hope
It’s a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat
‘Cause looking for heaven, found the devil (in me)
Looking for heaven, for the devil in me
Well what the hell, I’m gonna let it happen to me

Shake it Out
Florence and her glorious Machine

It IS hard to dance with the devil on your back, or in the audience.

And given half the chance, I would take almost all of it back. I am now the queen of denial.

Let’s pretend that never happened.

Torn between calling this Send in the Clowns, and Shake the Baby, Shake it Out.

The week of Paddy’s Day was the last week of the dead. Sometimes they come back.

And just when I think I am done…

This seems a shitty thing to be writing about after such a long hiatus.

But, I am feeling trapped in my room and my life yet again. Might as well leave myself some kind of time capsule for when al of this is over and a new chapter or 5 have begun.

I do that. In Facebook memories and on here. 3 years ago (right around now) I considered giving this blog up for a man I hadn’t met yet, but had spoken to for days and days over the course of 2 years. Who I thought cared, and maybe in his own sick and twisted way he did. But I deserve better, I know that now.

If I can love someone as is, and I do. I deserve the same.

I am also comfortable enough being alone, that I don’t have to settle.

To all the ones who had the chance to do right by me and didn’t. Fuck you.

Mark said last night “all men should have a healthy fear of women.”

This came on the heels of a few people saying they are scared of me. Truth be told, I am too, but we will get to that later.

When asked for an explanation, he put it like this.

Say you are at a zoo, there are 50 people in an enclosure petting a bear. You could go in and pet the bear too and nothing bad could happen, or you could poke the bear and it might start mauling people. It could even start mauling people if you don’t poke it. Knowing this is a healthy respect and fear of the bear.

There was a boy at the bar poking the bear. I am the bear.

But I have to be nice to customers, and that is all he is. A customer.

6 hours later I wasn’t so nice.

I am on a fairly permanent patience breach. That cup was long filled and now the smallest splash sends me over the edge. I had to quit drinking, like finally HAD to.

I was regressing and getting violent. This is the part where I was scaring myself.

I got white girl whisky wasted a few weeks ago, ghost showed up. Lied through his teeth while speaking to me and by the end of it he said, “I’m sorry, I am a piece of shit.” To which, according to eyewitnesses, I grabbed him by the shoulders, shook the baby and roared an agreement.

Really wish I could remember doing it. Secondhand satisfaction will have to do.

My heart is a graveyard and the bodies won’t stay down. I don’t even care anymore.

I got through the first poltergeist rattling his sad gold chain. Figured that was enough for the night.

Nope. Universe said, “you forgot one”.

I looked across the bar at this man who looked very familiar. Watched him for a good 5 minutes. Still wasn’t sure.

Walked up to him, and asked “do I know you?”

“Oh my god, Sarah?”

Fucking fuck.

I then found myself going toe to toe with a biker and had him cower. His buddies too. “What did you do to her dude? She’s terrifying.” They gave me a wide berth after. Wish the others would get the message and stop poking the bear.

When I said this island was haunted I didn’t mean double down and send in the worst and the last of the clowns in the same fucking night.

Ferfucksakes

It wasn’t a challenge.

At least that’s done then.

I find myself uttering the words “well now I know you aren’t dead” a little too often here.

Biker guy said he was home from Alberta because his dad died. I said sorry for your loss and walked away.

In the immortal words of Stephen King “no great loss.”

He was absolutely inconsequential. One good date, one bad, then ghost. Never slept with him. Glad I didn’t. Truth be told, I had forgotten about him almost entirely. But for some reason, the universe wants me to cut ALL loose ties, and burn the edges to stop the fray.

Can I be done now?

I am so bad at math.

Mercury is in Gatorade again, and I feel like it has somehow been made worse by the Gatorade joke.

Like Papa Mercury is pissed at all of us for mocking him in his retrograde flight through the night sky. Even his most beloved children.

What a clusterfuck.

I can’t seem to find my motivation at all. Like none, nowhere. I am in a duck and cover holding pattern. I slept on dirty sheets for an extra two days because I just couldn’t get it together to put new ones on. Laundry sat in the dryer for a week. I cooked some food, got a haircut and did the absolute bare minimum.

Last night a hurricane rolled through. Pelting rain and crazy winds. Today it is relatively warm, the sun is out and there is no hint of a breeze.

 Shit changes that fast.

And then nothing changes. “All I asked was that you stop fucking my friends over and clean the bathroom every now and again.” That was December. Nothing changed except she got way too drunk and I helped her. I moved back into the house and she just kept doing shitty shit. I ignored it as long as I could.

She just fucked them harder and I can’t remember the last time I cleaned the bathroom. She never bothered and I am on strike.

I have 2 directions I could go in at this point. I am standing at the crux of the Y.

Ima just stand here for a bit and wait for the ground to either start or stop shaking.

I will make no major decisions until March 26^th. The day Papa mercury stops flying backwards in the sky. And the day I calculated Jail Bae would have phone access. But Lexi had a missed call from him yesterday. I can pretend he lost my number again, but that window is going to close shortly. Depending on how long it takes to process mail at a federal prison. That would also mean some other dude is looking at my tits right now.

My stoicism is waning.

I am feeling like Tinkerbell, I need attention, or I die. Next week that will change again I am sure. I will find my brave and clean the house.

I too am in retrograde, spinning backwards. Broken communication, lethargic and just generally feeling shitty.

I had the most delicious lucid dream yesterday. I closed the bar Sunday night, came home sober and couldn’t sleep. Dear John was messaging a warning, a day late. And Biker Body Pillow was not doing great. So I stayed up as long as I could. But I had a staff meeting at 10am and got maybe 3 or 4 hours sleep. I needed a nap.

I am not a napper. 90% of the time I wake up feeling shittier than I did before I put my head down. But this was different. Livid, lucid sex dream starring mister, complete with full physical sensation. To the point that I woke up and looked around my room to see if there was someone there. I did not want to wake up.

Then I spoke to Lexi, told her about the dream and got smashed on the rocks of reality when she said she missed a call from him. I really didn’t want to wake up.

Nothing can be done about any of it.

It is what it is, or it isn’t.

The forecast was all negative numbers until last night. Now we have a week of positives.

I am either going to move upstairs or I am going to move out.

I sat in the kitchen after a rather draining shift at work last night and remembered how much I love the sound of water running through the eaves. Everything was a frozen mess in stasis for weeks. Mama Nature gave us a bit of a reprieve maybe Papa Mercury will too.

Even if he doesn’t, it’s only 2 more weeks.

My fortune cookie today said I won’t get any rainbows without the rain and my tarot card reading said my emotional and spiritual needs will be met.

Because planets, and cards, fortune cookies and horoscopes.

This is the part where I get superstitious.

http://live.ezezine.com/ezine/archives/3_11/3_11-2019.03.04.00.08.archive.html?fbclid=IwAR1S7dTjN-_srkmIxA_eHrPfgIKW5-6GR4JWR-GHeeBm3Gkav6v0Tqa1NAg

I expect you’ll be a paragon of persistence, doggedness, and stamina.

I am that. I will get back there. But right now, I just want to have another nap like yesterday’s.

Sleep does not come easy to the newly sober.

Still in that bad habit of having a couple whiskeys before I leave work.

Thankfully, less that before. But before was a whole lot. Soooooo…

Baby steps.

I didn’t work last night so I was not led into temptation.

My kryptonite booze and boys.

Trying to trade whiskey for water. Succeeding somewhat.

But the boy thing is proving to be a cakewalk.

Those that once turned my head are just turning my stomach.

I severed a thread last night.
I had to.
I think it was the 3rd of 4th racial slur that caused my vagina to permanently and audibly slam shut.
I’m better than being some toddler’s neglected toy and I’m most definitely not free porn.

Speaking of free porn.

Like I said, I couldn’t sleep last night. So I started scrolling though old (private) photo albums on Facebook looking for tiddie pics to send to jail bae.

I have an album called “holding area”. Basically a dumping ground for everything that was in my phone from when my actual real and single life started in Milton and continuing through the first year in Hamilton. Not everything, just everything I deemed important for that 2/3 year period.

It was interesting to see the progression of how much better I have gotten at taking selfies. Revisit old rooms and moments.

I found great comfort in the realization that the things that I once deemed paramount and archive worthy, didn’t really matter to me anymore. Means I am evolving and more importantly, if something is hurting me now, there exists a future where it doesn’t bother me one bit. I will get there. It’s science.

Found some tiddies. And some fond memories. Held a silent vigil for some of the cute outfits I have loved and lost. Mourned the moving on of a few foster dogs. Remembered why I loved the Giant so. That boy had a way with words as well as his hands and other things.

Then this ancient text popped up.

“YOU MUST NOT READ FROM THE BOOK!!!” (every smart dude in any horror movie ever with an ancient mummy or curse or whatever)

Normally I would tear up. Shark week is here. But instead of my usual tears, there came a slightly angry smirk. The one that denotes everyone should clear the area immediately. But it was just me, in my comfy bed, face lit up with the light from my cellphone screen and an epiphany.
I had one very loud, clear thought.

I am a really fucking good girlfriend.

Followed by

I am fucking hilarious.

Followed by

Dear every dude I’ve tried to date or did date until you disappointed the fuck outta me til I couldn’t take it any more and I STILL stuck around and kept trying way after I should have stopped…

Y’all are dumb.

Usually I am all love and light and forgiveness and holding space and handing out advice and get out of jail free cards sprinkled liberally like never ending confetti.

“She broke down and let me in.”

But not last night at 4am.

I ain’t even mad.

There is no vengeance here. Just clarity.

No pompousness. Just facts.

All y’all who left me or pushed me away are dumber than a bag of hammers. I was right in front of you the whole time. Dumbass.

Y’all got to live with that.

This dude included.

He still messages me from time to time. Not lately. They all do.

We made our peace. He copped to being an asshole. I think he is trying with the one he has. Good for them.

Made my peace with all but 4. The things they did were illegal and unforgivable. I still have scars.

“Never going back again.”

Brian and I were having a chat in the jeep the other day, about some old plan I had to accommodate an ex, once upon a time. “I was going to go stay with Tina 2 Chains so I could work and visit while he was away.”

He said

“You have singlehandedly changed my idea of what a relationship could be. The amount of effort you put in when you care about someone…I have never experienced that before.”

He isn’t sure if this makes him sad or optimistic or both.

Probably both.

Raise the bar and put in some effort.

I feel the same way.

I was more in awe of the idea that I have a friend as good as Tina 2 Chains who would support me in my foolishness. That was the big deal to me. Not what I was willing to do, but what she was willing to do for me. I suppose this road goes two ways. I would walk to New Brunswick and carry her back if she asked me. I love her.

I have a framed quote next to me that simply states “Do you love?” I ripped it out of a Stephen King book. Salem’s Lot I think. I have carried it with me since I was a teenager.

And the answer is a resounding yes. Yes I do.

The love I have wasted on those who could give a fuck about me is all. Can you imagine if I end up getting some of that love back? It is going to be glorious.

“You don’t know what it means to win.”

Love is never wasted. Love is infinite and it’s not like I am going to run out.

Just got slapped in the face with a huge amount of disappointment lately and I am reassessing.

I love and I reassess, it’s what I do.

To me, the thing I said I would do for the ex, didn’t seem like a big deal really. I mean I guess it is. Moving everything, again, to be closer to someone who can’t move. It was pointless and fruitless. I still don’t regret it. I am happy here and now.

I was raised by women who deeply loved their men and showed it daily. One nurturing action at a time.

And I, myself, am a really good woman. Not just because of how I was raised but because I have loved and been loved badly and I have made a decision to never do that again. I am where vicious circles and cycles go to die.

I hunted online for a quote I remembered reading once. Couldn’t find it. So I shall paraphrase.

“I am a good woman” I screamed. Not at anyone in particular, just to remind myself.

And that is what happened at 4am. Reading this old text to an ex.

And I realized what I am capable of, by remembering the things I have done.

I will sit in the rain and hand you (the correct) tools while you fix your brakes, just so we can hang out.

You want to have sex 6 or 9 times in the middle of the night while I am on my period on my new, white Egyptian cotton sheets? Okay baby. I can always get new sheets. Time spent and memories are way more important than things. Same goes for the dress that got ripped because we couldn’t get me out of it fast enough and the couch I squirted prolifically upon. It’s just a couch.

You want Chinese food at 5am? That I can’t do…but I will make you a sammich and rub your back til you fall back asleep.

Sex and sammiches.

Love and understanding.

Need me to come get you at 3am because it’s time to rest? I’m putting my pants on right now. Sure I’ll pick up weed on my way. Get in the car baby, I already moved the seat alllll the way back.

Alternately. I have other things to do if you need/want to be alone or do other things.

I am good being alone.

I have my own friends if you want to go be with yours. Have fun babe.
I am equally good amongst the friends. There is no question who I belong to if I belong to you.
I am good with the mamas and the baby mamas too. I don’t compete with other women. I respect their space in your life. They were here before me.

I have things to keep me occupied if you want to watch sports, like making sammiches and blowing you at halftime.

There’s a lot of sex and sammiches happening here.

I don’t nag. Perfectly capable of doing 99% of everything by myself.

I hate fighting.

I hate shopping and would rather do it quickly and alone. Unless its 3am and we are picking up stuff for sammiches at the 24 hour grocery store. That’s fun.

I am comfortable in my body. I don’t worry about how I look or sound during sex which means I am ALL in, all the time. If I am having an orgasm, you’re gonna know about it. If I haven’t had an orgasm you’re gonna know about it as I change positions to make sure I do. I got this.

I could be meeting the queen of England on hair washing day and still be ready in under an hour. I won’t make you wait for much of anything.

I look equally cute in sweat pants and sun dresses. I own a plethora of both. You can dress up or dress down, if I am attracted to you, I just am.

I make my own money. I don’t want yours. I will help with your hustle and I have my own. You can buy me a coffee and I will hold it as precious as the Hope diamond.

I can cook (beyond sammiches) or we can go out. I don’t care. I won’t eat your fries and I always know what I want to eat, it’s usually tacos. You can always have some of my fries.

______________________________________________________________________________

So endeth my resume I guess. I don’t really need one. I am what I am. Like it or leave.

I was scared after being single for so long. What would I do with an actual boyfriend?

Then came the second part of the epiphany.
Just keep being me.

Love him.
Rub him.
Fuck him.
Feed him.
Support him.
Give him space.
Let him be himself and just enjoy all of that.

I got this.

(Bold + quotations = Fleetwood Mac, Never Going Back Again)

I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath for 2 weeks, but I was.

She asked me the other night, after the oxygen returned…

“How did you fall so fast.”

“I just did.”

There is more to it than that. I was waiting.

2. When you meet him, outside the grocery, along the boardwalk, beneath the overpass, you will not know what he is. He will be neither too charming, nor too handsome. Not thunder*. Not Polish

There was something though.

One of my favorite Stephen King quotes ever is “the ecstasy of perfect recognition.”

It’s a little fancy, but it fits.

He said “I knew what you were the first time I saw you.”

24 hours later came the first ‘my girl’. I found it when I was scrolling back to establish a timeline, and because I miss him.

6 hours after that (and this is hilarious) I was on a work call at 2:42 am tryna calm my drunk girl down about a wall block, phone in one hand, and his cock in the other.

It was a Tuesday.

I slept in his bed alone that night, safe in the knowledge there was a monster on the couch guarding me while I slept. Woke up, politely excused myself, refused his offer of cooking me breakfast, left him to sleep.

Expected nothing again. This is the island of lowered expectations after all.

Lower…

Nope, lower than that.

Even lower…

There ya go.

But…

6 days later he said I was an angel.

Then came the forehead kisses.

Forehead kisses are how men absorb all the sense in your brain. Stay woke sis.

Ya, I am totally not gonna do that.

Fell asleep in the same bed, and an hour or so of me lying awake, sore and sated, he rolled over and wrapped himself around me. And it was good, amen.

4 days later we were out at a sports bar with all of his friends watching UFC and his every muscle and movement made me feel like a well-protected queen.

I am the queen of many things, one of them is doing things backwards. I don’t know if it’s backwards per say or if my intuition is this many splendored thing, that if I leave her to her own devices leadeth me to green pastures.

I do speak of parts of myself in the third person, creepy as it is. I am a collection of factions all driving this body and mind of mine. And it is a glorious thing when they are all in agreement.

We are.

I now have the luxury of my laptop back, so a) I can write again, and b) I can look at my fortune cookie on Facebook.

Today’s was “every flower blooms in it’s own sweet time.”

It does. I know this.

Maya Angelou — ‘Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.

Maybe I am stupid. It’s entirely possible, considering the things love has done to me. But in my 45^th run around the sun, I doubt I could change if I tried. And I don’t really want to. I like me this way.

I am not saying it’s love, it’s too soon. But there is something and it feels good.

I owe Sarah this 3^rd chapter, left her hanging long enough.

No, not that Sarah, and not me either. My sweet cheerleader Sarah who supports me in all my folly.

I didn’t realize the weight on my chest until it was lifted.

I exhaled as I hung up from my 3 minute phone call, I was afraid it wasn’t going to be enough, but, as it stands there was reverence and respect in his voice. I thought I was underprepared, but he didn’t tell me anything I hadn’t already researched and figured out on my own.

“Already ordered the pictures and bought envelopes, just waiting for you to get where you’re going.”

“That’s my girl.”

 If he’d have said “that’s my girl” one more time my vagina exploding would have been audible from outer space.

I already am that. I decided this.

“You’re going to be my best friend for the next 4 months aren’t you.”

No question mark, just a statement.

“That’s the plan.”

As if I planned any of this.

There is a quote from Four Weddings and a Funeral that always stuck with me.

Tom is talking to Charles after the funeral, and he says “Unlike you, I never expected the thunderbolt.”

I did.

And I do.

And it was there, and it was good.

*Jeanann Verlee was wrong about just that one thing. There was a low rumble of thunder, like a vibration in my chest. “Who is that?”

She also says, “you were made for this.” And I am.

Oh wait, she was wrong about 2 things…

8. When you find him in his room, thrashing the sheets, pressing his palms into the wall, howling. His face a river. Close the door.

He fights in his sleep. He warned me. And the first night we slept in the same bed, he fought. I put my hand on his forehead and said “hush baby, it’s okay.” He giggled in his half sleep and held onto me tighter, and for a long while, he hushed.

Something so empowering about being able to calm a monster.

Not tame  mind you, just soothe.

I’ve had a lot of practice here, on this island. A small army of boys and men who would do just about anything for me and who listen when I tell them to stop. Breathe. Come back from the edge of madness and just be here with me for a minute.

“Baby stop.” and they stop.

you were made for this

122 days

There is a funny story about my Nana and Papa wherein when he came back from Europe after the war there was a pact made by his family to NOT tell my grandmother he was home because, and I quote, “Once Neva knows he is home we will never see him again.” It was one of those half jokes soaked in truth.

There is another story about my parents where in my dad disappeared to California and my mom drove 3 days to go get him. Sharrie boiled water in the mountains to make spaghetti at a campground somewhere out west. I love both these stories.

I‘m on the list to go visit while he is away, he reminded me, like he had to. Not thought about much else. 2 day drive, but still.

I doubt he will disappear from the world and into me when he gets back, but I know I will get a good 24 hours here and there.

“Its so weird to see him settling down, I’ve known him forever.”

“I doubt that.” I said.

“No honey, this is as settled as he gets.”

That’s enough.