Fuck, I haven’t been writing lately and it’s kinda killin me. Its feeling “like a limb torn off” Band of Horses.
“I am writing about you in the blog this week, hope that’s okay.”
I said this to both my Human Serotonin and the girl we call S___ Moon at work last night.
They were fine with it. Human Serotonin knows everyone gets nicknames. I have to remember this when speaking of my exes, she doesn’t know their actual names. She asked what I was gonna call all of my friends exes, starting with hers…Six Nine the Tailbone Destroyer, Giant was already taken. Everyone else’s kinda falls into the category of Drug Dealing or Drug Addict pieces of shit, except S___ Moon’s…we have always called him Big Dick, it suits him and I couldn’t tell you what his real name is. He’s a dick.
So, why all the talk of exes?
Because apparently, wherever the moon is, or some planetary alignment of massive backsliding cosmic fuckery, we are all running headlong backwards into the arms of our exes. Myself included.
I try not to carry an air or moral superiority, especially with my friends. I know exactly what it feels like to fall down seven times, and I know the only important thing is standing up the eighth. I was stuck like glue to ex hubby, for years. Even after I escaped Perdition we still talked, until he read ye olde blog and realized who I really am.
For all intents and purposes…a turbo slut.
Luckily, I have since surrounded myself with friends who also love fucking and do not judge me. And the ex I have gravitated back to is quite fine with how much I enjoy sex.
So there’s that then.
But what is with the exes lately? Not just me, but ALL my girls, both the core group and those who have their own separate orbits around us?
I feel like I am on the Millennium Falcon, just floating out in space just as I realize ‘that’s no moon’ I am already in the tractor beam getting pulled back in. Powerless to stop it, and I don’t really want to. Feels like I am being pulled back home.
It’s my 43rd run around the sun. Maybe slipping back into something comfortable and familiar isn’t a bad thing. I can already see that things are better this time than they were before.
Biker Body Pillow once said “Sarah, you aren’t psychic, I don’t believe in that shit. But I’ll give you this. You have a memory like a steel trap, a mind that can see all angles and you read patterns like Rain Man counts cards. This is why you think you know what people are gonna do before they do it.”
BBP was rarely wrong about much of anything and he ain’t wrong about me.
So what is to be done with these patterns I see?
What good is it?
I can’t count cards that I know of. Math eludes me. Angles, engines, square roots…nope. I cannae.
Give me word problems and I will lay them all out for you.
Aaaaand then you’re just gonna do whatever you want anyways. As will I.
I am getting better at trusting my gut, not doing the things that make my insides twist and turn. I have found that it is infinitely easier to avoid the knots than to try and untie them after the fact.
But that’s just me.
I have done something that I now believe to be uncommon.
I have sat in my loneliness, I have seen my flaws and shrugged my shoulders at them.
I have watched everything spiral out and in again and I honestly cannot begin to tell you what is better. When everything is circling close and comforting or when you are way out at the edges and you can look inwards to get a fresh perspective and see all the things for what they are. Zoomed in or out, both views have good things to offer.
It’s when everyone and everything goes off the rails at the same time and you forgot to put on your seatbelt and there is a rough transition that feels like it’s never gonna end. Like a needle skipping on a record of what should be your favorite song but it’s just noise and it hurts your head.
I can relate to Sex and the City. I am a girl, I have 3 close girlfriends, a Mr. Big and this blog.
And when everybody goes off the rails and leaves me behind to manage the wreckage I am prone to feeling abandoned and/or surrounded by ‘too many Samanthas’. I gotta be Carrie, Charlotte and Miranda all by my damned self while they drink, fuck and make bad life decisions. It’s easier when we take turns, but every once in a while…perfect storm.
And that’s where we’re at.
Gravitational pulls, Death Stars, big dicks and a lot of history repeating.
Like being on Space Mountain at Disney. The first time I rode it I closed my eyes, I was scared and somehow that made it scarier. I am on it again with my eyes open. Its dark and I can’t see the next drop or turn, but I’ve ridden this ride before and I really like it
