I am Two Trailer Park Girls in One Body

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 3^rd 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