The Island of Forgiveness

I started today like I start most days. Hit the ‘memories’ option upon ye olde Facebook and go meme hunting for stuff to post on my page. I tend to stop rolling back around 2010 or so, there are no memes beyond that point, and a lot of me blowing sunshine or bitching about farm life.
Fuck I tried to make that look so much prettier than it was, until I didn’t. I was a vicious little cunt at certain points and all of it makes me cringe.

I hate to admit, but I have backslid to some semblance of that girl in the last 6 months. I saw it and I couldn’t necessarily stop it.

But now I have people bashing the place I used to live and I see what I did there.

It was exactly like the moment when I went back to farm hubby one more time and my friend Anna threw up her hands and disowned me forever.
I had never told her one good thing about him. She didn’t understand, how could she?

Scrolling through my memories this very morning, I was given the information that in about a week it will be the 7th anniversary of when I was forcibly liberated from the farm…for the last time.
There was beard ripping and camera smashing and I never went back inside the house after my things were out.
I did end up at the end of the driveway once, holding ex hubby while he sobbed realizing what (he thought) he lost.
I will always be that girl who forgives and kinda basks in the moment they realize what I am, even if it is beyond too late.
I think I did the same thing with Nfld as I did at the farm. Only posted the bad things.
There was a lot of Good.
I had the money to leave that island months ago, and I stayed because I wanted to.
I didn’t get what I wanted exactly. But I wanted the wrong things.
There was honey.

My horoscope a few weeks ago said “Make do with bread and butter until god gives you honey.”

I can’t shake the idea that I was starving myself, waiting for honey. And it did come. But my whole mindset out there was wrong,

I wasn’t there for me you see.

This is going to come out messy. I am rusty. Probably wrote what, like 6 articles in 6 months? Not like me at all. And now my hands are aching to type and I have no time because I have to put my life back together out of boxes and memories.

I have a whole hour because I couldn’t read the time properly on my phone with my blurry morning eyes and thought it was 8. It was 6.

Maybe I am still on that other time zone. My computer is, haven’t changed it. Tiny time warps in my tiny room.

I have an hour.

What do I write about?

I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter?

198 days

The Long Drive Home

The Last One for the Last Time

Fuck, I don’t even know. So much has happened in a relatively short period of time. I scroll back through my photos and it is the most bizarre thing. So many definitive chapters. This is when he was here, or that one, or those girls were visiting, or Sexy Giraffe was around. There were whales.

I did have an epiphany yesterday sitting in a parking lot in the Hammer, waiting for a song to finish so I could go get my girls a “big bottle of something red and cab savvy” at the lick bo. I was at my worst in Newfoundland, and they all loved me anyways. I have never been so forgiven for all my shortcomings in my life.

My buddy Andrew, who is part of the reason I ended up on that rock in the first place, said

“That’s what I miss the most about St. John’s. Absolutely zero next-day drinker’s remorse, because no matter how bad I got I was NEVER even close to the most fucked up person in the room.
Well, that and how everyone gets bored and fucks everyone else”

I was the worst one in the room a few times, not gonna lie. But I was still forgiven. For sleeping in a pile of blankets when I ought to have been working. When rivers of tears ran down my face like a dam just broke and there was no way to stop them. “How bad do I look right now?” Tina 3 Chains would always tell me the truth. “You came downstairs without a stitch of make up on.”

Its things like that, the evolution of Tina from one chain to 3. The fact that she trusted me with her mother’s ring even though I was a hot mess often.

The evolution of me from hiding in room 1 from Stompy nursing a bruised tailbone and a broken heart. Moving up to 4, having responsibilities and all the keys, and still a busted heart. The comings and goings of girls I just met and loved, girl I knew and didn’t care for, this one leaving that one coming back. It was like summer camp, I just stayed.

There was the realization that my son was grown and didn’t need me anymore do for the first time in over half my life I only had me to look after and I had NO idea how to do that.

There was the Creep chapter. Followed by the Nope…then a good break and Mister showed up. Then the Viking for a minute. With the exception of Nope whose dog I never met, I realized I was more enamoured with the puppers than the men themselves. Almost true.

The realization that I am a horrible hustler and all I did was sit at the bar and wait for something to happen and poured whisky on everything.

There was the moment when I had driven 9 hours to the west side of the island and gotten queued up for the ferry and a big black pick up pulled in behind me and I couldn’t help but keen and wail and the nice Newfie in the SUV ahead of me gave me a Tim Hortons cup with a healthy swig of Jack Daniels so I could calm down enough to go get my pajamas on and wait for the boat to take me away.

There was 2 more days of driving where I saw clearly everything I did wrong and realized, I burned no bridges out there, they are fireproof, almost. That I was loved unconditionally and yes, there was honey.