Heartbreak and Isolation

I'm starting to get emails from people I know. 

They're worried. 

They can't get through because something is wrong with the phone lines.   They haven't seen me at political rallies.  I used to be someone they could count on showing up but now....I'm never around.

I'm usually answering comments on my various web channels but I'm not doing it anymore.

I haven't been updating my blogs with the exception of this one.  I try to write daily so those closest to me know I'm still breathing. 

I'll start answering the emails tomorrow.

I'm in this weird place. 

I've been waiting for the bank statement, so I can figure out how much money we have. 

I haven't seen one for at least a year now. 

Do you know why? 

I found out today.  The man in the basement had the contact information switched on all of our accounts.  Everything is sent to his email address. 

I'll carve out time to go to the bank and get them settled out. 

I feel isolated. 

I'm scared to go anywhere because goodness only knows if the car will run.  My check-engine light has been on for four years.  Goodness only knows if I can get enough money to buy gas. 

When he has to drive my car, he'll fill the tank. 

I need a bus pass.  I've been pushing for more transparency in the pubic transit system, yet I'm going to find myself depending on it.  I feel like a freakin' hypocrite because I said that if we can't have transparency in the system, it should be abolished. 

I've been borrowing money from my business accounts to survive.  I think I have $81 left.  This is weird. 

I'm torn between trying to grow the business (given that my assets are so little now) and waiting for the dust to settle.  I'm scared to create more products for fear it will be something to fight about to drag out the divorce. 

So, I sit and clean a house I don't want....all day long. 

I need to take control of this crazy situation. 

This is weird.   This is new to me. 


At least I have a lot of time to think. 

I'm not sure if I ever had time for heartbreak in the past. 


When Tom left, he was always around.  I think he was trying to make sure that everything was tied up into a neat little good-bye package, so neither one of us would be burdened with baggage when we left high school and moved on with our lives.

 He was always there, even after we broke up.  I remember him poking his head into the band room and exclaiming his love for redheads weeks after we broke up.  No one believed that we weren't a couple. 

Maybe I just don't know how to break up with men.   

That is a weird thought, isn't it?     

There is one memory that I regret more than any other and if I could go back and do it all over again, I'd do it differently.  It is the memory that keeps me away from my home town.  It happened at a bus stop across from a Dairy Queen. 

I had to drive past it the other day to drop off clothing donations to the battered women's charity on Friday.  They were doing road work, so I had to take that particular route.   I can't drive by without crying.  The last time I had to go that route was to visit a church for a funeral.  I looked like I knew the deceased by the time I got there.  At least, that is the best place to go when you're holding tissues.

In '87, on the last day of school for me, three friends followed me as I left the school.  One grabbed her camera, while the other two posed with me and my camera.  That shot ended up in the year book; that shot always stirs up sad memories.  

As I crossed the street and waited for the bus, I could feel Tom standing behind me.  Since he left me, he's had this loving yet solemn presence that is hard to describe.  It is very loving, very kind, but always sad.....like he's in mourning.   I can feel most it when he stands behind me.  The last time I felt it was January 10, 2011. That feeling always reduces me to tears because of this stupid memory.

I'm a selfish snot, even when I don't mean to be. 

On that morning in '87, I turn around and he sighs the word 'hi', tears filling his eyes but somehow he manages to contain them without letting them fall to his cheeks.  I always admired him for his ability to keep his emotions from getting the better of him. 

That 'hi' is haunting, too.  Every time I hear it, to this very day, it makes me want to cry. 

On this day, I was running late for work.  I had just moved into my new apartment in the scary part of town.  The bus was coming.  There was so much I wanted to say but so little time.  I couldn't find the words.  I just stayed silent.  I wanted to hug him but I was holding a camera bag and a book bag.  I just stood there. 

Now, this was the eighties...many of the boys wore eye-liner.  Don't laugh.  It was the way it was. 

His eyeliner began to run.  Now, being female, I find a black streaked face to be one the worst fashion faux pas.  It's so bad, for me, that I rarely wear mascara and opt for black henna.  In my bid to be helpful, I said the most dumb thing imaginable.  My parting words to my best friend were 'your mascara is running.' 

I should've put my stupid bags down and hugged him.  We both needed closure. 

Hindsight is 20/20. 

hottie....I'll keep my hugs to myself on that day. 

I never really got to mourn that relationship.  Like I said, he was always around.  Within a week of the end of school, I was sexually assaulted.  I was mourning the end of my innocence and angry at myself for not throwing myself at my boyfriend when I had him.  If I had let Tom destroy my innocence, I think it would have not have hurt so much when a stinky old geezer took it. 

I'm beginning to believe that I was too busy healing from the assault to mourn the loss of that relationship. 

The guy after that was too violent to mourn.  It was easy to justify getting rid of him, I didn't like the ER and the restraining order made it incredibly final.   The judge didn't give me a choice on that restraining order.  He saw pictures taken by the police in the ER.  It is amazing that I survived with just a back injury.

I don't want to whine but he broke most of the fingers on my right hand and mangled my right wrist before hendrixing my guitar.  That man hated my bass and didn't like me playing it so much.  If you look closely, you can see two crooked fingers and my right wrist is thicker than my left.  I don't mind the scars, though, they remind me of a long lost friend who was stolen away by Hollywood.  He set my broken fingers.  I last saw him at a State fair where he was promoting a movie.  He still remembered me.  I'm hoping he is still a shining star. 


God always brings us angels in our hour of need. 
 
Why can't I end up with an angel?  Why do I always seem to end up stuck with the soul-stealing demons? 

There must be something wrong with me. 

This relationship...I think I've been in mourning since '00.  That is a long time.  It seems like with each passing day, he takes more and more from me.  I end up staying because he says that it is good for everyone else.  He promises to get better.  Things never get better. 

Every time I try to leave, it seems like he gets scarier.  I've got to stay silent this time.  I've got to plan my exit strategy and leave quietly.  I've got to go far away. 

Oh....I found the origin of my panic attacks. 

At night, my mind ponders the feeling of being alone.  I love the smell of clean sheets.  I love the feel of my satin pillow.  It is nice to be able to enjoy a good book prior to falling asleep without disturbing another human being. 

It is weird how sleep habits rarely change.  I still sleep on the left side of the bed while books and notebooks fill the right side. 

Books are not warm.   I still wake up at 5:55 a.m. and have the habit of looking to my right and crying.   I am now finally averaging about five hours of sleep a night.  This is a big improvement. 

The nighttime crying, though, has been going on for well over eight years. 

I feel helpless about improving the situation.   Mike expects me to stay married for the kids.  He isn't willing to have a relationship with me.   He is giving me conflicting information about his expectations.  I cannot see other people but if I do, he says that I must keep it out of the house. 

He also says he loves me but I'm not so sure he does... He wants to be with me but he doesn't.  He wants me to stay but he doesn't.  I'm confused. 

Why in the heck do men want wives they don't love.  Are they really afraid of the laundry?   Maybe they keep us around so they don't suffocate from the smell of their dirty socks. 

I don't know. 

All I know is that this isn't working for me. 

I'm stuck. 

Then, I remember those few times I've been asked to explain my love life. 

That is when the panic attacks set in. 

People will ask me why I look so sad.  They'll ask why I don't have a wedding ring.  They'll ask who Mike is.  They'll ask if I'm getting my needs met.

I try to make jokes out of it.  You know...it's been twenty years.  Men get bored eating the same thing day after day....you know how it is...don't you? 

People usually laugh. 

The questions I have a problem with the most are those that start with...

why?

That word sets in the panic. 

I don't know why. 

Maybe I snore.

Maybe I am so fat the bed falls on the left side. 

Maybe I hog all the covers. 
Maybe I look like a wildebeest at night. 

Maybe I look horrific without my make-up in the dark.

Maybe he's afraid he'll fall into the cellulite dimples and never return to this realm. 

Maybe I am possessed by a farting demon in the wee hours of the morning. 

Maybe I'm not pretty enough, sexy enough, or fun enough. 

Maybe I am simply not enough. 

That's the one that does it.   I mean, after years of not having a partner, one begins to question her worth as a woman.  It's not pretty. 

In the business, we call that stinkin' thinkin'. 

I've been hiding away from my friends, staying in the place in order to try to figure out what the heck is going on.  He's hiding the information from me, so I cannot make sense of it. 

I need to take control of my life and leave.  I wish he'd want to put everything in a neat little package and tie a nice pretty bow on it. 

This mess is killing me. 

Love,

S.

Picky

 

Fairy Tales

Hey....I believe in fairy tales. 

Yep! 

Do you know why? 

There is always a wicked crone, an evil, vain, jealous, nasty female character who is running around making bad, selfish, powerful boys pay.  Men don't get to rescue her.  She gets to torment, tease, and make their lives a living hell. 

That's me on a good day. 

At least that's what people think....

Ha...

The truth is that I wish I could pull that one off....maybe if I learn to soften my glare, a little.

I don't want to be evil.  No one does.  What starts off as white magic, tends to go black in the presence of selfishness and evil.  Evil darkens everything it touches.  The worst evil is often perpetrated by those who think they are acting out of purity and goodness.

Stupid men pass laws to impose their morality on other people and, in their shortsightedness, they cause poor people to starve to death, small business owners to go under, and people to lose their homes. 

Power corrupts, even if one tries to use it for the good of others. 

This was my lesson from politics. I'm being asked to go back into it. 

I don't know....
When I was a kid, I wanted to be a famous musician.  Then, I began to write hypnotic stories and wanted to be a famous author.  I've been published (won't dare tell you where and when).   I liked writing and wanted to continue but then the city lawyers started bugging me.  I never thought I'd get my taste of celebrity due to my propensity to whine and complain. 

I've been trying to get out of here for four years.  Stupid economy...stupid exes that can't replace me....stupid exes that can't let me move on.....

I'm living the life of a teenager...no sex...lots and lots of chores...and do you know what is funny?  The man in the basement decided to give me an allowance!  Yeppers, I get $20 every two weeks and I usually spend it at the store that supports battered women buying homemade crafts and toys for the kids. 

How funny is that? 

I'd be offended but it makes me giggle too much.  I never got to be a teenager...I had to work and support myself.  I kinda feel like Merlyn, I'm living my life freakin' backwards!!

I need to leave before I go insane. 

Still....maybe I should stay here just so I can torment the politicians again. 

I mean the shadow side of the magician archetype usually forces someone to pay; I want them to atone for abusing the citizenry.  Maybe it fits for someone like me. 

Or I could just curse the crap out of them and move. 

I've stocked up on black candles and, quite sadly, the white ones too. 

Yeah....

I think, right now, I'm torn between being the fairy godmother or the wicked witch: maybe I can be both, fairy godmother to the families and wicked in the eyes of the big brotherish good ol' boy establishment. 

This is my reality. 

I can be Maleficent or an attendant to the Goddess of the Dawn. 

Decisions....

decisions....

decisions.....

Maybe I need to be a bit of both. 


Love ya, 

S.

Bad Boy Death Wishes

I just realized that the men I've loved have been left with death wishes.

One hops out of airplanes. 

One became a race car driver.

One claims to be trying to die in a similar fashion to the obese guy in  'The Life of Brian'.  He likes the idea.  I can't talk him out of it. 

Well...at least they know how they want to snuff themselves. 

I guess that gives them a sense of having a measure of control over their own mortality. 

I don't know...

I used to think teenage boys were weird.  Nope....I finally see that forty year old men are weirder.


Please...

someone please tell me that this is because they are all in their early to mid-forties. 

I pray I had nothing to do with this...and that this is just their mid-life crisis parties coming to pass. 

It could be that they've met evil face to face and they figure that dying is the best escape route.  I mean this all seemed to start after they started having run-ins with me.  Maybe they think they're in hell and trying to get reborn somehow. 

I really don't know...

I wonder...

Yeah...the worrying and the nightmares are getting to be a bit much. 

On the bright side, the dreams mean I'm sleeping again! 


Hooray!!!

I figured out how to sleep five hours a night. 

It involves lighting candles at my altar, praying to my Deity, praying that anybody I've ever hurt has their life improved tenfold, and wishing the best for the people I've played with until I fall asleep. 

Without fail, I fall asleep around 1:15 a.m and wake up at 5:55 a.m.   My alarm is set for 7:00, but I don't need it. 

The problem is that I dream of my evil ways and the subsequent bad karma. 

I've been a spoiled little snot-head. 
Sigh....

At least I'm sleeping. 
Sleep means I look better and my vanity is restored. 

Yeah!!!
 I have got to enjoy my appearance before my skin starts getting so saggy it falls off my face. 

Aging is fun says the woman lucky enough not to be going gray but platinum blond. 

Denial, they say...is not just a river in Egypt. 

It's still fun. 


Love,

S.

25th High School Reunion

I was invited to my 25th high school reunion a couple of days ago. 

This is killing me. 

Last time, all I did was fight with the ex.  One of the former football players was picking up on me while some guy I never met was snapping my picture under the table blinding me with the flash.
.
I was so irritated, I went to the bar and got a "Mike's Hard Lemonade."

Then Mike started in on me...

he never saw me with an alcoholic drink before....
and I was a little snarky one...

I started laughing about how beautiful it was that I could use his name and the word hard in the same sentence. 

Oopps! 

We left the party to try to sort out our differences.  It was soo bad, we skipped the final day of the reunion. 

This time....everyone knows we're separated. 

When he left on Christmas Day in '08, I posted it to Facebook. 

Only a weasel would leave his wife and children on Christmas day. 

I didn't really take him back. 
He had no where else to go when he ran out of funds a week later. 
He took his room in the basement.  We've been in this bizarre state since then. 

Then I realized I couldn't leave him if he wasn't working because we'd lose all of our assets if I didn't stay to help him.  I also don't want to pay alimony to a moron who complains whenever I try to hold a job. 


Everyone knows I'm staying in this house.  They seem to see my pain. 


A couple of classmates have accused me of suffering from 'ex guilt'.  They say that he'll be able to grow up and get what he needs.  They say that I need to follow my heart.  They say that I need to get my needs met.  They tell me that life is too short to put up with this painful crap. 

There is one guy who I think is trying to pull the waiting in the wings stunt. 

It almost worked.  I have a teensy, weensy crush on him. 

He is a former classmate.  I remember him, in his letterman's jacket, sitting behind me in Social Science class with his textbook in his lap.  He remembers my tight sweaters. 

But...I had a crush on someone else at the time.  The next year, my crush and I would become quite close, so close in fact, no one would approach me until we broke up.  Everyone said we acted like an old married couple.  It was obvious that we were an item. 


I have no secrets. 

Mike knows. 

It's just a little crush....

It would never work with this man.  I get on his nerves too much.  We'd never be able to spend more than an hour at a whack together. 

After twenty minutes or so the conversation gets raunchy.  Then he needs a cigarette and then he goes home. 

Sigh...

He's bald. 

I think it's hot. 

I mean....I can't exactly say why I think it's hot but I think it has something to do with another bald head that I've come to worship over the years. 

One day...Mike was worried about losing his hair. 

"Don't worry", I told him.  "It's the hottest thing on the planet."

"Really?"  he starred at me in disbelief. 

"Yep" I grinned, "As above, so below."

Six months later, I kid you not, I heard him quoting this to someone he worked with! 

I am so damn embarrassed! 

Really!!! 

I never intended for other people to know that!!  I'll never be able to go with him to a company picnic without dealing with the single truck drivers who know we are in one of those 'it's complicated' type of pissy, lonely, celibate, for the kids relationships. 

I am not a lot lizard. 

Oh no....I realized on that day that I truly needed to hold back my thoughts from someone I used to be able to share anything with. 

Now...I don't know what to do. 

Five years ago, I promised to help with the planning of the next reunion.  I promised to support the people putting it on

but I don't want to go. 

All I do is go to those damn things and think of Tom. 

I'm not sure if it's going to be worse this time around...I won't have anyone to flirt with to ease the loneliness.  I mean, in the past, when I got bored...I'd just reach around and [censored]. 

My exes always followed me.  I'm told that they like to watch me walk.  I think they just like being fondled. 

Sigh....


This time I won't have the distraction of a knock down, drag out fight and booze with a punishing name. 

I can't take my beautiful bald crush because, I think, this would count as a fourth date.  When we last met, I saw the look in his face.  I heard him question when I was moving out.  He had found me a new apartment.  He tried to help me get a job.  I know what he wanted.

He wanted to save me. 
At the time, I was pretending to be a politician and I told him I didn't want my misbehavior being mentioned in the paper.  He understood. 

Since then, things have gotten so bad I think I'm going to have to wait it out a little longer.   During the campaign, I had my credit destroyed and the 401K raided.   I'm flipping pissed. 

I should have taken the apartment and filed for a divorce before the crap hit the fan. 


The most painful part if it is the sleeping alone part.  It was fun the first year.  Back in '01, I had baby and we co-slept.  The second year was okay, too.  I had time to work in bed.  By about '08, it began to hurt too much.  In '11, I spent the wee hours of the morning rehearsing speeches realizing that I hadn't been with a man in so long that I feared sex more than I feared public speaking. 

After awhile, I just started to drink myself to sleep. 
I stopped doing that.  The sugar makes me fat. 

No matter how fat I became, my crush didn't criticize me. 

As I began to chunk out, he would say that I had "more Va Va Voom".

Ooohhh....

he likes curves. 

How sweet is that? 

He's going to make the right woman so very happy someday. 

I wish I had someone I could take with me. 

I couldn't imagine who it could be.  I'm obsessing about past relationships, probably in the hopes of learning how I mess everything up, I don't think it would be fair to take anyone with me.  I have realized that there must be something wrong with me for things to get this bad.  I have to find that flaw and fix it. 

What I really want to know is this....

if I can hypnotize myself to have mind blowing o's while looking at certain colors, why can't I hypnotize myself to not love my high school sweetheart? 

I've tried....

I can stop eating chocolate.  I can stop drowning in rum.  I can stop screaming at dork muffins who want to raise taxes on the poor and give the money to their rich buddies.  I can even hypnotize myself NOT to flirt with bad politicians in an effort to manipulate them (which is far too tempting sometimes)

but I can't hypnotize myself to stop loving someone. 

If I could stop loving him, it would be hella easier to move on. 

Maybe...I can hypnotize myself to come down with the flu in mid-July. 

Hmmmmm......

It could work. 

Love,

S.

Edit sometime later:

I was thinking about the pervert with the camera who was taking pictures of women underneath the tables. 

I don't know who he is but I may go just to play a trick on him. 

I'm going to wear a short skirt and beige undies.  Then I'm going to write on my thighs.  On the left one it will read "you'll never" and on the right one "get here"

I'll spread my legs when he aims his flipping camera and give him a shot of skin. 

Maybe he'll get a little thrill in the darkroom. 

Better yet, I wonder what if they make prosthetic male parts that I could strap onto my leg. 

I don't have to wear it unless I know for sure the guy is there. 

Hmmmm.....

I know just who to ask about the strap on....

I'll let you know. 

It's fun to be a brat. 

Love,

S.

Best Buddy Boys

When they were both four years old, my daughter and her little boy buddy were really, super cute together. 

They'd play. 

They'd eat ice cream. 

They'd run around the playground and get all sweaty. 

Now, a little over a decade later he has asked her for a date! 

It's too early!!! 

I thought all girls were 'icky' for fourteen year old boys. 

I guess not. 

He wants to take her to the movies. 

Absolutely NOT!! 

I have memories of a certain young man following me to the movie theatre. 

It went like this...

I'd see my friend after school and we'd talk about what we were doing after school.  He would dutifully say he was going to go home and do homework and I'd say that I was going to catch a movie before going home. 

He'd be worried about me going unescorted, so he'd tag along. 

He'd have no money, so I'd buy him a ticket.  Hey, one can easily rationalize that $3.50 (the price of a ticket back then) was well worth having a body guard for two hours and an escort on public transportation. 

In fact, it was a bargain! 

I never bought popcorn because I was a darn cheapskate!!  Well....I also knew that if I bought popcorn, he'd end up digging in it the same time I did and we'd end up holding our greasy hands together. 

I never bought popcorn....

Still...even without lard....somewhere during the movie...his hand would always end up grabbing mine.  It could have been during the scary parts or the freaky parts...I don't know.  Somehow his hand would always find its way over mine. 

Then the fingers would interlace. 

Then he'd be leaning into me. 

Then he'd be breathing in my ear. 

It would progress from there. 

Yeah....to this very day, I have no idea how any Tom Hanks or Eddie Murphy movies ended because I was too busy trying to get untangled from this gentleman to pay attention. 

Why the heck is my lie detector going off?  LOL!!  Yeah, I was just as much to blame for any inappropriate snuggling. 

I am being quite truthful when I say that I don't remember Sixteen Candles or The Breakfast Club, either.  People gasp when I tell them I never saw it.   I went to the movie.  I can tell you in detail what my buddy looked like in the flickering light...but...I have no clue about the plot lines of any of those movies. 

I do remember some of the contents in the protagonist's medicine cabinet in The Fly because my dear friend had to point out that there were balls on one of the shelves.  Just to be a brat, I made him explain what balls were.  It's a shame it was too darn dark in that theatre for me to get to see him blush!! 

Ah....that poor, poor soul.  I put him through the ringer. 

First loves always get a raw deal. 

I'm sorry.  He has no clue how many times I want to beg forgiveness when I'm in his presence.  He already forgave me but still....the more I reflect, the more stupid shit I remember pulling on him.   I did so much garbage to him....so much baloney...there was so much that I didn't know back then. 

I thought I was doing the right thing...but...I was a grade A moron. 

Based on my experience back in the day, I made it clear that my daughter could not go to the movies with her best buddy unless a few of her girlfriends went to make fun of them if they get too hot and heavy. 

This is happening far too fast. 

When I looked concerned, my daughter told me that she wanted to get her P.hD in Mythological and Cultural Studies so I should not worry about her becoming a teenage mother.

I am not sure if I should be consoled by that.  Why is she thinking about sex right now?

Oh my gracious.....help me through this.  I'm going to be doing a heck of a lot of praying. 

Love,

S.

My Daily Morning Freak Out

Well....

I woke up at 3:00 a.m., like I always do.  I mediated until about 5:30 or so. 

I didn't hear my ex's car start this morning.  He usually leaves around 4:00 every morning and comes back around 7:00 at night. 

I started to have a panic attack. 

Could he be dead? 

He is over 500 pounds. 

He does have sleep apnea. 

He's been having a lot of headaches lately. 

Maybe he's lying on the basement floor gasping for air. 

Now....I've been freaking out like this for months now.  He started sleeping in until 3:00 p.m. on the weekends (leaving me to deal with the kids despite me trying to go out and earn money).  I don't hear him snore.  I don't hear him move.  I worry that I'm going to find him blue. 

Last week, it was worse. 

Last Thursday, around 3:30 in the morning, I heard the front door open but no engine start.  I waited.  I waited.  Around 4:15, I ran downstairs, flung on the porch light and found that he was a-ok...just rocking out to some music in his new car. 

Whew...

I'm terrified I'm going to have to be the one to find his cold lifeless body if he doesn't lose some of that weight. 

Do I stay? 

Do I go? 

What the heck do I do? 

The lawyers want me to take the kids and the house.  They say that it would be cruel to let the kids live with someone so out of shape, angry, and who is never at home.  He's really not in the best of health.

He makes more money than I do.  It would be cruel for me to take them if I can't feed them on my own.

He says if I leave him, he'll stop visiting the kids and get rid of the house so they have to go to another school.  I stayed.  Now, he's saying he'll keep the house and apologized for trying to coerce me to stay in this house with him.  That trick worked for four years.  It hurt me deeply. 

We have daughters.  Teenage daughters need their fathers; they keep the filthy boys at bay. 

This morning....after fretting and worrying for a couple of hours, I get the urge to run downstairs.  Will I find him alive?  Do I need to grab the phone and be prepared to dial 911. 

Something was off...I knew it!

Well.....

He was alive and breathing. 

He was having his manly alone time. 

He was getting off...

I wish he'd find a woman to do that for him. 

Love ya,

S. 

My Badd....

I decided to delete my previous post, if a man thinks a crazy thought and wants confirmation he's going to have to ask for it. 

If he thinks so lowly about me, he deserves to fret. 

Besides, anyone who sees the venom I spew when going after men who rape girls and cops that arrest rape victims knows what I've been through...

Yes....countless politicians have confronted me on the issue in an effort to keep my off center when they get caught acting like misogynistic a-holes. 

I just grin. 

Still, it's best that I not give them confirmation. 

I'll keep it secret for now. 

My door will be open to any old friend wanting to rehash why I'm mean.  Yes, I'll still give him a blank silent stare when he wants to know about the details pertaining to the birth of any offspring. 

He had nothing to do with that. 


Love,

S. 

Celibrating Pagan Fertility Holidays with a Baby

So...

I swore off Christian holidays. 

I'll do the egg thing.  I'll buy gifts and chocolate.  I'll buy toy bunnies for the neighborhood kids but I won't plan a feast or deal with anything like a holiday. 

Every time I do that, some dork muffin has to get all drama kingish and screw the day up. 

I didn't plan anything big today at all. 

I woke up and meditated.  I want to type "medicated"...but I left the valerian vodka alone.  I did eat a ton of jelly beans, so there was a sugar intoxication thingy going on.  I had to energy to work out for 90 minutes. 

My daughter brought over the grandbaby.  She and her....uh...love interest did not realize that today was Easter.  Thankfully, I bought toys and a basket for their little one.  I had a feeling they may come over.   

The baby used to have red curly hair.  It's not a dark blond and straight. 

She has my green eyes. 


She likes to play with my keyboard and sing.  She's really into rhythym (the funkier the better).  I'm thinking she'll either be a drummer or a bass player. 

She also likes to cook. 

She actually likes to drink rose water, just like I do.  I jokingly told her mom that my grandbaby's poop smells like roses. 

It does....at least it does now. 


It won't later.  She ate meat. 

I don't get to see her too much. Her father is embarrassed that he got caught cheating on my daughter with a couple of other people.

Here is a hint: If you cheat, don't post it on Facebook. 

And, if you must....forgo the pics!!! 

¿Comprende?




And yeah, he speaks fluent Spanish.  I studied it for five years.  I can't speak a word but I can understand when my future son in law is telling the waiter that I'm hot for his nards. 

Some men.....(censored)...

Ah...the drama that I wish would leave my life.  When did my life become a soap opera?  Crap, if I have to live though this drama, I want some ad revenue for it. 

Darn...

Because the baby likes to explore food and get her hands dirty, the baby and I made dinner for the people who dropped by.  We made ham.  Her grandfather wanted bacon, so we made bacon.  It wasn't real bacon...it was turkey bacon.  At least, it wasn't tofu bacon (aka fakin' bacon).  The baby dipped the bacon in chocolate pudding and loved that.  It looked disgusting but she liked it. 

I wish I were joking....

she must have a cast iron stomach. 


We made homemade rolls and potato salad. 

We made strawberry shortcake. 

The cutest thing on the planet is the little baby discovering strawberries. 

She'll put them to her nose and inhale sharply before letting out a long audible "mmmmmmmm'. 


I don't know how her mother is going to get all that fruit out of her nose. 


She did manage to get some in her mouth. 

If I knew I was going to live here, I'd plant some strawberries for her.  That's the sucky thing about trying to leave a dead marriage and not wanting the house, you're loathe to plant anything that you know the person who wants the house will neglect and let die. 

She needs strawberries...that kid is awfully cute for being nine months old. 

I'm in awe....she's a creative soul. 

Bacon and chocolate....

I never thought of that. 

Maybe she'll be a chef. 

Hmmmm.....


The more I get to know the little baby, the less I want to smack her father for being a bozo.  There must be some good in there....

somewhere....

thank goodness it is not my place to judge him. 

He did try to sleep with me....after he knocked up my daughter...so I have an issue with him. 

Yeah, yeah...we were at a restaurant during the holiday season of '10.  I was with my ex and we were talking about the bad run of luck my other ex and his wife were having and pondering ways to help.  Given the amount of attention being paid to my exes, the last thing on my mind was sex but...

my daughter's fiance thought I wanted him. 

Apparently, he thought that the more I covered my extremities, the more that meant I needed him. 

I went home that night to find a long message on Facebook.  I'm beautiful.  I'm hot.  He likes what he sees...yadda...yadda..yadda.

My reply was simply "I'm glad you like how I look, stick around another twenty years and that is what the mother of your child will look like."


Then I let the man in the basement have a good laugh at the message the young clown sent to me. 

Of course, I told my daughter.  We laughed about my stint at cougardom.  We joked about how young men can choose flabby arms and experience or tight muscles, willingness, endurance and gymnastics.  Only a fool would want loose and flabby old bitchy women.  That's when I learned that he has a thing for cougars and that he slept with her boss. 

It's my fault.  I taught her to put up with morons and keep the promises she makes even when they don't. 

I've got to leave.  The longer I stay, the more chaos I endure.  This is getting too weird for words.  I think I have a big sign on my forehead that says, 'I'll put up with anything!'

If I leave, I give her permission to flush her turd.

Okay, butt potato is a bit harsh.  Let's just say that my daughter's boyfriend is a bozo.  

Sorry...

It is so damn hard not wanting to smack him. 

I'm doing my best not to be a monster-in-law. 

Really...


Stupid boy..he'll be forced to sleep with old flabby women in due time.  I mean, really....the years between 22 and 40 just kinda fly by.  He shouldn't waste them with old chicks.  He needs to trust in the process of aging.  Women start looking scary about the same time the men start needing bifocals.  Nature probably does that for a reason. 


Oh well...

He does make a decent sperm donor.



Love,

S.

Sleepless Size Eight

Okay...

I think I'm losing the weight a little too fast now.  I'm getting new stretch marks.  They are not pretty. 

Perhaps if women don't sleep more than three hours a night, they burn calories instead. 

I don't know. 

I'm working out about two hours a day but find it hard to sleep.  The more I work out, the more I sleep. 

I'm back into my clothes from high school but don't think I want to be showing off skin if it's going to look like it's full of rips and tears. 

Maybe if I sit in a vat of glycolic acid? 


Ouch....maybe not.   

I've lost two dress sizes in a month.   I walk around and sag like a rabid rap star.  Just to be clear, I am talking about my pants but if I keep losing the weight this fast, I'll soon have be talking about my skin. 

Like I said, it is not pretty. 

Usually, I'd be ecstatic.  Now I'm worried. 

I'm thinking about times in my life when I felt powerless.  I'm wondering what is triggering this.  Perhaps it is being married to someone who is destroying my life right before my eyes but not having access to enough money to put a stop to it. 

I'm trying to get away and regain my power.  It's awfully hard without access to money or credit. 


I'm just one good idea or scheme away from solving this fiasco.  I'll come up with something.  I always do. 

I couldn't sleep last night.  I realized that I have been selfish with information. 

I realized why my high school sweetheart keeps coming back. 

I owe him answers. 

I mean, no one upon no one comes back to someone like me unless they want something. 

He must want something. 

I can't image what it would be except answers. 

Why do I say that? 

Well...

There is a note that he mailed to me when I was dating my first husband.  It claims that he saw dead babies whenever he looked upon me.  It went on to assert that I murdered his unborn child. 

Nope...it didn't happen. 

Sorry...uh...no...

I didn't eat enough to...uh...do the pms bitchy lady thing. 

Nope...nada...sorry...

didn't happen.

I could prove it.  At least I think I can.  I have medical records somewhere but it best not come to that.  He'll have to take my word for it.


I tried to address the issue when he wrote to me in '08.  He didn't know what the heck I was talking about. 

He came back in '10 and again in '11.  Last August, he wrote something bizarre about being happy I was out of his life and I cut him off. 

I did as he asked a couple of years ago, I burned the note.  He doesn't want to know what he said to me that hurt me.

He probably wants to know more than he says he wants to know. 


Now, a month before receiving that note, I had the thought that I should address the rape and gossip surrounding it. 

My sister ran around telling everyone that I was knocked up...and I mean everyone.  It worked to get the vengeance I wanted so desperately, the old idiot jerk who pushed his way on top of me lost his wife, his son and his mistress.  My cousins were so pissed.  I don't care.  I'll never talk to those idiots as long as I live. 

At fourteen, I was taken away from my family and sent to live with an uncle because my step-father thought that I existed to sexually serve my cousins.  It never happened.  I was a mean, ultra religious kid.  I wasn't going to go to hell in order to please any smelly sweaty teenager.

What happened was that my cousins would tear off my clothes, touch me, and I would beat the crap out of them.  My step-father would beat me, in turn, for not submitting.  Calling the police didn't help because one of the the fathers of the boys who did that to me was a well known local political figure.

There was a Thanksgiving when a cop pulled me nude out of a bathtub because I had dishonored my step-father.  It was a status offense.  My crime?  Beating up a cousin who wanted to dig his hand where the son doesn't shine. 

After my step-father offerred to have sex with me, I told my grandmother and a school teacher.  They called social services and I was taken away.

This man would later be responsible for my mother's murder. 

This is why I didn't grow up with my sister and step-father.  This is also why my family never trusted my sister.   My sister made excuses for it.  She sided with this step-father, even though I am darn sure he was raping her.  I tried to keep a close eye on her.  My first husband and I tried to adopt her out of a life of prostitution.  We failed. 


The assault I endured happened the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend (actually, it was the wee hours of Friday morning).  Four weeks after my old flame and I broke up.  We broke up on Friday, the first of May.  The day after I was told about a music scholarship that would move me across the state.  I told him that I didn't want to lose him and he got quiet.  The next day, he handed me a note and said he was leaving me. 

I never read the note.  My husband found it during a fight in '07.  We were fighting about me finishing my P.hD.  He didn't want me back in school.  The note fell out of his bedroom closet (for whatever reason) and into his hands.  That was when I learned that Tom left me so I could go to school. 

That was a stupid sacrifice, buddy.


If I remember correctly, that weekend in '87 I was supposed to attend graduation that weekend but missed it hiding in my bathroom scalding myself with hot water.   I felt disgusting.  I remember burning myself to the point of passing out, waking up and doing it again. 

I spent the night before painting a portrait of my high school sweetheart.  It started off as a pastel project but it lacked depth, so I gessoed it and started over.  I don't like oil paints near as much as pastels.  The paints take too long to dry.

The night of the assault, I actually threw the painting at my rapist and smeared the paint.  He was angry that I ruined his pants.  I also threw my beloved antique tenor saxophone at him; $400 of repairs went down the drain on that day. 

I've never touched that sax since.  I'm not even sure I've bothered to open the case.  The case is damaged from getting hurled at a man who didn't know what 'NO' meant.  I probably ought to donate it to charity because it is too painful to look at but I need to get it repaired again (which means opening the case and facing what happened).  I prefer to ignore it.

That Thursday, I was giddy over my project.  I was out and about getting paint to finish my work.  I rode the bus to visit my grandfather.  Grandpa mentioned that my cousins and my sister dropped by wanting to know where I lived.  He gave them my address. 

Why on earth would he do that?  I'll never understand.  He promised that I'd never have to deal with my cousins again, yet he told them where I was hiding. 

When I got home, they were waiting for me.  My landlord actually let them in. 

My cousins and sister left a man there.  He claimed to know me.  I did not know him.  He gave me a name and claimed we went to school together.  I have never been able to prove that this guy was ever anyone who knew me.  No one at my old school knows him, although I have a classmate with his name.  My classmate was not my rapist.  I'll never forget that face, that voice, or that funky smell. 

From the moment I saw him, I hated him.  He was constantly putting me down.  He was disgusting.  The man would not leave.  It would take four days for me to sneak out of my own apartment when he had fallen asleep away from his gun.  I ran to a businessman waiting at the bus stop.  He gave me money to use the phone.  When my friends and I got back to the apartment, the idiot was gone - so was my money.  I had a thousand dollars squirrelled away. 

I marvel at the fact that he only touched me once that weekend.  Well, twice....he got worried when I didn't come out of the bathroom, broke down the door and pulled me out of the room.

Maybe he thought I'd scream if he tried to touch me again. 

I don't know. 

I just count that as a happy blessing. 

Once was more than enough. 

I just remember staring at the carpet and crying. 

I was in a lot of pain.  My body has a memory of it.  There is pain when I think of it, so I prefer not to speak of it unless I've had a lot of alcohol.  If I have to address this issue with my old friend in person, he needs to bring me the compassionate gift of whiskey, rum, or vodka and take me to a very private place where no one will overhear the conversation and give me ten minutes to numb myself.  I protect rape victims.  I don't want to be thought of as one of them. 

After the rape, I had a couple of friends move in with me.  They were gay men.  Brian moved in.  His boyfriend Brian would stay the night.  My friend Jim was always close by. 

Then there was Sampson...oh.... but that's another story. 

Weeks later, one of my friends found a gun in my walk-in closet.  He disposed of it for me. 

Why didn't I call the police? 

Well...I was living alone.  I was seventeen.  I was an orphan.  My uncle was supposed to have custody but his girlfriend kicked me out because I put a crimp in their sex life.  

I didn't believe that the cops would take me seriously.  They would say I was a run-away and force me back to live with my uncle and his abusive girlfriend. 

I didn't want to be put on trial.  I just wanted it to be over.  It was hard to get out of my mind.  I had to have the last laugh (and lots of STD tests) in order to heal.

I did call my grandfather and aunt first on the day I escaped.  They didn't understand me or believe me.  It would take months before they acknowledged what happened.  It would take a decade before they apologized to me for treating me like garbage in the days after that assault.   They brought it up casually, apologizing for not listening to me.  It must've haunted them for years. 


Fortunately, my life was graced with good friends.  My friends never left my side until I moved out.  I was too afraid to live alone.  Sampson would bring me pets to keep me company.  He brought me a show cat (a Persian) and a Scorpion.  The cat ate the Scorpion.  I felt so horrid about that.  I didn't know cats liked those things.   The Scorpion was a better companion than any man, by the way. 


My friends said someone claiming to be my ex-boyfriend was stalking my apartment and standing outside the window, so I figured I owed him an explanation.  Allegedly, he threatened to kill Sampson (which wasn't smart because he and his buddies liked to fight a little too much...I'm thinking Sampson lied but who knows anymore...). 

When I got therapy and felt better, I decided to track my old boyfriend down.  When I saw him, he ran off murmuring the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life. 

He yelled, while skipping off in the opposite direction, "I've turned into you and you've turned into me!"

I didn't know what to say.  I just left, hoping to never see him again.  I, quite honestly, thought he was high.   I did my best.  There was no issue.  It was over.  I could move on. 

Then the letter came and I knew I should stay away.  He was obviously delusional.  I mean...really? 

I don't want to say what I remember but...

I can't imagine where the heck he got that idea. 

I realized that now, I should've addressed it then in writing.  Twenty-five years is a heck of a long time to wonder about such things. 

I'm sorry. 

I didn't think it was any one's business but things that happen within a month of a break-up can lead to misunderstandings that I have to address. 

I feel guilty. 

I don't want to say why. 

If he still reads this damn thing when he gets bored and worried. 

I know him.  He researches every damn thing....and I mean every frickin' thing.   His Facebook posts betray his anxiety.  He even did a wikipedia search on platonic and unrequited love.  I mean, I could just imagine him searching my name, his name while hunting for pictures of a child that never existed. 

I'll add some tags below to help him.  Hope he's drunk if he finds this.  I don't know what he drinks because when we meet, we are good...no drugs...no alcohol...public places...he sneers at me when I'm dirty....he's an angel.  His father would be proud. 

He seems like a Long Island Ice Tea kind of guy. 

I really don't know...
What makes matters worse is that my first husband wanted a child to make up for one he lost due to a stupid decision made by his high school sweetheart.  Our daughter looks exactly like me but with blue eyes like her great-grandfather.  Tom had those same blue eyes. 

My old flame is always asking about her....I only just now realized why that would be. 

Could he think that I....you know? 

Oh...no....

Worse, the kid was always  two years ahead of herself in school.  She could very well appear to be twenty-fourish....Oh crap...


Oh darn... The answer is NO. 

Please tell me I'm overthinking this....

No...if I caused those gray hairs due to twenty-five years of worry I'll feel so freakin' awful.   I wanted to be the last thing he thought about. 


If he wants an explanation, I'll give it. 

He can breathe a sigh of relief. 

If it is true that we are all connected on some realm, perhaps when he gets the answer, my nightmares will stop. 

The answer is NO...no...no...no...no..


There is no way he would have gotten off of the hook so easily. 
Besides, I'm so much a chicken...I wouldn't have let myself do such a thing alone.  He'd have known.  I'd have probably been a bit of a pill.  I'd have freaked out. 

He would not have gotten off so easily.  I'd have made sure he would have endured some form of hell in exchange for making me gain weight. 

Besides, I couldn't even throw away any of the drawings he made.  Seriously...how in the heck could he accuse me of throwing away anything he allegedly made?

I don't get it.  Maybe he confused me with another girl. 

I don't know...I would have made his life a living hell if that had happened. 

Just teasing...well...no...not really. 

He knows how obnoxious I can be when I'm angry. 

But...I wasn't going to let that happen. 

That is why it didn't. 

When a moron I hadn't planned on meeting touched me,
I was angry. 

I was obnoxious. 

My obnoxiousness became legendary that year. 

People learned not to play with me. 

They called me a coyote...a trickster...they called me Kali.  I was quite happy to lead an abusive, child raping lunatic to destruction.   His wife and son were better for my game.  

I played a game of pretend.  I was a deceitful piece of crap in order to scare the shit out of a pig who thought I could prove that he touched me. 

I'm sorry if my bratty lies hurt my old friend.

Hope this helps. 

Love,

S.   

Now...I'm not going to correct the blog post.  I'm crying and my contacts are foggy.  I can't see a damn thing....

This is what happened (for the most part).  I am leaving a heck of a lot of stuff out. 

Maybe it will bring him closure. 

Cheerio!

Let's see...I promised tags. 
Hmmmm......
The president at the time was Ronald Reagan.  My favorite holiday is NOT St. Patrick's day, even though I am, for the most part, Irish.  My favorite author is Miltom Erickson.  My favorite saint is St. Albin.  I wish I looked like Ginger from Gilligan's Island.  My least favorite pagan fertility goddess is Sheila Na Gig; I fear that if I ever have a decent sex life, I'll end up looking like that. 

Hope this helps...I pray this worry is caused by too much intoxicants and less communication.  If the thought never crossed his mind, I'll be a happy, happy camper. 

My Scorpio Clown Magnet

I hate Facebook. 

I really, really, really hate Facebook. 

Do you know why? 

Men...

Lonely men....

Men who see your picture and think you're available to them. 

Then they write to you, every single day and expect a response immediately. 

Then they start calling everyday.  It is always awkward to hear a strange voice on the other end of the line that seems to know too much about you and your Farmville farm.  If you can't get to your phone in time, you get angry messages from complete strangers wondering if you screen your calls. 

Nope...I'm usually with people or in the recording studio.  I don't have my phone on.  If you don't leave a message, I won't be able to call you.  Now that my ex has made money weird for me, I'm on the pay per minute plan, so I have to pick and choose who to call.  Worse, the phone lines to the house don't work at all; no one can get though...it just rings and rings and rings. 

I need to do the Skype thing but I fear dealing with the bill collectors...so....

I'm stuck. 




Today...one Facebook clown demanded an immediate reply or an unfriending.  

He got blocked. 

Why in the holy heck would I cow down to someone I don't know?

Here is the deal...

If I haven't seen your trio, I don't owe you a thing. 

There are only three men in this world who can demand an immediate reply from me.  One, well....I will only respond when his wife is around but the other two, well....they are the only strange men who can call me at 2:00 a.m. and have me pick up the phone. 

I don't owe anyone else a damn thing.   

I'm in a pissy mood. 

Wanna know why?

Mike read his horriblescope online. 

My mother, the hippie, was heavily into astrology.  She had a book about parenting your child using her birth sign.  My childhood with her was hell. 

Mom was wrong about my horoscope.  She said I was a Virgo who was born eight weeks early; so I was supposed to read the Scorpio horoscope.  Whatever...neither fit me very well.

Still, my childhood was filled with books, books, and more books.  I was dressed in black.  They made it a point to tell me that I had brains rather than beauty.  They made a big deal out of Halloween and stocked my personal library with books about the supernatural.  I didn't grow up to be a librarian nor an undertaker. 

I don't identify with astrology, at least what I was raised with.  I'm not an uptight, prissy, obnoxious jerk (well...not all the time).    I was a rebel, so I identified with the polar opposite of what I was said to be.  I'm not a Virgo.  I'm a Pisces because that is what Mom didn't want me to be. 

Then I learned, that I really am more of a Pisces.  I'm not a Pisces...not really...but there is so much of that in my horoscope that's what they tell me to read. 

It fits a little too well.  It could be because I trained myself to be that way.  It could be because there is something to astrology, I don't know. 

I'm happier with my art than with obnoxious men.  I consider certain things religious experiences and am not happy having to set it aside for stupid reasons. 

I prefer to act like a female because...really...being a tomboy is overrated.  Even my gay friends giggle that my bathroom is pink.  I like dolls (albiet creepy ones from haunted houses).  I like frilly things.  I wear silk (everyday).  I wear lace.  My sheets are satin. 

I'd have a pink Steinberger if I could find one and afford to buy it (later...).   

The most beautiful thing you can do for me is give me space.   If you mess up, the most beautiful words you can say to me are "I'll take care of it."

I'm not a man, don't expect me to act like one. 

I don't mind cleaning up the house.  I love kids.  I like to cook.  I do love to work but I have to do soul fulfilling work.  Which is kind a bizarre considering that everything I do tends to be in male dominated fields. 

If you believe in it, it is said that if you boss a Pisces Ascendant around...she'll swim off.  If you say you're happier without her in your life, she'll leave so you can be happy.  Don't play with her for there are far too many other hot, colorful fish in the sea for her to frolick with. 

Stupid boys. 

I think this Facebook bozo was another bossy little fall baby. 

Here is the truth. 

I've never been asked out by anyone who wasn't a Scorpio. 

It happens so damn often, I've gotten pretty good about guessing the birthdays of potential suitors to the amazement of my friends. 

If you're obnoxious, you were born in October (especially if you have a good Catholic name because that is the time of St. Michael's feast).  If you are hyper-religious or rant about your hatred of organized religion (or if you think I'm your soul mate), you were born in early November.  If you sit down with me to play twenty questions and quiz me about every last detail of my life before finding fault with me, you're more of a Thanksgiving baby. 

Yep, I only get asked out by Scorps. 

Well, that's not true.  There was a Libra, born on the cusp, that had a Scorpio ascendant.   He was the most obnoxious, controlling, and abusive jerk of them all. 

I wish I were joking. 

I'm really tired of it. 

They play games. 

They play far too many games. 

I can't take it anymore. 

After reading his horriblescope, Mr. October explained his game to me last night.  He likes to punish himself, just to see what he can tolerate.  He wants to experience the pain of deprivation of the pleasures of life.  He doesn't quite understand that punishing himself is a means of punishing me.  There are those shared things that really shouldn't be cast aside like yesterday's garbage. 

Nice...

Oh, it gets worse.  No one likes him (or so he thinks).  He finds one person that likes him so he has to push the limits to see how much she'll tolerate before leaving. 

Oh...I'm glad he understands himself now. 

He wants deprivation?  He wants to experience loss? 

Well, sweetie.... keep pissing little me off...and you'll soon get your wish. 

Actually, it is too late.  I've been pushed a tad bit too far. 

That explains just about everything

So...I'm pissed. 

My auntie used to tell me that I was a clown magnet.  Nope...I'm a Scorpio clown magnet.  I sit down, a man will approach me, touch me, insult me, boss me around and give me an excuse to exercise my middle finger. 

I'm about to scream. 

What can I do to stop this? 

Maybe I can find a support group for Pisces men and lurk around. 

I'm sure they'd get me. 

Love,

S.

White Feathers

As a child, I was taught that white feathers were a symbol of the unconditional love that friends feel for each other.  No matter where the other goes, the purity of love follows.  No matter what the other does, the love is still there.  No matter what happens, love happens. 

If we love another, we allow them to drift freely on his (or her) journey to explore and discover who that person truly is and where they want to be.
The Creator gave us feathers to remind us of unconditional love. 

I wake up in the morning with the thought to pray for my old friend.  Each and every day this happens.  It's been bad since '04.  I would wake up screaming his name after having nightmares and pray for hours.  Now, praying for him has become a habit. 

I wonder how many hours I've wasted doing that.  Am I being stupid?  Does it make a difference?  Shouldn't I spend more time praying for the homeless on the street and the kids down the way who lost their young mother to cancer? 

Why him? 

My prayers have become obsessive.  I need to stop. 

My love is wrong.  I need to stop. 


Don't I?

This morning, I took a walk and decided to not love him anymore.  I need to stop thinking of him.  I need to flood my mind with other things. 

This is not the first time I've made this resolution. 


Why is it that when I decide that it is best not to love my friend anymore, a white feather always finds its way on my clothing? 

I found one on my shoulder while shopping for vitamins, of all things.  He's the one that got me hooked on vitamins...As a teenager, I used to live on Diet Pepsi and he wanted me to be healthy. 

Awww....he loved me back when I needed it the most. 
I still love him. 


I worry that loving my old friend is a waste of energy.  I worry that my prayers negatively impact his energy.  There were Facebook posts about obsession, could my prayers be the cause of that? 

Maybe the prayers fuel an obsession within me. 
For a Christian, that would sound schizophrenic.  For someone raised as a Pagan, it is a way of life. Our energy impacts others. Loving energy sends positivity and luck. Negative energy can be dangerous. 

I know his love is platonic.  Other men would never understand that.  The men I knew after him were always jealous of him.  No one seems to believe that men and women can just be friends.  I  find this hurtful and that thought made me push him away. 

How would he date if I were his friend?

This is why I pushed him away. 


If I love him and it is wrong, I pray that the universe gives it to the woman meant for him.  I've prayed this for years. 

I still feel this way. 

I think I'm broken. 

How does one turn love off? 

How does one stop? 

I rationalize it.  I tell myself that something drove us apart, even if I don't know what it was.  Something keeps us from talking to each other, even if I don't know why we are so guarded.  There is something missing in me, something wrong with me, perhaps it is best if we don't speak. 


If only I could remember what the problems were...maybe then it would go away. 


I hypnotize myself to remember the past.  It always comes back funky.  I really don't know what happened.  I want to know but maybe I'm not meant to remember.  It must have been bad. 

I rationalize my desire to run away and hide. 

Then I see a stupid little feather on my clothing and realize that I'll be here for him no matter what. 

I have to because that is the nature of love and that is the nature of friendship.  Some friendships can't be undone despite time, despite distance.  Love is what it is.  I'll stop fighting it.


Love ya,

S.

Confused

So...

If he rushes home from work, makes a beeline for you, grabs your private parts through your clothes and tells you that you want him,

he's not taking the divorce thingy very seriously...

is he? 

This is why women ignore the advice of well meaning lawyers and move out of the house..

isn't it? 

Thank goodness that acting on that would be a physical impossibility for us right now.  I figure that if he goes on a 500 calorie a day diet, I've bought myself at least six months of freedom.

I wish I could wake up tomorrow knowing exactly how to handle this.

Yes, he's right.  I DO care.  I care for all three of my exes but that doesn't mean that I'm going to suck from their straws. 


Sigh...

how do I explain this? 

I've got to bite the bullet and move...don't I?

I need something more than lies and cheap alcohol.

The longer I stay here, the more I question how crappy I was in my previous relationships.  I have spoken to the two guys I knew before I got married to this man.  The first one won't tell me anything useful; he pretends that I was a good person.  The second one is all too happy to make me out to be Satan incarnate.  The truth is that I'm probably a little bit angel and a little bit devil and confused the hell out of both of them. 

I need to get out of here so that I no longer reflect on my exes or how I screwed everything up in the past.  I need to move on. 

One thing is certain, life is weird and I am finding that men are confusing.  Maybe its best not to try to understand things.  They are what they are...whatever that means. 

Love,

S. 

Like Attracks Like

I've learned something recently....

acting like an insane nut job with the intent of making the insane nut jobs run away only makes them curious and more interested in you. 

In acting like a jerk, I'm bringing more of them into my life.  I actually had some guy pissed off at me because I'm sending pics of myself to him nor answering all of his messages.

Here is the rub.  I'm old enough to be his mother. 

Everyone knows that I'm far too lazy to do the cougar thing: I don't want to train anyone, I want to learn new fun stuff together. 


Love,

S. 

P.S. 

Thank goodness the people that know me know that I'm full of crap.

I'm so full of it that I could swear that my eyes were brown yesterday.

Stalkers and Creepers

Normal guys don't understand why men stalk.

Let me help them. 

Men stalk when they want women to do something for them, need information, or want to scare the crap out of a woman who doesn't want anything to do with him.   

Let me tell you about my stalkers. 

My first stalker was a rapist friend of my family who thought I was going to put his disgusting @ss in jail.  I was a snot nosed, arrogant, angry seventeen year old brat who just lost the love of her life, so I schemed and did something far worse to him.   How dare he take what didn't belong to him!  Pissed off, I had a friend track him down and tell his wife that her child raping hubby knocked me up and that I had a lawyer and intended to seek child support. 

He stalked me until he was threatened a couple years later by my husband.  Rumor had it that he was angry that my prank led to his divorce....boo hoo!


My second stalker was said to be  my high school sweetheart.  The family gossips ran with the story that I was knocked up and some of them (those who knew the rapist) wanted to assuage themselves of the responsibility of telling this idiot where I lived and bringing him to my apartment.  It was easier for them to blame my old friend.  I had a roomate claim that he stood by my window and tried to beat up a gay friend of mine.  I don't know if this happened.  The truth of the matter was that I was traumatized and didn't tend to stare at strange men hanging outside my bedroom window.  My roomate never met him.  There is now way in the world for me to know for sure what happened.  Still....if he stalked me, he had good reason.  He probably wanted to verify that all was well and that he could run away free of me. 

My first husband stalked me and cut transmission lines of my car on the mornings we have had court dates.  The first time was when he faced charges of second degree assault.  He got off because I didn't make the hearing.  The second time he was looking at paying child support. 

That was a long time ago.  Now, he just gives me advice on how to keep my car safe from creepy men. 

The scary stalkers and the ones that make no sense are connected to my current spouse.  For over twenty freakin' years, people have stalked me due to his antics. 

Twenty years ago, members of his family would drive by my apartment and take note of who I was with.  They'd call me.  They'd want to talk to the people visiting me, especially the males.   It was weird. 

It took me several years to figure that one out. 

They would call me day and night, too.  They'd tell me to stop being a slut.  If they were real stalkers, they'd know that I was a prude...but...they were dumb. 

His sister is the worst.  Oh my goodness.  She'd follow me at college and harass my professors.  She and her mother harassed my landlord and my employers.  His sister would drive by my house twenty miles away from her own (in her employer's vehicle).  She'd harass my neighbors and, once, she even pulled a gun on them. 

It was bad.  I'm not sure if they are still at it.  Mike says he sees his dad driving around by the house (we live about 90 minutes away from his parents). 

I still think the guy who stalked me at my office last years ago was related to them.  I don't know the man but he started getting weird within a week of Mike's family telling me that they knew where I worked.  My stuff would go missing.  The neighboring businesses would have an impossibly tall, dark haired guy quiz them about my life.  It got bad the day I visited with my high school sweetheart and just a few minutes after my estranged spouse called.

He's got green eyes.   

When I left my office and promised to stay here to help with the kids until he found a job, the stalking stopped.  A real stalker, would have kept it going.  This is why I'm pretty sure that I know who was behind it. 

Even the stalking by the city had to do with my estranged spouse.  I mean, he was suing the heck out of them for slander and for the years leading up to that and during the lawsuit, those people made my life a living hell. 

Again, though, the city lawyers and his former boss were stalking me because they wanted me to tell my ex to back off.....like he'd listen to me.  They were quite forthright about it.  There lawyers made no secret that they were annoying me with the thought that I'd make him drop the suit. 

These lawyers must either be gay or never married single people....every married person knows that men do not listen to their wives.

I mean...seriously...
If I could get him to listen to me...he would have never have worked for the government. 

That's okay...I'm working on my revenge.  It's funny. 


So...here you go...

Men (and city attorneys) stalk for three reasons:

1) They want something they don't think they can get by asking directly for it.

2)  They need information that they don't trust that will be provided in an honest fashion. 

2) They are insecure little controlling boneheads who want to keep tabs on you and make you afraid to leave them.  These guys are the worst because they can get other people to do their bidding.

Hope this helps. 

Now that I write this, two things pop into my mind. 

First, I've never had an erotomaniac

Wait...

wait...

actually...that is not true. 

I just was never bothered by it. 

I did receive a ton of irises one day.  I figured someone left them on my door step by mistake. 

I used to get roses put on the front seat of my car every morning but I knew who it was from.  He always spelled his name backwards...it's not hard to guess who Ekim is. 

But, you know what... I'm feeling a little cheated.  Tell you what, Ekim, have your family leave me expensive red wine, thirteen red roses, and a ton of erotic literature in the front seat of my car and I'll pretend to be afraid...just for you...okay. 

Oooh...I'm so afraid....oooh...really...seriously...don't believe me? 

No....

Oh....if I ever get a real stalker, I'll probably just blame you.  That's not very safe now, is it? 

If you're going to scare me, do it right. 

Yeah....yeah...You probably know that I just want to see if his prude family members can buy erotic literature without having heart attacks. 

And...yes...I know who is watching me.  I also know that if I wind up dead or maimed, my family will Google my nickname and find out the confusing crap I'm going through. 

I do feel paranoid but I think it will end once I know what is going on. 
I've decided to stick it out here a little longer. 

Mom always said that if I should find myself lost and not sure of where to go, the best policy is to sit tight until someone finds you. 

I'm hoping a really generous employer finds me, so I can leave without depending on any controlling guy for funds.


Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Oh...I should mention that Ekim knows why I may want the thirteen roses and expensive wine...and that it is for a demon summoning ritual.   He and his ilk would never send those things to me all at once. 

It is a veiled threat. 

The erotic literature request is just to be funny. 

Advice from a Friend

Yeah...but...

They don't make 'em like they used too.

I like vintage. 

Besides...

I broke 'em in.

If it's still comfy.....

maybe...

I'll  go back. 

I'd rather have closure........

but...

I'll take whatever helps me sleep at night. 

Love ya,

S. 

Darn you...

I got rid of all the photos...

I've done so many rituals to break the bonds...

I spent the weekend back home to do it all again.  I even took another ex with me in case I started thinking of you.  I broke sticks at all those old haunts and I couldn't sleep last night because my head was filled with worries about you. 

I light candles to Aphrodite and ask her to give my feelings to the one meant for you and to take them away...

They are still here. 

I'm considering a liquid lobotomy....well, that doesn't work as I've been trying that for the past few years. 

Last time, it took a hammer to the head, a violent attack, changing my name, hiding, and buying the gossip that you were bisexual to get me to stop missing you.  Well, that's not true.  I still missed you.  I just justified that you were happier with equipment that I didn't have. 

Then, I learned you were married to a girl.

I was pissed at the people who told me the lie. 

And before you laugh, you didn't help much.  You were the origin of the lie "Mr. I'm gay and she's a lesbian and we are dating to cover for each other." 

I actually began to think I scared you away from women. 

But alas....when I saw you cock your head, with glowing eyes, and hiding yourself behind your shoe, I realized why you took that pose. 

Oh my...goodness.   You are limber.  You must do yoga. 

I don't know...

You see...for twenty-five freaking years, I justified staying away because of the promise that you would be happier if I were gone.  I hid from you.  I ran from you.  I never wanted you to see me cry if I felt your presence. 

I did my best to move on. 

I realize what is bugging me now. 

I broke my own heart.  I let you go.  I didn't tell you the truth because I honestly thought my sacrifice would make you happier.  I thought you'd be happy that I disappeared and let you be who you are. 

Thrice now over three and a half years....I've spent hours with you.  I've seen you hold back pain.  I see your guarded eyes. 

Your sadness causes me to hold back tears and the last time I saw you, you mentioned that you were making me sad.  You could see it in my eyes. 

You can see things no one else sees in me. 

Still, after all these years, you know me better than anyone else. 

I wish I could know you like that again. 

I've got to kill that thought.  I can't reason it away.  I can't drink it away. 

I can't even wish it away. 

Maybe if I knew you were happy....maybe I could move on again. 

I need the delusion that my running off was the right thing to do. 

All I ever wanted was for you to be happy. 

That's love, isn't it? 

Love must be wanting someone to be happy no matter the cost. 

Damn it, now I have to freakin' admit to people who ask that I love you. 

I have. 

The man in the basement knows. 

Everyone knows. 

Then it hits me that you probably know. 

Then I really truly want to run away. 

It's the hour of Venus on a Monday...perhaps the Goddess of love can help me get over it. 

I pray that you get everything I wish for myself.  It's my fault our souls crossed.  I am trying to fix it. 

I wish for love, joy, friendship, openness, trust, honesty, (censored), (censored), (fun censored), and (yummy censored).  Okay, this time I'll ask Aphrodite to scratch the last wish for you (unless I know your bi....me...I need that...there are only so many ways I can honor the Atkins's diet and grin at the same time).

Love,

S. 



Warnings from Beyond

I had a dream of my grandfather.

I was raised by my grandparents.  My parents lived with them.  My parents were hippies.  They were crazy artist types.  They weren't very stable nor very kid friendly. 

I spent most of my time with my redheaded grandma and my quiet and reserved grandpa. 

When grandma spoke, people trembled. 

When grandpa spoke, people listened. 

When I was a baby, I liked grapes.  One of my earliest memories was standing out in the backyard with my grandfather planting a grape vine.  He gave me toy gardening tools and said I called him a 'dumb bunny'.  It was spring.  There is a picture of me on a motorized rabbit scooter type toy. 

I don't think I called grandpa the dumb bunny but, nonetheless, for the next twenty-seven years he would chuckle about that. 

When I was five, we sat at the kitchen table eating peaches.  I asked him why people had no food if we could grow peaches from the seeds.  He planted two peach trees, one with his seed and one with mine. 

The tree first bore fruit when I was ten.   He gave the fruit away once it came.  We spent days canning it.  We canned peaches, made preserves, even grape jelly.  I miss those days. 

We grew raspberries, strawberries and rhubarb, too.  The back yard was lined in pink roses with little pockets of daisy's to play with. It was a little girl's paradise. 

When he had a stroke, my greedy uncle sold the house out from under him.  I tried to get a loan to buy it back for him but I didn't earn enough money.    It was a big house. 

I loved my grandpa. 

He had blue eyes and glowed neon when he was happy.  The first boy I fell in love with had the same quality. 

Grandpa liked that boy.  I never told him when we broke up, I just quit bringing my friend over.  For years, my relatives would ask about him (not caring who was in the room...this led to quite a few marital spats). 

Every man I brought home after that was met with disapproval and a comparison to my best friend from high school. 

Grandpa wasn't very thrilled when I got married.  He didn't say much about it only that I was investing far too much time with my fiancee's family and not enough time doing what made me happy. 

Grandpa knew. 

I wish I would have listened. 

I gave up college to stay in town after Grandpa was diagnosed with cancer.  My grandmother had died just a few months before and it was easy to see the pain in his face.  I would visited him three times a week and moved a couple of blocks away.  It was hard to be apart from him.  We were always so close. 

He died shortly after my twenty-ninth birthday.  I've always felt lost without him. 

He visits me in my dreams and tells me what to expect. 

I've learned not to ignore him. 

He'll warn me about stuff, tell me when to see the doctor, when to fix the car, where to invest money... when I ignore the dreams bad stuff happens.


In '06, he told me he would bring my old friend back to visit to talk some sense into me.  He told me that it was being set up with my friend's father and a woman (an aunt?)....I don't know.  He gives the name 'Robinson'.  I don't know what that means....but I write it all down for later reference. 

In '07, he told me that my friend was doing drugs and drinking a lot.  I was supposed to get licensed as a drug counselor in order to understand the pain my friend was enduring.  I did my best to follow through...but...life got in the way. 

I have a dream diary where I document the dreams. 

The last one I had was a little freaky (and funny). 

In this dream, I'm visiting with him and several deceased relatives.  My mom, my dad, my step-dad and my aunt are there.  They are telling me to start taking my vitamins again.  I need to take garlic (the stinky kind) as, they claim, it will solve a lot of problems. 

In the dream, I'm confused and asked my grandfather to expound upon the situation.  He shows me a scene in which I die in a hospital due to a blood clot.  I am forty-four. 

There is a man by my bedside. 

Grandpa will not tell me who the man is because, he says, it will only make me run away from him when I meet him. 

Grandpa knows me. 

He says that the man brings me to the hospital for reasons he will not disclose. 

Now, I'm curious, so I ask.... 

"Grandpa, am I there because of chest pains?" 

"No. You're there because you're stupid and selfish."

"Oh." 

Apparently, I die in childbirth.  

I get horny.  I don't take birth control.  I pay the price and ruin some poor guy's life in the process. 

This is why, according to my grandfather, I must take two garlic pills and an aspirin every day. 

At this point in my dream, I start laughing. 

"So, Grandpa...are you saying that I must take tons and tons of garlic to make me smell so bad that no man will ever touch me?  That ought to work!"

"Some one's being silly."  Grandpa always used to say that to me.....all the time.

I miss him.   

At this point, another aunt walks into the room.  She is a living aunt. 

I look at her and ask, 'What are you doing here?" 

"Well..." she replies "I had a waxing job go bad and let my skin get infected.  I never got help and ended up dying from it." 

femi-nazi, bra-avoiding, hairy legged, hippie chicks who would never go to a salon for any reason. 

She called me today. 

She was going to get waxed but decided against it after I told her about the dream. 

Now, I'm freaking out. 



I'll truly end up freaked out if his windows are busted. 



I'm still avoiding those awful, smelly garlic tabs. 

Ick!!

I'd take my chances with the blood clot.   I mean, really....I'm not going to get knocked up at my age.  

If I'm that dumb, I've got worse things to worry about than thick blood.

I'd be worried about senility.

Love,

S.