Looking for a New Love

I had that conversation with the man in the basement...yeah...that conversation....the I'm going crazy so I need a new hobby or I'm going to be a bad, bad girl conversation. 

It's either going to be psych medication and therapy, or a new love. 


So...after nearly four years of bawling my eyes out because I have nothing to sleep beside at night, I decided that I'm going to go looking for a bad boy tomorrow. 

I've decided that they are the only things I can deal with right now. 

I'm hitting all the guitar and pawn shops I can. 

That's my best shot at getting lucky. 

One can usually find a bad boy there. 


You always know the one when you see him. 


He will have very strong wood.  Wood is very important to me. 

I'm not sure if I want one I can plug in or not.


I was always partial to the those that seemed to be happier standing up than lying on their sides but alas, I'm so darn short it's hard to do have the most fun that way.


Fortunately, I'm creative and have been known to use a stool once in a while to reach those fun places.   Thankfully, though, that's not usually necessary. There are always alternate means of getting the results I want.


In reality, all I really want is one that will make me sound good. 

And, I think I'll wear one of my S & M outfits; I'll be donning a leather hat, leather thigh high boots, leather coat with chains and a black dress. 

That outfit with my red hair will scare the men away.   It always does. Maybe I'll paste little band-aids on my skin above my boots.  Men are afraid of that.  The bigger the bandage the faster they run. 

It cracks me up. 

Let's hope the salesman doesn't run before I pay for the instrument. 

I'll let you know what I find. 

Love ya,

S.

Edit 2/8/12 - I had no luck.  My car stalled so I didn't make it to any guitar shops... bummer :(

His God is one Saucy Dude

So, I became an activist and ran for office because, as it was put so eloquently by a local politician, I have an axe to grind. 

Yes...dears...I had an axe to grind.  It was a five-string Steinberger, but in one of the only truly selfless moments in my life I donated it to a school along with a $5,000 alto sax.  It wasn't really selfless, per se, I'm sensing my mortality and want to have something good about myself that I can say to St. Peter.     

The problem, my friends, is that in my attempt to work off outlandish amounts of energy, I come across troubling things that I actually have to fix.

Like arresting rape victims for saying a word meaning crotch while describing their assault to female police officers. 

-or-

Playing with the timing of yellow lights in order to increase revenue.

-or-

Harassing the wives of former employees so you can freak them out and keep them from suing you...(Hint: next time Google the wife's name to make sure she isn't a red-head prone to political activism).

Now...

as I've been writing what one of my friend's described as a "secret" crap-filled blog based on gossip and some truthful events in my life.

 I can't believe a friend found it.  Darn....Some secret, eh? 

Anyway, I was writing about my ex being pagan and I was corrected.  My ex isn't pagan at all.

Nope...

He's a Pastafarian. 

I kid you not. 

I did not know he bought into that little piece of school system activism. 

And he left his holy scripture in his work cubicle. 

His boss made mention of that right before she fired him. 

She wrote to a mayoral candidate, who just so happens to be her former employee's estranged wife, and told her that she fired him for being obese (which, by the way, is a violation of the ADA).  She and the city attorneys claimed that she fired him because I have an auto-immune disorder (another violation), that I had a master's degree (which just makes me want to publish studies to condemn this crap) and something else I can't recall. 

I've been wondering, though, in all seriousness

DID SHE FIRE HIM FOR WORSHIPPING PASTA? 

His former boss was highly concerned with what he ate and his weight.  At first, I thought it was due to a potential eating disorder on her part.  Her lies about me betray that she's a victim of domestic violence.  Many victims have eating disorders...but maybe...she could have gone after him due to her connections with Focus on the Family.  This woman, the city employed gossip, often promotes her affiliation with Focus on the Family and brags about the role her mother has within this spiteful organization.  Focus on the Family has been known to go publicly berate people who do not agree with their world view.   

That changes things.


Now we get to the troubling question....is this religious persecution? 

And the bigger question...

Do I need to get out there and see if there have been other incidents of religious discrimination out in this unfair town? 

Pastafarianism IS an actual religion (albeit atheism). 

These are army dog tags...note the FSM for Flying Spaghetti Monster.  Other people in various countries have won the legal right to wear headgear (pasta strainers) and list this religion in government documents and other legal forms.

I'm just putting the city on notice.  Your lawyers said they followed my blog so take note.  This is not a farce.  You may want to let the head of your raunchy HR department now that I have had to add religious persecution to my list of things to investigate. 

Stop it. 

People will laugh at Pastafarianism.  They won't laugh if you fire a Rastafarian, or a Mormon, or a Muslim, or a Wiccan.  Please tell me that you're not allowing your people to fire others based on faith. 

I'm laughing today.  If people answer my survey question in the affirmative.  I will cease laughing. 

Now, I've got to scrap my study and start other, gosh darn it! 
Don't make me resurrect my former plan.  Until I find another outlet for my energy, I can always hone it in on destroying those that destroyed my life. 

It is up to the city HR manager.   Don't let another soul tell me anything about that again or I'll put the focus back on the city. 

I always thought that the best way to refute the slander that Tax Auditor Supervisor spread will be

"you know, those things Ms. P. said are not true.  I was so worried that this would happen to another family, so that's why I got the union in there and the published the study that got the HR director and a couple of loony, lawbreaking lawyers fired."

Or, I can draw filthy art and sing filthy songs about a liar with that name. 

At my age and with my experience, I'll just stick to research.  There is more money and fame with that. 

She has no idea what lying about Mike cost me.  He refuses to go back into therapy now thanks to her running around telling people that he was in a small group for beating me and so she was going to do what it takes to can him because he scared her.  He was in group because his parents and his boss drank.  I nearly threw up hearing that little tidbit late last summer while interviewing a group of former city employees.  That gossip is still circulating.....and I had to hear it over breakfast of all places.

Ick!!  

Seriously...the half-life on gossip must be similar to that of uranium. 

The effects don't seem to ever die.

I'm putting the jerks on notice.  Take care of it or I will.....and it won't be with fiction. 

Be nice. 

Love ya,

S.

Playing House

Every man is born with a guardian angel and a shaitan demon: One will guide you to heaven and the other will tempt you into hell. 

- Siegfred's Great-Grandmother

(a Pentecostal Minister)

When we are young adults and we want to play house, we get a lot of cuddling and exercise in. 


I learned today that playing house for the man in the basement means playing maid.  

I told the ex about my dream of my death.  I told him that it made me realize that I could very well be possibly spending the last years of my life living in severe psychic pain.

I also tried to get him to consider getting a life insurance policy on me. 

He ignored me! 

He didn't really ignore me per se.  He started to play the Detour Downer game. 

It's easy for married people to play Detour Downer.  You bring up anything you can imagine and attack your spouse with it.  It's a good way to avoid solving the original problem. 

He'd charge with complaints about how women were stupid and that's why he won't talk to them.  So, we talked about his mother and sister. 

That turned into a conversation about how he has an internal voice that is causing him to say things that ruined our relationship.

Somehow that got into him admitting being sneaky with assets.

And then something about my being unable to live with him as a roommate if we cannot talk.

That got into the promise to help me leave.

And then there was a demand that I write a resume and as he put it "litter it all over town"; like my experience and education are garbage. 


He doesn't know that I've been doing that.  I was offered a commission only job the very day he switched hours on me and told me to stop what I was doing and cater to the kids.  The next day he took my car. 

I gave up the job.  The lady called me this morning, maybe she's going to offer me a second chance.
Now, if only I can get a dial tone to call her back...ugh!!
He said he knew nothing about it.  Well, that's because he's not listening to me. 

He reiterated his expectation that I stay. 

It seems like an impossible situation. 


I told him that I understand that so long as I live under this roof, he expects my fidelity.  This means that he expects me to be celibate as we cannot speak or do anything even remotely intimate together. 

I feel incredibly lonely.  I am in severe pain that eats at my soul. 

There are no words that can describe the dark aching that fills my chest and leaves my entire body cold.

For twelve years, I've put up with this situation.  I've stopped accepting invitations to parties.  I've hid in my room on holidays and weekends.  I've put on a happy face for friends and family. 

After I learned what his boss said about me at the city, I've begun to realize that he must bad-mouth me.  I can't trust him.  So, for almost four years, I've done my best to avoid him at all costs. 

When I get to a point of doing something great, he makes funky demands on my time and puts me in a no-win situation.  He'll switch his work hours, so I'll have to be here with the kids.  He'll take my car.  There is always something that gets in the way. 

The pain...I can't handle the pain. 

I told him that I wanted to get a job and an apartment so I could find some moments of solitude outside of the pain of living in this house. 


I can't handle this.  If I were to find myself dying tomorrow, I'd regret how I'm spending my life. 

He looked confused.

I told him that it meant that I needed to leave the marriage in a bid to ease the pain in my heart. 

He yelled at me! 

I yelled back. 

For seven freakin' hours, it went on and on and on and on.  I have to stay.  I have to play maid.  I have to do daycare.  He doesn't want to do it himself.


What on God's green earth makes him think I'm his property?

I tried to explain to him that even if we divorced, I could help him with the kids but he'd have to pay for daycare.  He'd have to clean his own house. 

I tried to explain why people get married.  I tried to explain that marriage is supposed to be a relationship between two people who can talk to each other and work together.  They are supposed to intertwine parts of their lives; Not to expect one person to give up who she is to put up with stupidity.

 Women marry for intimacy, not to relieve their OCD by cleaning up after gross men.  Playing house means having sex in addition to scrubbing the floors. 

I thought everyone understood that.  I must be insane. 


Maybe he doesn't know I'm a...woman.  Maybe he thinks I'm a robot or something. 

I'm not sure he gets it.  I'm beginning to suspect he's a Narcissist like his mother.  It's about how things appear to other people.  It looks like we have a good marriage.  He'll flirt with me in public only to ignore me at home.  When we go places without each other, it just looks like we are busy. 

I'll give $50 to someone who has seen him kiss me without me pushing him away. 

It's that bad. 

I think the dream was trying to tell me that the pain of staying here will kill me and I need to do something now. 

So, after hours of stupidity and frustrated communication, I asked him what he wanted.  He went into his basement and said he was typing up a list of demands. 

Demands....


Like I'm a djinn in a lamp. 

Yeah, I've got Djinn on the brain.  He also insulted the Djinn, threw an object said to be a vampire on the floor, and disrespected a Greek God.  He basically messed with stuff he probably should have left well enough alone. 

Now, I'm a little insulted here. The message is clear. He obviously does not approve of my hobby or my religion.

He told me to wish that I could get what I wanted. 

I've blogged about wishes....one must be careful with such things.  It doesn't work like that, unless one wants trouble. 

I'm glad he never found the Shaitan.  She's scary.  She's the one that will teach him lessons when he hurts me.  I've blogged about that before.  Whatever he does to me, tends to happen to him immediately. 

I had to keep her vessel from being in the moonlight lest she regain her power.  She's beautiful.  Meditating on her vessel brings me lots of beauty secrets.  Did you know that the women in Iraq used to rub Jasmine flowers on their finger nails to make them stronger? 

It came to me in a dream and I had to stop doing that as my tallons were damaging my computer keyboard. 

I am the only person who can touch her iron necklace because anyone else will get shocked.  I did not believe in the metaphysical until I was given that necklace.  I bought it because I thought I was helping a soldier make money.  I had no idea what was contained within it.  I bought it because it was a beautiful necklace. 

It was only after I saw it glowing one night that it became clear to me that it was unique.  I had to talk to the person who sold it to me and the story he gave was insane.  Allegedly it helped him find his lost granddaughter but hearing its voice freaked him out so he got rid of it.   It was only after a heck of a lot of prayer, and grief, that I realized what she was. 

If my ex dies some gross death, I'm going to say it is because he insulted the Djinn. 

Never, ever, ever, ever, ever throw things around that you misunderstand. 

The Djinn he insulted are said to be believer Djinn...during meditation they cause me to dream of God and Mohammad.  They talk about honoring the sons of God (in other words, honoring Jesus).  They care not what name we give the Lord, so long as we honor the teachings and not let evil run our lives. 

So, if these Djinn are sufficiently irritated at him, I could see my ex running off, converting to Islam and being sent to Gitmo.  He could also end up a monk, too. 

That would be fitting....

Love,

Shaky S.

Next Day Edit:  It took nearly twelve hours of defending myself against every freakin' thing imaginable but he finally promised to look into life insurance for the family's benefit in the case of my death. 

I'm not doing well today. 

I couldn't sleep.

My throat hurts. 

My eyes are swollen. 

I think I may have a sinus infection from all the crying. 

My joints hurt. 

I can barely move today. 

Talking to him about anything is really not worth it. 

I wish I could find the money to move out and file for a divorce. 

That's what he taught me yesterday.  I can never speak to him about anything without it becoming a pain.  God is telling me to go.


Love,

S.

Premonitions of My Death

I have a ghastly reputation among my family for being able to predict death. 

I see other people's funerals. 

I dream of people as they are dying. 

I like to go to graveyards because I believe I am speaking to the dead.  I used to believe that I had one hell of an imagination until the things the ghosts told me started coming true. 

I don't know how this happens.

 It just does.

 I've written about it before and don't know if I'll have time to write about it today. 

For the past four days, I've seen my own funeral. 

It's a Catholic service.  That makes me giggle a little bit.  I was a pentecostal minister who turned to paganism.  I guess that is my family's way of finding middle ground. 

I made the mistake of asking how I will die. 

Last night I had a dream. 

In the dream, I'm having problems breathing, so I go to the doctor. 

The doctor tells me it's cancer and that I need to start Chemo right away. 

I go home and talk to my family.  They are in denial, so I forgo treatment. 

Three weeks later, I faint. 

I'm rushed to the doctor and given a choice:  Go back to the house or go to hospice. 

Because my house is such a painful place for me to be, I choose to die alone at the hospice. 

Recounting this dream led to a seven hour painful talk with the man in the basement. 

I'm shaking from it. 

Maybe, I'll share....maybe I won't. 

Death may not be nearly as painful as living in this house. 

Sick realization, isn't it?

Love ya,

S. 

Blind Love and Insecure Hypnotists

I dislike those hypnotists who believe they have the perfect pick up line for every situation.   Trust me, any man like this usually lives in the basement of their mommy's house with their best friend Rosie Palm.

Not that I can talk, I share my last name with a man hanging out in the man cave downstairs, too.  

Dead marriage...bad economy....you probably know the drill. 

I got into it with a hypnotist a few years ago because he said men who live in basements can't get laid and should go off and commit suicide.  

I was disgusted.    

Why?

Well.... twelve years ago, I hypnotized myself to act like a porn star whenever I saw a certain shade of green.

It worked.

A little too well.

The whole fricken' house is that color now.

Even the basement......if you catch my drift.

But, being on all the time didn't stop the lying.  So, after three years of many wonderful, sleepless nights, I changed the stimulus to the sight of my favorite rare flower.

The reason is that a man I knew figured out that I liked the lime green logo for the local sandwhich shop a little too much and offered to show me a larger version of it in the men's room.  

MEN – sometimes they can try to be a little too darn helpful!!!

The man in the basement was a little too cheap to buy me flowers anyway.  So, it's all good. I reasoned changing the stimulus to a rare flower could do our relationship a world of good. That way, if he ever figures it out, he'll behave a little more romantically. He'll have to earn his lucky streak.

If he wants to....and I'm not sure that he does. 

I may have to change that because a local artist, known for her paintings of folliage, figured it out.  

For some reason, a certain color of a certain flower with a certain color of green stems, makes me incredibly happy.   I have her card.  If and only if the day comes where I'm ready, I'll take her up on her offer to paint me a huge bunch of flowers. 

I love people!

Now, I'm a little more offended than usual because one of the hypnotists is making fun of older men who limp and walk with canes.  He thinks that if a man is a little bit older and walking with a cane, allegedly, he is garbage that no woman would want. 

I'm getting a little sick of this horrid hypnotist.

I have a crush on a man who may now have a limp.  I've loved him since I was a little girl.  In fact, the last time I saw him he was using a crutch. 

I still think he's hot. 

The man in the basement has always had a slight limp.  I married him anyway. 

I've met a lot of current and former football players.  Some of them have limps.

What is the problem with older men who have limps?

Seriously...

Doesn't this guy consider that older ladies want men in their age range? 

Some of us are often mistaken for people ten years our junior.  I get asked out by young men all the time.  It happened to me yesterday when I learned that if a guy approaches you in a department store wanting help buying sheets, it may not be as innocent as it appears.  I thought he was Valentine's Day shopping for a girlfriend.  I was so embarrassed when he tried to continue the conversation at the local bar after he bought more bedding than I thought a man would ever want. 

You know, I don't want some stupid young thing that I have to teach how to be dirty.  I want someone that I can love for being who he is and is old enough to know that The Cure is not a pharmaceutical product! 

Besides...most men, after they hit the age of forty, don't care if you ogle their dirty bits.   They're more fun, more open, and more adventurous than the younger guys. 

Fun begins at forty. 

Middle age rocks!

A cane is the last thing I'm going to concern myself with.  Really.....it's not like we need or want to be standing up all the time.

This hypnotist's latest insecure diatribe is enough to make me want to go to the mesmerist convention in California, track this insecure little butt potato down and make out in front of him with an older guy sporting a stick (and I'm talking about the cane).

Thankfully, for him, my New Year's resolution was to be prude. 

I need to work on that. 

I love who I love.  After all these years, the men I've known have been a bit reckless.  They've fought in wars.  They've eaten red meat and developed gout.  They've hopped out of airplanes and smashed bones landing funny.  They've raced cars and motorcycles which they've crashed up into little bits.  They've accidentally been thrown into  brick walls, fallen in the dirt, electrocuted themselves, been bitten by animals, fallen down mountains, and ridden bulls in the rodeo.  If they get hurt, they just  pull themselves up by their bootstraps only to get out there to do it all over again. 

They are real men, not pendulum swinging frilly sissies. 

Those remnants of injuries don't make them undesirable; those scars are proof that whatever doesn't kill a man will actually make him stronger (or wiser). 

Most of the men I know have lived full lives.  They're going to continue living.  Women are going to continue to love them. 

Love is blind.  The moment this insecure shallow hypnotist wanna-be figures it out, the better he'll feel and the less likely he will be to get on my nerves by asking questions that betray his lack of confidence in getting screwed.  

Love ya,

S. 

Political Idiots and Fundraising

"[S]ince I am pro-life, I do not support the mission of Planned Parenthood."

-Karen Handel

Senior Vice President for Public Policy

 Susan G. Komen Foundation

Okay...

I'm a small 'l' libertarian.

People can do whatever they want so long as they don't intrude upon the rights of others. 

I've been reading about Susan G. Komen and the board's butt kissing of a conservative wanna-be female politician who is quoted above.  She is known for her rants promising to gut funding for cancer screening for women who use Planned Parenthood for health care. 

Hey, it looks like I'm in good company.  I'm not the only conservative female wanna-be politician that lost an election last year! 

Where this chicky and I differ is that I don't play politics with other people's money. 

I also will dig my heels in whenever a moronic politician wants to go on a witch hunt.  Given that the local gossip is that I'm a witch and given the fact that I've been harassed by numerous officials, I give the term witch hunt a new name.

I am usually the last person to cave to political pressure.  

In fact, it has never happened to this day.  The more government officials pressure me, the more people I get together to give them hell. 

It's the way of the redhead.

Susan G. Komen caved big time. 

Some little political idiot from Florida is afraid of birth control, so he had to try to cut funding from Planned Parenthood by making up crap about abortion funding. 

This is how it is with men who are afraid of birth control. 

Deep down inside, they are insecure about their manhood.  They know that if they ever get lucky enough to convince a woman to have sex with them, the odds are very slim that they are virile enough to come close to hitting the target. 

These guys have to ban birth control as to maximize their chances of having offspring. 

The other reason is that they know they don't deserve jobs as they are too stupid.  If they can get women preggo and convince them to stay home, they have less people to compete with in the job market.   

That's usually what the anti-birth control argument comes down to....men insecure about their manhood.  

I don't even want to go into fact that only 3% of the services offered by Planned Parenthood have to do with abortion.  Most of it is health care for indigent women. 

Now, I don't give a darn what a charity does with its money.  I only get irritated when people give into the demands of stupid politicians. 

The Susan G. Komen foundation decided to gut funding for mammograms at Planned Parenthood because an insecure little Senator is allegedly investigating Planned Parenthood for misusing funds.  He has no proof, he just wants to make a new talking point so he has something to talk about during his bid for re-election. 

Susan G. Komen rewarded bad political behavior. 

In other words, if a Senator has an issue with an organization and wants to destroy it -  all he has to do is claim that he's investigating it and people roll over for him. 

The very thought that this little trick worked disgusts me! 

What would happen if a liberal Senator claimed to be investigating Susan G. Komen?

We can't let that trick work...even once or it'll rear its ugly head again. 

Why in the hell would a woman's organization cave like that?

They're acting like a bunch of men!!


Women are the stronger sex. 

We put up with sexist, unfair, discriminatory nonsense. 

We raise the kids on 70% of the pay. 

Crap, we run the freakin' world because men are so stupid they can't do it without someone to wash their socks and cook healthy food for them.  

Why in the world would a group of well-educated women let a guy with a little weenie get away with stupidity? 

Only a yellow bellied, cowardly organization headed by men would pull something like that. 

I've been laughing all day about how stupid the Susan G. Komen foundation is.  The only running women are going to do for them is to run away! 

Then, doing a little research, I found that the Komen foundation has been using donor funds to sue people who have the audacity to use the phrase "for the cure" in their fundraising enterprises. 

Old Siegfred has an idea. 

I'm going to do some fundraising. 

My initials in real life are STD. 

So, I'm thinking about potential fundraisers for money to give to Planned Parenthood

• STD raising money for the cure to the spread STDs by funding sex education
• Witches for the cure to the Christian fear mongering
• Small l libertarians for the cure to federally funding charities that play politics.

That last one is my personal favorite. 
I'll come up with something. 

I want them to come after me.  After giving up politics because running for office is so darn boring, I could use the drama. 

As far as Susan G. Komen is concerned, bring it on.  In a year, they won't have the funds necessary to sue the holy crap out of innocent people using three little words that they cannot possibly trademark.

They are the new symbol of cowardice.  They've lost a lot of support. 

It's time to gut their funding.  There are so many worthy charities out there and Susan G. Komen is NOT one of them. 

Love ya,

S.

Edit 2/3/12 - Well, well, well....it looks like the Susan G. Koman foundation put away their bright yellow baby doll nighties in favor of pink big girl thongs!

Their party lines are no longer showing! 

Hooray!!!

Yes, they reversed their decision to boycott planned parenthood

I still don't trust them.

I'm hoping it's not too late to reverse the thought that stupid politicians with political agendas can bully well meaning people by faking an investigation.

Oh, and one other little, tiny word of advice...STOP suing people for using the phrase "for the cure".

Love ya,

Some red headed activist who bitches for the cure to stupidity

Forgiveness

(About this song:  It's a good song for liberty lovers.  Most men think of outside authority (e.g. governments, churches, parents, schools) when they hear it.  I think of men.  Nannies bully men.  Men bully the women they claim to love.  Both men and women die.  It's sad.)

Well...

I did something stupid. 

I prayed for forgiveness from my ex. 

I can't handle the dreams and the fact I can't get him out of my head.  

Given his final communication in my general direction, I thought that I must've done something to piss him off. 

I approached the coven and asked if they have any rituals to ask for forgiveness. 

Yes, they do. 

Will they work?

Yes -but- that's not what I need, they said.

I didn't even tell them what it was for....

but they seemed to know. 

Approaching them is like letting them have the keys to your diary. 

They just know stuff...

The scary psychic lady actually said that he needs to open up and stop holding in his feelings.  He's afraid to face his emotions but he can't run from all of them. 

I nearly cried when she uttered "you know he thinks of you everyday and really misses you.  Don't you?"

Ah...but the situation is quite reversed.  It is not him but me who won't take ownership for her emotions and can't control the thoughts.

And yeah...that's why...I need forgiveness. 


If we both want to move on...then...we need to stop thinking about each other.   He once stated that I'm the freshest memory in his mind, even after we spent 20 years avoiding each other. 

Maybe that is because he's angry.  If he's angry at me,  then he can't stop thinking about me. 

If I'm angry at him....well...it never really dawned on me that I was projecting my thought processes onto him. 

I prayed for forgiveness.

I slept like a baby for six hours.  I'm still sleepy. 

I had Jesus dreams.  In them, the Lord is trying to tell me to do something but I cannot understand him. 

That's the story of my life, I reach out to God and get confused by the light. 

There is one dream in particular that is bugging me today. 

In this dream, I was at a party. 


Life is a party. 

I was doing all those things that I do.  I'm socializing.  I'm singing.  I'm playing.  I'm telling jokes. 


I'm being Siegfred. 

Then I realize that he was invited to the party. 


I begin to get paranoid. 


Is he here? 

I don't see him. 


Does he see me? 


Maybe I should go talk to those people in the dark corner. 

He won't see me there. 

That's no good.  They're standing by a window. 


If he sees me, he'll be angry at me for being the center of attention. 


We'll argue and embarrass ourselves. 

I guess I could go hang out in the lady's room.  That is the one place I am certain of not running into him.   


There is a couple there trying to get cozy and they can't get over the fact I'm there.


I go back to the party. 

It's loud.  It's dark.  I can't see anything. 


There is the band.  He'll know to find me there.   I can't approach the stage.

Damn....I know the guitarist.  He and his wife helped me leave a bad relationship.  They say I'm their biggest fan. 

Will the guitarist wonder if he upset me because I'm not cheering him on?


What to do...what to do....


I look down the hallway and see a window. 

I look outside.

I see an ugly bright yellow motorcycle. 

No one in the world is crazy enough to drive a yellow crotch rocket....except......


maybe...


he's probably here. 

I don't want to fight. 

I don't want to get put down, or criticized, or made to feel like I have to explain why I like people.


I don't want to ignore anyone. 

I don't want to feel bad about ignoring anyone. 


I don't want to eat. 


I don't want to drink. 

I don't want to monitor my behavior as to not irritate the man who may or may not be there. 




So, I sneak out the back door and leave.   

I awake at 7:00 a.m. without the help of an alarm clock and lay there in stunned silence. 

Around noon, I figured out what my subconscious mind was trying to say.  

I need to forgive him

and ignore him.

I've been trying to stay under his radar for over 25 years. 

The symptoms are there.  I always took comfort in my name change and the changes to my appearance.  Around him, I have an incredible fear of answering questions about my private life. 

It took me twelve years to link my current name to my birth name online.  In the back of my mind, I knew it would bring him to me.  Within a year of admitting who I was, he emailed me.   

I never pondered why I was avoidant of him. 


When I was a young lady, I tended to be the center of attention.  I didn't mean for that to happen, it just did. 

He always wanted to be the center of my attention and would make fun of me when everyone left. 

He'd basically call me an attention whore. 

That hurt. 

I spent a lot of time with him, to the exclusion of my other friends.  Some of the women got angry.  One of them tried to seduce my old flame and catch him in the wrong in order to break us up. 

It didn't work. 



My ex was very shaken by the experience. 

It's funny what girlfriends admit to doing twenty years after the fact. 

Oh well...

He used to complain when I wanted to audition for all male bands.  He was afraid I'd get raped.



I actually got kicked out of a band because I wouldn't sleep with the drummer.  She was beautiful but it became obvious I was different because I never noticed her overtures.

Why didn't I notice that before?

Then we still fight over my diet.  He still looks at me funny when I don't want to eat or talk about my diet. 

He doesn't understand.  I'm 20 pounds overweight, I can afford to skip a meal now and then.

But, I met him shortly after I gave up on modeling.  When I was a model, I tried to have a 500 calorie a day diet.  It is what the others girls did.   Anorexia runs in my family, too.  It is what my uncle did.  It is what my aunt did.  It is what my sister did.  I didn't know there were others ways of eating. 

I thought it was normal. 

This man ensured that I ate, all the time.  He tried to keep me away from diet soda and drinking my favorite coffee with milk.  I don't admit often to this, but at one point I was 120 pounds.  In fact, between boyfriends my weight goes down so far I stop weighing myself in shame.  When I was twenty-two years old, I was so small that my sister started buying me little girl clothes to wear: I wouldn't wear them, though, the arms and legs were usually too short for my liking. 

No wonder my family was enamoured with him; he got me to eat

The dream explains a lot. 

I am pissed off because I took a lot of what this guy said to heart. 

It still impacts me to this day. 

I love him dearly but I am afraid of him. 

I also realize that every man I've dated has been a practical clone of him; judgemental, negative and domineering.   My ex seems to have grown out of it - at least, it is what he allows me to see. 

Still, this is why I'd rather linger here than risk dating again. 

Men are mean when they are in love.

Wow!!



It's a little after noon and I'm still trying to process the dreams. 

I pushed this man away when I was running for office because he doesn't like me getting undue amounts of attention.   I hated having him as a Facebook friend because of the sheer number of men who friend me and flirt with me. 

I was afraid he would get angry with me. 

Then I realized that I don't like a lot of attention.  Attention always stresses me out.  I like solitude because without it, I cannot create art. 

I rarely want attention, I was just trying to help someone win.  The man didn't need my help but some crazy people thought he did. 

I understand now.  I need to forgive my old friend for pointing out the obvious and me taking it the wrong way. 

So, I forgive him even though he really didn't do anything wrong. 

This time I mean it. 

Love,

S.