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.