grindchopblend

Like a freight train full of something  wild and on fire. I don’t know what this is. But I think I’m just gonna go with it for a while.  No long explanations here, but suffice to say there were reasons S. did not respond to my e-mails last week, which had led me to believe he wasn’t interested.

The situation has been rectified.  He is intense and mystical in a way. He is not into much of anything I’m into except that he reads a lot (and what am I into – who knows – television and blogging my guts out) and he likes to be affectionate. Otherwise, he seems to be a bit of an adreniline junkie – an outdoorsy athletic luddite, shunning many of our current day societal norms a/k/a crap like television and computers and cars and the rat race.  And I say outdoorsy and athletic in a “Mother Nature’s Son” kind of way. Not a big jock kind of way. 

Me, I’m kind of a slug. My sluggishness increased exponentially over the last year.  I’m hoping maybe this whatever it is (this freight train ?) will inspire me to be less slug-like.  It’s rather frightening actually.  Terrifying. But let the train roll on brother. I’m going for the ride.

I did fall in love with the waitress. I do not have any men in my mind any longer. Men are sorta bad. I think I’m switching teams. Now just to find the right woman. Still the same problems…. just different. Women seem to love me more easily than men. At least at first glance. It’s all a joke with everyone but the joke seems less of  a parody with the women. Here we go!!!!! Jumping off now…. I’ll always report back.

Because I can.

Doing some more obsessive reflecting upon the recently reported final nail in the coffin of the drawn out  melodrama of  the boy, I have  come to realize that maybe our sex life was not really all that I built it up to be.  Don’t get me wrong. It was hot sex for sure.  In a relatively short time it evolved into a fairly demented submissive fantasy that I really wanted and needed to work out of my system. There were some good moments there but the real turn on was his willingness to totally dominate and objectify me .  Not a lot of tenderness or romance involved. Not that there is anything wrong with this kind of relationship. Obviously,  it hooked me pretty deep as he reeled me along and I gladly followed for a very long time. Problem was,  I mistook it for love.  Confused it with love. I wanted it to be love, but it was not.  It was” like” with a hefty dose of sexual chemistry.

But now there is a chance that the gentle boy I met recently ( not quite sure how to refer to him really.. it’s too speculative)  is one of the tender ones - again I say this quite tentatively. I’m in no hurry.  But I think he might be one of those who likes to talk without the bullshit, who likes to kiss deeply and sweetly and look into my eyes  as he pushes into me. Like he’s really there with me and it means something other than simply getting off. I know I am projecting, again fantasizing, but it’s a whisper that’s been tapping in my head for the past week.  A little kink is cool once in a while but real tenderness could be a nice change about now.  I think I will explore the situation a little further and get back to you. Best not to over-think it.  I’ll just proceed and see where it takes me. Like I said, I’m in no hurry.  So. Tomorrow really is another day.

NOTE:  I am writing this post at the reference desk where I am continually interrupted by small children looking for books. I’m trying not to act annoyed but don’t they know I”m blogging about my fucking sex life here??? Such cognitive dissonance……   it’s a little disconcerting. Thus,  the possible lackluster eroticism I was aiming for. Although I’m finding myself strangely aroused as I search the catalog for the latest in the Junie B. Moon series…..

This is where I’m at. Flat ass broke again. Living in this basement apartment underneath a very loud family. A very hefty family. A family that wears clogs. On hardwood floors.

The pretend boyfriend is having his 26 year old girlfriend of one month move in with him. I think he’s found god or something approaching sainthood in his mind, having suddenly decided it’s time he quit drinking and settle down. Which it is, most likely. I had just hoped it would be with me for a bit.  I suffered mightily when this news came to me via a third party. But now it’s’ sinking in that this is the best thing to happen to me in a while. God doing his thing again. While the boy moved with astounding speed at bagging and establishing cohabitation with the young lady, God moved – I should say crept- at a dying snail’s pace in getting the message out to me. The message being that the sick and destructive relationship with the boy was clearly  wrong on so many levels. I mean it was painfully obvious to everyone around me and I’m sure God tried to get my attention about the problem before, but I’m a stubborn masochistic bitch and it took this final nail hammering for it to sink in.  I don’t believe in God if it matters.

Neighbor lady is on one of her continuous telephone conversation tirades,  tromping around in her Danskos as I keyboard away down here trying to get tired enough for sleep.  I do not exaggerate when I tell you that she is on the phone every minute that she is home, talking loudly and stomping in and out of the house so she can go outside and smoke and keep not only me, but the entire neighborhood, awake with her conversations.  Because she too has a Southern accent, the neighbors told the landlord that it was ME  keeping them up all night with said smoking/stomping/blasting rants.

Without boring you more than I am already boring you with this crappy post, I won’t go into too much detail about my housing dilemmas, but….. the pitifully few options I once had for moving into super cheap living quarters which wouldn’t require first/last/ass kicking deposits are gone. I will have to move in 3 months max. As it stands, due to the week without pay from our fabulous library “furlough” (layoff) I am 300 dollars short for October rent, never mind things like food and gas. I am talking to one of my best girlfriends about camping in her guest room. Not ideal but better than living in my car…. hopefully. Just until I can save up deposit money. I guess my daughter will have to stay with her dad and then he will demand child support although he has never given me child support. We’ve never really had a schedule or any established system for her care during this separation, which should have turned into a divorce a long time ago. But the paperwork has proved too daunting a task for me t0 complete the “do it yourself” divorce because we can’t agree on much of anything, he’s delusional, I’m lazy and I’ve been busy wasting all my time and effort on fixing up someone else’s life (see above).   In 3 years I estimate the child has slept at his house a total of about 3 weeks. He has her after school and gives her dinner the 3 days that I work each week.  Thus, each of us feels cheated by the other when it comes to establishing a supposed “joint custody”.  . I don’t really see this ill-defined arrangement as a joint custody at all. But that’s just one of many issues I’m having on the man front lately. Men, money, metabolism and menopause.  You can assume a pre-existing condition, but I also have mental malfunction at sky high levels at the moment. So much for alliteration. I suck.

On a questionably positive note, I did recently meet a new man who is rather interesting and sweet (like for real???). But that is another blog entirely.  He’s a 30 something, cute, eccentric type with great legs. That’s all I’m saying for now. Tonight I’m just going to go to bed and hope for some nice dreams and a good night’s sleep, provided neighbor lady has decided it’s time to turn in now that it’s midnight.  So I leave you in true Southern Belle style, saying wistfully  “Tomorrow is another day”……  tune in later when you can find me standing in a ravaged dirt patch, wearing tatters and clutching a scrawny raw potato in my trembling fist, swearing something or other to God.

The question was posed. “What are you afraid of?”  As in, what am I afraid would happen if I was stripped of all my pretense and all my walls, and all my bullshit?  I would be exposed. Naked. Unsure of who or what I am. I’ve been running for so long I have no idea what it means to rest. What it means to sit alone with myself and actually find one little bit of information about who I am.OK. That’s not totally true.. I have an inkling….  but still I run. Like a dog in the desert. Parched, starving, bones exposed, still running toward a non-existent horizon. Because I am afraid. If I stop, I will have to feel. The pads of my paws are raw. I have many scars. I’ve run through rivers, valleys, barbed wire fences, over ragged hills, past the blazing fires on the side of the road. Shotguns roaring in my ears. My legs buckle, my lungs collapse. I am sprawled on the side of the road panting and desperate for air. But here I am. And the sun is rising. Hot. Unrelenting. I gather my strength and pull myself up. One more dash for home. A home I have to build from the ground up with the last ounce of resolve that remains. Digging, clawing at the ground. No longer able to run. Clawing back to the embryonic state of unlearning all I have learned. Blank. Fresh. Searching for a bit of water and a respite from the sun.  When will it begin? Now? Seems like a good time.

A good night’s sleep.  A new school year. A new morning. A beautiful daughter. A fresh start. A grateful nod to the Universe.  And to friends and family who never let me down.  9/9/09 !!

9 = forgiveness , compassion and success.

I took a blanket and a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes to the beach. I was determined to walk into the icy waters of Puget Sound and either freeze or drown or both. It was past midnight. I chose the most beautiful part of Alki beach.. the very private and lovely Lowman Beach. On a very secluded street, I parked in front of the Rubber Ducky Museum, which is a favorite landmark amongst locals and my daughter especially.  It is extremely precious. Sidewalk fountains adorned with rubber duckies of all styles, tiny water slides into a little pool, a shrine for  the rubber ducky. …. amazingly never touched by vandals.. I thought of how my daughter loved that place  as I parked there planning my exit from the world.

I sat on the beach for a while, drinking straight from the bottle. Smoked a cigarette. And then proceeded to walk into the water. It was amazingly NOT cold. I swam out pretty far from the shore. I turned onto my back and floated, looking at  the night sky and the moon. It was beautiful. Then I remembered why I was there and tried to force myself below the water. I could not. I kept emerging. My self wouldn’t let myself annihilate myself. I floated for a long time. It seemed like hours. Time was frozen. The tide carried me down the beach. I became disoriented. I swam to shore but I was now in an unfamiliar place on the beach. Nothing but rocks and craggy sharp edges. I could not stand. I think my muscles had frozen from the cold. I kept falling and cutting my hands and legs. Hitting my head on the rocks. I tried to crawl. I was getting nowhere. I laid there and decided I would just die from exposure. Then I started crying out for help. There were houses up the hill. Nobody was around. I was alone and cold and wet and bleeding.  I gave myself one last push to find my way back to where I had started and somehow crawled and stumbled back there.

A couple was sitting on the beach by the driftwood logs with bottles of liquor. The girl wanted to help me. The guy seemed incapacitated – he could not get up either…funny…and he kept telling me to come lie down by him. I just sat there crying. The girl had a cell phone and asked who she could call to help me. I had her call my ex husband. I tried to find my purse and blanket which were nowhere to be found. I had no cell phone, no nothing. I figured the tide had taken them out to sea. Time had no meaning. I was lost.

After making the call, the couple decided they’d better get the hell away from me. Certainly I was trouble. They gave me a towel and left. I was freezing. Frozen solid sitting on a driftwood log. I decided to try to go to the street to see if my ex was looking for me. A resident of the hood  was walking down the sidewalk ,  all well dressed and handsome. I can only imagine what he thought seeing me stumbling around the sidewalk with soaking wet sandy clothes and a towel wrapped around me. He asked what I was doing and I told him I had tried to drown myself. He called the only two numbers I could remember. Again the ex husband and the ex boyfriend.  No answers. He called 911. He called his wife to tell her he had found a woman who had tried to kill herself and he had to stay  till help arrived. I went back to the shore to look for my stuff. I couldn’t see or feel my limbs by this point. My glasses had somehow managed to stay on my face but I still could see nothing in the dark. There was nothing.

Eventually my  husband arrived and explained to the good Samaritan that he would take me home. No 911 needed, although they were on their way. He drove me home. He left me alone in my apartment. I took a really long steaming hot shower and then put on my warmest pj’s. It took hours to warm up.

I brushed myself with near death. Stupid. Selfish. Self-centered. Wanting out of the struggle. But then I couldn’t do it. I am still here. And write here for your entertainment. Feel my pain. I want you to. Things will be better in the morning. I’m sure of it.

Is this what is to become of me? Granted, I was coming down with a cold and thus felt extra crappy last night. But I found myself IM’ing a young (and I mean 20 years younger) man about all the sex we are going to have and then sending him naughty pictures taken on my cell phone and then watching free porn on the net. All alone in my basement apartment. I wonder where I will end up. What is the term for IM’ing sex talk ???. Sexting is for texting, but IM’ing….. Instant Mutual Masturbating???  ….. stroking the keys….. conjuring images of things that will probably never happen…

Willy’s last act of bad puppy behavior before I surrendered him to the Doxie rescue place? See the picture above….. my rabbit…. my rabbit…..