“I wish you would tell me how you really feel but you’ll never tell me ‘cuz that’s not our deal” ~Best Coast

In hindsight, saving myself for marriage was the most detrimental mind-fuck of my life. I was nearly 21 when I got married for the first (and supposed to be the last) time. Crying on my wedding night in a La Quinta hotel bed in Alabama as a well-endowed child tried to go Where No Man (or anything else for that matter) Had Gone Before. I spent a year working two full time jobs to keep that unemployed, spoiled child “happy”, letting him use me however his demented mind saw fit, because I was the dutiful wife and although I realized I had made a mistake, it was a punishment I was committed to til death do us part. Until he decided he wanted to move to Vegas and become a porn star. He told me “You are the perfect wife, I just don’t want to be married”. Oh I cried, begged, blew him in the car and jumped out of the moving vehicle later when he wouldn’t change his mind. I didn’t mourn the loss of him so much as my innocence and the farce that I did everything “right” and G-d had failed me, rather than my judgment.

Fast forward two decades and I had strike two under my belt but this time a gay man in hiding. I know, I know…porn star and then a gay man? I’m not even making that up. My picker is truly broken. Although I can’t say my judgment failed me, I just failed to listen to it. In the 13 years since my second divorce, my serious relationships were serious only to me and short-lived. I’ve said before that there is no such thing as “casual sex” because if I’m attracted to someone physically, it’s because I’m already attracted to their person and therefore emotionally invested. Maybe that is how G-d chooses to punish me when I fall off the celibacy wagon. That old Jew-ish/Christian self-imposed piety from childhood is so deeply rooted as I fear getting hurt over and over again…

But with dry spells lasting YEARS, I’ve nothing left to prove or lose. My sexual peak goes wasted on a vibrator. So when “K” joked about giving me a mustache ride, that led to a sincere discussion of “rules”. He has zero interest in a relationship so to keep my expectations and heart in check, I said no “hanging out” outside the bedroom (except that we both end up at a lot of the same dance events, which is where we met). And only one “buddy” at a time. Dipping his pole into multiple ponds is gross.

I let more than a month pass since that conversation until Sunday, I started to reach for my vibrator and grabbed my phone instead. What are you doing tonight? I asked. He replied “laundry”. “You can do your laundry here and me at the same time”. Totally cheesy but it worked. We went through what was left of a decade-old box of Trojans at my bedside (with “feels like nothing is there” printed on the box. That’s a damned lie, by the way). The next day, I googled “thinnest condoms” and ordered a tin of Japan’s finest (of course those kinky freaks would have the best on the market) and confessed my sins to my Trusted Agent who laughed and asked “Did he survive or did you kill him?”

I don’t feel the least bit guilty but I am keeping it in perspective by reminding myself that K is too vanilla (no teeth, no nails, no spanking, no choking, dont “go there” with anal; his asshole is like a Chinese Finger Trap and I’m likely to lose a digit if I go exploring). He also dislikes dogs and cats, which is a deal-breaker, even if he did grow fond of me. Love me, love my Zoo.  But I like the way his mind works, his choice in books, his Mississippi accent…and that makes it risky. He didn’t know me in my glory days so when he remarked “lucky me” while examining my favorite tattoo which is only visible with my pants off, I replied “Yes, you are”. Because I’m special, even if he doesn’t realize it. And I’m picky. I chose him, out of desperation but chosen regardless, among others who might’ve gratefully worshiped me, at least for a minute.

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“Your mess is mine…” ~Vance Joy

I woke to a heavy heart. Dreamt of him. Not a good dream. I wish I didn’t remember my dreams so vividly because they play out in my head all day like a memory of something real.

I compare my moods to a game of shuffle board: I’m hung up on a feeling until something else–good or bad– comes along to knock that original feeling out of the way or push it deeper into my psyche.

I hate December.

My thoughts are racing so much these days!

I’m up!

I’m enjoying the sight of my Hooker Tree ( a hot pink tinsel Christmas Tree loaded down with sci-fi geekery) with a kitschy blue electric menorah burning beside it in the window.

Then I plunge: He goes home in a week and a half. I have one weekend left with him. And I panic. My stomach lurches and my heart feels like its trying to break my ribs.

Happy thoughts! I tell myself. I brew decaf coffee (with my anxiety, I can’t have caffeine anymore) and the smell soothes me. I light candles and open the back patio door to let the fresh chilly air purge the funk that I am releasing into my environment. I buy a few gifts online for my family.

Then I look at my phone. Nothing from him today. So attentive when we are together but when we are not…Last weekend as I got in my car, he leans in through the window to kiss me and says “Love you, drive safe.” I started because Im the one with the bleeding heart, always dropping the “L” bomb on him. He hasnt said it to me. But this was a slip of habit, I know. Like him hugging a family member (or his clinically insane wife) and the automatic, obligatory “love you, drive safe” comes out. He probably didnt even realize he let it slip out and if he did, he probably thought “Crap, hope she didnt catch that”. But what I wouldnt give for him to say those words on purpose.

I’m up! We’re drinking cheap wine, eating pizza and laughing. He’s such a lightweight! Two glasses of wine and he’s giggling like a girl. We’re in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but hang out and watch movies. And it’s wonderful! Until the crazy starts pouring in again on his phone.

He has more baggage than anyone I’ve ever met. I try to be strong, I want him to lean on me, but he hates that I internalize his problems. But that’s what happens when you care about someone. You want to help and when they hurt, you hurt.

Because of this, he makes no promises. He doesnt talk about a future of ‘we’. He focuses on the now. He has to: Custody battle first, then divorce, then the next career move then…what? It’s not that he doesnt consider the future, he doesnt consider the future with me as a factor, as a Major Player in his life. Or if he does, the doesnt tell me. He just doesnt want to let me down. Or get my hopes up.
I told him, “Remember when I said I had no expectations and would be content if we came out of this as friends? I lied. I cant be your friend. I still have no expectations but I DO have hope.”

And I’m down. He’s not even gone yet but if this is a precursor–a taste– of the despair that is to follow when he leaves soon…G-d help me.

We both need something good to happen in our lives. Just give us ONE solid “win” on the board.

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies” ~ Hozier

Do you ever look at Facebook and see posts from a bunch of your friends out having fun together on a Saturday night and wonder why you werent invited? I wanted to be out tonight. I tossed ideas around, put out feelers but no takers. So it’s 10:30 and I’m home alone. Still dressed to go out but once the boots come off, it’s all over. Feeling so damned sorry for myself, I should probably just go to bed. I was supposed to be in the smokey mountains this weekend with the kin but mother canceled at the last minute. She just didnt have it in her. This is a bad time of year for all of us. Her father died a year ago this past Monday and October was when her husband, my dad, began to get sick. Three days after his 45th birthday on 24 November, he had a seizure and slipped into a coma. A month later, just before Christmas, he was gone. This time of year also marks the end of every major relationship Ive ever been in Sept is the downward spiral and by December, I was either divorced or nursing my wounds from an ugly betrayal. Four. No, five times. I don’t like the holidays anymore. It means death of people I loved, physically or emotionally. And I’ve never been kissed at midnight on New Years Eve. Never.

He’s home and writing to me daily but we only talk about his kids. In ten days and he hasnt mentioned his wife or the fact that he will be within a few hours drive of me in the next week or two. I told myself that I wasnt going to bring either topic up again. I dont need to hear about how awkward the sex is or her latest meltdown. The only thing I know is that he is waking up next to her. And if he wants to see me, he will have to ask. I wont beg. And if he doesnt…well, then I guess there is my answer. The last time we were together, I was content and I meant it when I said that I had no expectations except that we stay in touch and remain friends. My expectations were low but my hopes were high. Are still high. He does nothing to feed my hopes except continue to write me and refuse to tell me to go away. I confided in a friend that I had drawn a line in the sand: If he doesnt ask to see me while he’s near, then I will cut him off. My friend says “Good for you, drawing that line in the sand”. The problem with lines in the sand is the water. Tears roll in like a tide that blur and erase those lines that I draw.

But hey, I’m still trying to get out there and meet someone else! Except that the only guys who show interest have handles like “BigMeat”, “FitYoungEuropean” and “Papi4U”. And if any of their photos include them flexing shirtless in the bathroom mirror or holding a fish then it gets deleted without reading. So that’s 99% of them. The Marine Biologist who also happened to be a traveling performer at Renn Fests sounded promising until I saw the glorious mullet.

It’s a new moon. I have everything I need for a banishing ritual but my head and heart are not in the right place for it. It’s a catch 22: rituals are supposed to be cathartic, relaxing. But you need to relax and focus in order to conduct the ritual. So what? I take a half a xanax in order to relax enough so that I can perform a ritual which should help me relax? That’s why I’ve never been able to pass a polygraph either. That hamster in my head never stops running on that wheel. “Just dont think about anything”, he says. I imagine that must be what peace feels like. To be able to flip a switch in your brain.

My mother and I need to be in the mountains right now. Healing in the crisp air and changing leaves.

That’s it. The boots are coming off…