General Generalities.

Tomorrow is my last day and my second job. I'm actually not that sad. Mostly, I'm tired and want my solo evenings and Saturdays back to myself. It's hard to explain without getting incriminatingly specific, but it was a job that fulfilled a niche dream that I had for a long time. I tried it, liked it, got done with it. Bonus that I made a good friend.

My husband moves his furniture out this weekend, and we will have reconciled a big money thing. I really need this straggling on and on to be over. I can't believe we decided to separate all the way back in November and we're still doing big pieces of it.

All I can do it eat. I've re-committed to red meat but that doesn't stop me from eating everything else within sight. Just keep your hands away from my mouth. About five minutes ago I sat in the kitchen eating chips and dip. Gross. Yummm. Chomp chomp. Now time to go to sleep and store all that fat in my ass.

'night.

An Old Oath.

"I will hold to the principles received by me when I was sane and not mad -- as I am now. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation: they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour; stringent are they; inviolate they shall be. If at my individual convenience I might break them, what would be their worth? They have a worth -- so I have always believed; and if I cannot believe it now, it is because I am insane -- quite insane: with my veins running fire, and my heart beating faster than I can count its throbs. Preconceived opinions, foregone determinations, are all I have at this hour to stand by: there I plant my foot." -- Jane Eyre

A few months ago I made an oath of celibacy because I knew that it would be best for me.

So far so good. Now is not the time to revisit the idea, due to the, you know, insanity.

Onward.

Rant.

I really can't stand this stupid ex-husband of mine. What a putz. I can't depend on him for the smallest of things, like remembering the stuff that our son needs when he goes to school. He makes an appointment with the mediator and gets the time wrong. He's disorganzied, forgetful, and lax. Basically, if I want it done, I still have to do it myself. There is no part of him that I enjoy anymore, and that's really too bad. I know he's smart and funny, but I can't see it. I am so done with this. I wish that I didn't have to be connected to him, but I will. My consolation is that we're still working through logistical stuff, but soon our lives will be markedly separate. His stuff will be gone. We'll settle the money.

But not soon enough, baby.

Sucking It Up. Being Happy.

I'm just not going to feel sorry for myself about last night. 'What,' a certain friend would say, 'do you have sand in your pussy?'

This said friend and I found a phenomenal bistro, laughed at the antics of my 24-year old co-worker, and ate terrific food. He took me to a new bar that is very cool. There were $3 Grolsch. More hilarious conversation. Later he told me that the very pleasant man to his left, although with a pretty girl, had been checking me out. My friend's phone rang with a message from a girl he knows, so we went off to see her. A very meek boy liked me but couldn't work up the nerve to ask even my name. Turned out the girl had issued a booty call to my friend, but he still left her until later in order to drive me home. He is the best of men.

So I think my pal got laid, which although left me feeling left out, I am glad for.
I was careful with my drinking and didn't get sloppy or silly or blabby. I kept my wits.
Boys did some admiring, but it was easy for me to follow my judgement and not get tempted into something stupid. I went home alone, which was the right and intended plan.
Our city's bars are smoke-free, so I don't feel like a smoked ham.
I had a great time with my friend eating food, drinking, and kidding around.

So what am I complaining about? Suck it up. Be happy.

The Truth

It's 3am. I've arrived home alone for all the right reasons.

This sucks.

Yeehaw.

I swore all day yesterday that after my 50-hour week, I would plop at home after work, eat cheese, and watch The L Word, but more importantly, get to bed by 10, 10:30 at the latest.

Well, the subway was all stupid, so I got home an hour later than I wanted. By the time I fixed some cheese scrambled eggs and popped in the DVD, it was at least 9:45.

Let me say a word here about my video choice: when I created my Netflix queue after my husband moved out, it seems all I chose were lesbian foreign films. A couple domestic like Kissing Jessica Stein, which was only OK. Who knows why? Maybe I'm bi-curious. Maybe I've forfeited on the notion of a normal boy/girl relationship. Maybe I'm bored.

Basically The L Word is a lesbian soap opera. Strangely, the only explicit sex has been straight.

My conclusion, though, is that I don't want a lesbian relationship either. What it made me want was fucking. That's all. Oh God the conversations, the negotiations between people: no thanks. Am I wrong in thinking that dating is a fucking nightmare?

Yet I learned enough from my single days to know that unattached fucking does not make me feel good, or less lonely, or satisfied. Also, that if you don't know someone pretty well and trust them, sex can't possibly escalate to the level I want. It's like sitting in a high school class once you've earned your PhD. B-o-o-o-ring and pointless.

Hey, but I've got toys! And this is why I didn't get to sleep until after 11. The power trio. Got them all buzzing, spinning, hopping and it seems I am back on the right track.

That is, if waking up and doing it all twice over again is any indication.

Can't Win.

A friend and I made a bet in early February that I would get hit on by the end of March. I said it wouldn't happen, that guys don't hit on me. The stakes?

I'll get $1000 if I'm right.

And no, you people don't count. Sorry.

I've spent some time out, and so far my theory has been proven true. To be fair, I haven't tried the real social bar scene, and am told that the bet would be over in five minutes if I were going to the right places. Ha, I say.

But now I'm beginning to realize the Catch-22. If I win the $1000, I'll have to use it for therapy to resusitate my crushed self-esteem. If I lose: no $1000.

Only ten days left.

Fell Flat.

So last night I decided a month was long enough. Time to get off. Neither you nor I can believe it had been so long.

I started off by trying to find some decent free porn on the 'net**. Made due with Tony Comstock previews, then took to bed. I started off slow and deliberate, easing off when it seemed a climax was imminent. What I was working toward was the slow, rippling effect of sheet lightning, as when you're on the plains and can see the flashes trip across the horizon, one after another. It really took all my will. Finally, in haste, I grabbed one of the other vibes and went for it.

Too fast. Too hard.

Sure, it worked.

But it was no firestorm. More like the bulb pop of a Kodak Instamatic flashcube. Puh. Done. Eh.

Oh well. Nevermind. Another time.

**Recommendations welcome.

It's About Time Someone Said So.

You are the World

Completion, Good Reward.

The World is the final card of the Major Arcana, and as such represents saturnian energies, time, and completion.

The World card pictures a dancer in a Yoni (sometimes made of laurel leaves). The Yoni symbolizes the great Mother, the cervix through which everything is born, and also the doorway to the next life after death. It is indicative of a complete circle. Everything is finally coming together, successfully and at last. You will get that Ph.D. you've been working for years to complete, graduate at long last, marry after a long engagement, or finish that huge project. This card is not for little ends, but for big ones, important ones, ones that come with well earned cheers and acknowledgements. Your hard work, knowledge, wisdom, patience, etc, will absolutely pay-off; you've done everything right.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Fantasy.

When I was in my early twenties, I lived with my boyfriend for a summer. He was a messy, duplicitous, and selfish man. It was one of those hot/hot relationships; we were always fighting but unable to stay apart. Our arguments made the diabetic girl across the hall cry.

But there was one night when he woke me, just barely, from deep sleep. He slowly and gently fucked me, gave me my orgasm, and then turned me back on my side to go back to sleep.

Neither then nor now do I have an explanation.

When I think of it though, my mind goes a step further these days.

I'm alone in my house, asleep. It's late. This man I know has a key and lets himself into the house. He slips off his shoes so he can tiptoe upstairs. Silently he slips into bed with me and wraps himself around me. Maybe I'm wearing a t-shirt, so his hand snakes underneath immediately to cup my breast. I'm quickly awake and glad he's here. Neither of us speak. I turn toward him, our bodies pressing together like a full-length kiss. His hands are in my hair. His lips are on my face. My arms are around him and I'm filled with selfish relief, and I have the metal image of my body finally relaxing into limp compliance. He's here so I can shed my roles as single parent, working professional, hassled ex-spouse. In fact, he'd kick those girls out of bed if they showed up here. Me, essential and unconcerned for anyone else, for any other moment. That's who I can be, who he expects. He makes love to me deftly and silently but for the ending chorus of release. Tangled around each other, we fall asleep. The lonely girl closes her eyes and drifts away. I rest easy.

Photo

This is my look at the end of the week.

Wednesday Evening.

Holy fucka fucka it's been a long time.

For one, I've been holding down two jobs, at approximately eleven thousand hours a week. For two, I'm a single mom now. For three, any spare time has been spent getting sick with some bullshit or another. Can you say hello to the yeast infection from hell? Bonjour!

For four, I've had just enough to drink to start spewing again.

Ah, I miss this.

Most nights I come home and am too damn tired to write or read, even.

This is the last month I'll work both jobs and although I'll miss the retail, I think I can hold on the bitchin' friends I've made. Also, I'm in the midst of making decisions about where and how to live. The conclusion is to share space with another single mom; I hope it will be cool (versus the big freakout by my son).

And considering this is theoretically a sex blog: . . . Nothing much to say in that direction. There is the inevitable demise of an old flame, which both hurts and sucks. I know another guy who is pretty to look at, but lacks in both smarts and humor and good sense, so no fucking thanks. I don't even bother masturbating, because truly erotic fantasy entails the possibility of fulfillment, and I ain't got none of that. It's not that I want someone to help make decisions or to get me through this next phase of life; I actually like the autonomy. The problem is feeling as though I'm out of touch with the woman, the sex/fuck side of myself. That's understating it. That part of me doesn't exist right now. There is no one telling me about my sweetness, my beauty, the softness of my skin. No one seeks or desires me.

Part of the reason I haven't been writing is the limits of my schedule. But I also don't want to talk about what I don't have and what I miss. I'm happier with my life than I have been in a long time, but I'm also lonely. I'm only halfway toward resolving my fucked-upedness. I'm tired.

Come here. Bring me a beer, a book, a donut. I miss you.

Short and Sweet

All kinds of minor but absorbing health problems, too much work, too much life.

If I had any kind of energy, I would write more but . . .

actually, if I had any energy I would masturbate and then if I had anything left over for you guys. . .

Crawling back into bed now.

Oh, but have I ever mentioned the genius of Organic Oreos?