Tag Archives: happiness

Valentine’s Day

I used to love Valentine’s Day.  When I was a kid.  Because when I was a kid, it was fun.  You bought Valentines.  You put your name on them.  You passed them out at school, to everyone, because everyone made their Valentines Day card pouch.  You had those silly elementary school parties where you stuffed yourself stupid on junk food and got to spend the afternoon watching Disney movies instead of doing math problems.  Then, if you were at my house, you went home and your parents gave you Valentine’s Day presents and then you watched them open theirs, your mother made a fabulous dinner, and you retired onto the couch afterward, watching Alfred Hitchcock and Superman reruns on TV Land before going to bed.

I started hating it in High School.  In High School it became a competition to see who was going to get flowers that year versus who didn’t.  You waited until the middle of the day when the front office looked like an extension of the local florist.  And then they’d start calling names to come pick up their flowers from their boyfriends.  One by one, girls would go to the front to get their flowers, each with a bouquet bigger than the other.  I was the tall, skinny, awkward, acne-ridden freshman and sophomore.  Flowers did not get delivered to me.  I’d sit there, doing homework, doodling in my homework planner, or otherwise writing letters to my out-of-state friends, and I’d pretend not to care.  But secretly, it mattered.  And it mattered a lot.  Not that I would have admitted that to anyone then.  Or even to myself.

And then, finally, there was the Valentines Day in 2000.  I’d been seeing a guy for months.  Met him at camp.  I was happy.  I was turning eighteen in a few more months.  We were going to get married.  He was poor.  I didn’t care.  In January, toward the end of the month, he left me for a twenty-eight year old woman with a two year old son.  That, in and of itself, was horrifying.  At seventeen you are not supposed to see twenty-eight year old women (ancient, by your standards at that age) as competition for your nineteen year old boyfriend.  That just isn’t supposed to happen…  But it did.  And I was devastated for months.  Like for serious, I didn’t really even get out of bed except to go to school for months after.  Valentines Day 2000, watching the girls go get their flowers that day, that was painful.  But what was even worse was that he called me that night… and he wanted to get back together.  I loved him.  Deeply.  I agreed immediately because that was all I really wanted.  Two hours later, he called to say that she had shown up at his house and he’d changed his mind.  Devastation again, made worse by the fact that I went to visit him the following weekend where he gave me my Valentine’s Day present – a large, stuffed white bear that I kept for years.  I finally gave it away to Goodwill last winter… it had spent most of the previous decade in a box.

After that, for years, I’d get dumped on Valentines Day.  It was like a curse… I could be in a great relationship, and it would all come crashing around my ears on that day, or on that weekend.  So naturally, I wasn’t a fan.

Combine that with the fact that even when I was married, we never celebrated it – my husband had to work every holiday, Valentine’s Day was no exception.  There is no stop to the gambling on holidays – they overschedule because they think they’ll be busy.  I’d spend that day home, cooking, cleaning, freezing because of the winter, watching all the pathetic Kay’s Jewelers commercials on TV, listening to people talk about all the fun stuff they were doing with their significant others.  And again, I’d pretend not to care.  Secretly I did.  Not because I loved him.  I question, now, whether I ever really did.  But because I felt left out.  Everyone else was having these great experiences.  Mine were nothing but memories of being dumped unceremoniously around that day or, if not getting dumped, sitting by myself most of the night in that big lonely house with two cats, waiting for my husband to come home, strip so that his ever-growing gut would pour over the front of his too tight pants, and watch TV as he ate copious amounts of junk food until bedtime where he would go, attempt to fuck me (if I was lucky), fail, and pass out after crying a bunch.

That said, there’s such thing as conditioning.  After years of not getting anything for Valentines Day, you start to expect nothing.  And honestly, I was kind of okay with that when, after the divorce, I was on my own on that day.  At least if I were alone, I wasn’t sitting around thinking about what I COULD be doing if my significant other just had a better job, or could keep it up, or whatever.  At least when I had my own place, I wasn’t having to watch flowers being delivered for everyone except me.  And I had my vibrator.  That was more dependable than what I’d been exposed to for the last six years.

Things looked up a little, though, after I moved to Florida.  Gatsby gave me an electric blanket for the Valentine’s Day we were together.  I wasn’t getting dumped.  I wasn’t being showered with affection, in fact he was telling me he wasn’t “sold” yet, but by then I’d learned to take whatever I could get.  The following year, before Valentines Day could ever even roll around, I bought tickets to fly up to Columbus, Ohio for a goth masquerade ball which was being held the weekend of Valentine’s Day.  I figured, at that point, if I was single… well… at least I’d be distracted.  And the goth theme really seemed to sum up how I felt about that day.

I didn’t anticipate being in a relationship with Botboy when I bought those tickets.  I didn’t expect anything out of him at all, really, since he was where he was right then, we hadn’t been together that long, and anyway, I was heading north.  Materially, I didn’t get anything.  I sent him some “coffee”, and some of the other stuff he’d asked for.  He was getting stuff he wanted.  I was getting stuff I wanted.  It was good.  It arrived, for him, exactly when I wanted it to – on the weekend I’d be gone so he’d be nice and distracted and wouldn’t miss me too much.  But it was during that plane ride that I got the best Valentine’s Day gift I’d ever gotten.  Whether he meant it or whether it was the alcohol talking, I do not know.  And I may never know.  But he told me he loved me.  He never said it when sober.  I never asked him to.  Mostly because I was afraid of the answer he’d give me when he was sober… if what he’d said when he was drunk wasn’t the truth, I didn’t want to know.

And I guess that’s when I really realized… it’s not about the flowers.  It’s not about the chocolates (it’s REALLY not about the chocolates).  It doesn’t really have to do with any of those things.  Because I’d gotten a gift the year before, and it had been nice, and I used it on my bed all the time.  But without any real emotion behind it, it was just what it was: a blanket.  And I suppose you could argue that Botboy’s words were just that: words.  Especially since, now that I look back on it, I don’t know whether he meant any of them or not.  But without actually having to give me anything, without having to send me flowers, without having to give me expensive pieces of jewelry, he said something to me that I’d really needed to hear.  Something that I hadn’t heard with any kind of conviction in nearly five years.  And I believed him.  Whether he meant it or not, I believed him.  Because I needed to.  And what’s more, I loved him too.  I still do (and he knows that). And, for the record, I am still afraid to ask whether the feeling is mutual, because I’m afraid of the answer.  Yes, I’m chicken shit.  Sue me.

This year, I’m on my own again.  At least mostly.  Now I’m waiting for Botboy to come back (back as in back from his adventures) again, but things aren’t the same as they were last year.  I’m okay with that – as I’ve said before – I’d rather sit here and wait for the possibility that I can have what I want, since the alternative is not waiting with the certainty that I’ll never have it.  I’ll be alone on Valentine’s Day weekend.  There may not be flowers.  There may not be electric blankets.  There may not be words typed to me over gchat while I am thousands of feet in the air and the speaker is a world away.  Would I rather it were different?  Of course.  But not in that I want to make plans to go out and do something fancy for it.  Not in the essence that I want to have some crazy gift exchange.

But there will be food.  There will be painting.  There will be… well… whatever I want there to be.  I won’t be sitting around here, moping, calling it “Singles Awareness Day” the way that some of my friends do.  I won’t be depressed because there is no reason to be.  It could have been different, of course, but it’s not.  And this time, it’s because I actively chose for it not to be.  I could have gotten a date.  I don’t have to sit here by myself if I don’t want to.  But in truth, other than Botboy, there is no one else that I want.  And pretending otherwise is not fair to them.  Or to myself.  And anyway, before he left, I told him I would wait.  And, whatever happens at the end of this “midseason break” as I’ve taken to calling it, I will wait.

So I’ll sit in my house on Friday night.  I already bought myself a Valentines Day present.  Candles lit, as usual, since it also happens to be a full moon.  I will probably walk several miles.  I will likely watch something completely un-chick-flicky on TV later – maybe stuff about the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre… And that will be that.

All in all, not such a terrible way to spend it.  I mean look at it this way… I’m not getting dumped…  See? Things could always be worse.

The Closing Speakeasy

I’ve fallen off the wagon.  I realize that my posting schedule has gotten to be way off.  I could sit here and write that it’s all because of the holidays and the travel I had to do over the holidays, and that would be partially true, though I did manage to post twice while I was traveling.  Which means, I guess, that that argument doesn’t hold water.  I could also blame it on my astigmatism, which has gotten much worse of late, but now I have contacts that correct that – so that doesn’t really hold water either.

I can’t blame it on anything but myself.  I’ve been out, visiting people, living my live, and in doing so, running into things that I can’t write about, either to preserve the privacy of my family, the safety of some of my friends, or because some of it I don’t even quite understand well enough to write about yet.  You could say, “Well, Victoria, you could go back to writing about STDs.”  I intend to.  Very shortly.  Because I made a promise and because it amuses the hell out of me to make up those ridiculous titles (and then, later, to see how many SPAM comments I get from Porn sites that find me on Google due to the tags).

But for now…

Things should pick up some.  I’m throwing some parties.  I’m not the sociable type, but I sort of have to.  Not the wild, Military Ball parties that I wrote about several months ago.  Those days are behind me.  I’ve made a commitment to back off the dating scene (and, consequentially, the sex scene) for several months, and I’m sticking to it.  Thank god for vibrators.  But this time because I have a LOT of alcohol to dispose of.  And I don’t drink alone.

There are, in total, eight bottles of Cider, one bottle of wine, and four bottles of vodka sitting on my counter and/or in my freezer of the following varieties: cake, chocolate, whipped chocolate, and cotton candy.  The Cotton Candy was left here by Metalhead.  I can’t even smell that stuff without wanting to vomit.  I may just give that back to him.  The rest I have to figure out what to do with… and since I don’t drink alone, I need help.  My friends have, generously, offered to help me dispose (drink?) of it all.  Albeit not at once.  It’s going to take awhile to get rid of all of this.  Why am I throwing parties reminiscent of the closing of a 1920s Speakeasy?

Because Botboy is back, to one degree or another.  And he doesn’t drink.  Things are different now, they are not moving very fast at all – creeping, more like, and I do not expect him to move in here when he gets back… however, if I’m going to be spending any time with him at all, or if he’s going to be spending any time here with me, I want this place devoid of alcohol.  I don’t need it… I barely drink it.  But, I hate to see it go to waste.  As in, I hate dumping it all in the sink the way that I did last May after I got disgusted at myself for getting sloppy shitfaced on cheap vodka out of a loss for coping mechanisms when he ran out of here.  It was cheap.  It was the same stuff I’d been sending him, and I could not for the life of me figure out how one could drink that stuff like water after I tried it.  But since I’d gotten rid of all the good stuff, leaving only this bottle behind because I’d totally forgotten it that morning when I gave the rest to Jaye at work, it was all I had.  And sometimes you have to do what you have to do.

That said, I’m not just doing this for Botboy.  I really don’t drink all that much anymore.  I do when I’m out with people who are drinking… oh, it’s very easy to get me in the drinking mood.  And I do a lot of ridiculous things when I drink – I sing a lot.  I dance a lot.  I go swimming in very cold pools in my clothes (or my underwear if I think it through a little).  I get carried through parking lots by men in uniform because I don’t want to walk anymore.  I get kicked out of beach-front parking lots by Homeland Security because I wasn’t thinking and decided to go for a walk right in front of the building after dark.  I’m a rebel when sober… it becomes problematic when I drink.  But I’m realizing that while all of this is fun, for a minute, until the hangover the next morning, it’s time for a change.  Time to grow up.  I have goals.  I will reach them, one way or another, and those goals will require me to lay off of the alcohol.  I need a clear head to finish them.  And a fuller wallet.

So… the second purpose for these parties is to try a new Tarot strategy.  I finished my CHTR class a month ago.  Passed with flying colors.  I learned a new layout, one I really like to use, but I’m realizing, the more often I read that layout, that the cards seem to be choosing to speak to me in a different way than what was prescribed during the class.  I discovered this when I was reading for myself.  But that’s the thing about reading for yourself.  You can do it, but it’s really, really hard to do – when you read for yourself, you’re either your own best friend or your own worst enemy.  Some things are clear as a bell.  Other things have double meanings.  And the two cards that fall in those two positions didn’t mean quite what I thought they meant.  But before I utilize what I think they’re doing on others, I need to test it.

So, I did my first experiment about a week ago on a guinea pig.  It seemed to work out.  As in, it seemed to help tell the overall story of the layout – and by the way, after being certified, I can honestly say that it is MUCH easier to read for someone else than it is to read for myself… even without knowing what I’m reading, exactly; that’s about letting the cards speak to me rather than trying to decipher what they may or may not be saying.  Anyway.  Once those trials were completed, I realized I needed to do it for more people.  Sadly, a lot of people I know think that the cards are the devil (they aren’t).  So my sample will be limited.  But… doable.  Doable enough to make me confident in that I’ll be able to tell what they are or are not saying.

So there it is… my plans for this new… hiatus… as it were.  And the question you ask, if you’ve been here since the beginning, may be the same question as the ones my friends have had since I told them what I was doing:  What happens if he does it again?

The answer to that is simple.  I’m doing this, mostly, for me.  I need a break.  I need the time off.  I want him, yes.  I don’t want anyone else, and I may never want anyone else (and I have a backup plan in place for that, too – because that’s how I roll). If what happens in a few months is the same as what happened before, it’ll be disappointing, yes.  But not devastating.  I have a feeling that I’ll know which way the wind is blowing long before the storm approaches and I’ll be able to do what I need to do to prepare for it – if in fact that is necessary.  But I also know what I know… I go with my gut.  My gut tells me to do this, the voices tell me do this, and I listen because they’ve never been wrong (like ever – and I have the written channel writings to prove it).

And anyway, if they are, I can always buy more alcohol.

A Year of Echoes

This year has been a year of echoes.  I’m of the opinion that things echo, for me, because I didn’t do what I was supposed to do with them the first time.  Like in school… if you don’t master the concepts of a class, then you fail the class and you take it over so that you DO.  Life is like school.  Only harder.  And less forgiving.  And at the end of the day you don’t get a report card that tells you exactly what you did wrong – no, you have to figure that part out largely for yourself.

I thought I’d learned the lessons I needed to learn from Botboy when I squared things away with Jesus.  I don’t think I was necessarily wrong – I still believe I did the right thing in that situation.  But I suppose the Universe had other ideas with the new guy I’d started seeing about a month and a half ago.  This is the one I manifested.  And he was, by all accounts, at first glance (and even over the first through fourth dates) perfect.  But then he started pulling away.  He started getting quiet.  He’d still text me now and then, but it was different somehow and at first I didn’t understand how.

Then it came to me… those texts weren’t as involved as they used to be.  They weren’t as enthusiastic.  It reminded me of how things had started to go downhill with Botboy.  I remembered enough from then to know not to push now.  And so I didn’t.  I assumed he was busy, because he does have a lot going on, and I let it go.  I pulled back, I didn’t try to make plans with him, and I watched.  A week went by and I finally got a text, apologizing for the distance, and telling me he had a lot going on – and would email me about this later.  I did not get the email for a couple of days, but when I did, the email was long, and clearly worded.

As I read the email, I was astonished at the similarities between his situation and my own.  He was reminded, when he was with me, of his ex.  I knew what that felt like.  I remember all too well the inability to move forward from an ex.  The haunted feeling you get, almost torturous, when pieces and reminders of the one you are not over are thrown continuously in your face (making it impossible, really, to get a handle on things and move on anyway).  I had been here before.  In both places.  It echoed the conversation I had with Bot in April.  It screamed everything I’d already been through.  And the mantra, “When you don’t learn from the past, you repeat it until you do it right” kept rolling through my head as I read it a second time, trying to internalize it all, attempting to figure out what it is that I needed to do – or essentially, what it is that I DIDN’T do the first time that I need to do this time.

I knew the answer to that. But, then, I’d seen it all before, too.  A full stop toward progression, silence where there had been none, the occasional daily check in but no attempt to make plans.  I’d been right not to push it.  That much I’d learned from the past.

I suspected I even knew what I needed to take from the past and apply to this situation, too.  It wasn’t that I handled the old situation incorrectly… it’s not that the conversation I had with Botboy didn’t need to happen.  But I’d broken one of my cardinal rules then – I’d gotten angry at him and I’d confronted him when he was at war.  And I’d said I would never, ever do that – because if something happened to him, I did not want to have to live with the thought that the last thing I ever said to him were words spoken out of anger.  And yet, I spoke them.  I was harsh.   And I made demands of him that I had no right to make– so what if he wasn’t over things?  Who am I to tell someone to get over things?  It’s true there can’t be three people in a relationship, but we all have baggage, and sometimes that baggage is harder to throw away than we’d like to admit.  It wasn’t my job to tell him to throw it away, he knew he needed to throw it away.  It was my job to be there, to listen when he needed to talk, and to be understanding (as long as there was no chance that she was coming back).  And I hadn’t done that.

And here I had it.  The same situation, dropped into my lap.  This time, I came from a different approach.  Acknowledging that I could not tell him whether he was ready to move forward or not, I left the ball in his court.  If he wanted to continue to hang out, to date with INTENT (I made that part very clear, because I am not and will not be a fuck buddy), then I would do that.  If he did not, then he needed to tell me so that I could move forward.  And no hard feelings either way.  I did not speak ill of his ex (either of them), I did not get angry.  But I also said that putting me on the back burner is not a good idea.  Isolating yourself, remaining stagnant, is never a good idea if you’re truly trying to move on.

Things ended with the agreement that we were not going to stop hanging out, that we were going to take it slowly.  And during that period, I was going to see other people.  Because while he may not be ready to move on, I am.  I have been divorced for five years…  And in that five years, I have had a multitude of flings but nothing real.  And I am sick of flings.  I am sick of dating, and dating, and dating, finding a relationship but realizing that it’s unsteady because he isn’t sold; or because he can’t love me; or because he’s afraid and won’t admit it; or because there are too many complications; or watching (figuratively) the one that came so close, packing up all his TransFormers and walking out the door.   As long as there was effort to move forward, I could take things slowly with Nameless, and I could leave that door open.  But I can’t close the door to any others who come through either.  Because if I’ve learned nothing else over the last five years, I’ve learned that closing the door prematurely to anything (despite what my friends say) is not conducive to progress.

It has been two weeks since that agreement.  I have been patient.  We have texted, but only when I initiate it.  We have not seen each other during that time (where we were, at least, getting together at least once a week).  I was watching – waiting and hoping for some improvement.  Hoping for something to give me a sign that I needed to continue to hold on.  I waited.  I was optimistic.  I was patient.  After no plans were made, after no attempts to make plans were made, I conceded.  His ghosts may not exist anymore, but he’s still giving them a priority in his life.  The past, mourning over the past, is, at present, more important to him than moving forward from it – and because of that, making something happen between he and I was not a priority.  And I know, better than almost anyone, that someone who wants to see someone, makes it a PRIORITY to see someone.  It’s a shame, really, but I don’t have time for someone that doesn’t have time for me.  And so, I sent an email.  Because I don’t like leaving doors open.  I closed the door… as nicely, and as patiently as I could.

It is two weeks until my birthday and two weeks until this blog celebrates its first anniversary.  It’s been a hard year in some ways; a happy year in most ways.  And I’ve come a long way from the woman that had just ended a very unhappy relationship when I began this blog.  The thing is, through all of this, I’ve learned something:  I’m a busy girl.  Despite all of that, though, I can make time for the people I want in my life.  I do not, however, have time for the people who cannot make time for me.  And I am not obligated to make those people a priority.

Karmic Debts Paid

Today was an energy clearing day.  The weekend got off to kind of a rough start as, Friday, I heard from Jesus (and if you don’t know who Jesus is (no, I do not mean your personal Lord and Savior, though I’m sure he’d get his rocks off by being called that), you need to read Karmic Debt (continued) before you continue any further.  I’d been hearing from him often.  And I’d written him off weeks ago when he declared, quite publicly on Facebook, that he was in love with the chick who looked like Bot’s ex wife (again, Karmic Debt – I wasn’t touching that with a nine foot pole), and I made it very clear that I wasn’t going to pursue it further.  I also wished him well… no hard feelings (really!)… I was happy for him.

There were nights since that he’d get drunk (most nights, really… excessive partying = another dealbreaker) and ask leading questions about relocation.  Or hint that he was having issues reconciling the difference in their ages.  I’d try to ask what was wrong, or to see why he asked, he could not or would not tell me.  If I require anything out of my friends, it’s the level of transparency that I myself give them.  But I decided to let it go…  There were bigger fish to fry and if he really wanted to tell me, he could sober up and do that.

I’d had plans to meet him in New Orleans.  Platonically, I thought.  But then some family stuff came up and I had to back out.  He told me he was going to be visiting some friends in Tampa.  I said we should meet up when he did that if he found the time to do it.  This was a month ago.  My world changes quickly, as those who have read this faithfully over the last almost year (THANK YOU!!) can see.

I met someone else.  I’m having fun.  I do not want to fuck it up, whatever “it” may be.  Jesus knew that… he knew that because I had to tell him, via Skype, why I could not chat with him late into the night.  And after date three, drunk, I’m assuming, Jesus lamented being put into the friend zone.

I felt bad.  Because I’m not a mean person.  I don’t set out to hurt anyone, and I really felt like I’d hurt him.  But by the same token, I wasn’t going to capitulate for his sake… I couldn’t do that.  I’ve done that so many times, that it’s become my MO and I end up in relationships where I KNOW they won’t work because I’ve had to compromise everything that I actually set forth to obtain.  Still, feeling like I’d hurt him nagged at me.  And whether I meant for it too or not, I think that energy, at least slightly, started to pour over into the other situation.  Of course when I felt the energy changing, I did not know what do about it.  Until today.  When my guides told me exactly what to say.  And I said it.

I told him I’d be happy to meet him in Tampa, with two stipulations:  He’d have to be sober (because this drunkenness stuff is when this lamentation starts), and he’d have to understand that it needed to be strictly platonic.  Whether one would affect the other later didn’t matter.  In this situation, it didn’t matter at all whether I was seeing someone else (exclusively or otherwise) or not.  What mattered is that Jesus is a good friend of mine… and I care about him in that way a lot… but there’s just too many things that I can’t compromise over.  Fundamental things.  And I’ve stopped compromising, and I’ve started manifesting.

It’s working.  I like it.

He tried to tell me that that’s what he wanted.  I reminded him that he was the one that lamented the friend zone.  Then pouted because I did not call him on Skype.   When he realized that, at least I guess, he backed off.  Told me that Tampa may not be possible because he is moving into another house.

Problem solved.

Granted, he didn’t tell me this until after I said something… maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not.  That’s not my concern.  Because the energy is better now.

And, ultimately, I paid off more Karmic Debt.  I did what I did not have the balls to do in May.  Or really April when I started seeing the change.  I let him go.  I let Bot’s karmic twin go.  Of my own accord, on my own time, with my own reasons, and I did so tactfully but firmly.

I did it, and I win.

Now where’s my reward?


I manifested a man.

Like, I didn’t create him out of thin air or anything.  I’m pretty sure he existed before I met him, as he seems pretty established in the world.  But after months and months of disappointments, after months and months of realizing that I needed to learn to let go, after months and months of self-flagellation over what happened with Bot, Metalhead and the multitude of fiascos I’ve been keeping company with, I finally sat down, I lit a few candles, and I told the Universe what I wanted.  I explained it so explicitly, and then closed it by saying, “Oh, and he needs to be so awesome that I won’t be able to find a reason to say no when you send him my way.”

Because they have been sending men my way.  And each, one after the other, had a major dealbreaker (or four) that I would either have to compromise on, or would need to walk away from.  I decided that I didn’t want to compromise anymore.  I mean, what’s the point in manifestation if you have to compromise?  So I told myself that I wasn’t settling anymore.  I wasn’t settling, in any regard.  He needed to be open-minded (so open-minded that I needed to be able to continue to write my blog and do my metaphysics without judgment).  He needed to be positive.  Accepting.  But he needed to be self-sufficient.  He needed to be capable of returning affection and emotion – someone as into me as I am into him.  In essence, he needed to be the best qualities of the ones I’ve dated in the past, all combined into one individual.  And to top it all off, he needed to be healthy, good looking (because I’m not compromising in the looks department anymore, either), and, as I’ve said, have his shit together so well that I absolutely could not say no.

I know I sound picky.  I am picky.  But when you manifest something, you put that request out there, and then you believe, with every ounce of confidence, that you’re going to have it.  I figured: May as well go whole hog with this one, and I did that.  I didn’t know how long it would take.  I didn’t know where it was going to come from.  But I knew I was going to have it.  Eventually.  Somehow.

So, long story short, this guy shows up.  He really is what I asked for… at least at first glance.  I’m a little amazed by the ease of the whole thing, but I go with it.

We talk online a bit, it moves to texting.  From texting it moves into a meet up for drinks after work one evening.  Drinks go so well that it turns into dinner.  We plan our second date.  Dinner and drinks on his side of the bridge, in Dunedin, where I’ve never been before.  We kiss.  Alright, we make out awhile at the end of that one.  Still nothing terribly unusual.  We’re moving kind of fast, but it feels right, and I’m still feeling pretty good about it.  We talk daily, most times every day.  The enthusiasm levels are off the chart… I haven’t see this much effort put forth since Bot.  And I’m liking it.  Also my psychics like him, which is another good sign.

I take down the profiles.  Not for him.  I want to be clear about that.  I take them down because the drama was getting irritating.  I have ten weeks worth of Internet Dating Escapades to get me by.  It’s a nice vacation from the idiocy.  Then I’ll decide whether to continue that or do something else.  Anyway…

We plan our third date very shortly after the second.  This time I’m going to his place to watch This Is The End.  Because we were out so late on the second date, and because I had had issues with finding a hotel in Dunedin if I needed one, I booked one on his side.  That way I had a place to sleep if I needed it.  No irresponsibility on my part.  The hotel I booked had a mini golf course.  We were going to play, time permitting.  I also discovered that it had a Jacuzzi.   Again, long story short, we had dinner.  Drinks.  Back to his place.  Movie.  More drinks.  Making out on the love seat.  He showed me where he lived – his dock, pool, etc.  Went back to my hotel.  More drinks.  Decided to find the Jacuzzi.  Walked around for awhile, never found it, back to my room.  More shots.  Made out on the bed.  But this time, it went further.  This time we slept together.  He stayed.  He was very hung over the next morning.  Like to the point of illness.  I felt bad about it… especially since we were both heading out to work and he was dragging ass while I was reveling in the afterglow of multiple orgasms.

So, it’s been several days since.  We still text every day.  He’s still initiating it, and I’m enthusiastically answering.  Because when I told him on Thursday that I liked him, I meant it.  Granted, I was very drunk… I am honest when I am drunk, though sometimes too much so.  I won’t say that the honesty doesn’t worry me to an extent, it does, I have a very bad habit of saying too much, too quickly. Also, three dates may not be a big deal, but it is really, really, REALLY unusual for me to sleep with someone I’m interested in (in terms of long term potential) before I get the long term commitment (and this would be why I am still in single digits – bedroom partner wise).  I like the guy.  I proved it.  Perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

Afterward I saw my favorite psychic.  The one who has been the most accurate.  I told her what I had done.  I told her what we did, reiterating that I was concerned that I said too much and moved too fast.  She reminded me that if I manifested all of this, then it’s my job to make sure I continue to do it.  If I start being negative, then things are going to GET negative.  Quickly.  She read the cards.  And then she asked me what I was afraid of… if this situation felt differently than the others, then how do I know FOR SURE that I fucked it up by opening my big mouth?  I got it… I didn’t… I was assuming things based on past behavior.

Bottom line:  Manifestation is absolutely real.

If your thoughts, your confidence, your desires, and your… determination… to make something happen gets you somewhere positive, it can, at the same time, take you in the opposite direction based on the things that you think, the things that you feel.  Amber, the psychic, told me I needed to be careful – use psychic protection.  I didn’t understand why when she said this… now I do.  Because I am prone to becoming a victim of my own insecurities.  That has to stop.  Because when I do that, then it gets out of hand in a hurry and, ultimately, I am the one that loses.

So, I’m letting it be what it is.  I’m letting it develop.  I am, for once, sitting back and letting things happen, believing that what is happening is, ultimately, for my highest good.  When we are together, we have fun.  Uncomplicated, unquestionable fun.  And for the moment, that’s all that matters.

If and when it needs to be something else, then it will happen naturally.  Without effort.  Because what is supposed to happen, happens… easily and effortlessly.  And because we believe in the possibilities.  And because we stop making things harder than what they’re supposed to be.


I looked at the calendar a couple of days ago and realized, with some surprise, that I have lived in Florida now for nearly three years.  I can still remember what it felt like to get off of the plane that carried me from Kentucky to Atlanta, with three thousand dollars in my checking account, no job, no apartment, nothing except a car that I’d bought that was waiting for me in Florida.  It was still more than I’d had seven months before that – seven months before that had me sitting, freezing, in a basement, playing World of Warcraft so that I didn’t get too bored while I waited, desperately for a phone call for a job.  I’d gotten the job in Kentucky.  It had given me enough money to make a fresh start elsewhere.  I took it.

Three years later, I find myself sitting in a fairly large apartment, with vaulted ceilings, in the land of eternal summer.  The beach is at my fingertips (though I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve been there since I moved here).  The sun shines the majority of the time.  I have a job that pays better than I ever could have dreamed (or ever could have had if I’d stayed in Kentucky).  I have, essentially, everything I ever wanted – at least materially – and I found it all within a couple of months of moving.  Moving may not solve all your problems (case in point, I am still single, with no legitimate prospects), but sometimes a change of scenery certainly helps.

That’s not to say it’s not hard sometimes.  I am, essentially, down here by myself.  When I got very sick this time last year, I had no real support system – aside from Gatsby/3.0 who made me feel as if the proposed tumor was more of an inconvenience for him than a serious issue for me.  My parents, family, sister, everyone lives 1000 miles away.  A two hour plane trip, yes, but a sixteen hour drive.  Some days I like it that way.  Other days, like when I’m sick, or on the holidays when it’s not so easy to just fly home so that I don’t have to sit here, alone, it’s hard.  And while I don’t let it show, I do get homesick sometimes.

Kentucky was not, by any means, all roses and daisies for me.  But still, there are roots there.  Roots that go deep.  And they’re undeniable.  I sit here, in Florida, in front of my television, in front of my computer, with my cat.  I sit here and I talk about these menial things that I’m doing in my life.  I sit here and I chat with my friends (most of whom still live up north) and I Skype with others.  And fairly frequently, I’m asked why I don’t just move home… or at least to Nashville… or maybe back to Louisville.  The fact of the matter is, I simply don’t want to.

Truth: visiting there is fun.  Going house to house, seeing people I don’t get to see very often, it’s like a big party all the time every time I get off the plane and get in my rental and drive the two hours to the little town.  It’s a nice change – a welcome change, really… to go from almost constant solitude to having people around me all the time.  There’s home cooked food.  And the air there is clean.  There’s no smog, the stars go on for miles, and when you go outside you can hear frogs and crickets… sometimes a coyote.  You see deer literally everywhere – which can be a bad thing if you’re driving.

And of course there’s my family, too.  My mother who loves to cook and who swears up and down that she never gets tired of me visiting.  And my father whose laugh is the best sound in the world to me sometimes (even if it’s from 1000 miles away, on the phone).  I do my best to get them to laugh.  When my father laughs… my little corner of Tampa gets a little bit brighter (if that’s even possible).  There are my aunts and uncles, my cousins, my sister, my best friend.  Lots of catching up to do, and it seems like we never really do seem to get completely caught up before I have to get on the plane again – though we certainly try as we work through the multitude of restaurants I absolutely have to hit up when I am there.

There is all of that… but then there’s Florida.  So many years I wanted to move here.  I can remember sitting in my house as a teenager, snow on the ground, wishing I could live somewhere that wasn’t so cold.  I can remember asking my now ex-husband time and time again to move here (he never wanted to move).  I finally got here.  And I did it all by myself.  And I’m ridiculously proud of that.  And financially, materially, it has been the best move of my life.  Yes it can get lonely sometimes, but, then, I wasn’t NOT lonely in Kentucky either.  I didn’t spend the last decade of my Kentucky life in that small town.  I spent it in the city… and I didn’t know anyone there either.  I tell myself that it’s no different.  And in many ways it isn’t.  But in most ways, in the majority of ways, I’m still happy here.  Happier in Florida than I can remember being in Kentucky – at least for the second half of my habitation there.  I know that if I did move back, that I’d no sooner settle in than I’d find myself unhappy again – and this time, unhappy and shivering in the middle of winter.

And yet, the rolling hills of Kentucky still call to me as I sit here, on my couch, listening to the mid-summer Florida thunderstorm outside my window.  Innately, I feel them drawing me in.  Beckoning to me to come back – to visit the family I grew up in.  To visit the graves of the family I never knew.  To spend time walking around the high school track where I can still feel the awkwardness of those stupid first dates in the bleachers, still hear the kids outside the school waiting for the first tone to sound.  In my mind’s eye, I can see the endless expanse of the corn fields down the highway and I can see the way that the sky, and the stars, seem to climb into the sky forever and ever – layers upon layers of eternity.  Kentucky calls to me when I am in Florida.

And yet, Florida calls to me when I am in Kentucky.  Surrounded by the clean, fresh air that I love, amused by my friends, comfortably pampered by my family, Florida beckons to me when I’m there.  It wants me back.  Tampa, the seductive city that she is, seems to throw out her arms and grab my hand, reminding me of the palm trees and the sound of the waves crashing into the beaches at night.  She sends me visions of the downtown areas that I love so well.  Palm Harbor, too, wants me to come back – the shops I love, the friends I’ve made there, the community that’s growing right before my eyes.

It is as if some days, I cannot win.  Some days, I feel myself being pulled into two opposing directions; the one where my history, for better or worse, is so deeply entrenched.  Where I will likely return, one day, to be buried with the rest of my family.  And the other where my present lies… possibly also my future, though, being the restless wanderer that I am, I’m always open to suggestions.  And then I realize… it’s not that each location, each life, is pulling me in two different directions.  It’s not that at all.  The truth of it is this: neither is pulling me anywhere.  Because I have something that not everyone has… I have two places that I can call home.  Whether I am here in Florida, whether I am there in Kentucky, I am home no matter where I go.

And, knowing that, I feel truly rich, indeed.

Karmic Debt Revisited

In an earlier entry, I compared Metalhead to Buttface, Jesus to Botboy.  It seems that I was right about all of this.  I’ve handled things differently.  It’s pained me to do it, particularly with the Metalhead situation, which I’ve decided (after serious thought) to just let it be what it is.  But it’s done.

After last week’s blog, though, it started really resonating with me that this year really has not been the year for dating.  Botboy came, left, and I was left with that baggage.  Metalhead joined a cult.  Gatsby threw a temper tantrum when I told him I wasn’t going to sleep with him anymore (I make it a point never to have two fuck buddies at once) and started belittling Metalhead.  The Vampire in my complex that was highly attracted to me started talking about biting my lips and his eyes glowed.  There are divorcees who are not “quite” divorced yet.  There are the ones that have more baggage than I am prepared to deal with.  All of this is very funny in hindsight… because I mean who else would this happen to?  But when all you want is to settle down, when you have everything else BUT that, it gets to be a little discouraging when things don’t go quite the way you want them to.

I was talking to my friend Mary the other day about all of this… she brought up the Law of Attraction to me again.  It’s funny.  I’m the one that introduced her to it.  And I still really do believe in it – the concept that, essentially, what you put out is what you get back.  I was willing to take responsibility for the Botboy one.  I said some things to him when I found that profile again on OKC in such a way that I probably shouldn’t have.  I said them when I was in a place of shock and anger… I did not come from a place of love.  I can’t say that approaching that from a different angle would have changed anything.  Intuition tells me it wouldn’t have.  He had already made his choice by then.  But I didn’t have to be so rough about it.

The Metalhead thing has me a little more disgruntled.  Mostly because I know that there is absolutely nothing I did, and, more, absolutely nothing I could have done to have prevented this.  As I said in my last post… I miss my friend.  And I do.  And it’s human nature, I guess, to look at these situations to see if there’s something about them we could have changed.  I did.  I’ve looked.  I’ve tried to find something to blame myself for, and I can’t.  This was all on him.  He still has my key… and I thought about trying to get it back from him.  But he’s lost it.  And continuing to attempt to get it back means that I still have to continue to put myself in his way.  It prolongs the loss.  It makes me feel bad.  It can’t be constructive.  I decided it would be best to just change the locks and call it a day.  Locks have been changed.  Moving on.

It seems like the long line of disappointments is never going to end.  And of course the Law of Attraction says that the more I think like that, the more I’m going to attract.  So I’m trying to stop that thought process.  But more, I’m trying to understand what it is that has caused me to attract this stuff up to this point.  Because that’s the other thing about the Law of Attraction… you’re forced to admit that, when things continue to repeat themselves, when you see a lot of things that remind you of things you’ve already done, there’s something that you’re supposed to learn.  And when you don’t learn the things you’re supposed to learn, then you see a lot of repeats.  It repeats until you get it.

So… the question has now become what is it that I am doing… what belief am I carrying around (unconsciously even) that causes me to repeat this stuff over and over?  Because there must be something… since the people from my past re-manifest themselves in others, in new situations, there must be something I’m missing.

So I sat down and I did some writing.  Free-writing… where I just sit, and I ask a question, and I let the answers come through that way.  Sometimes that’s the best way to reach my subconscious… and other times I can get my guides.  But when I did this last night, it flowed for me.  And an answer came.  This shit keeps happening to me because I continue to allow it to happen to me.  Partially because I get lonely, partially because I settle for people that are less than good for me, who exhibit my original dealbreakers, out of fear that I won’t find anyone else.  I settle for less than what I deserve and because I throw that out there, that’s what I get back.  I continually lower my expectations and my standards, I continually take on the extra baggage because of that fear.  And when those things end, it makes that fear worse – I internalize these things as personal failures and justify all of this by believing that if I can’t even keep the ones that are lower than my own standards, how can I ever keep the ones that are at or above those standards?  It’s a fear-based, fear-driven behavior.

I settle for fuck buddy relationships because, subconsciously, somewhere, in the middle of all those failures, I began to believe that I was not worthy of the real thing.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Fuck buddy relationships are great sometimes – they serve their purpose.  But it’s rare that they don’t lead to something more dramatic in one regard of another.  When you’re trying to find something more substantial, though, they don’t serve the higher purpose.  And I’ve settled for these things for too long.  I dislike the drama they bring into my life.

Anyway I’ve realized this is bullshit.  And I’m fixing it.  I’m working first on raising my vibrations.  I’m fixing myself first.  Because until I do, I won’t attract anything better.  I’m reprogramming my own way of thinking.  Yet again, I find myself doing a cleanse of my apartment.  I find myself doing a cleanse of my subconscious (though this time it’s a more serious cleansing because now I can put a finger on the issue).  I’m throwing what I really, really want out there in the universe and I’m trusting that it’s going to come to me, sooner or later, and not on my time.  Because it did once.  I had it once.  It didn’t end well, but it was everything I was looking for.  And I believe it can happen again.

Paying karmic debt means that we stop repeating past behaviors.  And I’ve done that (and continue to do that).  I’ve let go of those things that were so toxic to me, and to my relationships.  And I’m closing the door on those things completely.  No more toxicity.  If it’s not exactly what I want, I don’t entertain the idea of it anyway (obviously what I’m talking about here are the big things – superficial things are not dealbreakers).  If he isn’t on the same page, then I’m not putting my hand in the fire anymore.  Karmic debt paid this time.

For serious.

Metalhead and Trancendental Meditation

I’m not having a good year when it comes to men.

First Botboy left, immediately after he arrived back to the states, cleaning out my closet, walking away for I don’t even know what reason.  I’ve dealt with that.  Written about it to exhaustion.  It matters very little now, except that it illustrates this point.

Then Metalhead arrived.  Or came back.  Or manifested.  Whatever you want to call it.  We started our fling.  Things were fine.  It wasn’t a relationship, it couldn’t BE a relationship because he was not in a place to be in one and I was still transitioning from the first one.  But he was there for me.  A friend, a very good one.

Metalhead, you see, is like me.  He can do the things that I can do.  He can see the things that I can see.  The war tore him up a little bit, and those things have been heightened in more negative ways since he came back… that much I can feel… but he was getting through it.  He was doing very well.  Taking care of himself.  But then his best friend died this past year… and he was there… and it was awful for him.  I hurt for him, but knowing him the way that I did, I knew better than to go to him.  So I let him do what he had to do.  He came to me eventually.  I pulled him through his first panic attack.  We hung out again the way we used to.  We had our fling.  Whatever happens to him (and I’ll explain that in a minute), I will always love him as a brother.

Metalhead, since then, has been searching for answers.  I guess that’s where we connected again.  He’s been into the metaphysical for years.  So have I.  But he’s been in it longer and was teaching me a lot.  He found something called Transcendental Meditation.  He began singing its praises as a way to get rid of the demons in his closet.  Addicts use it, he said.  Soldiers with PTSD use it.  I didn’t understand it, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he was choosing to pay this man $3000 to teach it to him when he did not have even a place to live, but if this was what was going to help him get his head back on straight, I had his back.  He asked me to join him in it.  I wasn’t going to put that kind of money into it… I told him that if it worked for him, then I’d try it.

That was before I realized what it was.  Even when he told me of the initiation rite – to bring the teacher fruit, flowers, and a handkerchief – I laughed a little, but I didn’t see it.  When he told me that everyone there was just overwhelmingly kind, excited about it, sold on it, I didn’t recognize it.  After all, there’s a lot of enthusiasm in what I do, too.  But of course what I do doesn’t cost me $3000 just to learn.  So I said nothing when he went to his classes.  And I said nothing when he did not return to my house that weekend after, as he’d agreed to do.  What was I going to say?  We were not in a relationship.  I had no hold on him, and he’s always been a little flighty.

But then he started to change a bit.  First it was a sudden desire to move to Iowa.  “What the fuck is in Iowa?,” I’d ask him.  He could never tell me… he’d just say a fresh start.  That was fair.  I thought it was just another pipe dream.  Metalhead has a lot of those.  I let it go.  After all, if Iowa was what he needed to think about, what harm would it do?

Then he began to change even more.  For the better, he said.  He was no longer losing patience with his son.  He seemed happier.  More at peace.  More at ease.  Good things, right?  Right.  He stopped drinking – he needed to do that, he did it entirely too much.  He stopped wanting to smoke.  All positive changes.  He stopped coming over as frequently.  I did not know where he went, but, then, again, what was I going to say?  And at first, he came over still and the extra evenings gave me time to write and to do the things I needed to do.  No complaints.  He’d still come over, he was still the Metalhead I’d come to know.

The night we talked about how we didn’t want to stop being friends, that if what we were doing needed to stop, we’d stop it… that was the last time we had sex.  The next morning we cuddled awhile.  He meditated on my couch, I got ready for work, he finished, he got himself ready for work, he kissed me and then he left.  Two days later, he stayed over again.  He seemed different.  Tired.  Out of sorts.  Chalked it up to work when I asked.  I believed him.  He is – or was – not one to lie to me.  He will hide things, but he never lies when asked point blank.  I blew him.  We fell asleep.  Everything seemed fine.  And then, the next morning, he completely changed.  Woke up, meditated, barely said anything to me, stormed out of the house.  It was different than before, I didn’t understand it.    And I didn’t understand it for the next week and a half when he’d say nothing to me at work, avoided me.  My ego put the blame on me, even though I knew I’d done nothing.  Really, nothing.  And two nights before, he’d told me I’d done everything correctly.  Nothing had changed, at least not with me, between then and now.

When I talked to him last week, he got defensive… saying that he didn’t want to discuss personal matters at work.  I was asking him to fix my computer.  That is his job.  They pay him to do that.  And he purposely waited until I was gone, so that he wouldn’t have to talk to me.  I got pissed at first.  Fuck buddy situations are not supposed to elicit drama, and this was most certainly drama.  Despite all of this, my oracle cards, my messages, everything were telling me to be patient, to come from a place of love and compassion.  That was hard.  I was pissed.  But they are never wrong.  And so I tried.  I didn’t understand it all, but I tried.

And then, two nights ago, I don’t know what put it in my head, but I got the idea to look up TM as a cult.  Because the only thing, other than myself, that I can credit to his behavior changing is the meditation.  And truly, I didn’t know what it was.  I had no idea what was involved.  I’d looked it up once… read through some things.  And when you look it up by itself, all you get is positive things.  When you look it up as a cult, well, you find the negatives.

They say it is not a religious doctrine.  But it is.  You pay $3000 to learn it.  You pay even more to go to retreats.  You pay more for refresher courses.  They give you a special “word” to meditate on that you cannot share with others.   Their clientele seems to be those that need help the most but that cannot truly afford to seek it.  The truly desperate.  The ones that are searching, that NEED some kind of help.  But the scariest part of all, is that when you pay that $3000, you open your mind up to someone else.  An instructor who, from what I can understand based on my own reading and interpretation, could easily indoctrinate you with whatever it is they need to say.  These meditations, they say, the deeper you go, the more you believe you can levitate.  Become invisible.  Stuff that would be very attractive to Metalhead who is always seeking the “next level”.  (I can assure you, he has never levitated… when he’s meditated on my couch, both cheeks are firmly planted on the sofa.)  And Iowa?  Iowa is where their headquarters are located.

We were supposed to go to Cassadaga this weekend.  The psychic capital of the world.  We were going to stay in a hotel, do a ghost investigation.  He was down for this.  Down, I tell you.  Even before we started sleeping together.  He’d wanted to go here forever.  I made the booking – the most haunted room on Friday 13.  We were going.  And then he canceled.  “At this stage in my development I do not think that I need to be around disembodied spirits.”  That’s what clued me in that this was doing something to him.  I don’t know what development he’s talking about… but whatever it is, it’s changed everything.  We do not talk anymore.  We don’t even acknowledge each other except when someone needs a computer fix.  Our eyes meet more often this week when they did last week, but neither of us says anything to the other.  I know his M.O.  I don’t like it right now, but I know better than to approach him.  He knows that I’m there when he needs me.  He recognizes that we can pick our friendship up right where we left off, that much he admitted over drinks a couple of weeks ago.  And somewhere in there, I hope he remembers that.

But I worry about him.  From the article I read last night (link is at the bottom of this blog), I worry for his sanity.  I worry about what they are doing to his mind.  I worry about the connections he is making there.  And I worry for his finances and his living situation.  I worry, but I know I can do nothing.  The guides have told me that.  And I listen, because they know best.  I am going to Cassadaga alone on Friday.  I am coming back on Saturday to go to a channeling.  Because I need help… I don’t know what to do with this, this time, other than to wait.  And hope that his characteristically short attention span will bring him to his senses so that he can see what I already know.  And I know that when he does, I will be here for him.  Like before, when his friend died, I wait.  Because there is nothing more that I can do.

But in the meantime, I miss my friend.  And I sincerely hope he has found a bed to sleep in, food to eat, and a roof over his head at night that is something other than his car.  I hope he’s alright.

Because, lovers or not, he is like a brother to me.  And I love him like I love my family.

Trancendental Meditation:


Karmic Debt

With the acknowledgement that the past resonates, the question, then, becomes WHY does it resonate?  If one believes in past lives, that we live again and again, learning things, making up for things we did incorrectly the last time, with the goal of becoming something better with the passage of each lifetime, then one could argue that the past resonates because those are the life lessons that we failed previously.  A second chance, per se.

But in my life… in this one… the past resonates often.  And it’s not the past lives… it’s this one.  Things echo.  People walk in and out of my life, more people come in to take their places, and the replacements resonate the way that the other ones do.  It’s like déjà vu.  I told someone not long ago that time is a funny thing.  It echoes.  It throws itself up in the air time and time again, the pieces get re-mixed, and then they all fall back down again.  In a new order, yes, but still the same old pieces – a reflection of what was.

I’m beginning to understand that now, particularly with what I’m doing with the men in my life.   Where two have now left, two others have taken their places.  Not in the same sense, no, but let’s start at the beginning.  I have only ever been madly in love with a man three times in my life.  There was my first fiancé, years and years ago.  When that ended, it took me months to recover.  There’s Buttface.  Who built that one up for a decade.  Getting over that, over it entirely, took forever too.  And then there’s Botboy.  Who I never really truly met, but it’s hard not to fall hard for someone when you speak to them daily, for hours out of the day, and when (whether they’re being real or not) they are everything you’ve been looking for for forever.  They have these things in common:  I was smitten with each of them in their time.  It also took an inordinate amount of time for me to recover from the fallout when it was over.  From the first two, I have recovered.  From the third… I’m mostly there.  It still pains me now and again but I am taking the pieces of that that I can salvage and making those mine.  Letting everything else go.

But that isn’t enough for Karma.  At least not for me.  See, she’s a bitch.  When I do something wrong, when I fuck something up, she makes me do it again.  And since, apparently, I am on my last life before I get to do “something else”, that means that whatever damage I do in this life, I have to fix in this life too.  So the past resonates.  Hard.  I have lessons to learn and no time to learn them in.  It’s like crunch time for finals.  It’s extreme.  But I’m dealing.  Anyway the two in question this evening are Buttface and Botboy.

I am not a bad person.  But I do like control.  I do like stability.  I do like to plan.  I like to know where things are going, what I am doing, and while I realize that you can’t plan for everything, christ, I try anyway.  So we’ll start with Buttface.  Ten years.  We waited to meet for ten years.  When we met, we tried to make it happen.  I believe he wanted it as much as I did.  But we were also both freshly divorced.  Things fell apart.  I don’t have enough words to go into detail here, but suffice it to say that out of a need to control, out of a need to understand, I suffocated him.  I was much younger, of course.  I didn’t realize what I was doing and I didn’t understand that I was killing from the inside what I was trying so hard to protect.  Things ended between us nastily.  My friend that I’d had for a decade was suddenly gone.  I was left to recover.  That was painful.  An impossible task, really.  But I did it.  We had one more small affair, casual that time, and then decided that we were better as friends.  We are friends to this day.  But it’s a hard won friendship.  There were years where we did not talk.  Long years.  I learned some things.  Hard won lessons, but I learned them.

Buttface = Metalhead

Enter Metalhead.  One of my best friends.  He’s had a blog… anyone who doesn’t know about him can go back and read about Rule Breaking.  But we’ve been friends since I moved to Florida.  He’s been one of my best friends through all of this.  We’ve had our periods where we didn’t talk, too, but that’s been more out of business than out of anger or frustration.  However it’s been interesting, at the very least, since we started sleeping together.  I’ve gotten to know him on an entirely different level, which is normal when you go from one level of friendship to another.  But it’s been bizarre too.  He doesn’t look anything like Buttface.  They are opposites right down to their height and hair color.  But their mannerisms, the way they approach life, the way that they respond to things… those things are exactly the same.

At first it was funny in a way, but then, as things progressed, as Metalhead started distancing himself, I started seeing things happening again.  I wasn’t controlling him… not at all.  I was keeping a lid on that, because after Buttface, I know better.  Hence the Karmic test.  Or part of it.  But I realized something else, too.  That I did not want carnal desires (I’ve always wanted to use that phrase!) to disrupt my friendship.  He was gone for a week, taking care of his kid.  I missed him, I missed the company.  I do not want a relationship with him, but I don’t want to lose my friend either.  And so, over drinks last night, we talked.  And we sorted it out.  He understands I’m not looking for anything else (because apparently he was worried about this), I told him that if this was going to fuck up the friendship we’ve built then I’d rather just stop it, and then we agreed to continue on for the time being with the way things are.  Airing out dirty laundry, communicating, that’s what friends do.  They don’t sit around and wonder… not communicate… not grow a pair and just ask (the way I refused to do with Buttface).

I apologized to Buttface for the past.  I squared things away with Metalhead (who still stays over, hangs out, is accompanying me on a trip I’m taking in a few weekends, yes we’re still having an affair because neither of us want to stop right now).  Everything is good there.  Karmic debt paid.  Hopefully this is a lesson I don’t have to continue to do over.

Botboy = Jesus

But there’s another one.  Botboy.  And it’s not the same lesson this time.  Not one of control.  Because with deployments, you realize you have very little and you learn to be okay with that.  Or you move on.  Deployment (his) taught me patience.  It taught me that I can’t always do things my way.  I am good with that.  What it did NOT teach me was not to jump into things headfirst without looking at what I’m jumping into.

And so, I’m doing it over.  There’s another overseas boy.  This one I call Jesus.  Because he physically looks like Jesus.  Same name as my first ex fiancé (the only other one of those).  Different country, but a similar situation.  The food sucks, the smiley faces are the same in the chats, the boredom is apparently the same, the movie watching, all of that is reminiscent.  And all of those things are minor.  Very amusing, but minor.   He doesn’t play with TransFormers, but in the midst of all of this, TransFormers are everywhere… on billboards.  On the freaking television.  On the back of vehicles I randomly pass in the road.  And then there is the girl.

I wrote about her.  I wrote about the girl that at least played some sort of part in the Botboy breakup (The Bot is the blog to reference for that one).  His ex wife, the one he said he did not want, but who wanted him.  The one who kept stalking him.  Torturing him.  Who had made his life more difficult than it needed to be and who, by proxy, made mine difficult.  With Bot, I chose to jump in anyway, knowing she was there, knowing he wasn’t over her, knowing that there was likely to be some baggage (though not knowing how much).  I made that choice.  I made that choice and then what looked like it was going to be okay, ended up not being okay.

Jesus has another woman in his life, too.  The same age (roughly).  And she looks just like her.  I mean these two women could be sisters (though they are not related to my knowledge).  And she says she loves him.  Red flags went off.  Immediately.  Because we learn, don’t we?  We learn from the past.  I had my heart stomped on, I wasn’t expecting it to be stomped on, because I trusted Bot.  It’s not that I don’t trust the new one… Jesus.  I have no reason not to trust him, but I don’t have a reason to trust him either.  And that’s the point.  We’ve not met face to face.  And we won’t until he gets home.

I’m not getting invested.  I can’t.  I’m intrigued by him.  But the girl may be a dealbreaker.  And what I have to learn this time is to let it go.  To let it develop in its own, if It’s going to develop, and leave it be if it isn’t.  I say this isn’t a lesson in control, and it isn’t for the most part.  This is a lesson in patience.  In waiting to see what happens.  In not jumping the gun out of desire.  And I’m learning it.  While it is a painful one to learn, because it is so reminiscent of what I’ve just gone through – what I just began to get over – over the last few months, I’m doing it.  Because I have to.

I have to learn to stop putting the cart before the horse.  I have to stop jumping the gun, I have to stop trying to make those choices for him.  Did we talk for six hours?  Yes.  Did I have fun?  Yes.  But that’s all it is right now.  And that’s all it’s going to be right now, because everyone has free will.  If he wants the other woman, he should have her.  Botboy did not want the ex wife… but I believe he did find someone else, much as I did not want to admit it for awhile.  So this lesson… this one is just letting time play out.  Let the chips fall where they will… let time do its rearranging and just to be okay with whatever design it chooses until it decides to throw them up again.

Karmic debt isn’t completely paid on this one… it’s a work in progress.  But I got this.

The Professor

Professor is gone.  Like, gone for good this time.  Because this time I was final about it.  This time I was clear about it.  And this time I knew what needed to be done.

We’d gotten to know each other again.  And at times, that getting to know you routine had been fun.  It made me feel very young again, I was intrigued.  But in the middle of all that conversation, dealbreakers started surfacing.  Now… everyone has dealbreakers.  Rules.  We already know about that from an earlier blog.  And I’ve broken several of those rules over the last month.  But there are others that I can’t break, no matter how hard I try.

Complaints, negativity, an inability to live up to the promises to stop the sex talk, the gambling, the presumptuousness of thinking that I was going to give up everything the second he flew down here and spent some money on Disney tickets.  And then there was the realization that if I were to do this, if I were to be with him, I would have to move.  I would have to leave Florida entirely.  Because he would not move here – if he moved at all, he’d move further north.  He made that abundantly clear.  And I don’t want to move.  For all that sometimes I find myself very isolated, the eternal summer makes all of that very bearable at times.  It’s a fair trade-off.

And in Florida, I can be who I really am.  I can study what I want to study.  I can believe what I want to believe without being harassed too much about it.  And he doesn’t believe in any of it.  If he doesn’t quite think I’m crazy, he doesn’t seem to think I’m entirely sane either.  Being with him, a lawyer, in Kansas would not only mean that I would have to move, I would have to hide it again.  And, worse, probably, eventually, stop it all together.  Make the voices go silent again.  Deny what I really am.  And I can’t do that.  Not now.  Not anymore.  I’ve never felt so complete in my life.

And yet, if I said no, if I cut ties with this altogether, what would happen?  It’s been a decade since he’s not been in my life.  Of course there were times when we weren’t speaking… more of those times, really, than times when we were.  But I am also thirty.  I’ve argued both sides of the coin – I can afford to be picky, and yet I can’t afford to be picky.  And since he’s filled the void so well over the last few weeks – a void left completely empty by Botboy – if I got rid of him, what would I do next?  What would I do without him?  I could ignore all of this… I could ignore my inclinations to stay here and I could move there, and I could let him have me, and I’d have my relationship.  I wouldn’t be alone anymore.  But at what cost?

When I thought about the reality of leaving myself behind, when I thought about the ramifications of what a move to Kansas would mean for me, I wasn’t sure it was the smart thing to do.  I’d not only be leaving myself behind, but I’d be trapped, essentially, in an area where I knew no one.  Where literally my only friend would be the Professor.  And where I couldn’t go out to make friends of my own – at least not like the ones here – without having to worry about what that would do to his job and his reputation.  I could see what would happen very clearly if I stayed with him.  We’d marry.  We’d argue a lot – not necessarily because there were so many things to disagree about, but because I wouldn’t be happy and I could not force myself to be happy.  If we had children (and I wasn’t even sure he WANTED children – other than sex he never spoke of anything else), they’d suffer too.  I could see myself in it, of course.  But I could not see myself being happy in it.  And happiness… happiness… that is so important.  After the nightmares that were my marriage and that relationship with Gatsby/3.0, I have realized that and believe it more firmly than I ever have.

And yet I was still on the fence.  I didn’t want to hurt him.  I’m not very good at breakups.  They are painful.  They are awkward.  And they are so final sometimes.  And I wasn’t even sure that that’s really what I wanted.  I still couldn’t fathom a life without him in it, in one facet or another, though now I understood that that was more out of habit than out of any real feelings for him.  That Friday, though, when I didn’t hear from him, it was peaceful.  I didn’t know why he hadn’t talked to me.  But it was peaceful.  When I found out that it was because his phone had screwed up the night before and had deleted my number, I took it as a sign.  Because when I can’t do something myself, the universe has a way of making sure it happens anyway.

I chose myself.  For the first time in a very, very long time, I chose myself.  My happiness.  My beliefs.  I chose all of those things over someone else.  I chose all of those things over a relationship.  I put myself first.  I’m a generous girl.  A giver.  And while outwardly I may come across as being very selfish, I’m truly not.  But maybe a little bit of selfishness isn’t such a bad thing.  Maybe a little bit of selfishness is necessary… because you can’t always put someone else first.  You can’t always put someone else in front of you… or else you never get anywhere.  And you give too much of yourself, you compromise too much of yourself.

And so, four drafts later, when I was sure I wasn’t bitter, and when I was sure it wasn’t an attack, I sent an email:

“I have been thinking a lot, to make sure I do not make a mistake. But then I realized that if I have to think about something like this so early on, I already have my answer.

Thank you for the offer to take me to Disney.  It was very generous of you.  But I fear that you have ulterior motives behind this offer, whether you can admit to them now or not. Regardless, I don’t want to feel obligated to you, and if we went, I know I would. And so, I cannot accept it.

Further, I cannot do this.  Not just because of those motives, but because I don’t think that what you want from me is aligned with what I am looking for.  And even if it were, there are simply too many deal breakers in this situation in order for me to be able to look at it with any sort of seriousness toward long term potential (no, it is not just the gambling).  I fear it would be a waste of time for both of us.  I do want you to be happy.  But I do not think that your happiness is with me – not in the long term.  And the short term is not possible either.  I cannot compromise either my principles in the short term, nor my self, happiness, and satisfaction in the long term.  To ask me to do either would be unfair.

With all of that said, please know that I don’t say any of this out of anger.  You’ve done nothing except to be yourself; that’s all anyone could ask of you. And ultimately, I wish you the best as you start down a new path.”

He said nothing afterward.  And it’s been a full week.  There has been no reply, no communication, nothing.  And I’m okay with it.  Because that’s what I wanted.  Finality.  No arguments, no tears, no communication – nothing that would tempt me to change my mind, nothing that would tempt me to go into something I know I would not be satisfied with.

They say that the universe replaces the things we get rid of.  It has up until now, though sometimes those replacements are made with the same people coming back again and again because I don’t exorcise them fully from my life.  This one has been.  I know that now.  This time it feels differently.  Not a temporary cooling off period… this time it’s done.  Something else will enter my life… when it’s the right thing and when it’s ready.  Until then I wait, and I read my books, and I play with my cards, and my herbs, and my crystals, and my pendulum.  And I try to find patience.