I spent the weekend with the land and chosen family, and here are some of my highs and some of my lows.

Arriving on site. That feeling of ‘home’ settling over me like a warm cloak. All the hugs and hellos, and seeing the familiar faces of people I only get to see once or twice a year. Being struck hard with how much I *love* these people, and how loved I feel in their presence. Seeing Snow Feather again for the first time in years. Scott arriving just in time for me to be off work for the evening (I work registration). That hug, man. THAT HUG! Wandering around saying hellos. Shae arriving, and more hugs. Our pre-fire visit at Scott’s trailer. Sips of applepie moonshine. Pepperettes. (I had to have at least one!) Wandering up to the fire, setting up our camp chairs, and receiving my birthday present from them – a huge purple “Bubba” mug full of one of Scott’s amazing Caesars. (It’s a Canadian thing.) Watching the revellers dance. The drums. Wandering back down the hill to go to bed at a relatively decent hour.

Pancakes, peppered maple bacon, coffee. More work at the registration desk, but lots of switching off with my cohorts, so I never felt burned out. Long conversations with Greymoon that healed some stuff I had left over from my father’s death. Roasted pork and apples for dinner. Beautiful platefuls of roasted veggies.

Saturday night at the fire. It poured down rain, and most folks wandered off to seek shelter in their tents or cabins. I stayed, along with about a dozen other die hard pagans, and someone who can only be described as a lover of mine. We drank, danced, and cavorted until the rain finally cleared. It was five a.m. before I finally wandered back to my cabin alone to catch a few hours of sleep. It was everything my spirit needed, and I soaked it in.

Sunday was for an emergency trip into town for dry footwear with Shae, and then naps. Many naps. A few wanders.

The guy I was seeing arrived just in time for Sunday feast…

The moment he showed up on the site, a yellow jacket stung me on my right wrist. I treated it with ice, and took note. Animal medicine is a thing, you know! Things pretty much went down hill from there, but I really don’t want to rehash it all. Let’s just say that instead of revelling as I usually do on the last night of the last festival of the year, fuckery ensued and completely dominated my night.

On Monday morning, after all of the attempted apologies, and the “I’m never like this” and “I’m so sorry”, over and over again, I asked him to please stop, because his apologies felt like old tape. He knew my history, knows about my alcoholic father, and brought that to the plate anyway. His apologies could have been twenty years old, thirty, forty, that’s how familiar they were. It was obvious to me, that like my father before him, he wanted instant forgiveness, and a pat on the head, and I just couldn’t give him that. He tried engaging my friends, to no avail. My people are fiercely loyal, and they covered me like a cloak of protection. He finally got the message that there was no clowning his way out of this one.

When he finally left, without a word to anyone, I could breathe again. I watched him depart, washed my hands of him, and  melted back into fest mode. Spent my last afternoon on site loving on my people & being loved by them. All the hugs goodbye and see you next years.

Shae gave me a ride home, and when I arrived, I dropped everything, stripped down and threw myself into a tub of hot, scented water. The house and fur babes were in good shape, having been looked after by one of my kidlets. I ordered in and watched a sufficient number of Sex and The City episodes to feel like I’d returned to the real world. Woke up on Tuesday morning to get some work done.

Texted that guy to say “Please don’t ever contact me again.” and blocked him in all the spaces I could possibly block him.

It’s Wednesday now. I slept beautifully last night. I have all these gorgeous memories that outweigh the fuckery, but this is real life, and there *was* fuckery. I don’t want to dive too deeply into finding the silver lining, but I have taken this away from all of that: I am fiercely protective of myself, and when faced with that kind of fuckery, I am a solid, hot, holy FUCK NO. Even if you’re handsome. Even if you say all the right things *most of the time*. Even if I’ve been really lonely, and had really hoped for something more.

Hornet medicine. Fiercely feminine. Powerful and hot and holy. She knows how to protect herself. She knows how to gather the cloak of community around her shoulders. She knows how to say no.





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