I. I’m getting there with BOD stuff and that is lifting my spirits considerably.
II. A thing I ordered before the breakup arrived in the mail yesterday (yes, it took that long). Two pendants – a wolf and a buffalo. I had ’42’ engraved in the buffalo. I’d meant to give the wolf pendant to 42, and keep the buffalo pendant for myself, but that’s not going to happen now.
I considered throwing them both in the trash, but after some thought, I decided to keep them. They are on a silver chain and hanging on my gargoyle, who has been tasked with watching over me while I sleep.
I came to a place of acceptance over the last couple of days. I won’t throw the good out. I won’t. I am starting to have lovely moments when I remember the good and instead of it searing me, it is making me wistful. Little smiles. All that was real.
I will not let that go.
What I will let go of, though, is being failed like that. I will let go of being lied to. I will let go of being handled. I will let go of anyone who can’t meet me where I am, who can’t sit with me as I am. I will let go of people who need to ‘fix me’ or ‘manage’ me. I will let go of being an option. I will let go of being inadequately partnered. I will let go of being shelved or kept simmering on someone’s back burner. I will let go of subtext. I will let go of mixed messages.
I know things got very hard and complicated, but I deserved to be stuck up for, fought for, chosen. I am worthy of that, so I am giving up anyone who triggers feelings of low worth within me.
If I feel like I don’t matter, if your actions don’t align with your promises, if you lie to me, if you neglect me, I do not fucking want you.
III. This meme, because yes.
I am still holding out for a kilt & boot-wearing pagan or pagan friendly man who has done or is in the process of doing his own work. I am holding out for someone who makes me feel like I did when first we fell in love and the sight of you made me weak in my knees. I am holding out for someone whose masculine makes me feel feminine instead of maternal. I’m holding out for someone who knows how to thrown down. I am holding out for the same kind of corrective experiences – the experience of someone who was willing to be my rock, who took my side, who fostered trust, who made time. I am holding out for someone who makes it clear that I really fucking matter. I am holding out for someone whose words align with their actions. I am holding out for someone who understands that I need a secure attachment to someone who loves me as much as I need a therapist, and who gets that what I need from them is as important as what I need from my therapist. I am holding out for someone who will not give up when things get complicated or difficult because I am worth fighting for.
He will not need to save me, but he will know how to love me, and I know he’s on his way, because magicks.
IV. May all be straight within me.
V. Day Five of my eleven day working, because #artwitch
VI. Election + COVID stress has me sipping vodka soda at noon, and I’m okay with that.
VII. My eyes are very, very tired from building graphics, so this will be all the screen time I do for the rest of the day. I’m spent, but satisfied with what I’ve done so far.
VIII. GIVEAWAY. Click to enter.
IX. I suspect the number ’42’ will haunt me all my life, but I am getting used to it. My girlfriends and I are starting to find it funny. John Oliver said “Title 42” about fifty times the other night. My junk folder sat at ’42’ for hours one afternoon. I logged off of a live and the viewer count was ’42’. I look at my phone at 4:20 every fucking day.
I’m like, wtf Universe? And the universe is like – look, the best way to work through a trigger is exposure, and besides, it’s still the answer.
X. Que sera serin. What will be has been.