The gift I gave myself.


I stopped writing when my blog became a weapon that people used against me. Honestly,  I still strive to disregard the fact that anyone reads this, otherwise I’m crippled by how shy I actually am. It will always surprise me that people essentially read my journal, daily. I don’t work with the public anymore so I am no longer confronted by people who want to discuss something I’ve written. I hardly wrote more than a handful of things over the past 5 years and I’m awfully sad now because so much of it is a verbal treasurebox of my favorite memories. I’ve learned how dangerous words can be, but also how liberating.

Raising a newborn alone leaves no time for dating, ie: no time for sex. I made peace with the death of my sex life and adopted a pregnant cat. I’ve been gardening, knitting, canning, doing laundry and going to work. I also had to come to terms with the fact that I struggle to write at all when I’m celibate. I’m wordiest when inspired by an Alpha male because I’m bored to tears by anything less. It takes more than a pretty face or impressive skill set, though. I run my life like a business and have a very busy schedule, something that doesn’t sit well with men that are threatened by not being needed. I can’t deal with whining, jealousy or demands on my time. Needy men are my biggest turn off, followed closely by whiners. I’ve been single parenting since 2003, and have no need for another child.

I got my heart broken last summer and started writing again since I was drowning in words instead of sleeping at night.

The traffic was terrifying to me after a 5 year hiatus. After my disaster in Puerto Rico, I installed a pretty fabulous tracker on my blog that lets me know who’s reading, including my ex’s entire family. Daily. That’s fun. Also a few exes. Including he who shall not be named. I’m not sure if knowing is helpful or a hindrance, but it does nothing but encourage me to get wordy about the blowjob I want to give to the man I want.

I gave myself a huge gift this year.

I let myself off the hook and stopped giving a shit what people thought of me. If you don’t give me an orgasm or pay my bills, you can kiss my sweet ass. I work crazy hours juggling a household and a full time job. I schlep the Dumpling a million places and somehow manage to remember to buy toilet paper. My time is at a premium and I don’t waste a single second on anything negative.

I would rather masturbate than worry about some petty bitch’s jealous opinion of my sex life. Seriously… if you’re here reading with ill intentions, I thank you personally because I’m going to swing from the chandeliers just to piss you off. My satisfaction is a direct result of your judgement and if that isn’t winning, friends… I don’t know what is.

I can’t stop people from reading, and it’s been a decade so I’m used to the fact that some of my friends know a little too much about my sexual appetite and preferences.

Spoiler alert: nobody cares.

Least of all, me. ♥


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