Another Beautiful Day In Chaos

sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't…


I’ve been on a full fledged canning bender. I have filled up the pantry with a variety of things from the garden and have begun doing it purely for color balance. This is where designing comes back to bite you in the ass. I’ve arranged the jars in rainbow formation before. I bottle beets that will never get eaten… just for the purple that’s missing from my color scheme.

If I were a woodcutter, I’d be this guy:


I conquered the annual hot sauce challenge I undertake in my lifelong hope that my little brother will say it’s hot. It’s been 10 years of…

B- Well… it definitely has a kick!

😑 I’m aiming for inferno in a jar, and had to can it outside to avoid having to abandon the house for a few days like the last time I made it.

Being unapologetically single feels so much better than being on a bad date… or even just a first date. I don’t have it in me and celibacy comes naturally at this point. I’m silently miserable, but coping in the best ways. I’m running, knitting again and even <gasp> baking. I only get domestic when I’m really happy, so using some favorite hobbies to feel better is a whole new coping mechanism.

I picked apples from my tree and made a pie. Pastry is a lifelong love affair for me, but baking is an indulgence because it’s an unnecessary waste of time and my life is insanely busy. My boss joyfully gave me the green light to come to work when my pie finished baking.

I took a little time to breathe and do something purely to make myself feel better. It sounds selfish when I say it out loud, but it lifted 50 pounds off of my shoulders.

I decided it was worth a shot, and picked up my knitting. I always forget how much peace it brings me when I’ve set my needles down for too long. I can take my mind off just about anything by knitting something cabled and Christmas is quickly approaching. I started one of these for the Dumpling:


I’m finding myself in the details of what makes me feel better, if that makes any sense at all and still struggling to avoid the thoughts of him that threaten to drown me when I give in to the temptation, nearly ten months later.

I fell asleep fighting the urge to call him… after sending him confrontational texts declaring that I’m officially too proud to beg. Ugh.

I woke up groggy and shocked. I blinked my eyes and stretched as I yawned, arching my back into the solid form behind me… and froze.

I- Shhh…. It’s me.

I heard him whisper in my ear, and liquified against him while trying my best to breathe through the hurricane he creates, internally.

J- Mmmmm…..I need you.

Sleepy soft and lacking a filter, the words that have been stuck in my throat, fell out.

He enveloped me and I shivered against the bite of the cold metal, as the snaps on his jacket touched my naked back. His jeans felt cold against my bare thighs and my hands instinctively reached behind me to touch He-who-haunts-my-sleepless-nights.

Of which there have been SO many.

This man. This incredibly spectacular man is everything I’ve ever wanted. If there were ever a substance that made me understand addiction, it’s him.

With teeth so sharp they take my breath away and hands that make me simultaneously wish I ran more and wore less, I succumbed to the magic of him.  I felt him sink into the goosebump covered skin that’s been begging for him and died a little.

It’s intense to love a man that embodies everything you deem perfect. I generally have the upper hand in this scenario and I am far outside of my comfort zone because I love the fine print even more than the big picture. I love the big picture too, which scares me to death.

I want rainy days full of laundry, popcorn…. and him.

I want sick days wrapped up in his fever.

More than anything, I just want him to stop blowing out the fuse he repeatedly lights, before I die of frustration.

His silky soft hands tugged my panties away… the shirt I’d begun to resent, was thrown off the bed. Those hands I crave so much, pulled me over him like the blanket I’d begun wishing I were. Struck silent and overwhelmed…I laid my forehead down on my favorite surface…


Breathing in, he smells like 267 sleepless nights, a lifetime of desire and all the wishes I ever hoped would come true…

Which is precisely when the damn cat bit me on the face and woke me up.

Cold sheets and the stark realization that they’ve been icy for far longer than they weren’t. Wide awake and wanting at 2 AM has become something of a theme where he’s concerned and tonight is no exception.

I’m so fucking tired of this.

Categories: Agony, Love, Torment, Truth

3 replies

  1. Another lesson proving that cats are good for you… 🙂

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