Power

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My mother grew up in Utah and was raised in the epicenter of the obedient female. God-fearing housewives listen to their husbands a little too much in my opinion, but whatever keeps the home fires burning. She knew one thing for certain, and that was that she would never raise a child there. She moved us to the woods and I grew up knowing I was capable of anything a boy was, and most likely twice as fast.

I’ve always been stuck somewhere in the middle of red lipstick and garden boots. I have an extensive collection of garden tools and can fix the rototiller by myself (finally!), while simultaneously rocking some eyelash extensions and breast implants.

I’m not like the other girls.

Sometimes that really sucks, and I think it has a lot to do with my self-sustaining singlehood. I don’t ask for help and I certainly don’t wait for it even when I need it. I’ll do everything myself, or die trying.

I took a vacation to see my closest Aunt one winter, years ago. I came home to a blizzard and ran to the garage to get a pound of ground beef from my chest freezer. Only to discover the power was off. I looked at the breaker box to see if one had flipped, to see a branch had come through the roof and obliterated the entire thing.

Fuck.

Now most people would call someone. I realize this. I didn’t have the money or the desire to ask for help, so I went to Home Depot. I bought a book called “How to: Electricity” a new box and a few boxes of wire. The man working in that department was white as a ghost with fear and urged me to reconsider. I came home to see the electricity arcing at the top of the power pole above the garage. It was glowing red in the dark, night sky. I shook my head at myself and went inside to shut off the breaker to the garage from the main panel.

I’d Googled. I knew the basics. I also knew that electricity didn’t fuck around and you needed to be damn sure it was off. I disconnected the main line in and capped them off. The rest was a miserable skinned knuckle adventure of wire, needle nosed pliers and staples. It’s been working great now for over 10 years, so I’m pretty damn proud.

Or really fucking lucky.

It’s my greatest gift and biggest curse, this inability of mine to need. I want plenty of things, but I’ve worked very hard to provide everything I need for myself and my babies. That is awfully intimidating to men.

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I have my own home, a rich, full life, earn my own money, and have a list of options long enough to make the most secure man, not. I’ve worked hard to achieve and attain those things and it’s been solely on my own steam. I’m proud of that, and surprised that it’s more threatening than inspirational when dealing with the opposite sex.

I’m the Queen of my castle and the benevolent ruler of my peaceful kingdom. There may never be a King, but there may not be room for one and I’m ok with that.

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The worst thing I can imagine would be to give all this hard-earned freedom, independence and success away.

For what?

A date? Some sex? Someone to carry my heavy stuff and open my doors?

Hard pass.

For as much as I struggle to let go of the man I adore, I’d rather sit around missing him forever than settle for less or give my power away.

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Mr. Panacea

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The Songbird has been chirping loudly at me for months.

S- Dude. I don’t get it, but if he isn’t coming after you, then walk away.

J- I’m trying.

S- No, you’re not. You need to fuck somebody else. This has gone on for far too long. I hate seeing you suffer like this.

J- I’m not….

She raises an eyebrow and stares me down.

J- Ok. You’re right. I just don’t even want to go through the motions. I’m hating Tinder. It just makes me feel worse.

S- Oh my GODDDDD…. no more Tinder. You don’t need to meet strangers on the internet. Yeesh.

and there you have it. My beautiful friend has been trying for ages to get me to come out and play. She’s also been emphatically urging me to unwrap a new piece of candy.

Everybody is sick of me whining and the stress I’m drowning in personally and professionally has me wound tightly enough to make me annoying.  I hadn’t slept the night before last and spent part of the day in tears, so I’d definitely reached the end of my rope.

I went to meet the Songbird and ran into the Sushi King, who has come back to town to make all my dining dreams, a reality. They bonded instantly. Nothing makes me happier than when my people meet each other and become friends. Mine are the cream of the crop and I love when they hit it off, especially when I’ve had a wretched month(s). Beers, laughter and two of my favorite people making the whole world, right again.

I’m going to be just fine. I may even sparkle again. I’m awfully lucky to have friends determined to remind me that I’m wasting my time if he’s not interested. While telling me he’s an idiot for not being.

It was all routine shenanigans until I ran into Mr. Panacea, a friend of mine with quite a naughty twinkle in his eyes.

Uh oh.

I’ve had 4 hours of sleep, worked an 11 hour day and am knee deep in Kokanee beer. I’m in no shape to make good decisions. The Songbird is grinning at me. I can feel the heat of his leg against mine and the devil on my shoulder is singing my favorite song.

What the hell. It’s the only thing I haven’t tried to do to get over him.

As it turns out, it does help to kiss someone else… especially when it’s really good. Hours of great sex help rip off the bandaid, or at the very least… throw a wrench in the highlight reel that’s been torturing me on repeat for months. Fingerprints bruised into my skin, sore muscles and hungover morning sex. Amen.

Dull exhaustion has replaced the heartache in my chest and a smug smile has cleared the permanent frown from my forehead. Say what you will, he saved all of you from my endless whining and me from snapping like a dry twig. I slept for 13 hours last night and feel like myself again for the first time in months. I hate not being able to get back to this point on my own, but I have so much love and respect for the help.

A good friend will make you feel better… but a great friend will donate his body to the cause. 🙂

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