Me

I killed it in the gym this morning. Drenched in sweat, hands shaking. I realized that I've been trying to figure so much out. This massive job, a relationship written in a different language. I have felt joy and satisfaction but it's been at the expense of feeling at all grounded.

I'm releasing both.

I'll still do my best, but my focus needs to be on myself. I absolutely have to nurture me right now. Not the company that I don't own, not the married man. Me.

The job will get easier.

Who knows what will happen with the man. But I will have to grow old with myself. I intend to do so surrounded by my best friends, feeling my most confident, humbled by love in all its forms.

I know myself, and I know that I don't love second place.

I am going to Mexico this weekend with two of my best girlfriends. This life is about deep friendships and travel.

I admit without reserve, I am all about ME.

Aloha.

Room Service

One of my favorite things about all the traveling that I do is all the new people I get to meet and the best way to meet people is the hotel bar. Or really, any bar at any restaurant, but a sushi bar is often best, after the bar in a hotel. It's where the business travelers sit, where people are ready and willing to talk to you. Being a single woman has pros and cons; people often want to talk to you but intention isn't always clear. Not that it matters. A little daily flirting is necessary and beautiful in this life.

I am so tired in this new job that I find myself ordering room service, something I have never done before with any regularity. I woke at 4:30 this morning, caught a 7-somethingam flight. I worked all day, public eye, sparkling. Back to my room at 8pm, pst. I ran a bath with one hand, put a girlfriend on speaker with the other. I ordered the salmon and two glasses of pinot. I'm so tired.

I think of it though and wonder- tell me of a life where I'm not tired. What then, am I well-rested and under-stimulated? I would rather challenge myself mentally and physically.

I would also rather starve free than live a fat slave.

I'll wake up tomorrow and do it again. I need to be grateful for everything, especially if it's challenging. Challenge me, make me consider my options, please.

Bedtime now and I have earned it.

Alohazzzzz

good witchery.

I sat in my car in the sea of I 25 yesterday afternoon, waiting to migrate off a road turned into a graveyard. May she be peaceful on her way. I had lots of numb time to think, to sort of dwell upon the melancholy that's settled over me.
I equate the feeling of stress with suburban malaise. It feels like failure. I will jump into high-stakes situations and feed off the adrenaline but boring common-place stress feels like failure. And like someone is sitting on my chest, eating more and more, the weight becoming greater each day.
I awoke at 2am and didn't resch for a pill. I read a fashion magazine, massaged some oil onto my skin. Today I was tired, but not drugged.
I love the people with whom I work. An amazing family, my tribe. Queer. Smart. Loving. The stress I feel is due to lifestyle and I spoke up today. I feel better to keep trying now, I just needed to be heard. Life is too fragile and beautiful to be wasted on an airplane if it's not what the heart desires. I've turned down two dates this week due to my schedule, and who knows, they could've been the night, the person. SuperDave and I had a beautiful night in SF, walking hand in hand through the twisted streets. A kindred soul. Gypsy, like me. I feel connected to him in death as I do in this life. He was so close to it and he tells me I was there. He has been one of my hardest friendships, but most profound.

Adam returns tomorrow. Love is is spell beyond me, ensnared.

Aloha.

Clean sheets.

My sheets are clean tonight.

In one year' span: I left Jason, I became pregnant, the baby died, I left California, I left my job. I moved to Colorado. But first I went to Mexico by myself for a month. I made friends, spoke Spanish, ran a business. Returned to Colorado on my 37th birthday.

I lived at home for a month. For one week in January I didn't leave my bed. I cried for that lost baby. I ate nothing. I just cried and cried and tried to release that child. 2015 came on with a wail, the deepest sounds evoked by blood and grey tissue where there was once a heartbeat. It wasn't yet a baby. It was a heartbeat in the Petri dish of my body.

In one week, I was feeling better. I drove to Boulder. Something happened that night, something as deep as a fairy tale, a story deep in the subconscious. I wore red. Freedom from blood, symbolic of new attractions. I knew he would teach me, again.

 The world steadied again and began showing me graces and muses.

I've been thinking of what happened so much in the last few weeks and this morning it came to me why.  This is the month I would have given birth. The last bit of my life has been under the knowledge that I would have been pregnant now. Time hurls forward, and if if if, I would be a mother now. Instead, I'll be the best woman I can be. The best friend, the best companion, the best daughter. I'll always do my best.

It's never that easy. The world still tilts. Tell me the last frontier of feminism. It's the freedom from being judged on how you seek knowledge and pleasure and experience life. Its also freedom to love without fear. It's freedom from ownership.

It's better than anyone telling me that they're sorry for my mistakes. It's better than banality. I hope it rips my ego to shreds.

Aloha.

No one else defines me

I will give this all a chance. But because I choose to, not for any other reason. I am deciding to take the new job and ride it out. My goal is two years and that goal has become quite malleable in the past two weeks. I want to work for myself. I want to be at home, to cultivate. By home I mean in my own rhythms, driven by my own choreography.

I bled with Adam last time we were intimate. I didn't discuss the thing.  I just wanted a nice dinner and a heart connection. My body bled, my heart bleeds.

Giving up the idea of children is freeing. It's life that I can dedicate to those I love and chase every curiosity. I want someone to tell me that I'm wrong but I don't know why.

I find myself putting up ever more boundaries in relation to work while I shatter personal ones.  Or rather, I work to continuously shatter any boundary of ego that doesn't serve me.

I'm sleeping in my bed tonight for the first time in four nights. Every day, a different town, a new bed. Colorado is like a fire ceremony to me, smoke drifting in, teasing past my bones. I drove through mountain, canyon, snow, ice, sun, and rain today. La querencia is nestling in again.

The Casual Sex Project

Energy is the currency of the universe.

Today I read something and tears came to my eyes immediately. A sickening sadness, deeply personal.

What if you read something wildly personal about yourself? A chop shop version of an intimate encounter that meant quite a bit to you. And now the only meaning is the titillation of the one you shared the night with and his wife. They got off on my story, this encounter. What then? I cease to matter except in relation to them. I did think he cared for me. I am so naive in the softest ways.

There's your moment. There's the thing that mattered at the time, that still matters in the small sweet hollow of my heart. He left out many details. He described my hair, my eyes, my body, the play by play of the night. But what I felt is mine. The excitement, the happiness, the following meetings. Waking up next to him crazy with desire. The way our dreams invaded the energy of the other. My desire to bring him into my world. The lizard brain he nudged awake.

I read it this morning on Twitter but it's on Facebook too. I let myself cry, I felt the pain. Then I pulled on my running shoes and pushed out the door, clocking a pr in my local run. I went to Courtney's house and lay across her bed and basked in the sweet necessity of female friendship. I came home and made the most vibrant meal and read halfway through a fascinating book.

My alarm is set for 5:30 tomorrow morning and the day is full of delicious learning and possibility.

I hate cages but I honor love and respect. I wish he had set me free before I became nothing more than a kink, unfinished business that delights his current situation. I'm so strong and so willingly to walk away. I wish he had let me.

A man I barely know brought me a poem, roses and a bottle of Jameson yesterday. But the things is, he doesn't seem like a risk. He would be another Jason.

No one reads this blog but I need to immortalize what happened as a reminder. He speaks a different language than I do. I thought he could translate. I was wrong.

Aloha.