do you crave light like I do

The stars said I need to write. I know they see me. The world is coming back to life and the draft is still unfinished. Do I start it all over or try to land the plane in a random field somewhere, just to say it’s done?

The shitty first draft. A play that can be worked and reworked and cast and rehearsed and turned into a story playing to a room of people who might or might not care.

When I started writing it, quarantine had just started and I was lonely. Am still lonely. Writing a play about a three-way in quarantine seemed fun. Create characters when there aren’t any around you. At first it was fun. The words came easily. Scenes and ideas and dialogue, funny and dark and sexy.

Things eventually started getting murky. Nothing felt like it had a point. Theater didn’t exist. Anger and fire were everywhere. The story felt frivolous and privileged. The words stopped coming.


But we aren’t there anymore. Not in that exact moment anyway. Even if that moment is still felt. The sun is out and people have emerged. Theaters are opening and their stories are full of timely heaviness that we are all too accustomed to anyway. I crave light, maybe other people do too.

So there you have it.

she’s on a train

CW: mentions of eating disorders

On a train going all the way across Pennsylvania. It’s long but I like it so much more than flying. For 8 hours you can just look out the window, stare at trees and water, and space out while you listen to music or podcasts or a book.

Was just listening to a podcast interview with an eating disorder therapist. There were several moments that made me unexpectedly tear up, but she had a particularly fascinating point near the end.

She said anorexia is incredibly selfish, and she didn’t mean that word with any kind of judgment. It was literal. You are constantly thinking about yourself, about what you need to put in yourself or do to yourself to burn what you put into it. And your starved brain has no bandwidth to think beyond that. It’s desperately working on fueling and thinning itself. There’s no room left to see outside itself or pray or connect to the universe. It can’t meditate on anything when it’s starved like that.

It hit pretty deep.

As soon as I get back to the city I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend with a friend. He loves to cook elaborate meals and never lets me help. And obviously the meals are absolutely beautiful but I feel uncomfortable having someone do something like that all the time. He loves to “plan the menu” without telling me. It’s always delicious. But I don’t like the feeling of being spoiled like that. My brain spirals to try and do something to make up for him making dinner. It never comes up with anything good. Just paying for his dinner next time.

I know I’m literally complaining about someone making a beautiful lavish meal for me. I know that sounds selfish and insane. And I know that right after I listened to that eating disorder podcast, he texted that he was buying pasta and my stomach dropped. I was feeling gross and resentful about something that hadn’t even happened yet.

So I was listening to *another* podcast earlier today where I heard the phrase “wherever you are is your assignment right now.” Whether you like it or not. If you truly enrich yourself in it and ask how you can show up and serve, if you fully engage in it, you’ll graduate.

Weird feelings about pasta are an unexpected assignment but here we are. Hello how can I show up.

lakeside processing

Know what’s surprisingly fun? Crying!

I did a lot of that last week. But now my emotional weather patterns are shifting to something lighter with more space.

I’m with my parents in their lake house. Water rushes outside the bedroom windows. It’s so incredibly calming.

When I arrived, my mom told me that my dad has been having anger flare-ups where he’ll yell at her and then forget anything happened. He had a head injury a few years ago. They’d never had problems like this before that happened. It’s a lot to process.

On top of that, work got insanely busy the other day. I’m remote, which is lovely and lets me spend a lot of time at the lake, but working a 12-hour day while the sun slowly sets over a shimmering body of water can break your heart. You’d rather be out swimming in the shimmer, or having a drink next to it with people you love. Not watching it through a window while you’re chained to a piece of technology.

But anyway. I’m feeling better.

My dad finally admitted to my mom that he’s depressed. They are both looking into getting their own therapists. I never thought they’d ever even consider doing that. It makes me really happy to hear.

It’s a new moon and an 8/8 Lions Gate today. The potential for a powerful and positive fresh start.

Also my parents met 42 years ago today. That’s all pretty magical.

secret world

Election night week 2020 was a deeply stressful time. And I got through it with an incredible amount of sexting.

This makes it sound like the sexting was standard: photos of body parts, in and out and you’re done. It was much more intense than that.

Hours and hours of D/s fantasies. Revelations of our kinks. Deep, vivid descriptions of scenes. Sounds, thoughts, textures, emotions. Pain and pleasure and edging and denial. Tell me exactly what you want, exactly what you’re feeling. And if you don’t want something, tell me immediately.

The whole thing started so simply. We started talking about my neck. That ever-so-sensitive center of sexual energy for me, that is constantly hiding in plain sight. He’d started to wonder what would happen if he touched that neck. Or let his fingers, or hand linger around it for a while. Or maybe if he put his mouth on it. Or tongue. Or teeth.

I don’t remember all the exact words. I mostly just remember my pussy instantly developing its own heartbeat, and feeling that way for weeks after.

Before that, I had wanted to avoid and ignore my submissive side. The result of one too many people taking advantage of it or hurting it, perhaps. He later said he had no idea I was so submissive. But suddenly it all came flying out, just by talking about my neck like that. In a huge rush, I had built this beautiful secret world of pleasure with someone who had thoughts like I did, and who could write beautiful (and fucking hot) in-depth paragraphs about them.

We both had external worlds to tend to as this was all going on. I was staying with a friend at the time (otherwise I probably would have just been masturbating myself into oblivion for weeks) and he would end up going on a trip to visit a friend’s family. But we thought about each other constantly. It was like being physically present, but mentally out in space. Like, trippy psychedelic here-is-every-dark-and-beautiful-sexy-time-you-could-think-of space. Fuck, it was so heady.

It was with a good friend. Someone who is still a friend. Who, yes, I am still attracted to.

And then that friend started Prozac.

Our dark secret world didn’t immediately disappear. It was more like, it felt weirder and then faded away. The last scene we wrote was more about pain and punishment than I’d like. More extreme. Like he was trying hard to make himself feel something so he wanted to incorporate electroshock and humiliation. I felt like I wasn’t doing a good job. The intensity was there but there was a disconnect. That last scene was just before Christmas.

We still talk every day. Texts and audio notes. He is going through *a lot* of personal work and therapy (hence the Prozac) and is not what one would call available. But at the same time, in other ways he is available for me. And those ways are meaningful.

All of this is to say, the other night I realized (not like it’s a big shock) that I have really deep feelings for him. It doesn’t change anything. I’m not going to do anything, probably won’t even tell him about them. But still. It’s nice to know.

So I’m just going to write about it here. There you have it.

meditation on where you are

Sometimes it is hard not to feel sad.

Or to not feel stuck. As if there isn’t a way out of where you are, or you can’t get away from what you don’t like about it.

I am feeling stuck right now, but it is not necessarily true.

Things are already so much better than they were. The credit card debt is gone. Completely, totally gone. Instead of being underwater I am taking gasping coughing gulps of fresh air for the first time in six years. That is huge. I am so grateful that this has happened.

I may feel stuck. But everyone does at some point. Now is the time to start something that I actually want to do, instead of desperately trying to find something just so I can make money. It’s okay. It will be okay. Just take that first step and trust.


So, fist, here’s my fucking heart and stomach.

Hi yes I’m still dumped.

I have moved pretty quickly from sadness to anger. But the sadness flares up a lot on top of it.

I just posted 40 selfies on Instagram instead of texting him. It felt weird and narcissistic but honestly, it was better than breaking and sending him something sad.

He left things feeling very open ended. Even though the phone call did not start that way. In short he had lunch with his ex and realized he’s still in love with her and that he thinks she feels the same, even though he also knows that getting back with her is a bad idea.

So, fist, here’s my fucking heart and stomach.

By the end of the call he admitted that he thought I was beautiful and fun and smart and that there had been a very obvious strong connection. That he wanted to hear from me still. That he did have feelings for me. That going back to her could make him into a “fucking doormat.”

I don’t know what is going to happen or why it is happening. I don’t know how I’m going to respond to it. But that’s the only thing I’m in control of.

Him: “You can call me anytime, or we can meet and I can answer questions you have.”

Me: “I don’t have questions.”

So now I’m posting selfies. And if he doesn’t see them, then I’ll know that it really is over.


Low meets high and finds balance

This time of year feels intense. That doesn’t have to be a bad thing. It’s all just heightened. People are louder and they’re reactive. Things are busy.

And this city feels lonely even when you have friends. I never remember feeling this way in the last place where I lived. But there were more trees and green. Things tend to feel more urgent here.

It wasn’t lonely like this in my last city. But I wasn’t fully happy there either. I was trying to fit in and be a type of person that was hopelessly never going to happen. So I don’t do that anymore. That’s good.

I’ve gone to some crazy stuff to try and get out of the comfort zone and meet people. Where there are super candid conversations with strangers and people are yelling and writhing around and processing deep things. I’ve heard of cuddle parties with strangers and tantric workshops. And all of that sounds cool and fascinating. But I need something more low key sometimes to balance that out. Low meets high and finds balance. It doesn’t always have to be intense.

on a snow-free snow day

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Working from home today. The city expected to get 10 inches of snow overnight, so everyone freaked out. Coworkers sent alerts that they wouldn’t be coming in. And then nothing happened.

Last night I made three candles. Pink, orange, green. And they all stand for different things. Green is finance, orange is communication, pink is love.

According to candle witchery, you light the candle and let it go until it burns out. So far the pink one is burning the brightest. Orange and green are dim, but steady.

I was really tired after Saturday. Lots of walking, exploring. Magical but exhausting. Tired can build up on you after a while. But when I rest, I always expect there to be some moment where I emerge radiantly, like my bed is a cocoon. Instead I blinked myself awake this morning. My head ached and my body was stiff, even though I had been nice to myself yesterday.

It was a discouraging feeling. But since I wasn’t going to work, I had time to get on the yoga mat for a few minutes. Shake off the stiff. Meditated for a few minutes too. And then drank a big container of water.

They’re simple ingredients, but they work.

The candles are all stronger now. Orange and green are burning as bright as the pink, and the sun has come out. There’s more fire today than snow.

12 am wine ritual

We sat on the cathedral steps last night.

It was raining hard when I met you.

You hugged me for a long time.

A rabbit and fog ran into trees.

You poured red wine onto the stairs

And panicked upon realizing the rain couldn’t clean it up

Because there was scaffolding.

You spilled blood on holy steps.

I have to hold back tears when I’m around you

And it doesn’t always work.

stay tuned because who knows what’ll happen

I’m trying a thing where I write on here every day. To see what happens.

But is anybody here? Does that matter? What if I scream something filthy into the dark, and then all the lights turn on and a room full of people has been staring at me the whole time? What if that room is empty?

Well you should do it anyway. Because you have a voice. Because it feels good. Because writing thoughts down helps you make sense of them. And then sometimes you can build something out of them.

So come on.

It’ll be fun.