My intuition is telling me that things are going to change very soon. This exhausting pace you have set for yourself is running you into the ground and the universe has scheduled you for an intervention. My sources are telling me its going to be a lover. This person isn’t “the one”, but the sex is going to be out of control. You will be so physically depleted from nightly romps that you will have no choice but to slow down. All that socializing with friends and coworkers that you are doing right now is going to take a backseat to the bedroom time you’ll be putting in. You better stock up on food now and get anything that can be eaten in bed. And don’t worry about hitting the gym; just hit the sack…its going to be a bumpy, and I mean bumpy, ride. But you’ll like where it’s taking you.
My intuition is telling me today that you know he has a girlfriend. Yes, I’m talking to you. You sexy, smart, successful women running around with that loser who texts or IMs you constantly, but almost never calls. That fool who doesn’t have a thing to say to you other than “I can’t wait to get you naked.” Sure, it’s exciting, for all of six months, then you start to feel that gnaw in your gut that tells you it’s not going to last, but you ignore it, because you have inundated yourself with fantasies that he will come around and realize you two are soul mates. Doesn’t matter that he has never taken you to dinner or a movie…but he has excuses for that, and you except them because you want to.
Deep down you know you are too good for this. You want to ask yourself “Where is this going?” And sometimes you do, but just then he sends a text, and you forget all about your reservations. He won’t stop texting you. Yeah girl…you have him by his dick don’t you?
No. You don’t. Please wake up. He has a wifey or some naive twenty year old girlfriend waiting around for him while he makes himself happy doing whatever he wants. Trust me, I’ve been there, done this…twice! I was the other girl, and I was stupid; sold myself short for a few quick-and I mean quick-rolls in the sack. Ugh, over it.
Your intuition is your life line to the truth. Use it! If you feel that gnaw in your gut, listen and listen good. Oh and don’t blame it all on him, he didn’t do this by himself.
Break it off!
It’s December. How in the fuck is it already December? In three weeks I will officially be one year older. I was trying to ignore it, but I have already gotten three wake up calls: Foley + Corina has already sent me a little gift certificate for my birthday. So has Borders, and I’m waiting for my free birthday reading at Tarot.com. With the internet age, you can’t get away from it. It bombards you and makes you feel like you have to bombard others. Last month I sent a birthday text to a friend and then felt obligated to put it on her Facebook because all of our friends were putting it on her Facebook and I didn’t want everyone else to think I forgot. Fucking Facebook! I miss the days when I could forget about my birthday. I miss the days when you could forget about someone else’s birthday and send a belated birthday card…and no one was pissed. Now you have no excuse except this one.
Speaking of being bombarded with B-days, Kim Kardashian has been slapping us in the face with all of her wining about turning 30 and how OLD and HAGGARD she feels. Welcome to the third floor Kimmi! We saved a seat for you. By the way, in case they didn’t tell you, your natural metabolism slows down, which means your naturally fat ass is going to win out on you. Talk about a wake up call! Now that I’ve vented, I’m done hating on my bday. Fuck it. I was born, I’m still here, I’m going to take it like a woman.
What’s the difference between sex and violence? Not a whole lot. One comes from passion, the other from rage, but they both live inside you. Just because you suppress it doesn’t mean its not there.
This past weekend can be summed up in two words -Turkey and alcohol. It was a great weekend, but I came home, looked in the mirror at my dark circles and puffy eyelids and didn’t recognize myself. This month has been busier than most and my tendancy to reach for a glass of wine to calm down def increased. Drinking can make you look older (two more words-Kim Zolciak-I do NOT need that) and run you down. I think its time for a little detox.
I know I drink a lot. I do. Right now there is a six pack of corona and 2 bottles of wine in the fridge, plus an open bottle of red on the counter. Those are just the reserves. I’m out a good three times a week with friends and I am moving through wine, beer, and Campari like its free. It’s not! I enjoy a good drink, and that enjoyment spills over into food, wine, atmosphere…my credit card. The problem is I don’t get drunk, so I don’t usually monitor my intake. And I hate to admit this, but as a writer, I don’t mind thinking that enjoying a drink or two, or ten, may be a sign of greatness. Ha! But seriously, Some of the best writers were alchies- Hemingway, Kerouac, Faulkner, Poe, Fitzgerald, and…Dorthy Parker. Unfortunately, they were also depressive and suicidal…and poe was rumored to be a pedophile. Yikes! I like the company I keep and I like drinking, but I have a responsibility to keep myself in good condition. I can be great too, and I will be, with a little monitoring, a little more water in between drinks, and a little more me time.
“If you don’t go after what you want, you’ll never have it. If you don’t ask, the answer is always no. If you don’t step forward, you’re always in the same place.” — Nora Roberts
Whhhaaaat? Nora Roberts is my girl! I plucked this off of the She Writes website because I am having a particularly tough week and this perked me up a bit. Let me tell you something, many a romance novel has gotten me through the black hole of adolescence. Period pieces were my favorite back then. Where men wore shirt sleeves (no idea what these are) and women wore petticoats (ewww), but these were all discarded in a frenzy of discrete lust. Sometimes when I’m lonely, which seems to be more often lately, I’ll pick one up and re-read. I have several Nora’s along with about a dozen other authors I picked up along the way.
Thank you to the romance authors for the fun fantasy and a great escape.
I was five years old when I watched my mother die at the hands of her boyfriend. Their fight started like all the other fights I’d witnessed. My mother stood with legs apart, her voice rising as she squared her shoulders and shook her fists, always the tough farm girl from Pennsylvania. Her boyfriend growled back at her, switching between both English and Spanish; something he only did when he got really angry. Next thing I knew a blade in his hand flashed, then buried into her chest to the hilt. I knelt next to her as she lay on the carpet, trying to wake her as my tears fell beside the blood stain that seeped through the peach colored fabric of her nightie. The sight forever haunted me; as did her boyfriend, and any man that looked or acted like him.
I never saw him again, but I struggled with fear, anger, and distrust towards men well into adulthood. I made idiot choices, like marrying a man I didn’t love, because I couldn’t separate passion from fear. I didn’t want to be with someone that would kill me.
Its taken me years of therapy to separate passion from violence, and I’m still not quite there. My mother was a victim, but so was I. She didn’t survive, but I did. And Thirty years later its still a struggle, but I continue to survive, and through me, so does she. IWS