Guilty Grievers (1998)

It is Springtime

You are four months dead

Our Son is doing better

He misses you

And takes it out on everyone who loves him.

Your mother drinks

To drown the image of your charred body from her memory.

Surely she remembers the years

She taught you so eloquently to hate her

To fear women

Yet need them so desperately to be what she never was.

Surely she blames herself.

It is Springtime

You are four months dead

This was the time of years you like to make love outdoors

You reached and I gave

But it was never enough

It is Springtime

And I have guilt of my own

I miss you, my Love

 

Don’t you fucking cry

A Sia song spoke of a one way ticket to a place where you’re taught to cry in your pillow. Hearing that song set me on a course last night of insomniac mania that just snowballed. I was moving from one end of the room to the other in the darkness trying to scurry from the visions hitting me like cannonballs. I’m usually so good at blocking it all out.

Men want to hear about Prison stories. They expect sex and more sex. They don’t want to hear about the lump that forms permanently in your chest from learning to hold in tears, wails, grief, and crying in your State issued pillow. Women who are in prison for life don’t want to hear your Bitch ass whining about a few years. You will get your ass kicked, or in my case, my bed was set on fire my first night in general population. I only have a few scars on my left arm to show from it, little white circles where the wool blanket melted and left hard black burnt crust on my arm as I dove off the top bunk and hit the ground, my senses knocked out of me and dislocation my right shoulder.

Doesn’t matter why you’re crying. You better not let yourself be heard. Grief is contagious. You turn to stone in order to get through to the other side of your sentence alive. If some one comes along and cries, the sound itself creates a rage.

I’m guilty of becoming just such a monster.

I remember the pressure in the chest, the pain in the throat, and the incredible headache that accompanies silent crying. Eventually your face becomes a desert

For some reason I remembered the shake down shack after thinking of silent tears. Before visits and after visits, and after work detail if you worked in a building outside the main prison walls (I worked in the Georgia lottery print shop and ran a printing press) you have to strip naked, spread your fingers and toes, show behind your ears, open your mouth and lift your tongue, turn around, spread your ass cheeks, squat, and cough. This is so if you shoved contraband up your vagina or ass it will fall out. If the officer has cause to believe you still may have something inside of you you can be cuffed and led to medical and be put through a ‘body cavity’ search. My first strip search I was mortified. I was on my period. I was humiliated, ashamed, scared, and I followed the officers instructions, with a lump the size of Texas in my throat, my eyes on fire with tears that I refused to let fall, my vision blurring with them. My nose running. Just fucking naked, raw, choking back tears. I went from 20 to 120 that day. A rage was born, and frankly, it’s never left.

Thinking of that made me clench my teeth, which I try to not do. My teeth are FUCKED from a student surgery when I needed my wisdom teeth cut out. I was shipped to Central State Hospital, the criminally insane hospital which served also as the dental surgery hospital in the early 90s.  I did not know dental students would be doing my surgery but it’s not like we had a choice. I woke up with my jaw broken and wired shut, and a man standing in my window with his cock in his hand, jacking off.  He had a hospital gown on. He was jacking off watching me. I started vomiting from the anesthesia, and from being startled, which was a horrific ordeal with my jaw being wired shut, so I start choking and flailing, which makes him so excited he ejaculated on the window. And no one did a fucking thing. Once my mouth healed I come to find half…Yes, HALF my teeth were broken. All my back teeth are broke off at the root. A pain I simply.learned to deal with. I try to avoid clenching my teeth because it aggravated the roots and my.jawline will get inflamed. Like now, because I heard a song last night which spoke of crying in pillows which led me to remember being set on fire in my own bed, and almost choking on my own puke while some sleeze ball jacked off on my.hospital window. Fucking criminals. I tell ya.

Can’t live with them, can’t kill them.

So, I’m mad at my.mother because I have a toothache. If she were living well after I shot her drug dealer the pain would be almost welcome…but she relapsed this year…last week to be exact. I told no one. The rage of all the wasted time for this junkie that cares for no one.

These are words men don’t want to hear. They get a hard on thinking of women having orgies, or at the very least of being a man in power over helpless prisoners.

They don’t think of UnHye sharp or the many others who hung themselves by the door so when abusive officers opened the door they are welcomed with the smell of piss and the sight of

bloated purple faces.

Nope. It’s all about the prison orgies.

And ok. God damnit. I did have my share of threesomes in there. I did. Rofl. And it was good, and I deserved it. I paid half my teeth, my right shoulder, and my twenties for it. I had TONS of sex, with so many women I stopped counting when I hit 100. And it doesn’t matter. None of it mattered. It made for good poetry and something to think about and fixate on so you don’t cry.

For God’s sake. Don’t you fucking cry.

Gossiping Bitches, Tent Dwelling, and Adult Phone Consultants

Because I’m such a mouthy independent witch, the pet grooming job in Florida didn’t last but two months. I was out of my mind with misery. Wouldnt it figure that when I finally decided to work for someone else, that person ended up being a gossip monger. This woman talked about anyone and everyone, including her husband. I knew dirt on all the employees and their families. She would do it with them in the other room, or behind their back in the same room. Unlike her other employees I was close to her age and I suppose she thought I didn’t mind, until I told her I did. I told her, in front of her husband, that the gossip was horrible.and I didn’t feel as though I belonged there. I felt like an outsider.

If one can not be honest, one is not strong. I can’t work for someone whom I can’t respect and trust. Because of that uncomfortable situation, it made it even more difficult to deal with aggressive dogs when they would come in. In many groom shops dogs are held down, despite the risk, and FORCED to be groomed. This is NOT my way of dealing with animals. I prefer to take twice or three times as long and get the animals trust or send it home. My boss and I decided it best if I put in my two-week notice and go my separate way. Now I am setting up a Nite Flirt adult phone consultant line. Screw it, I’ll be an adult phone consultant. I have what it takes lol.

I am the type of woman who says what she means. I give credibility to the phrase ‘brutal honesty’. It easier to hurt you now than to explain why I lied to your face for months. I learned this lesson many many years ago after cheating on someone I deeply cared about. The cheat was not what hurt him, it was the lying. I learned a lesson that day, and taught my children if they tell the truth the punishment will be a fraction of what it will be if they lie. Gossiping behind someone’s back and laughing in their face is, in my opinion, lying. So much bullshit could be avoided if we tell people the problems we have with them. Especially if we break it down so they understand that we like them despite the flaws.

I was unsure of what city I wanted to live in when we got to Florida in June so we decided to take advantage of the beautiful county parks that cover this state. I’m a queen so of course I had to have the biggest tent I could find. I became a Glamper.

We started with a good-sized Ozark Trail 10 person tent Goddess Sadie loaned me. I have a 40 inch flat screen, a 30 inch flat screen, my desktop, my laptop, and two Xbox systems (one for me, one for him) plus my clothes, my toiletries, my books, my rice cooker and crockpot and my coffeemaker, a large table and metal drawers.

Before it was over I had a 20 foot tent with a 60 foot tarp over it to offer me a back porch and for more rain protection. I had large tropical print water-resistant woven mats outside the front and back, a charcoal and a gas grill, and a Yeti cooler. The tent itself took up the entire camp site. It was glorious. Campers would stop by and ask if they could take a look at our setup. It was truly something to be proud of. We enjoyed it so much. Making love under the stars, the wildlife, the sound of rain on the tent, being bad ass enough to camp in June, July and August in Florida heat….I could have kept it up all year if it were not for the mosquitoes and mold, whom are bigger cunts than I.

Eventually we opted for finding a tiny dwelling and moved into a quaint little place not far from pretty much everything.  It’s another day in Paradise…or would be. We’ve not had time to go to the beach. Can you believe that shit? Me either.

After leaving the grooming salon job I had to do a mobile grooming road tour, which included a week in Georgia. The car had transmission issues, my boyfriend has odd working hours, and I’m learning the ins and outs of trying to ‘work from home’ and make a living that does not include full-time grooming. Am I freaking out? A little.

I got my desktop worked on, bought all the necessary equipment, had a phone line installed, and the first thing I see when I go to sign up for the first legitimate company is that they do a complete background check. Uh-oh. I have a felony from 24 years ago and a misdemeanor from 9 years ago. I am not sure if I’ll pass. Crap! This situation leads me to the fail proof option of adult phone operator. I’ve done it before, over a decade ago. It was decent money, given I have low overhead, but a pedophile called me and I deleted my account. I’m going to make a go of it again. I really had SUCH a good time when I was doing it before.

Oh, it’s my birthday today! Happy birthday to me. I made black bean noodles and we are having thin mint ice cream.

Happy September Guys!

Mcarthur Park Bad Girls

When I was 8 I heard a two songs that made me pitch a fit for my first album.

One made me feel powerful and one broke my heart, but I didn’t know why.

I’d listen to the album over and over and sing my little heart out.

The songs pulled from me emotions that I knew were to someday come and I was frightened yet intrigued by the pain that was in store.

Life warns us about stuff, ever realize that?

After Ed there was Prison

For 9 years I had more cold sex than love.

For 9 years love turned on it’s heels and ran for the border.

I don’t Pity Party. Trust Me, I made do.

I even had some truly remarkable romances that made me think I had love

But what can really replace love?

Can Sex? Power? Money?

I don’t know. I can’t remember anymore.

I’ve fought the real stuff for so long, keeping it in my Box with Ed’s hair and memories.

I miss that Rat-a-tat-tat at my heart’s door

And I’m freaked…really freaked that I may not be able to answer should it happen

Because Ed won’t let me.

I know this. He was my love, but He is dead, and that box has done me more harm than good.

His spirit has not cared who I fucked as long as my heart was in the box with his hair.

But I put it back in my chest recently

I let a man come over this week and kept my hair down trying to drown out Eds whispers

I love you I love you damnit Hello Hello

I cooked for him

And Ed raged

I kissed him

And Ed bled

“Someone left the cake out in the rain. I don’t think that I can take it, cause it took so long to bake it, and I’ll never have that recipe again.”

I’ll never have that recipe again

VIRGO

The Virgo with the brown hair that swings

Has arms large enough to wrap around me.

Straddling both sides of the fence, he says,

Is a good place to be.

He’s been there, and knows.

“Beware! Beware!” warns the wasp

“Those Virgo Men get you everytime!”

The feminine Virgo considers the advice

Tilting her swollen heart sideways and putting it back

Into the Titanium box.

“I’m sure you’re right” she says

“I’m sure I’d be a fool

Those Virgos ARE a weakness.

Ask the Dragon,

If you can”

JOHNNY CASH BROUGHT MOTHER’S JUST DESERTS

My 13 year old has been in residential treatment since July.

She has been labeled with a string of various acronyms. Three doctors have tested her and all results have come back with Sociopathic tendencies which refrain them from allowing her to return to me or society. Her being  separated from family only makes her more manic so she’s acting out there, which only perpetuates their decision.

My little girl  was the only one of my children that was completely discipline resistant. While a baby, if she wanted something and I would not let her have it, she would have violent fits, and although I still would NOT give in, she would keep it up for days, Unlike most babies that forget as soon as you offer a distraction, she would fixate on being told no. As she got older her hitting and shoving children resulted in being suspended various times and her tendency to get off the bus and run away trying to get back home resulted in her being placed in special ed. By the middle of first grade I started homeschooling her. Trying to do what’s right, I got her a therapist and she’s been in treatment her entire life.

Labeled as severe ADHD she was on adderall until she was about 10, then she was diagnosed as BPD. The bipolar drugs made her see and hear things that were not there and she start cutting. I took her to the psychiatric hospital three times in hopes they would keep her long enough to have medication regulated, but she would be sent home in a week or less with a new drug. Deciding her life was not worth the risk, I pulled her off the drugs and kept her regulated through an all natural diet in which she detested me for, but it kept life tolerable for months at a time. In 6th grade I put her in public school because I did not feel confidant progressing any further. She was able to control herself for longer periods by this age.  School was going so well, she was far above her level. I felt I would be robbing her if I tried teaching her high school lessons so the only thing to do was put her in public school and have her tested.  I let them know her issues but they did not take me seriously as she looks like such an angel. She met a bad boy and things went straight to hell. Within a few months events unfolded that landed her where she is today and there is nothing I can do.  I’ve had to swallow this pill of truth in the past months. The Grief has taken me though a hell I did not know existed outside loosing my husband, she is alive yet I grieve her childhood. I see children playing and laughing and it fills me with such a profound sense of loss.

My sister called me crying one day asking me to watch the video chandelier by Sia. She told me to wait until I was done working for the day, but I really needed to see it. She didn’t tell me why but I figured it was really important. I’d heard the song and didn’t see how it was relevent to me, but I watched anyway. Tears poured down my face. There was my child. In all her beautiful blonde rage, rampaging through the house trying to rid herself of something she can’t see. It was her, there on the screen, and for the first time I felt like I understood my baby. And I wanted to hold her, but I couldn’t and I wanted to talk to her, but I can’t. The pain was unbearable. I was suddenly so immensely lonely, the ghosts of my husband and my daughter’s voices and faces everywhere. I got on OK cupid, created a profile, and proceeded to fuck the pain away. It worked for about three months. Every stranger’s skin made for forget for a few hours who I was, where I’d been, what was happening. It became an addiction. I did not realize this was a form of self harm until the day I heard Johnny Cash on the radio.

My breakdown hit me quite unexpectedly. I’d been driving along happy as a clam after getting my booty call fix and Johnny Cash’s “Hurt” comes on the radio. The lyrics cut through my walls like hot steel. My vision was blurred by tears. I tried to choke it back because i was driving, but nothing I could do would stop the hysteria building inside me. I was passing by my sisters street. I call her screaming I need her she tells me come on, come now, hurry. I am pretty sure in all my sisters years, she has never seen me cry. I hide it well. Not that night. I pull in almost hitting her mailbox.  I fall out of the car into her arms and sob the tears of four decades.

Years in my sisters arms pass. She is silent as she has never ever seen the interior of the fortress walls. She does not know what to say. I said “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. This song came on and I just fell apart. They may take her for good. What am I going to do? What’s going to happen to her?” She tells me we can fight this. We will get lawyers. I say thank you thank you and I hug her.

I look up and my mother is on my sisters Porch. She is looking down on us with the most heartbroken look on her face.

And the crazy bitch says

“I just can’t believe Kimberly is who you’d call if you got upset. I guess this is what I get. My daughters don’t need me.”

Now folks, I may like Human Puppy Dogs, I might like dressing up in latex and tipping ashes in a willing subs mouth, I might like brushing a guys teeth and washing him in the tub. But if I were truly crazy, I would have acted upon my instinct to go up on that porch and punch my mother square in her 300,000 dollar face.

But instead I say, “Aw mom, Kims was the closest place to go”

BUTTER written in my 1995 journal

THERE ARE HUNDREDS IF NOT THOUSANDS OF POEMS WRITTEN IN PRISON WHERE I HAD WAY TOO MUCH TIME TO THINK. THEY’LL COME OUT AS THE NEED ARISES

 BUTTER 

There is butter in the stereo speakers from where you threw a tantrum Mama and I don’t know how to get it out.

You have left me here in the living room with broken plates, stinky garbage, and a torn dress

And I can only think about the Butter

You told me to have it all cleaned up by the time you get back.

Where are you going Mama? Please don’t leave me here alone.

There are so many holes so small, I cant get the butter out of all these holes and I’m scared

I’m scared here all alone and I’m scared you’ll get back before I can get up and get started

My arms and my back burn so much

Maybe I’ll lay here a little minute more and listen to the Bee Gees sing How Deep Is Your Love through the Butter Speaker

His voice is so sweet but I really need to get that butter and then I’ll find a box to put the dishes in

Daddy will buy me a new dress

And we will go to that Furniture Store you like and get you a new couch and you will be so happy

I’m sorry I was bad

Why were you mad at the couch Mama

It smells like smoke and puppy dog and I like to put my feet under the cushions when you’re not looking

But right now I need to think about that Butter

I cant seem to get up

As soon as I can I think I’ll try to lick it clean

How Porn Can Destroy Innocence

I imagine I’ll loose half my followers in this post. When I decided to write a blog it was to write my story. I will not sugar coat things and I will not do anything to make myself look like a saint because I’ve been the opposite. This subject is a focal point in my childhood and there may be people out there who had the same issues but are too scared to talk about it. It’s totally cool. I’ll be the scapegoat. These things need to be said because there are warning signs that just possibly could save your child from becoming a monster. Put the dirty books and DVD’s in a lockbox people. Your kids are finding them and looking!

In the 70’s children were to be seen but not heard. I was good with that. If I was very quiet in a corner somewhere the adults would forget I was in the room and they would go about their conversations and pot smoking and record playing as if I were not really there at all. This was a very powerful feeling. I could listen in to all of the grown up secrets right there in plain sight. I could hear who was screwing over who when my mother got on the phone as I hid behind the towering stereo speakers that were so popular then.  I knew way too much for a elementary aged child, but I didn’t understand what it was I was hearing. I knew things that got me into trouble when I would decide to join the world for playtime. I didn’t go seeking it though, it would come seeking me. And when it found me I blew that neighborhood out of the water.

Little girls would come to my house and ask if I could come play. I would hide so my mother would not make me go. She’d feel sorry for the kids and shove me out the door. While out there among them I was a stranger in a strange land. I had a difficult time playing childish games. I liked to ride bikes, to skate, to play basketball or jumprope, but I was never good at just sitting on the sidewalk with the gang and shooting the shit. I’d inevitably repeat something I’d heard my parents say and someone would go home and tell their mother. The neighborhood kids wouldn’t be allowed over to my house for a few days but by weeks end someone would wind up at my door again, crying because I would not go out to play. I would lie and say someone was already in my room and that my mom didnt want more than one child over at a time. My not wanting them made them so want me. Not much has changed.

I was a perverse little thing and there is no damn good excuse for it. I wish there were. I wish there was a big human drooly monster in my closet I could point a finger at and say it’s his fault. But I was not molested.  In the end it came down to the fact my grandmother taught me to read before I was 5 and by the time I was 8 I was reading hustler.

While my parents argued in the next room I decided to hide.  That day it was under their bed. Low and behold there was an awesome magazine with a bunny on it. But wait. How weird! The bunny is on a cross! I open it up and …nothing. There were naked women making stupid faces. I didnt feel bad looking at it. I didnt feel like I needed to hide the fact I was looking at it. I didn’t know it was supposedly wrong. I found out it was wrong when my mother walked in and caught me looking at it and beat me with the magazine, then went and screamed at my dad for not keeping his dirty books hid better.

The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross
The dawning of my sexual self began with the Easter Bunny on a Cross

If you are so much as two years younger than me you would not understand how it was to be 8 and that innocent. Television back then was so innocent. There were not even tampon commercials. When I would repeat things to neighborhood kids that got me in trouble my mom just whipped me, but she didnt tell me what exactly was wrong. The moment my mother freaked out on me for looking at that book a monster was born. All of a sudden the puzzle pieces came together and I realized THIS was screwing, THIS is what freaked the kids out. I was not sure what was happening here but I knew I’d NEVER gotten mom’s FULL attention in such a manner. I realized now EXACTLY what my words to those kids meant. My dad’s embarrassed reaction by barely being able to look me in the eye made me feel so powerful I knew I had to have more of what those dirty books contained. And thus my porn and sex addiction began.

Apparently my dad was a porn addict because there were Hustlers and Penthouse hidden all over the house. I was home alone all the time, dad worked all the time and mom was running the roads. The minute she walked out that door the search was on. I always found what I was looking for and there was always new material to look at. I felt no sexual thrill at all. Instead it felt as though I were gaining ammunition, or that I was gathering information that made me powerful.

At about 10 years old I started befriending some of the kids who would come over to ask me to play and I let them in on my little secret. I showed them the books. They were horrified, yet fascinated, and my possession of these adult things made me the holder of the golden goose. . They were putty in my hands. I decided it would be great fun if we took our clothes off and pose like the models in the magazines. We would do that, feeling very powerful and grown up. I was ALWAYS the man. Mom came home one day and caught us and beat me sensless, sending the little girl crying out of the house. I’d be furious during those beatings, but take them silently. I never felt shame nor did I feel guilt. Perhaps if I’d felt a sexual spark during these encounters I may have felt shame, but it was all a game. A game that made me feel like the ruler of the neighborhood. Everyone wanted to play with me but no one talked about what they’d do over there. The one who was allowed in my house that day was the winner, but what they thought they’d won I don’t understand because I would torment the shit out of them. The fact that they even came back for more disgusted me and made me determined to amp it up a notch each time.

I became more bold as months went by. I’d read so many of my dad’s penthouse forums apparently it had corrupted my young mind. I had a girl take her clothes off and tied her to my desk leg with a shoe string. Then I got dressed and just left her there and went to the kitchen. I could hear her screaming and crying and I was just laughing my ass off. I got ketchup and mustard and poured it all over her, I poked her with my baton saying something like “but you love to play with me and it’s my turn to decide what we play. You’re a dog and you made a mess on the floor and you have to be tied up” I remember telling her she was always crying at my door wanting in and this is what happens when you come in. I made her promise to leave me alone and never come back. She promised! I wanted to let her go but I’d tied the knots tight and her pulling made it worse so mom came home and found me there with a naked girl tied to my desk and ketchup and mustard all in the cream-colored carpet. I got beat with a vacuum cleaner so badly mom sent her best friend in to make sure I was still breathing. I could hear her screaming on the phone that she thought she’d killed me. I was not dead. I just layed there with my eyes closed and let her hit me with that vacuum vowing that no matter what she did, I was going to keep doing what I was doing. I did not care.

It had been about a year since I’d acted out because mom wouldnt allow kids over anymore. So instead I was over at someone’s house and they wanted to play house.  There were three of us and I was voted the baby, which I was mad about. I was always the daddy. Not fair! So when she went to change me “into my pajamas” for naptime, I peed all over her. The thrill at the horror across her face was classic. That thrill was soon replaced with shame and fear because she jumped up and ran to tell her teenage sister, who locked me in the bathroom to wait until the parents got home. I remember taking everything out from under the cabinet and putting it in the tub and hiding under the cabinet. But they found me, of course. I dont remember what happened after that. For some reason my memory of those insane times just vanishes after that moment.

My next memory involving sex or relationship is when I was 12. I played with the boy across the street because the girls were no longer allowed to play with me but none of the girls would tell the others what I’d done for their parents to have me off limits. Me and Jeremy (lots of jeremys in my life) were best friends. He was a year older than me and he just seemed to get me in a way the girls didnt. He didnt care that I didnt talk. He did all the talking. We biked, we went to the school playground, we went to the junkyard. And one day on his swingset he bent over and kissed me, and I punched him square in the face and knocked him off the swing. I was furious! But I didnt know why! I ran home crying my eyes out and refused to ever play with him again. I was so upset, because he’d taken my power away in that one kiss.  I liked him and was so mad that he’d ruined everything by liking me “like that”. After school I’d want to go over so bad but would not even look his way. He sent me letters through other kids telling me he wanted to go with me. I liked him and didn’t want to. I had weird butterflies down there when I thought about him kissing me and that made me want to punch him more. Boys ruin everything.

When I turned 13 my parents moved to another city and then the year after that they divorced and we moved to the country. I was a punk rock girl in a hick hillbilly school and got the hell beat out of me all the time for my smart ass remarks and anti social attitude. It was in high school that I met the love of my life. I was walking through the halls with my head down so as to not make eye contact with anyone and I heard from way up high “Hey blondie, nice leather” I looked up into the most beautiful slanted black eyes I’d ever seen. All my reserve went right out the window. He was the most amazing thing I’d ever laid eyes on, with a tall black mohawk and eyeliner on his already slanted eyes, piercings everywhere and the thickest juiciest lips. I’d never punch this one for kissing me, I knew that immediately. He said “What’s up, I’m Ed”  and just like that, I was his. Still, to this day, I am still his. He’s dead though, so there’s that.

Wrapping up I want to state that later in my 20’s I realized how horrible I was to those poor kids. Someone should have reported me. Maybe they did. Things like this just were not investigated back then. It was embarrassing so it was not talked about. And all the beatings my mom gave me just made the situation much worse and psychological than it needed to be because no one bothered to find out what was wrong with me.

Everyone will feel better knowing that in my years of Prison I received weekly psychotherapy and counseling. I revealed my childhood acts to my counselors who helped me realize why I did what I did, why it was wrong, and investigate things about myself that would make me act the way I did. It all revolved around power. The need for it, the addiction to it, and the desire to maintain it no matter the cost. It directly related to the violent fight my parents were in, and my mother walking in on me looking at a dirty magazine and the fight stopping immediately because I had done something so intense it trumped the fight.

I hope those girls can forgive me for being so cruel. I was the same age as them but I still was more mature and should not have done what I did. I would venture to suggest to them that they look into why they were willing to do whatever it took just to get me to play with them. What was going on with them at home or in their heads that they wanted so badly to be with someone who refused to open the door to them and once I did, allowed me to do whatever I wanted to do just so they could stay in my presence.

Despite all the years of therapy one thing has not changed, if you sit crying outside my proverbial door, and irritate me to the point that I open up and let you in, it’s my game, my rules, and you will be punished for being so weak as to need a monster like me.

Wanna Play?

DANCING NAKED WITH A RED BEAN BUN…AND WHY ILL PROBABLY ALWAYS BE SINGLE

This should have been broke down into like 3 blogs but it just flowed out so fast, so take it like it is. LOL

I love Red Bean Buns almost as much as I love living alone.

I had an epiphany this morning as I caught myself dancing naked in the kitchen at 5 am SINGING “I saw the sign” holding up a plate of three little red bean buns in my hand. I’d just crawled out of bed, the dogs woke me up to let them out to pee. Habitually when I wake up every day I drag naked ass to the kitchen to put on the tea kettle and the rice cooker.

I don’t let myself think about those buns in the freezer for the most part. They can be expensive to be so little. I reserve them for a day that I honestly know I wont eat enough rice to waste cooking it. I have myself on a budget of no more than 350 dollars TOTAL for all groceries a month. That includes feeding my son as often as he comes by with his to go bowl and making about 8lbs Kimchi a month. OMG I’m always digressing. Sorry…

I put on the kettle, ran and let the dogs out before their insanely annoying barking pisses the neighbor off and he starts playing that music that has Nigga literally every fourth word, and I bounced happily back to the kitchen to start my kitchen piddling. I don’t even own dogs, but I’m always keeping one or two here for someone. I’m usually paid for it but it doesn’t cover the pain in my ass. Who the fuck wants to be up at 5 am on a vacation day. Ugh! I am angry at the dogs for waking me up three hours after I had laid down, but I decide to give them crisp pork skin that had browned up on the side of the slow cooker. I give them the little treat and go back to the kitchen. Their waking me up has given me an excuse to make RED BEAN BUNS. Da Da DAAAAAA!  I don’t want to wash rice and cook too much food. It’s my last day to recover before having to go back to work tomorrow.

The way I live breaks my mother’s heart. No one but my sister would get the gravity of that statement. Not much penetrates through the fog of my mother’s conscienceless to attempt to bother her. My sister just doesn’t visit because there’s not enough room for all of her children to stand or sit. The few clients uppity enough to have the balls to say something asked “WHY on God’s earth are you living HERE?” In three years I went from having TWO homes, a commercial location for my business, 12 acres with a lake and a two-story 5 bedroom home with a finished basement, a library, a game room complete with pool table and foosball. Dirt Bike and Horseback Riding Trail. Shall I go on? I worked from 7 am to about 7pm 7 days a week grooming and doing occasional Domina work until I would have a nervous breakdown, cancel my entire week and take my daughter off and spend thousands of dollars on her trying to make up for the fact that I am never available to just sit and listen to her one on one. I raised my children well in the end. They’ve had everything and they’ve had nothing and they, like I, realized that material possessions can blind us. The boys live frugally like I do and use their money to have enriching experiences instead of buying happiness.

Through Reiki I learned that having everything I could ever want gave me nothing.

My Reiki Master actually taught me nothing about how to live or what to do. He taught me Reiki, no more no less. Once you are attuned to Reiki, what your higher self needs to experience existence at its fullest will manifest itself into your life and you can accept it or reject it. It depends on how brave you are to take on yourself and the worlds perception of you. My best friend’s son-in-law did a Reiki treatment on my daughter at a pool party. She’d fractured it at school and it was bothering her. I wont bother to go too deeply into Reiki  in this post. I rarely cast my pearls before swine. Those of you who feel a spark by reading the words” Reiki changed my life”  can Wikipedia it and follow the yellow brick road, because that’s exactly what I did.

My life changed the day I was first attuned but it took about a month for the shit to hit the fan in order for my life to change the way I needed it to. This is called “The Healing Crisis”. I woke up one day, looked at the man I’d lived with for 6 years but never slept with and didn’t love, and said “I”m leaving” There wasn’t much he could do. I’d told him from day one I couldn’t love him. He lost his job and just never bothered to get another one because I made so much money. I didn’t respect him, I didn’t need all this stuff anymore, so I drove away in a small uhaul and gave it all to him. My daughter missed her motorcycle but that’s it. She had me.  All of a sudden all this material stuff became visible to me for what it was. A distraction from living. I’d lived out of a locker with no possessions for 9 years in Prison. When I got out I was hell-bent to buy happiness. If I wanted something by God I worked and bought it. That’s how it should be. I just wanted stuff more than I wanted self. My kids experienced an obsessively clean mother who came home from work and yelled a lot because I was trying to pack parenting into 3 hours before bed. I am so thankful they forgive me. We have the best relationship now, all three of us, in very unique ways. They are all so spiritual and intelligent. Now this is just me. I don’t care who you are or what you own or where you go and how you pad yourself from this existence to make it pleasurable. Do it dude. I like hanging out naked alone in a concrete block wall studio apartment burning incense and dancing naked in the kitchen because it’s red bean bun day.

It’s not all about being naked in the kitchen, I enjoy other things!

I love making Kimchi and cooking, writing, meditating, reading, drawing, walking around the streets with my boarding dogs, laughing at the looks on the people’s faces because I’m the only white woman in this neighborhood. I love grooming in whatever I feel like wearing that day because there’s no one to care, if I’m hot I’ll just groom with shorts and an apron and THATS ALL. My son keeps my car because unless I am driving to do the weekly mobile pet pick up or my once a month grocery shopping, I don’t go anywhere. Playing the occasional X box game with my kid, and being immediately available to them should they want to be here with me is important to me.  EXPERIENCING their energetic coming and going and LISTENING whenever they have anything to say is a gift. My youngest son and I watched the Spirit Science video series together and it was a beautiful experience. I literally only have $1,100. In living expenses before groceries, gas, cigarettes, sake, incense, and laundry. I easily spend under 1500 a month. Pure Bliss. I can fracture ribs and take a week off work and not worry about bills. I just ate leftover soup, rice, and Kimchi all week. How could I expect anyone to put up with that? People are such fucking cry babies. Last week a former submissive of mine was in town and wanted to visit with me. I warned her like 100 times that I am a different person from the one she last spent time with . She didn’t take me seriously I guess.  She literally ate NOTHING and drank only water the entire 24 hours she was here. She gagged every time I opened my Kimchi lock and lock container. She brought a bag for a week and left the next day starving to death and bored out of her mind. Bye Now! C U LTR. ROFLMAO People. I tell you. (Love you honey! We’ll work on that weak stomach of yours)

My three kids (25, 23, and 14) are my best friends.  My only real friends. The only ones I welcome wholeheartedly into my sacred space. My non blood related friends have slowly fallen by the wayside. When one no longer makes 400 dollars a day it is surprising how people suddenly have so much to do and are too busy to be bothered. I read who is dying and having a baby on Facebook. I couldn’t be happier for them. No, really. I don’t want anyone here anyway until I meet mister right, which is a long shot. I don’t like speaking that often. I find it difficult to take words from my mind and have them exit my mouth. I guess I’ve worked with dogs too much or I’ve meditated too much. My friends and sex partners when I have one get uncomfortable with my silences. When I am rambling like an idiot is one should worry. That means I am anxious around them, or I’ve crawled out of my hole and need to say everything very quickly because I want to get back home.

Sex and Marriage I have extremely strong sexual needs but can go months without it by meditating. When meditation isn’t working and I need a human, OK cupid and Fetlife did it for a while. I spent a little over a year with a very bad man trying to make it work because I needed so badly to have someone to take care of.  Turns out he was a drug addict so I, not liking to cast pearls before swine, up and left, leaving house and possessions behind. No regrets. After a few months of recovery I was so horny I resorted to online hookups.  I stopped all that serial dating back in September. I am so blissfully alone, and yet now I have had the desire to be married again. It is a shame I came to this realization at my age. I’m in no hurry to meet any particular person because it has to be the RIGHT one. I learned from the last relationship that just anyone who will have me is not deserving of me. The one I will into my existence will be recognized when I see him. .. or her.

I may be quite pretty for my age but I may be single forever. I just may never meet the right one because My standards are so hypocritically high in regards to education, intelligence, personal cleanliness, communication and vocabulary. He has to be a whiz AND put up with my weird sexual appetite AND give me Tantra AND accept that I sleep on the floor and eat fermented cabbage AND nothing I watch on television is in English. AND even though I’ve lost a ton of weight I have all this weird skin that doesn’t know where to go. I’m still one hot 43-year-old though, lol. Oh, and did I mention my colorful past? I bet he’d just love to introduce me to his family. Sigh. If I get caught up in something amazing like the book I’m into “The Subtle Body” I may go a week without cleaning or doing dishes or laundry. I would NEVER Do this if I had a husband to take care of, but I let things go when living alone.  Who would date me walking into this little messy cell of a house? When I was married and when my kids were home I kept a spotless house. Food was on the table like clockwork, clothes pressed, hung, bathrooms gleaming. I even did this for the man I did NOT love whom I lived with for 6 years. I’d work all day and still do laundry and clean. It’s in my nature. Who do I have to do that for now? I have better things to do since there is no one here but me to pamper. There are slaves lined up at the door wanting to clean for me. I once was totally willing but for some reason lately I am weird about letting people into my sacred space.

I expect an intelligent husband but am not secure in offering him the most intelligent wife. I have vast knowledge about concentrated subjects and zero knowledge about most things. LOL.  My once 140 IQ took a nosedive for some reason. The older I get the more I forget. I had quite a few head injuries in Prison, to put it mildly, so perhaps that’s it or perhaps it’s genetic. I quit school and ran away from home at 15 and started working at McDonald’s and got an apartment. I lived with Ed, my husband, there, until we got married and he went into the navy and I went home to moms. I was self-educated until I got locked up, where I got my GED and got into college when they still paid for that in GA. We actually were allowed to go to college provided we had proper security status. I majored in Physics in college and I’ve forgotten about 80% of it. So I have higher education and don’t even know much of the basics that Americans learn in high school. I learned what I needed to get by and studied what made me happy. I read a lot. I am an eternal scholar. I regret quitting school but I did what I had to do to survive childhood. So there’s that.

What do I have to offer someone? No one believes in or even desires traditional marriage with designated gender roles anymore. I may have a modern take on my sexuality but I am an old-fashioned traditionalist when it comes to marriage. To say all I have to offer a man is to be his housewife and sex slave (giggle, likely the other way around with the sex slave part)  is not offering much. But I have not given up hope. He will find me when the time is right. He will overlook the mess of this house and actually believe me when I tell him that I would never ever keep a marital home in this state of Candace Chaos. I will be God’s gift to him and he will know it. If it doesn’t happen, I’m actually cool with that…but I miss sex and hope he’s out there somewhere for God’s sake. LOL

Hookup sex just isn’t enough anymore. I used to pour through sex partners like tea in a Geisha house looking for someone on whom I can connect on a spiritual and energetic level while making love. I gave up, people. Fuck it. I just stopped dating. For some reason only guys in their 20’s ask me out. They only want one thing, and I wouldn’t marry a kid anyway. Xhamster and sites like that is probably why men don’t have it in them to desire to connect. I hope there is a man out there that is over 40, who meets all my requirements or at least most of them, and sees in me the diamond that I am. I was once coal, and now due to time and pressure I am a diamond. I will make an amazing wife if given someone deserving of my respect. I want to be married but when I do it this time it will be for life and I want and need someone whom I can respect enough to hand my life and body over to them with full trust. A dominatrix laying down her flogger for an apron is a powerful sacrifice, but one I am so willing and desire to take.

Until then, I have red bean buns, my computer, my kids, my wonderful messy little apartment, and grooming. I could have more. So much more. I could be financially where I was before in 6 months because I am good at grooming and I am a good actress and Domina work comes naturally to me. I don’t want all that. I choose to be here. I am happy, so in my 1,500 budget I can say I think I live larger than most because I am free.