Saturday, October 29, 2016

Nimble fingers

When I had my nimble fingers they swooped across the keys the way my feet danced across the stage, no backspace, no typos, no second guessing. I told stories, the internet tried to ban me, we danced a round a bout that was like a tango of words. I was a branded woman and I loved every second of it. I came here sometimes two or three times a day to post whatever had popped into my head, was happening in my day, or some tale I had made up for thrills. There were projects that the internet, as a whole, participated in with me (you filthy people know who you are and I love every one of you) and a list of links that I suggested to GO and READ because you would be enriched, entertained, and they had nimble fingers too.

Pictures and music were ingrained into this space, it breathed with it. I had a post that if you pressed play and read along in time the song and pictures and words were timed to link up. (FIGHT!) That one took less time than you would have expected and more laughing than required. It's all backed up on discs going back to 2004. When I started this space as an idea given to me by a therapist as a way to journal out what was happening to me. My breakdown. So I could read back what was going on and learn from it. She really had no idea what she was suggesting to someone like me. Most people don't really know what they are getting into with someone like me, so I don't blame her. She couldn't know I would take "journal out your thoughts" and turn that into a photo shoot of paper cut out people and play-doh reenacting my ex-husbands horrible Christmas party where a drunk woman yelled "I fucked the drummer from Dokken!" I just did.

Now these nimble fingers feel so tame. I don't want to re-post that old material, merge those old files back into this space. I enjoy seeing those old stories of my kids growing up, but I am a completely different person in so many ways. The fundamentals of evil are still there, I have stories to tell that are all new, and I know girls who have yelled entirely different things. (Don't think I won't break out some sock puppets and glitter.) However I don't post nude photos anymore of myself, or anyone else. Of course I am still bisexual but I am monogamous and happy about that fact. (YES IT'S TRUE) Does this mean I can't be Too Dirty For Google anymore? Am I going through a re-branding? Do my guilty feet got no rhythm? Ok no. That went too far. Girls got rhythm.

I wonder if it's just going to take me a little time to get back into my groove of posting instead of fast and flying fingers and done, or will I work my way slowly through a post until I hit publish for that big O. Let's find out together.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Where is that guy keeping his ice cream?

Moving is hard. Moving across country is a cluster fuck. Generally people have some kind of laid out plan and go visit the area and set up a new place to rent and blah blah blah. That wasn't the option we had. We had a, it's time to go right now, oh and hey the area you were going to move to is a shit idea so change your idea to something better and guess what the time frame you had of a month just went to a week and you can't be in your house to pack except for certain hours and pick what you would like to try to save from your life because most of it has got to go AND only one of you has ever been to the area before. NOW RUN!

Yet we did it. We were technically homeless for a little while, but not, because we have amazing friends who took us in with warm hearts and homes and loved us and our bunny and gave us places to rest when we could while we ran and helped us with connections and we got a place really fast and things slid together in a time frame we never could have expected.

Then comes the problem of proving that we actually live here to the State, which has been harder then we expected, but we're working it out. Everything is in this holding pattern of working it out, and over the next few months will be completed but MONTHS feel LONG AS FUCK.

It feels like we have been here a long time, tho we haven't. It feels like at any moment we are going to wake up and be told that this is just a dream and we have to go back to the place that neither one of us want to refer to as home anymore, because it isn't. We might of lived there a long time, or one of us was born there, but it didn't FEEL like home. It felt like a war zone. And we fought, the stress of the things there and now is stress here. What if money doesn't come? What if it's all just a sham and we don't get to belong here because good things don't get to happen to people who try to escape where we came from? What if we're just going to have one too many fights over some stupid dinner plan or where we should park the car and everything falls apart?

Nearly everyone we know when we started our relationship has ended their long term relationships. That is scary as fuck. You never really know why those things happen. Maybe it was one fight too many about taking out the trash and that was just THE DAY it was ENOUGH. Moving and starting a whole life over, with your best friend, is FUCKING SCARY. Friends fight, married people fight. If you don't marry your best friend, why the hell did you marry them?

So you stay up too late, and you talk about the guy with the magic pocket full of ice cream sandwiches that should be melted thirty minutes into his shift, but aren't and HOW THE FUCK DID HE DO THAT? You laugh together, and know that this is why you got married in the first place. This good space,where you have this warm happy pocket of each others smell and skin and that feeling no one else has ever given you of safety and being complete and understood. Is that where his ice cream is kept? Is it like a magic pocket that would keep our marriage safe from stupid fights that are just stress related and will pass? Or does he just have a trick that he has to do before time runs out and if we don't learn that trick and we have one fight too many will our time run out too?

I believe in magic, I've tasted ice cream. I want the time.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Clicking your heels can find your hearts home

My dear space, my home and my heart. I have abandoned you for so long and left a piece of myself behind. Once cherished you have become my neglected self. Tattered bits that need to be touched up and polished, oh my blog you are my chipped nails. I still treat you like the middle child, using a pseudonym which once made me feel good but now makes me feel like I am hiding behind another layer. Kitty, Jessica, those are people of the past. How can I embrace you again and let go and be me if I still hide who I am to tell my stories?

Candy needs to take her space, make it comfy again and not be afraid who might find it, what they would think, or purge all my stories ever again.

This is the time for everything old to become new again, covered in glitter and not safe for the internet as a whole.

Short and sweet and just getting started, fall cleaning is underway and baby you are going to be beautiful.