I was cavalier in welcoming spring, such that I forgot to cover my heart chakra and look where it got me? My body fails me at the time my schedule cannot allow, and my heart tugs for someone equally busy and it is too soon for that kind of hope. 

I’m ready for an overhaul. I’m ready to leave these jobs that I’ve been experimenting with and to find one money maker that allows me to pursue my art in the meantime. I’m ready to let a few of these plates finish their spins and then pack them away in boxes. Good for me for saying yes, I will, and for staying open to the idea that other pursuits might be useful. I have tried it and now I know. The problem is whether I will remember I know as such the next time someone asks me to do whatever it is that is similar enough to what I’m doing now and hating; I am the number one culprit of “Maybe it will be better this time. Things are different now, after all.” I am a serial optimist, after all. 

Honey Jay seems to have disappeared. My other dancer, however, is interested in continuing our dalliances, and his suggestions of where we could go are enticing. The complication is that a new gentleman has entered the picture and I don’t know what to do. Let’s call him Gorgeous Gentle Giant or GGG (and for those of you who know Dan Savage, you will understand how else that acronym could be applied and I will happily tell you that he embodies that too) and guess what! He may or may not be a reader of this blog. Meh. If integrity is to be desired, then I suppose the secret sexcapades blog may be a good thing for him, or future honeys, to stay abreast of if so interested.

I hadn’t thought I’d be so ready to jump back on the relationship wagon, but I think that checking in with my notch number and having to reflect on all those experiences has jolted me back into alignment of what I’m looking for. 
It’s never changed, for the record, because it always was kindness and affection from interesting and dynamic individuals, but I have been suppressing an integral component in my defensive and healing phase and that is devotion. I want to pour all of this affection I have here, brimming at the edge of my fingertips and my cherry lips, into someone else. Let it course through his veins, protecting him and invigorating him and fueling him to be the best possible person he can be. Let him caress me and kiss me and care for me in whatever way I need, enough but no more than that. Someone with whom to pack survival packs with for an epic romantic adventure to … I don’t care! The mountains, the valley, the Europe, the city, the family farm, the tundra, the bush. Come with me. Hold my hand. Help me up and I will kiss your eyelids as you fall asleep in my arms. 

In the meantime,
I’m struggling to breathe without a wheeze,
to maintain my aim when the weapons I’m being handed are made out of rubber,
to find that men are kind and not just looking for a naked grind.
To remember what I’m good at,
to distill out what is innocuous,
to render myself spent but not weary,
busy but not frantic,
and valued but not idolized. 

I’ve been pondering Self-Care v Motivation a lot lately, most recently as I dragged a razor blade against shins for the first time in weeks. Do I shave for me or for the idea of him later? The answer is both, and then of course the feminist in me asks is that okay? And you know something? I think the answer is yes and here is why:
I already know he finds me beautiful and desirable with healthy active hair follicles. 
While I enjoy the phenomenon of being smooth, trim, and together, frequently there are other items that take precedence like sleep, work, Lionel Vincent, Ron Swanson, or Baby Beluga. But the anticipation of being touched, with skin as soft as a baby’s, is exciting and I am happy (especially in this sluggish snotty slump I’m in) to indulge in self-care, especially if I know it will add an extra oomph to my delight in being delighted in. It gets to happen for me because it could be for him because I would like to be in such a way should he decide to shuffle his stuff to be in my life. And even if he doesn’t, I’m still one sexy beast. So there. 

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