I Love you, too much.

I woke up wondering if I say “I love you” too much. Or if he finds that me licking the almond butter off of the knife before dipping it into the honey jar is repulsive. Or if there are any other myriad ways that I could be repelling Sean. Because honestly, there must be. Because I am repugnant and unlovable. Right? No. Not true. Says my lofty brain, but my paranoia, my fear, coming from the amygdala feels quite differently. Be on the lookout! Watch out! Danger ahead! Big feelings- not safe- warning sounds-alarms!

I had the most intense dream the other night that I was working on the set of this movie as a grip or wardrobe or something and suddenly the entire crew turned against me. They picked on me and lied about things I had never done. They wanted me fired. At one point, facing them all I broke down and started sobbing. I woke up sobbing in the middle of the night. I looked over at my darling little sweet angel daughter and thought about going into the living room to really let it out, but I didn’t. I lay there next to her, wishing I could crawl into the crook of Sean’s arm and be with her at the same time.

I use AND and JUST and THAT too much in my writing.

At least I recognize it.

My older brother is in rehab, again.

He is 47 years old and has been on the merry-go-round since he was 15.

It’s exhausting for me. I can only imagine how it must be for him.

He has not seemed SOBER to me for quite some time. Always shaky and spontaneously sweating. I stopped having him babysit Pony for that reason.

Then I found out he has not only been abusing his prescribed medication but has been buying and creating his own pharmaceutical cocktails including Adderall which is just another form of speed.

But who am I to judge?

Can’t throw stones when you live in a glass house.

I think I was killed by a mob in a past life. It explains my fear of groups. Especially large ones gathered in public spaces.

I am determined to not seek any information from any psychic sources outside of myself. I truly want to trust my heart, my mind, my intuition, my inner knowing, the senses of my body and the blessings of MY spirit.



My old one was November 23rd, 2004. I was sober for 10 years. I drank and used again for 18 months. My new sobriety date is January 28th, 2017.

How about them apples?

Me and AA. Reunited and it feels so good!

How did this happen? In my relapse, I was ADAMENT t that I would NEVER step foot in Alcoholics Anonymous again. Not with all their dogmatic Judeo-Christian white privileged patriarchal bullshit.

But I was wrong.

And I think Sean and his community of fellows had something to do with it. They wear their sobriety like I used to, when newly sober many years ago, with an ease and inclusivity I lost becoming rigid and fundamentalist. There is no “one way” there is only truth, and I see it in many ways. I remember going to the exact same meeting I am going to now, many moons ago, and the speaker said that there were as many ways to work that program as there were people in AA, and I almost threw my coffee at him and stormed off. WTF?? THERE WAS ONLY ONE WAY AND IT WAS IN THE FIRST 164 PAGES OF THE BOOK, DUMBASS. YOU are the reason AA is failing, you and your watered-down-middle-of-the-road-solutions. WAKE UP! It is a textbook, meant to be followed PRECISELY. Not left up to your interpretations and creative solutions. #BigBookAwakenings.

THAT is the exact kind of thinking that leads to a relapse.

Yesterday, I attended a shamanic journeying workshop. No ayahuasca involved. Just a group of creative interesting individuals being led by a drum into their subconscious. I had a profound vision of myself laying in the center of a grove of Sequoyah trees when their roots came out of the ground and swallowed me whole, dragging me deep into the earth. There, I heard, loud and clear, that I could not, would not, be able to do the work I needed to do in this lifetime if I continued to put substances in my body. I need to be AWAKE and PRESENT for all of it.

And that was it. No bartering, negotiating, wondering. I came back from the vision and have not had a craving nor mental obsession since.

Which feels super strange because I could not stop the mental obsession for the past 18 months, on my own. I wanted to. But I was powerless. The phenomenon of craving didn’t always develop when I put alcohol in my system, so that was confusing. I had no bottom like I did in 2004, where alcohol brought me to my knees physically, mentally, and spiritually. This was a slow burn and never reached those excruciating depths. But the mental obsession was in its own way, a prison I desperately wanted out of.


I am open-minded and curious about how this sobriety will develop.

It doesn’t feel like I am going backwards, like I have lost those 10 years of sobriety. It feels more like a spiral. That I am constantly moving onwards and upwards even if it doesn’t look or feel like it.



Spent the night with Sean last night. I love the sound of his name. Sean. I say it over and over in my head. I know, I am fucked.

But last night felt like a turning point. We had not seen each other in five days, and it felt like five hundred. I think part of the excruciating nature of it is that he lives so close to me, less than 3 miles, so not seeing him for that long but knowing how close he is feels somewhat torturous.

Regardless, we finally did see each other and it was out of this fucking world.

We made love immediately.

And if I was wondering if we really had any sexual chemistry, well, I am not wondering anymore. I think we are both really committed to trying a new way of being intimate which involves mindfulness and although I knew intellectually that could take time, I had no idea what it would begin to look and feel like.
It is mindblowing. I seriously suggest this strategy for everyone on the planet.

Sex with Sean felt deeply different last night. We were so fucking connected. Breathing the same. And both felt so radically present with each other with no set goal of achieving orgasm but just being in every single moment and seeing what that did. And it did AMAZING things! I felt waves of pleasure undulating through my body in ways I never could have imagined before. I don’t know if I had an orgasm- at least not in the traditional sense of the word- but I had many somethings that rocked my body, heart, and mind. And him too. We were like one person. I know how corny that sounds. But at one point, my head was pressing against his head, and while my body felt this relaxed pounding pleasure I closed my eyes and I felt like I went into the universe with him. I don’t know how else to explain it but I was out floating among the stars and I knew without a doubt that he was there with me. I was not alone.

It feels like he suddenly knows my body in the most intimate way.

We both said I Love You for the first time.

Afterward, we made dinner and snuggled on the couch watching a documentary.

Then we made love again.

And again.

Another incredible journey into a sensual world full of physical, mental, and emotional pleasure. I still don’t think he has had a traditional orgasm. But then again, neither have I. I just feel so fucking good with him, on so many levels.

It’s the kind of good that doesn’t come around very often. If ever.

In the morning we made love, twice.

To say that I am satiated, would be an understatement. I feel fully seen, felt, and adored. In every way.


Then I took my five-year-old daughter on the Woman’s March in Los Angeles. It was quite the adventure. We tried to take the trains but they were too full. So we took the bus, but by the time we got down there we had missed the march but made it to City Hall where all the marchers arrived about an hour later. I have never seen so many people in one spot in my life. We stayed on the periphery. Once we tried to enter into the eye of the storm and it proved too much for little P and I. I started crying when we left and as we were walking over a freeway pass all these cars were honking at us for marching and the amount of support, solidarity, and love was overwhelming. I felt a part of something so much bigger than I.

After we took the bus back my daughter had a playdate with her buddy and I went home to rest then run. Her playdate turned into a sleepover and I knew there was no chance I could see Sean as he had his son, but I let him know anyway. Torturous.

But he did invite me to attend the AA meeting with him tomorrow morning. And interestingly enough, I was just thinking how much I would love to have a beer tonight. But when I found out I could join him tomorrow, I decided not to.

I have been praying for God to show me the way.

This feels like some pretty clear path markers to me.

I still don’t know if I am committed to AA or not. But I am committed to Sean and going to the meeting with him tomorrow. That much I know. And because if that, I chose not to drink.

There is something there. Something powerful. Moving me in ways I do not expect.




Sean called me yesterday and told me that he could no longer see me after work because his son would be with him but that he wondered if I wanted to come over and have dinner with them? I ended up not having dinner with them, but the offer said so much. I cried all the way down to the workshop for Street Poets that I was running because I felt so vulnerable falling in love and putting the rape piece on Facebook. I didn’t speak to Sean when I was “in it” but after the workshop, where we unpacked vulnerability, I felt stronger and more resilient and able to tell him calmly and somewhat rationally what I had been feeling for the past 18 hours. He was sympathetic and sincere. Even told me I was “the best” for being so honest and real. That made me feel great. He is dropping by after his meeting tonight. I have Pony- but she will be asleep. I can’t wait to touch him. It’s the longest we’ve gone in 30 days and it feels long to me. I need to touch to feel connected. I really do.

Now I am considering not taking the street poets job and hanging out on a limb to see if I can get council and story tribe off the ground. I am terrified. I want to roll up into a little ball and weep. I want protection. Security. Stability. Support.

I graciously accept the infinite love of the universe.

God, please show me the way.

What would you have me be?

Where would you have me go?

What would you have me say, and to whom?




Spoke to my old AA sponsor today. About whether I was an alcoholic or not. If I should be sober or not. And the best thing she said was to stop thinking so much and to simply pray for God to Show Me the way. Keep it fucking simple. So I am. And did. And spent the day crying on and off. A piece I wrote about being raped was put up on facebook and for some reason- a lot of people from High School are reading it and it’s making me feel raw and vulnerable and kind of naked. AND I have reached out to Sean a lot today and although he has responded- he doesn’t feel as enthusiastic as me. And that is giving me pause and worry and concern. I am rehearsing scenarios in my head where I break up with him. I think I am trying to protect myself. Am I too needy? Argh. Most likely. But am I? Cool your jets, woman. It has only been barely a month, not even that. And I am freaking out because I was home all day with nothing to do and was in my head and self-obsessed and he was out in the world working and is with his son now and I am upset that he isn’t responding the way I want him to. Just relax. If this is meant to be, it will be. And if it isn’t, it won’t be. Tommy keeps sending me emails and texts about how fucking spiritual and evolved he is and how he gave so many people money who needed it this week and then received a 100 thousand dollar check in the mail! Oh, how the universe rewarded him for his generosity. Fucknut. I hate him right now. But what the fuck??? Breathe. Meditate. Move on. Finish story about India. Just fucking finish it already. Keep writing. Don’t be such a pussy. I’m scared about the march on Saturday. I am confused about alcoholism and AA and relationships and how to be an adult and a parent and creative and support myself and do what I love.


Tantrum. Throwing shit against the wall. I am so frustrated. Angry. Mad.

He’s all kinds of wonderful.

Smart. Funny. Witty. Sexy. Cute. Stylish. Creative. Artistic. And kind. A GOOD man.

And the sex is not what I want it to be.



I want to feel satiated and satisfied.

I want to be manhandled and handled with strong confident hands.

I want to feel fucked and tired from all the fucking.

Maybe he’s too “good”

Or maybe I am just too used to disconnected trauma sex and can’t tell the real thing when I see it? Feel it? Taste it? Lick it? Smell it?

THEN…he went to his mother’s memorial in Bishop last weekend and I wrote him a poem. He added to it. We have a playlist going. We made dinner together. We fall asleep peacefully. I reach for him in the night. He is the most nurturing man I have ever met. He makes me laugh. He uses big words that turn me on. He is a perfect example of attraction rather than promotion. I went to an AA meeting with him on Sunday morning. I did not say I was a newcomer. Not yet. I was not ready. Still not ready to share on a group level. But we went to breakfast afterward with some of the people from the meeting and that was really special to me. To have some fellowship. The connection and the camaraderie. Then I left for the Echo Park Wellness Fair where I got my hair braided and had a “soul card” reading. I asked my soul to tell me something I wasn’t hearing. The three cards I picked were Grace, Awake, and Energy. And with that first card Grace, a HUGE lightbulb went off in my head. That this whole time, I have been out drinking and not being sober in the world, completely terrible things did not happen NOT because I am NOT an alcoholic, but because I have been in some sort of Grace. I have this inkling that I can no longer argue with myself that I am loved, adored, and carried through this life in a truly remarkable way. Sean is my Eskimo. And my love. I am so incredibly grateful for him in my life at this time. I hope it lasts. I truly do.

Because…the sex is something else now too. It has transformed. I remember the exact moment that it did. I went over to his house at night. He grabbed me and kissed me passionately at the door, we quickly made it to his bedroom. Clothes off. I laid down. Naked above me, I looked at him in the soft light from the broken Ikea lamp by the bed, and not only was he incredibly handsome and sexy, but it suddenly occurred to me that I could trust this man. I could. I could let him in. He would not do what the others had done. Something was different about this one. As I sank into the down comforter beneath me and felt his weight descend upon me, a sense of knowing, and deep comfort swelled up and enveloped me in its warm embrace. I could relax. I did relax. I was safe.

And the sex was GOOD.


For our first date, he took me to see the light show at the Los Angeles Zoo. I held his hand the entire time. It felt warm and safe there. We ate dinner afterward and talked till late. When he dropped me off, we decided he would not come in. I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait. I really wanted to wait. And I also really did not. Historically, I have not been very good at waiting for things that I want. He got out of the car to give me a hug, after the hug, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. On the lips. At first. Then on my cheeks, my chin, my nose, my forehead. It was the sexiest, most tender, sensual, and sweet thing.

I swooned.

And I still did not invite him in.

The next night we watched a movie on my couch. Both of our kids were with our co-parents and we had this wondrous string of free nights that has not happened since.

It was like the universe was parting the seas of time and giving us a chance to fall in love.

And I think we did.

I told him I wanted to wait for four dates. So we did a lot of heavy petting and grinding on the couch like teenagers. I loved the way he kissed.

He is a sexy, sensual, smart, and funny guy with the best boyish manly style I have ever seen.

By our third date, I decided to consider our first meeting as a date, because technically we did walk in and out of the party together. I call that a date.

We finally had sex. On a rainy afternoon. First at his house, then we took his dogs for a walk. He has THREE BIG HAIRY DOGS. Then he met me back at my house and we had sex again before he went to his men’s stag meeting.

I am impressed that we not only had sex twice the first time but we also managed to walk his dogs and hit two separate locations. He is very smart and meditates. Spiritual. Has faith, in something. Makes me laugh. A lot. I feel super comfortable around him. Like I can be myself. He told me yesterday how much he loves how I talk and what I say. He makes me feel beautiful. And honored. And cherished.


Sex at first is awkward. Sometimes.

He is a good human being. A good man. I can tell. Honest. Passionate. Creative. Curious. Compassionate. Everything I want. Yet…he is not dangerous, or scary, or abusive in any way and I fear I miss trauma sex. I fear it is what excites me the most. And I pray that is not true. And I pray that it can change.

Because I don’t want to give up on this one.

SOMETHING is telling me to stay.