My daughter, Pony,  and I decorated our little  mini Christmas tree today. It was strange. It is our first time doing this, alone, and for such a small sad little tree. But not really. It’s okay. No big whup. Whatever.

Sad and scared. Sad and scared. Sad and scared.

Om shakti om

Focus on the heartbeat

Can I kiss you?

Highland Park and his wife  invited me to their Christmas party. I am planning on stopping by after a wedding I am going to downtown earlier that evening.

I have so many expectations and fantasies about going to their party that I am sure to be sorely disappointed.

I love you, Money. I love you, Story Tribe. I love you, me.

But the real question is, do I love Portland???

I opened the book Mirror of Intimacy and the page was titled- Loneliness.

“The worst loneliness is not to be comfortable with yourself” -Mark Twain

Don’t I fucking know it.

“When loneliness is a constant state of being, it harkens back to a childhood wherein neglect and abandonment were the landscape of life.


Did I already read this? Write about this? A little too close to home. I know I rely on others to feed this dark pit in my soul, that is why I took fucking ayahuasca, because I wanted to be healed of this interminable loneliness.

Let’s move on- shall we?

New topic:


I stopped waxing months ago. I have not had sex with anyone since Highland Park and that was the at end of July- right around my daughter’s fourth birthday. I will never forget what I was doing in the early mornings of that. Never again. Unless, of course, it happens again. It was so hot. With Highland Park.

Am I letting myself go?? I have trimmed. Barely. Shaved, not at all. I still pluck, but that is more of an OCD thing than anything else. I find it soothing to dig out ingrown hairs until I am a bloody mess. It’s gross, I know. But there is nothing I can do about it.

Believe me, I have tried.

I spent thousands of dollars I did not have on credit cards I had no business getting when my ex and I split up- all in the vain attempt to look more “attractive” to the opposite sex.

Now, I don’t give a shit. I still want to look cute and I like being thin, but the obsession to be perfect has left me. Thankfully. It is an ominous cross to bear. Perfection. It keeps me from being me. From being real. I think it is a good sign if I am starting to not give a fuck. Waxing is super expensive and fucking painful anyways. If someone is going to love me, they are going to have to love a hairy bush.

Saying that, I will most likely get waxed before their Christmas party.

I’ll just charge it.

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