I have not written in awhile. It seemed the happenings of the world were way more important than my ramblings on polyamory, single motherdom, and post-alcoholism.

And the world has continued to spin on its axis around the Sun.

Yesterday was an inspiring victory for Native Americans and Mother Earth.

I rejoiced. Deeply.

And now I continue my story:

I felt empowered and awesome sending that email last night, breaking up with HP.  Then I woke up with email remorse. I texted him that I should have paused longer before sending it and I was sorry. There were things I regretted saying. And could he talk later? He could.

He is coming over to my house tomorrow at noon so we can get some clarity.


Maybe a café is better?

What do I want from this meeting? What do I hope to gain?

I want him to hear and see me, that I am frustrated, hurt, and angry at the way he treated me. All the times he canceled on me, last minute, with some lame excuse about his wife was NOT okay. Just because he is in an open marriage doesn’t mean he gets to treat me like that. And the only reason he thinks I am one of the  kindest and generous souls he has ever met is because I have swallowed my hurt time and time again, for fear of losing the crumbs he was giving me. This probably says more about me than him. But still. I never spoke up because I didn’t feel I had a voice in this polyamorous experiment. I don’t think it is supposed to be this way. Where the third person feels silent and invisible. At least not from all the books I read. But with these two, that is the role I assumed. Silent mistress. I can no longer make plans with him knowing there is a good fucking chance he will cancel last minute. That would be INSANE of me. In fact, it is insane RIGHT NOW that I am making a plan to see him tomorrow. I am also WAY too attracted to him to be just friends. I have too much of me invested in him for this to be platonic.

So, I did what I felt I had to do in the best way that I felt I knew how.
I ended it.
I felt good about it.
Then he replied.
And I died inside, a little.
But I got over it.
Then he emailed me again.
And then I crumbled.
And now I am back at square one.

He hooked and triggered and fucked my shit up.

And I let him.

I allowed it.

I did not have to respond.

I do not HAVE to see him tomorrow.

I can cancel.

I can change it to a phone call.

I can change the venue.

I can do nothing.

I am tired.


I think I am going to go and lay down.


We met at my house and I suggested we walk around the Self-Realization Fellowship Gardens and talk. He was wearing a pale blue sweater over a pale blue T-shirt.
Sometimes I feel so happy,
Sometimes I feel so sad.
Sometimes I feel so happy,
But mostly you just make me mad.
Baby, you just make me mad.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

Thought of you as my mountain top,
Thought of you as my peak.
Thought of you as everything,
I’ve had but couldn’t keep.
I’ve had but couldn’t keep.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

If I could make the world as pure and strange as what I see,
I’d put you in the mirror,
I put in front of me.
I put in front of me.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

Skip a life completely.
Stuff it in a cup.
She said, Money is like us in time,
It lies, but can’t stand up.
Down for you is up.”
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.

It was good what we did yesterday.
And I’d do it once again.
The fact that you are married,
Only proves, you’re my best friend.
But it’s truly, truly a sin.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
Linger on, your pale blue eyes.
-Velvet Underground

We sat on a bench amidst a beautiful serene lush garden in solitude, hidden behind the trees. I told him I was sorry for sending the first email, that he deserved more than that from me. I told him I was sorry for sending the angry email too. But that I was hurt, and I wanted him to know that. He told me he was really hurt and angry too. He didn’t like being portrayed as an uncaring jerk. We heard each other out, calmly and quietly and then we empathetically let the other one know we heard them and we understood and we were sorry. That is how we communicate. It is so fucking easy with him. We say what we feel, the other person acknowledges it, and either explains or apologizes and we move on.

I feel truly seen and heard with him. It truly sucks.

I was telling him about how the first night I fucked him in the backseat of his car, about what had happened prior. How my husband had just told me in detail all the things about me that turned him off and made him stop wanting to have sex with me and love me. And how as soon as that conversation was over I looked down and there was a text from HP, would I meet him in the parking lot? You fucking bet I would. And how I needed him so desperately to help me feel desired and wanted and sexy. And he did that. All of it and more. He turned me on and turned me up. He woke me up and showed me things I never knew about myself. Fantasies and desires and wants. I thanked him and told him- while he held me and I cried in his arms- about how much being with him meant to me and that although I knew it was time to let go and transition into a friendship- that I was really struggling with that part because I fell so hard for him and it hurt because I also felt like a guinea pig in his open marriage experiment and like they hadn’t worked out the kinks yet, when they met me. He said he could see how it would feel that way, them against me. We both know it’s time to just be friends. Sex is not a good idea anymore. For him either, he said. It’s too dangerous. Too slippery of a slope. It hurts him too.

I said I might need some time to be able to be just his friend but that I would let him know when I was ready. And that at some point, I would be ready for that.

But damn. When we hugged hello, there was electricity in my body. When we were talking and looking deep into each other’s eyes it was so hard not to touch him and curl up in his lap like a cat.


I dropped him off at his car. I didn’t want him to go, it felt too short. I wanted to hold onto those last moments but they felt like sand slipping through my fingers. He leaned in, and we kissed. A deep, long, kiss. It was like the first kiss in my car that first night. Electric. Real. Not imagined.

Not imagined at all.

He said he was sorry. He should not have kissed me like that.

I told him it was okay. I had wanted him to.

Then he whispered in my ear- Go get your kid.

And he got out of the car.

I tried not to look back or cry as I drove away.

I wrote him an email when I got home, and didn’t send it.

I want to connect so badly. But I won’t.

I need time. I need to give myself time. To heal. To connect to me.

To be alone.
Sober and Alone.

By choice.

And loving it.

He is not the one for me. LET GO.

A little red balloon floats upwards and into the clouds.


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