I had a breathwork session with my good friend and colleague Michael Kass today. It was fucking awesome. I can not recommend this sort of thing enough. I laid on a table and breathed, deeply, for fifteen, twenty minutes while Michael guided me with questions. I found myself in a very distinct place. I was in a grove of giant redwoods with majestic boulders, and I was in a primitive squat between a tree and boulder with one hand on each giving a primal scream to awaken the ancestors. I was crying for help. Crying to remember WHO THE FUCK I AM.

I am connected to this earth, deeply, to the roots of these God-like trees and to these rocks- made of minerals and stone. Strong and powerful.  I felt good there. Vibrant.  I realized what a blessed and incredible and hilarious and tragic life I have had up until now and I was filled with this deep joy. That Life is so glorious, and there is so much to do and say and create and co-create- I am just beginning this new chapter that is thrilling. I feel untethered from any old ideology. I found my rebellious teenage side- it took the form of a Mars-like planet with swirling red and brown gas around it – swirling in my third chakra. My seat of power- it kept me ungrounded my whole life- because that was what saved me and helped me cope. But I don’t need it anymore- and at the exact moment that I was repeating the words that it was time for this energy to step aside some motorcycle or asphalt breaking muffler car took off from outside like a bat out of hell. It was like my Mars was James Dean and was getting the fuck out of dodge. We laughed so hard. I sat up clapping and smiling and laughing and feeling, no, believing THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME. THERE IS NOTHING TO FIX. I AM GOOD. I am okay. It is all okay. Every little bit, no matter what.

I would say it was a good session, for sure.

And I have officially become a hippy.


All I want to do all day is masturbate. Which is interesting.

I am bored of watching porn to get ‘er done. It is efficient, though.

Damn, I crave being touched. Wanted. Desired.

I saw a photo of Highland Park on Facebook today. He looked good. I cried.

I am still friendly with him and his wife, however. This past weekend he drove his truck with me in it to pick up a new trundle bed for my daughter, that I found on Craig’s list. Then he elected to stay and put it together for me. Who does that? When saying good-bye we ended up making out for like a hot minute. But then he walked away. I thought about sending a flirty text, but then thought, what is the use?

Let go.

There is an opportunity for some romance, though, and it’s not with Highland Park, but with someone, I was set up with a year ago. I went out on a date with him the month my Ex and I split up. It was too much too soon. He kissed me during dinner with a mouth full of salsa. I was not impressed. And although I did not refuse the kiss, I wish I had.

His timing sucked.

Plus the fact that I had a mouth full of salsa. I mean, come on, SALSA.

He liked me a lot. I could tell. And I did not reciprocate. At the time. I said I was not ready and we could be friends. Then I was not his friend. I knew this hurt him. I did not care.

I called him the other day, after a year of not speaking, out of the fucking blue, and blurted out “Hey, what do you know about Refuge Recovery?”

Here is the thing, I was sober when I met him. I am not sober now. And I wish I was. But I do not want to go back to AA, and he does not do AA but does Refuge Recovery, and I want to check out Refuge Recovery, and he is the only person I know who does Refuge Recovery, so….

He sounded surprised and said,”Wow. How about a “Hello, how are you?” He proceeded to tell me about the last time we spoke. Apparently, I said I did not want to be in contact. At all. I don’t remember that part. So I slowed down, asked him how he was, and could he please tell me about Refuge Recovery. He did. He also told me about a meditation retreat coming up with one of his teachers, based on recovery. I looked it up. I signed up. He is going too. This is getting more interesting. Then I spoke with my meditation teacher, and dear friend, who I know is friends with him, and she, in the vein of transparency told me she is having a polyamorous ‘casual dating” experience with him.

That made me like him more.

So now, even though I have poison oak on my eyelids and body, am considering going out, alone, late, to hear him play music at some small venue.

Am I out of my mind? I don’t even know if I like him.

But I want to be touched.

I miss my daughter. She is with her Dad. Who has a new girlfriend.

The other day he sent me a text meant for her. So that happened.

He apologized profusely.

I told him not to worry, that he was lucky it wasn’t a sext, although that would have been way more interesting for me.

He sent a laughing emoji back.

His text to his girlfriend that was sent to me read, “I am thinking about you.”

It was strange, to say the least, to read that message.

Time slowed down, my stomach did a somersault, I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.

I picked myself up and kept on going.

I feel invisible.

I don’t know what I am chasing right now.

I should be meditating.

I went to the show. We flirted watching the other performers. He asked me to give him a ride home, then he invited me in for tea, then to lay down next to him on his bed, then we started making out, and I said I did not want to have sex.

He asked, “What about just the tip?”

We had sex.


It is like high school all over again.


Oh man. I threw HP’s wife under the bus when I told him everything she said to me, about him being a jerk for making plans and breaking them last minute, and it has been plaguing me ever since. I feel shitty about it. Super shitty.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it this morning and about how he never responds, anymore, the way that I want him to. Then I ran into him in yoga. A year of knowing each other and we finally take a yoga class together. I was so grumpy when I saw him but after class decided to go get a smoothie with him and let er rip like I always do. I tell him everything that is on my mind. I don’t hold back. I am not sure if it is a self-defeating compulsion or radical honesty. Either way, as long as it only involves me and what I say, I am good. I hate gossiping. It’s ugly. I told him how worried I was that his wife was upset with me for telling him details she said to me in confidence. He assured me she was fine. That she harbored no ill will towards me. I had a feeling he was clueless, so I contacted her afterward and told her how sorry I was that I threw her under the bus. She told me she was initially very upset but was okay now. Which is “pisces speak” for “you are dead to me now.”

It’s fascinating to me how little I think these two authentically communicate with each other.

Before bed tonight, my little baby girl turned to me and said, “You are enough, mommy” My heart melted, and I kissed her teeth.

I can’t stop crying. The suffering is great. Alone. Lonely. But not. I know not to be. But, yet, the fear and pain are real. Feeling so much shame about drinking the other night. I was fine until I had that wine. At least I was at home. But then Jordan came over. My daughter was asleep in her bed. I was dizzy and threw up. I felt stupid. Amateur. What was he even doing here? What the fuck was I thinking? It’s over. It’s done. The shame is killing me, though. I had one beer tonight. Because of my stomach. It helped. I don’t want anymore. So that is good. I do want some relief from the obsessive shameful anxious thoughts, but I am not willing to numb them out anymore. The Zen Center was helpful today. It was. I can feel it in my bones. Community. Is what I am taking with me.

Community. Safety. Impermanence.

Redemption Meditation.

Redemptive Love.

I can forgive myself and love myself unconditionally in any moment. I can choose that. I have that right. I can do that.

I wonder about my old sober community, what did it mean to me? I felt community today, at the Zen Center. I feel it with The Center for Council. I feel it in Story Tribe. I am not so sure about Street Poets.

Being a single mom is scary. It is a whole new kind of alone.

I struggle at times when I know my ex-husband is with his new girlfriend, happy and falling in love. I remember that feeling. I remember it with him. I remember when he was kind to me. Courted me like no other. I saw tulips in his fridge. For her. I am sure. He used to buy me flowers too. Bill, one of my ex-boyfriends from almost twenty years ago, texted me last night and said I was his big love. The sexiest most beautiful woman he ever met. John, my boyfriend from when I was sixteen, said something similar. Another one, Mark, from college, said I was the “one that got away.” I find these confessionals to be supremely surprising and delusional, to be honest.  I don’t feel that way, about anyone from my past, I have no sense of a  “great love” that got away. In fact, Bill, John, and Mark were pretty shitty to me. Abusive, actually. You know who was kind? And who would have continued to be kind? Two. I can think of two in particular. Danny and Mike. Those two would have done anything for me. They would have loved me till the end of days. And I rejected them. I did. I was not attracted to kindness.

My heart hurts tonight. I am rocking in pain. The tears won’t stop. My eyelash glue is stinging my eyes. The price of beauty. I just want some peace. Some serenity. Some soothing. My mind to stop. Zen meditation. Redemptive love meditation. Adyashanti. I want to feel strong arms around me. I want to be held while I cry. I want a warm body. Jordan’s body did feel nice. Strong. Full. Manly. Even though he is not yet thirty. Oh well. I highly doubt I will hear from him again. And I really don’t care either way. I am so not into just some hook-up. I am beyond that. I want a spiritual relationship. I want communion. I want love. I want to be seen and heard for who I really am. Fuck! I guess that means I have to see and hear myself. For who I really am. I have to fucking LOVE MYSELF first. I hate that!! I feel so fake doing that. Or just saying it. But I lie. At the same time. I have had some pretty amazing moments lately where I have felt like a million bucks and so good about myself and being alone. Like a deep peace. I think what I am going through right now is a direct result of drinking too much Friday night. That shit fucks me up. But I really don’t want to be so black and white about it. I don’t want to go back to AA and spend the rest of my life talking about it. I really don’t want to do that. How can I not make that be the way? Why not use some form of accountability hypnosis?  I wonder if that could work. Tracks when I fuck up and when I don’/t and pay myself for having one beer tonight. I don’t feel bad about that. It helped my stomach. I really don’t like feeling buzzed. And it is fattening. So there isn’t that much that I find particularly enjoyable about drinking, but sometimes, relief does sound nice. A small respite from this BRAIN that I have that NEVER STOPS.  Maybe that is the edge. Maybe I am depressed because I took so much Klonopin to handle the anxiety? I am wondering how much better I was stone cold sober for over a decade? It just feels like the same shit but for a different reason. I want to get to the bottom of the shame/fear/anxiety tornado. It happens regardless.

Ugh. I love you, self.

You are so rad. Smart. Funny. Beautiful. Really. You give a shit. You try really hard. You are not perfect. But you are good. And you will not do anything bad. You will protect yourself and your daughter. I know you can do that. Start an accountability log. Start loving yourself.

If only it were that easy.


I received a Shamanic massage from a woman named Emma.  During our session, the sage she lit and repeatedly tried to put out refused to do just that and when we walked into her waiting room afterward, it was filled with smoke. That was a trip.

I ate a giant donut after yoga with my buddy, Jolie.

I had botox injected between my eyebrows by Gemma. So I wouldn’t look so angry and confused all of the time.


I had dinner with my sweetpea, darling daughter.

It’s been a good day.

I miss the abstraction of him, my ex-husband. Not him.Not really.

We ripped the bandaid off instead of slowly pulling.

I guess it is a better way to go.

One year ago, today, March 27th at 2pm- I asked my now Ex-Husband if he ever wanted to have sex with me again. He said no. I said, then this is no longer a marriage. He said okay and slipped out the door.

One whole fucking year.

And look at us now, driving together down to my family’s house for Easter, talking about his new relationship the entire way while our daughter sleeps peacefully in the back.



My Ex-Husband called me today and asked if we could change the schedule with our daughter on my birthday this Saturday. He wants to get her earlier because his new girlfriend is having a picnic at this park and he wants to introduce our daughter to her, his new girlfriend, and her daughter, on my birthday.

On my birthday.

I told him I was not comfortable with that. I had been looking forward to the day I planned with her for a long time now and did not want to change it at all.

I was also hurt that of all the days of the year, he had to pick THIS day.

I cried to him appealing to his sense of justice, he was punitive and threatening, telling me he never asks for anything and this one time…

I caved in.

I gave him what he wanted. Just like I always do.

Then he said his new girlfriend would be willing to meet me before Saturday if that helped.

Oh hell yes, I said. I want to meet this woman before she meets my child.

We met at a coffee shop. I was there early, like I always am, waiting. She showed up and immediately gave me a big warm hug. She has big brown eyes, long brown hair, and a kind face with a beautiful smile. She is charming and witty and lovely. I liked her right away.

I told her I was sad about the birthday thing. She totally understood and offered to have it another day. I love her. We spoke for two hours, almost. I like her better than I like him. I hope they work it out.

She said she had NO IDEA it was on my birthday and she totally UNDERSTOOD where I was coming from and they could easily reschedule the picnic, no problem!

I love her.

We spoke for two hours, almost.

I like her better than I like him.

I hope he doesn’t fuck this up.

But he will.

His Ex-girlfriend.

Will happen.

And I am sure this new girlfriend will wonder and worry about how she fits in between the two of them.

Just like I did.

Thank God I don’t have to deal with that situation anymore.


I am going Balls Deep with Adyashanti. Loving this consciousness shit. Non-duality. Awakening. Bits and pieces. Yesterday with the amazing Jessica Graham (meditation teacher, author, and all-around awesome human being) we did a meditation asking “Who am I? Or what am I? What is this? What is my purpose in all of this? ” And the answer that kept coming to me was to have fun! This is fun! Awakening is fun! Realizing what we are is a blast, a ride, super entertaining.

Levity and brevity.

Called for now.

I am moving from the Orphan archetype to the Wanderer calling on The Warrior!

(I am reading about the Hero Archetypes, obviously)

Hell yeah- realizing reality and letting go of illusion while still getting face peels, highlights and obsessing about my weight.

The struggle is real and it never ends.

What is the point of it all?


Come on.



I let my ex-husband really “have it” today. I felt so empowered after finding my “voice” in the Saharan Desert of my unconscious that I couldn’t stop the litany of honesty coming out of my mouth. It was on the phone. I told him every dark and ugly thought and feeling that I had about him, his new relationship, our marriage, all of it. I left nothing out.

I also told him there wasn’t a chance in hell that I would even be his friend after the way he treated me if it wasn’t for our daughter.

It felt amazing and liberating to be so honest when for years I had stuffed my voice deep into my gut.

He responded by telling me his narrative of the end of our marriage, and it differed so radically from mine that it made my head spin.

He doesn’t “remember” telling me he never wanted to have sex with me again. WTF?? That was a seminal moment in MY life, a moment that changed everything forever. And he doesn’t remember it?

I felt confused and bewildered. Memory is a tricky thing, for sure. But this…this feels like something else.

After our conversation, I ran a workshop with some high school students and made the wretched mistake of checking my email just before the end. My ex sent me a note saying that if that was how I felt, then he wanted to change the dynamics of our relationship and that no longer would we be entering into each other’s homes when we dropped off or picked up our daughter but that it would be curbside only, and we would speak of nothing not concerning her.

I felt nauseous and began to shake. I felt panic begin to settle in. It was hard to concentrate after that. I barely made it through. As soon as I could, I called him. He didn’t answer. I texted, please talk to me. He responded that he didn’t want to fight about it anymore. I said I did not want to fight either. Please talk to me. He called. I begged him, sobbing, to please be my friend again. I realized how much I still loved him and how much I missed the man that I met. Who changed the world for me. He made me feel so special. At least for those first three months. Until I was pregnant. And we were married. And then we had a baby. And he began to slowly drift farther and farther away from me and closer and closer to his exes. I have never known pain like this. I admitted so much. I was so vulnerable. I was face down smack down in the arena, bloodied as all hell. But I made it through. I survived. I am not dead.

He responded that yes, we could still be friends and nothing needed to change.

For my daughter, for our “family,” I know I did the right thing.

After we had hung up- I wanted a drink badly. I considered a bottle of wine. But then I heard Brene Brown saying how if I take the edge off of anything, I take the edge off of everything. And I want to feel joy. Real authentic mind-blowing joy. I know it is possible. It is around the corner.

Ernest Hemingway said to write hard about what hurts.

This hurts. Hard.

The fact that he is moving on and excited about a new woman in his life is ripping my heart out, and I just have to sit with it. Be uncomfortable and anguished and not do a damn thing.

This is like my second night of ayahuasca.
This is “When things fall apart”

This is life.

Suffering is not accepting what is and what is, is my suffering.

Accept and move on.