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Aftermath and Myths

The holiday aftermath: the bags were a hit. Bryony hasn’t put hers down since Christmas day, although she has removed the drawstring and the gods only know where it is now. If I’d known it was going to vanish that quickly, I probably wouldn’t have spent the time making a crocheted cord for the thing, just slipped a plain old piece of yarn through the holes…or not made any holes at all!! Ah, well…they loved them, and that’s all that matters to me.

Bryony turned seven this week as well, and, unfortunately, their dad was just starting on bronchitis (yes, for once, it wasn’t me!). Unfortunately for him, she refused to be patient and wait for us to celebrate her birthday in January, and dragged us all to Chuck E. Cheese that evening. The PIP was less than thrilled, as he felt like utter crap and was forced to endure the noise and the tons of people when all he really wanted was to crawl into bed and be left alone. I honestly couldn’t blame him: I had bronchitis earlier this year, and if he feels anything like I did, she’s very lucky he felt obligated to go out with her on her birthday! For both of us, it started with a headache that was unbelievable in its intensity for not being a migraine. I swear that was almost worse than the nearly incessant coughing! But he went, which didn’t help matters later on…he’s been awake for the better part of two days now, due to the coughing that gets worse at night. Because he’s got sleep apnea anytime he catches anything that settles in his chest, we’re back to sharing the bed so I can poke him, which has the result of starting him breathing again. That being the case, I’ve also been up since he’s been sick, and catching a few winks here and there during the day.

Her birthday is really difficult to deal with, falling as it does in the middle of the holiday season. There’s no point in throwing a party for her anytime between Christmas and New Year’s, because A. no one will come, and B. no one who has children has any money left to buy birthday gifts for someone else’s kid at that time! So every year, we plan for doing something in January, and every year, she naysays us, insisting on doing everything on that day. It doesn’t feel right, she says, to do it later. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but because he wasn’t feeling well, it was this time, and even though we explained to her that dad was sick–he was feverish, coughing, the whole nine yards–she threw a temper tantrum. My response would have been to put her in her room and do nothing at all, but the PIP felt that he would rather give in and do it her way despite the tantrum this time. He’s gonna regret that next year, I’m sure.

As to the mythical portion of the post title, that came out of something that has always amused me: legendary, so-called monsters that in ancient times always inspired fear, such as dragons and gryphons, have become symbols of other things now. Honor, loyalty, strength, you name it, usually good things. How did they make the metamorphosis? For instance, my high school mascot was the dragon, and all of us who graduated from that school still refer to ourselves as Dragons. I often wonder how one balances a belief that dragons are honorable creatures with the belief in St. George, the ultimate dragonslayer. It’s never been a problem for me; I’ve always been on the dragon’s side!!! But how did a creature who once upon a time was known as a man-eating monster and destroyer of whole villages become a symbol of anything good? Of course, me being myself, I’ve also always wondered how much of their existence is fact or fancy? I’ve seen ancient depictions of dragons from different countries that looked the same, or so close as to make no difference, yet at the time there was no reason to believe that the peoples from those countries had crossed each other’s paths. So what does that mean for their existence? Was it actually a dragon, or a leftover dinosaur, maybe a pterodactyl or something like it? But the pictures in question look nothing like what I’ve been taught to see as a pterodactyl at all. Then again, no one has ever found a skeleton of a dragon, either, at least not provably so. So what does all this mean?

Well, I’m a romantic, I’m Wiccan, and I love fantasy, so I prefer to believe that all those fantastic creatures did exist, and that maybe they still do, just on a different plane than we do. Or maybe no skeletons have been found because dragons are truly immortal, and they’re in hibernation somewhere near the core of the earth where we can’t get to them. Sounds like a great story, right?

And maybe I’m crazy, but I feel that making the choice not to believe is to deliberately remove the magic from life. And where’s the fun in that? Fantasizing about the actual existence of dragons, unicorns, and gryphons (oh, my) is a lot more fun than some fantasies, and lets me hold onto a bit of childhood, which will keep me younger at heart than those who don’t! Just my opinion.

Speaking of dragons, I’ll be taking my little guys into the tent in a little while. Progress is being made, a tiny bit at a time, at least as far as the cage goes. Mnementh will actively approach the cage sides and climb them to meet me eye-to-eye and beg for treats that he will take from my hand. Canth and Ruth are starting to approach, but a good deal more slowly, and will snatch their treats and run for it. Last night, Ruth took his treat to the hammock, and I slowly reached in to pet him. He leaned away from my hand and headed for the hills after one stroke, but he didn’t crab and didn’t try to bite, so I’m going to take that as a step in the right direction. Slow and steady, and all that.

Well, I’m off to see how the PIP is doing and then set up the tent. Wish me luck!


At Last

The completed bag

The completed bag

At 4:00 am on Christmas Eve morning, I have finally, finally, finally completed Bryony’s bag. She will have it in time. Apparently I work well under pressure. Who knew?!

It isn’t perfect. There are a few things I would do differently on another bag. Thankfully I wanted it to be slouchy, because I chose the wrong yarn if I wanted the bag to stand up on its own. That is not happening. The yarn I used was Lane Borgosesia Oceano, and it’s a sport weight viscose/cotton blend. Lots of drape and very shiny, just all around gorgeous yarn. I think it’s been discontinued. I bought it…hmm, I’m going to say a couple of years ago, at the Yarn Outlet here, which means if it was discontinued, I might possibly have a shot at finding it there–and only there–but there’s an equal chance that it’s just gone forever.

Being pressed for time, unlike Aneira’s bag, the strap on Bryony’s was double crocheted. Aneira’s strap was single crocheted, and it took longer to do than I expected. Since I’d had to rip out so much of Bryony’s, I didn’t have that kind of time to single crochet the entire strap again. Double crochet looks more lacy, but the thing is finished. I hope she likes it.

Wave pattern

Wave pattern

Even though I had a time crunch going on, I took a break for a little while today and learned another crochet pattern from YouTube. It’s a 3D crocheted braid, which intrigued me, and it’s a very pretty pattern, but for some reason it wasn’t clicking in my brain for

awhile. Now that it has, I can do it from memory. I have no earthly idea what I’d use the pattern for, but the lady who made the tutorial, Sheruknitting–no idea of actual name–said in the video that it would later be used for a larger project. I’ll have to find said project.

I think learning the pattern was so complicated for me because I’m used to crocheting in 2D, rather than 3D. The braid has to be twisted a certain way in order to look right, and to figure out where your hook is going next. I frogged it several times before the light dawned in my brain.

Well, I’ve got a ton of things to do tomorrow…today…so I’d better get off this computer and get to sleep!!

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Just About Over

Bryony's bag...nearly there!!!

Bryony’s bag…nearly there!!!

YES!!!!! The worst part of Bryony’s bag–the body–is finally done!!! I’m working on the drawstring cord and the shoulder strap now, both of which are easy. And once I’m done, it may be a very long time before I attempt a bag of my own. Okay, probably not true, as I’m working on a design for a drawstring backpack with Roman Reigns’ symbol on it, but I may have to rethink the colors. Because his ring attire is black, I thought the backpack should be as well, but working with black yarn down in the manacle, as dim as the lighting is down there, would be an utter nightmare, even with my lighted crochet hooks! And an adult-sized backpack is going to take a good bit longer to make than the child-sized bags I’m just finishing off. Assuming, of course, that I don’t wind up having to restart that bag three times!!!! So a color change may be in order.

Since my original plan was the bag in black with the symbol in white, I did think about simply reversing the colors, but white gets dirty too quickly, and the dirt shows quite well, so that’s kind of out. Black symbol on a red background is a possibility, but not my favorite color scheme either. This will take some thought, and I’ve got plenty of time to worry about it!

I know this post is short, but blame the time of year! I’ve got to get back to this thing and finish it off, and I’m also trying to get the house presentable for Christmas Day. The children seem to have an aversion to keeping any room in this house clean for longer than three seconds. And I’m doing the huge feast for Christmas as well, so I need to start what can be started early so I have less to do on the day. Because, yeah, that’s gonna happen. Right.

So, to all, my holiday greetings: Happy Solstice, Blessed Yule, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyous Kwanzaa, Happy Holidays, Feliz Navidad…I’m sure I’m forgetting some, so please forgive me!

Edited: Five minutes after I published this post, the unthinkable happened–I went to test the drawstring length against the bag and put it through the holes I’d made for it to make sure everything was copacetic…lo and behold, I had somehow forgotten to put in the last hole!! As a result of that mistake, I’ve had to rip back the entire shoulder strap  and three rows of the body: in excess of roughly five hundred stitches. I’m currently trying to decide if I’m going to scream or cry. 


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Down to the Wire

11 days till Christmas, and seven till Yule on the winter solstice, which, being Wiccan, is really the day I should be celebrating on, but it’s easier just to stick with Christmas Day. The kids would undoubtedly be happier if we went for the solstice, since it’s sooner, but, hey, we’re not even certain yet that they’re getting gifts this year. They’ve misbehaved so often and so badly in recent days that I’m inclined to just return everything and be done with it.

And there’s so little time left. Is Bryony’s bag finished? Not. Even. Close. I will have to work until my hands can’t move to get this thing done in time. I don’t know if I can do it. I forgot to reckon with how much I have to do during the holidays. There’s all the cooking that has to be done, which, thankfully, doesn’t take place until the day in question, but there’s getting things wrapped, shopping, hiding things cleverly enough that the kids can’t find them, and a zillion other things that I have to do, both concerned with the holiday and not. Tomorrow, in fact, we have to get the kids out of school early to get them to the pediatrician by 3:15, because their behavior has been such that it’s time to consult a professional. Bryony got herself in-school-suspension for half a day for bullying another little girl so badly that the child’s grades have dropped and she’s depressed. I was shocked to find this out, because we have had numerous conversations about bullying and how to treat one’s friends. Apparently, nothing has sunk in.

And Aneira is a teenager in nearly everything. Her mouth is writing checks her derriere can’t cash. The disrespect level has gone through the roof recently. If I spoke to my mother the way she’s been backtalking me lately, I wouldn’t have needed braces. I wouldn’t have had teeth. As it stands, after the latest episode of backtalk, when I asked her to help with the dishes only to be refused, I informed my child that I will continue to feed and clothe her because the law requires that I do so until she’s eighteen, but not to ask me for any extras so long as she refuses to behave like a member of the family. Her reaction was to shrug and say “Fine”, and walk away. Meanwhile, I went from anger to tears and back to anger. So, to the pediatrician to consult about behavioral issues and modification. I’m nervous, because with both parents being bipolar, the likelihood of the girls having the same problem is astronomically high, and I’m not keen on putting my kids on meds. I’m hoping that if they are diagnosed as bipolar, or ADD, or something like that, there’s a way to avoid meds. I just don’t want to start them down that path this young.

The animals also need attention as well, particularly the gliders, because they won’t stay tame without human interaction, as evidenced by the Dragons. As I’ve said before, they’re one step up from feral. One very short step! I don’t want the others to regress that badly either. So I find time to spend at least an hour with each group. Normally, that means I spend time with one trio and Maverick one night, and the other trio gets me the next night. The girls make an effort to spend time with Stitch, the rabbit, and the dogs are woven throughout the pattern. They’re easy because they have free run of the house and backyard, other than the master bedroom, so they’re not missing anything at any time. Still, making quality time for everyone and keeping up with everything else drastically reduces the time I have for working on Bryony’s bag or for sleeping.

Which explains why I am still up at quarter to five on a Wednesday morning.

Tonight was the Kaos Krew’s night for tent time. We’ve made progress in some areas, not enough in others. We have reached a point where all three of them run to me for comfort and safety when something startles them, and their idea of fun in the tent is to use me as their personal jungle gym, which means they’re all over me, including up in my hair. What we have not learned is that it’s not nice to bite me. Zoe, in particular, has a penchant for biting my fingers and toes. I invariably forget to put socks on when going into the tent with them–every time. And of course, it doesn’t take long for Zoe to figure that out and make a beeline for my toes when she thinks I won’t notice. Yes, she did get me once tonight. You would think, as often as she does it, I would have learned to never forgo socks. Even Aneira has learned that, and she doesn’t spend as much time with them as I do. She puts shoes on to go in the tent, yet I can never remember to put on socks. Go figure. But at least we’re making progress on bonding, which is all to the good. That means that at some point, the biting will stop. I hope.

Please, please, wish me luck on getting this bag finished in time. After that, I think I’m done with crocheting for a little while!

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Glider Glitch

Maverick and I in the tent

Maverick and I in the tent

I made a tactical error tonight during tent time with the gliders: I took the three Dragons in first, then forgot to wipe down the floor of the tent before bringing Maverick in to play afterward. Apparently, he was much displeased. Any area of the tent or my person that had contact with the three intruders had to be re-marked and/or attacked…which included my person. Won’t make that mistake again! Normally, Maverick is the most laid back of the seven, and acts as an ambassador glider when I know he’ll be meeting people, because he isn’t a nippy glider. Or say, rather, that he isn’t a glider who nips to get blood. But he was very unhappy with the scent of the Dragons in the tent this evening!

Interactions with the Dragons are still very discouraging. Mnementh is the only one, still, who will approach me, or allow me to approach him. Canth and Ruth still respond with absolute terror and run and hide if possible. In the tent, hiding isn’t really possible, other than to cower in the pouch that comes in with them. It’s so sad, especially since I really love all seven of them. I hate to see an animal that scared of contact with its owner. They seem to have no idea that I would never hurt them. They’ll run all over me in the tent, but I can’t touch them, or even twitch in their direction unless I want to see them run for the pouch.

Mnementh and Canth in their pouch during tent time

Mnementh and Canth in their pouch during tent time

Tent time is recommended because a small tent forces the glider to have some kind of interaction with the owner, which goes toward the bonding process. This isn’t an issue with Mal, Inara, Zoe, or Maverick. They have no fear of me whatsoever. I haven’t been putting any of them in the bonding pouch for awhile. For one thing, it’s been too cold, in my opinion, to take them out. For another, the Dragons need the attention a lot more than the others, so they’ve been the only ones to ride around in the bonding pouch, but only at home, due to the aforementioned temperatures. Which means they spend far less time in the pouch than I would prefer, because I don’t want the dogs further terrifying already scared animals that realize that they will fit into a canine maw with room to spare. I also don’t push Bryony into interacting with them, because she can’t seem to remain still or move slowly around them, which contributes to their fears. And she’s as nervous around multiple gliders as they are around her.

I’ve gotten some pictures from Blue’s new family, and he’s doing wonderfully! He readily bonded with them, which makes me happy at the same time it makes me sad and a little bit jealous, because he didn’t bond with us in the least, and he was born in this house and handled from nearly day one. I’ve redoubled my efforts with Stitch now, who is currently running around my room as I write this. He seems much happier now that he is an only rabbit! So maybe that will make bonding with him easier, as he seems to be less stressed now.

Bryony's bag...restart number three!

Bryony’s bag…restart number three!

Bryony’s bag is still giving me fits. I’m on the third restart now, with less than a month to get it finished, and never did get around to the micro-macrame or kumihimo jewelry I wanted to make for the girls too. These bags have been the bane of my existence, and I love to crochet!!!! I should have just woven some bags instead. Well, live and learn: hindsight is 20/20! I might be able to add a piece or two more if I can manage to finish this bag with at least three days to spare. At the rate this is going, it may not happen, but I’m certainly going to try!

The rounds are somewhere around 200 stitches each, but the yarn is so much smaller than what I used for Aneira’s bag that the bag itself will be smaller. The yarn is a viscose blend–I want to say cotton, but I don’t have it in front of me at the moment, so don’t hold me to that. I’m using the smallest crochet hook I have without resorting to the truly tiny ones, and I think it might still be a bit too large!

Well, it’s three am at the moment, so I think it would probably be a good idea to get Mr. Stitch into his cage and head to bed myself. Good night, all!

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White Clam Sauce

That was what I was craving tonight: linguini and white clam sauce. But I didn’t want the canned crap that I usually buy and doctor. There are never, ever, enough clams in the canned stuff. It’s more like a tease.

I’ve tried to make my own from scratch before, but it always lacked one ingredient that I didn’t think really made a difference: white wine.

The reason is this: we’re not drinkers, so we don’t keep stuff like that on hand. While we’re not tee-totalers, we’re still a few steps below even being lightweights. Once every couple of years we may buy some Kahlua or Apple Pucker for me, and a bottle of Jack Daniels for the PIP, and those bottles will still be on top of the fridge a year later, still half full. It’s just never been our thing.

However, as the children have grown closer to their teenage years, which means constant fighting between the two of them, which drives both parents absolutely insane, we have begun to keep a bottle or two on hand at all times. We have made it up to lightweights. A glass of wine at dinner allows us to retain our sanity in the face of the ridiculous arguments our children have with each other, or to view their lack of motivation to do chores any better than half-assed with a bit more calm. We still wind up having to scream and holler to get things done properly, or to shut down the latest argument over who gets to use the slang term “swag”–unbelievable–but we do a lot less of it with a glass of wine in our systems.

Now, I don’t know from wine, here. I know what I like, and what I don’t. You will never hear me say anything about body or bouquet, or that this wine goes with that meal, because I don’t have the least clue. The only thing I know is what I once read from a chef: when a recipe calls for white wine, you buy a good drinking wine, because if it’s not good enough to drink, it’s not good enough to cook with either. So the last time I bought wine–about a month or so ago–I bought one that I already knew I liked, and another bottle to try.

I didn’t like the second bottle at all. Couldn’t even get through one glass of it, so back it went into the fridge to await the time when there would be a recipe I could use it in. Apparently, I only like sweet wines, and this was bitter, at least to me.

So tonight it got used in the clam sauce recipe, and now I understand why wine is a requirement of the recipe. The difference it made!!!!!

Like I said, I had tried this recipe before, and it was mediocre at best when I did, because I didn’t use wine. But what I made tonight was far, far better! The house smelled heavenly, and the flavor–why bother with the noodles??! And it was full of clams–I made certain of that!!!

I did tweak the recipe a little bit. The only herb the recipe called for was parsley, but I am a huge fan of oregano, so my version was equal parts of both. And I added just a touch of lemon juice and some extra butter to mine.

Even the children could find no reason to complain, and that’s saying something. Both of them went through their bowls of pasta at lightspeed and left very little to wash out. An hour later they were wondering if there was more to be had. And I’m a terrible mother, because I lied to them and said no. I had plans of my own for the leftovers. Now that we have what are supposed to be nocturnal pets in the gliders (all seven now wake up around six am and are still up at eight pm!), my day begins at around 4 am, when I get up to prepare their food for them. I can’t usually get back to sleep afterward, so I get my own breakfast going then too, and that’s what was for breakfast.

In my defense, I have to say that there was only enough left to serve one person, and if I had given it to one of the children, the argument that followed would have driven me mad, so eating it myself was for my own sanity. After all, the PIP is allergic to all forms of seafood, so he couldn’t eat it, and I wasn’t about to throw it away!

I guess I have to thank the insanity of motherhood for actually having what I needed in the house for a change. Who knew I would ever have cause to thank my kids for driving me crazy?

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!!

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I haven’t posted in awhile about the situation between the PIP and myself. Honestly, I don’t really know what to say about it, but I’ll try.

Things are different now, since he’s come out as gay. Not just in the obvious ways, but other, more subtle ways. Things that we each took for granted from the other are now things that must be asked for, such as sharing of finances or even something as simple as a massage. We live in the same house, but in two different worlds, although we are still friends. We each find it difficult to be in the other’s domain, although we do it. He has a friend–just a friend, however I think she might prefer it to be otherwise–who tends to come over and stay for days on end. And as much as I loathe this woman–I’m not proud of the fact, but she drives me insane–it’s a relief to me when she’s here, because then I don’t have to be in his domain. He won’t ask it of me, because he knows I don’t like her. I have good reasons for feeling that way, reasons that she’s given me to distrust and dislike her, and if I’m not going to be home, it is now automatic to lock my doors if there’s a possibility she’s going to show up…which means they’re almost always locked, and the PIP doesn’t have a spare. Weird, right? I can’t stand her–and neither can the girls–but when she’s around is the only time I get to be alone.

He feels like he’s lost me, something he’s told several people, including me. And maybe, in some ways…in a lot of ways…he has. I still love him…that isn’t going to change. He gave me the two most beautiful gifts I’ve ever received in my girls, and for that, I will always love him. But I don’t think I’m in love with him anymore, if that makes any sense. I’m not angry anymore; that time has passed. He is who he is, and he can’t help that. Being gay is not a choice, however much he’d like to believe he can force himself to be something he’s not. I never had issue with the fact of his admitting he was gay, I had issue with the way in which he handled it.

We don’t fight anymore, and haven’t in over a year. Oh, we’ve had disagreements that have been pretty surface, and others that went deeper, but neither of us pursued them.

Have you ever heard the tenet “Show me a couple that doesn’t argue, and I’ll show you a couple where one or both just doesn’t care”? I think that’s us, at this point. Or at least me, as I can’t speak for what’s in his mind. But for myself, I’ve started looking in new directions, prodded, in part, by my children, who both think I should start dating again.

I don’t even know how to do that.

Seriously, how does one date when they’re in their late 40s? I’ve learned some things about myself since looking around at various dating sites. One of the biggest is that I have really high standards that I’m in no rush to lower. Another is that I’d like to find someone who is physically attractive in my eyes. I know that sounds shallow, and to a certain extent, it is, but let me explain.

It’s different when you meet someone at work or something like that, where you’re exposed to each other regularly and you’re getting to know each other almost by accident rather than by design. You’re getting to know each other because you’re together in the office or the classroom day in and day out, so you’re almost forced to get to know this person. And gradually you discover you like this person, and it has nothing to do with looks, only with personality. But you had that time to get to know that his personality suits yours.

With a dating site, you don’t have that. You have pictures, and I, at least, need a physical attraction in order to make even an initial contact.

Let me tell you something about dating sites: past a certain age, the choices presented to you are pretty discouraging. And let’s face it, if the guy is an Adonis, he doesn’t need a dating site, because there is an endless stream of women who would be happy to throw themselves at his feet. And shallow as it is, if the guy looks like a cross between Lurch and the Hunchback of Notre Dame, I just can’t do it.

It also doesn’t help that I have a thing about grammar. If you were born in this country, went to school here, and still can’t speak proper English and don’t know the difference between their, there, and they’re, I have a tendency to be judgmental and think “uneducated”. I know that’s wrong, but it’s who I am, and I am working on that.

I’m also not in a position to pay for a dating site anyway, so any messages received on my profile go unread by me, because even when the site says it’s free, it usually means it’s free to look, not free to get messages…which means the site is useless to me.

And I don’t go out where I’m likely to meet anyone. Sad, right? But I don’t. The only places I really go are to the grocery store or to friends’ houses, and very few of my friends are in my age group. Most are much younger than I am, so anyone they might want to introduce me to is also much younger, and generally not looking for someone like me. And of course, you may have noticed that I have a self-confidence issue. Sure, I can dye the grey hair, and I can go to the gym and shed the weight, but I can’t change my age, and I’m still partially disabled and walk with a limp that gets more pronounced over the course of a day, and I come with two young children. I have a very hard time believing that there’s anyone out there that I find attractive that is going to look at me the same way.

Not that I’m unhappy; don’t get me wrong! I’m not going to cry myself to sleep because I don’t have a guy in my life. I have my kids, I have my crafts, I have my pets, so I’m happy enough with that. I don’t exactly need a guy, contrary to my children’s beliefs. And again: high standards, which also encompasses the fact that I don’t cheat, and I don’t poach another woman’s territory. Because of the PIP’s various relationships over the years, I know what it feels like to have to share your partner, and I won’t put anyone else in that position.

So I’ve rambled on to say, I guess, that I’ve kind of reached the conclusion of “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t”, and I’m muddling along with that. It’s not a fairy tale, and it’s not exciting, it’s just life, my life as a result of the decisions I’ve made over the years. I don’t regret any decision that brought me here to the man I’ve spent fifteen years with, because to regret those decisions is to regret my girls, and I don’t, by any stretch of the imagination. And if I had known where I’d end up, I don’t think I’d change any of the major decisions. Maybe the minor ones: buy the red dress instead of the blue purse types of decisions.

And maybe not.

All I know is that when the PIP first asked me out, I knew he was bisexual. I knew this could conceivably happen. And I did a lot of soul-searching before I said yes. Ultimately what it came down to was two things: being left could happen regardless of whether he left me for a man or a woman, and I wasn’t going to let fear of what could happen rule my decisions. Both of those two things still stand as true. I might find a guy, and he might be straight, and he could leave me in the end. And I’m still not going to let fear influence my decisions.

So I choose, for now, to let things ride. I’m not having a fairy-tale romance, the hottie I just saw a picture of isn’t going to sweep me off my feet, but I’m not exactly unhappy either, and sometimes that’s okay too.

Well, I think I’ve rambled on enough, and I hope this post makes sense to anyone reading it! Have a good night!


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