Obsession Confessions

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A woman in her 40's navigates the dating game, the broken uterus game, living with dad, and depression and alcohol issues. She brings humor and energy to her stories. Look at her! She is 45 and not married or kids. Jesus, why does she have so many jobs and...lives with her dad. I think she is crazy. I think she may be interesting. I think she may need a husband. Let's find out.

Humor / Other
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Chapter 1


Well, so but and, dear reader, this is book two of mine. My other book, “Confessions of a Job Bartender,” kinda ended with me being pretty settled on the job front. Yes, I think I can be called a career substitute teacher, and it suits me well.

Everyday is a new and nutty, joyful or stressful day. I never know what to expect. My sense of thrill and danger is about the same. I need this to be happy.

I haven’t drank in three weeks but probably will get fucked up tonight. I am in pain over DARK HORSE. So much pain.

Like avoiding texting him for a week, then posting a bunch of Snapchats and obsessively checking to see if he “watched my vid” like it some kind of emotional validation.

No, it isn’t. It is terrible. So I deleted Snapchat today. I got it off my damn phone. And I am working on an old fuckbuddy to hang with me tonight. I don’t particularly like him, but I want some companionship and someone to make me feel good, if only temporarily.

Let me tell you what triggered this most recent pain. Like I told you i tried to avoid Dark Horse. Clearly he is emotionless. He laughed at a cowboy hogtying a poor innocent calf on tv. He thought it was “funny”. He only seems to show emotions for strangers in the casino, AFTER we have spent two days in bed together and gambling, but none for me. At least not in words. He was good at things sexual, but seemingly not able to get off easily himself. I did in fact, when I first met him in July 2015, had the word “gay” pop into my mind as we walked together with a six pack in the park. He can be snarky and borderline passive aggressive. He is hot as hell too.

I am sad and depressed over a stupid incident last night. I was feeling good about me but my dad, who I live with, is acting increasingly insane and dementia like. He is sick. He is probably dying, but selfish me wants time for me now that I am solidly standing in a job, and want to do the things I need to do, without interruption.

So i decided to go for a walk and get stoned. I took some vids of me walking around the suburban maze of retirement community hell to look at the stars and such. I shared these vids via Shapchat/shit with Dark Horse. He seemed interested in where I was. I held back from asking him to join me. I have asked him to hang at least four times and every time he rejects me and doesn’t offer an alternative choice.


And talking to my two friends who had little patience, and then with my cousin who said all the right things, I am on the road to FORGETTING DARK HORSE. Yes, I even deleted his number from my phone, and didn’t try to remember it. I cried tears on a foggy bay watching the beauty of the seagulls turn and spin between the clouds. I stalked a little bit because, weirdly, I managed to drive up right behind him on his way to a church performance. I tried to call but he sent it to ignore, then texted that I thought I was behind him. He answered his phone was on silent, but yes he must’ve been on that very same bridge. How timely, to run into the very thing i need to let go of for my own mental sanity. This idea of being in love is certainly not a fact, but emotions wrought up in my mind for a troubled need to be loved in return. We cannot all be loved in return the way we like. In fact, it appears the more we try to chase love, the more is becomes dissolved into the ether like that beautiful fog I witnessed encompassing the bay.

I will be ok. I am writing it to be that way. I need to say my heart breaks but I can carry on. I will try and not seek false validation from the digital wasteland of Instagram and Snapchat, where when our videos are liked and watched by the one we adore; that it must MEAN something, right? No, it doesn’t and it only fuels false hopes for a requirement of love that will never be.

I will drink wine tonight. And dance around my room. And maybe cry some more to let out these emotions that tear at my soul. As for my need to be loved, I am going to seek a Higher Form. A greater place to rest easy on the thought that yes, I am loved, we are loved, and no external source can fill us up, no matter how seductive, dark and handsome.


After a wonderful sleep with dreams of having sex and making out with Mike Patton, the amazing singer of the band “Faith No More,” and about 60 other projects (listening to his new orchestral album right now called Kaada/Patton. It made me feel good to have this dream, like someone liked me again. Otherwise I am taking steps to eliminate the one that makes me cry. I have unfollowed on Instagram, I have removed from Snapchat as a friend and I have deleted his number from my phone...I think I covered most bases. Now to get him out of my head. I am texting right now dude I know for like ten years that I have had sex with on and off, and who is really very naive in bed, but has a lot of potential and wants to shoot some sexy vids of me. It is not a love connection, but he does treat me with respect, when he does have me over. It is no solution, but to see someone’s beautiful cock, compared to the Dark Horse’s unimpressive one (no wonder he was insecure) I feel like I don’t have to walk on eggshells when I feel nothing after sex with him. Granted, he had other skills, but I’m not writing a sex novel here.


Last night was cool, went to see a comedy show with two comedians that I knew through a good friend of mine (the friend in fact told me months ago that Dark Horse was not at all thinking about me and to lose him) and through the omnipresent Facebook. It was a south NJ Italian restaurant set up with a stage and many fat openers with self-deprecating jokes.

I saw the one cuter mostly single dude, and gave him a big hug. Was nice to get a “Hey beautiful, greeting.” We chatted about jobs, I squeezed his thigh under the table, and then outside there was more hugs given. Much like me though, he is in the throes of heartbreak but his is more severe; a girl went loony and jealous on him and he had years in with her and plenty of “I love you’s” said mutually.

He said seeing me was like a breath of fresh air. I said if he plays Atlantic City to let me grab a couple of minutes onstage. I felt a little bit more me and less obsessed by Dark H.

Today I woke up somewhat refreshed. This job whore now has her sights on getting a European passport so I can start some new adventures. Something about a mid-life crisis and a need to show some people (prob a bit of fuck you to Dark) that I am brave and interesting and can just pick up and work in Italy, no big deal. I do have a job offer however in Milan; to teach little 8 year olds English. I think I am going to put it all in my power to do so.

I am also reading some technical philosophy that is exploring fatalism. Fatalism is the idea that nothing we can do can control the future. There are arguments back and forth regarding if free will has any say, and that our POWER or ability, actually can dictate what happens in the future; and from what I understand, just our understanding of that ability makes it all possible. Our dreams, our night swim, our door shaking. I will get into this more the more I can understand the logical end of the arguments. It is interesting reading journal responses from white men arguing their points. They seem so calm and formal but you know on the other end of the page they are cursing the shit out of the other guy that is dissing their point.

MARCH 31, 2016

Yesterday was so remarkable, I needed to let it rest. I met a 67 woman while swimming in the retirement community pool. I live in a retirement community, though I am almost 45, single and live with my dad. I was feeling particularly bitter and angry about Dark Horse; in fact, my obsession over him was raging.

This woman offered a hello in the ladies room, and I gave her a simple hello back. Later she told me I was an ‘iceberg’. In the pool we started talking. This woman glowed of some kind of inner light or craziness, wasn’t sure. I was feeling lost and lonely and rejected enough to entertain her thoughts. And within a minute she was saying that she had never met anyone so smart, or intuitive about her “history” as she called it.

First thing I asked was, “How are you so happy?” Then I asked, “Did something bad happen to you?”

Each time something lit up in her eyes. I’ve always known I have a touch of the 6th sense of things, or the empath, or whatever, and it causes some grief. It locks me into being overly emotional about life. I then started opening up to her about my guilt issues, financial codependence on my dad, etc. She had a wise and wonderful piece of advice for all of it! She also said I was beautiful and looked 12 years old. She made me understand that what I truly needed to be happy was indeed independence away from my dad, and emotional strength to move on so that once I am ready, I can find a mate. She gave me some newspaper articles she had written for the local clubhouse paper, and what she said blew my mind again.

This glowing happy woman told a tale of waking up every morning in anxiety and fear. Leaving the house was a nightmare. She forced herself to challenge all her fears to not get too OCD about her troubles.

Then the heartbreak about losing a friend to drowning in Mexico in the 80’s and then the tragic deaths of her brother and cousin. I know that as much pain as I have seen, through the death of my mother and the early sexual abuse, I don’t think I could have handled that life sentence too well. It is hard enough for me to avoid pain through alcohol or some random drug use, let alone having such losses to carry around.

So, I met a new friend. Hopefully I can obsess about her instead of the Dark Horse idiot, who btw after two requests, has not sent me a pic of his “beautiful head”. When I tried in lame futility to make him jealous, as in ask if the friend he was hanging with on a music gig was cute, his answer was, “I mean not as much as me, of course,” I just agreed with his conceit rather than use it as an opportunity to address some issues. I feel like I have to try and ‘fix’ guys because I am always so damn attracted to the ones, like me, who are broken in self-worth.

That’s why I started the Obsession Journal. I needed to find a way to tell my readers, and maybe help them too, about my love obsessions, and work them out in a healthy way.

The best thing for me to do is ignore him. I know this, But like a crack addict, once a few days rolls past and no contact as ensued, I shoot a message. I have tried to call him twice in the last month, but of course, he didn’t call me back. All this rejection, I blame on myself. He has said things like “I hate the horrible sound of my voice,” and that he hates his hairy shoulders, etc. Meanwhile he is a really good looking dude. He also lost like 50 pounds and has his own obsessions with weight, including taking apple vinegar pills and being, what I see as, maintaining a too-low weight.

But what about me? Who am I and what do I want? Why don’t I have my own cute apartment at almost 45? Why have I been staying with my dad for too long? Why can’t I find a gainful employment somewhere instead of making $11.25 an hour as a substitute teacher?

All these questions I need to figure out. I need to find answers to and work out. I don’t think, as my mystery swim pal told me, that I will find true peace and self-worth until I have financial independence. That’s my short term goals for today. Let’s see if I can find a better way to move forward, because yes, I am afraid to be on my own.


I am just finishing the House of Cards, season 4, last episode and it was brutal. It basically said that America makes terror instead of fighting it.

I think in some ways this is true. I also think I have had a few very weird space-time/Matrix things happen to me in the last two days, enough so that I should write about it. I am reading David Foster Wallace again; and it seems when I do, I have brain cathartic realizations to the belief that He is speaking to me on some level. He meaning David, because he was so inhumanly brilliant, with such a formidable brain. I can’t tell you to read him, because once you do you may become obsessed, depressed, overjoyed and such to the point that you too, will call him God and pray to him. I have on occasion had that understanding years ago when I read his most famous book, “Infinite Jest,” which took me three straight months to read but I am sure did not do it service.

In my search for answers and a distraction from my most recent obsession in that dude Dark Horse I told you about, I sought out something that could make me forget. Feelings are not facts, I said to myself. I can use philosophy and logic to change my mind and forget about this person. I also have used the magic eight ball online to ask some questions regarding DH. All three answers came back, NO or OUTLOOK NOT GOOD regarding DH’s interest in me. So, I took that also as a sign, while ploughing through some heavy hitting books about technical philosophy and the concept of infinity.

What was so interesting about them was that I felt my actual brain and thoughts start to change. I began to think less “emotionally” and started to see my own feelings and conceptions about my expectations with DH as merely abstract things. They were not concrete things that were logical and true in the sense that I could make them mine to see. No, in fact, thinking of my expectations of having a boyfriend, whilst nice; were really abstractions. The things I wanted from him were the ideas of being loved, getting some emotional warmth; things that can be felt but in this mental space, where I realized it was all in MY head and not returned, that in thinking of them as not concrete substances, I could diminish their power. The things I have been searching for are things that exist when someone is actually IN YOUR PRESENCE or makes some contact to want to share these returned feelings. I have had no contact from him, no calls, no texts, and I am tired of chasing these unrealized abstractions like a sick and desperate puppy. I need to hold myself in higher regard, because living in this world of hope and waiting, is for losers.

I have been feeling like a loser. I did not drink though in almost a week. I will be drinking tomorrow in Atlantic City, and smoking some pot, with a friend of mine that understands me the most. I do fear that if I do drink too much, my walls be torn down again and I will reach out, or text or some shit to that dude. I think that is my great weakness. The drink. I still fight the urges and win. I have gotten better.

I am thinking about upping my game in my career by trying to get a job in a college as an adjunct. I need to get out there more and make some real money. I make about $85 a day as a substitute teacher. It is a fun and interesting job, and I can bugger off a lot and have an audience to make learn and laugh; but I feel I am worth more. I feel I should be worth more considering I have a master’s degree.

I now am thinking I want to work out so I can have a frozen yogurt afterwards…


My first book talked about strange Matrix like, space-time journey coincidences. It just happened two minutes ago at 9:54 am on a Wednesday morning. I was thinking about doing some writing, watching a video on youtube about Sacha Baron Cohen, and thinking about how the book, “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” and how it had a surprise ending and the video on the screen spoke the word “surprise”.

Every time this happens, I’m going to add in some smut. Some story smut.


So it seems that one obsession can be replaced by a new one. I know, I know, not the best philosophy, but like Robin Williams said in “Good Will Hunting,” or some such thing, “That’s a super philosophy Will, that way you go through your whole life not ever getting to know anyone.” I think that since it is not necessarily a great way to go away life, I still think finding a new person to obsess on to get OVER a very bad obsession, well, it seems ok. At least short term.

So, I went on Tinder again, and did in fact see Dark Horse on there, and out of some kind of weird passive aggressive choice, I swiped right, as if he would too. Chances are according to my notifications, the guy was so insecure, he swiped right on me, then unmatched me, just to see if I in fact swiped right on HIM. Social media is a virus, a stupid stupid false validation virus that infects your brain and do things out of insecurity. Since it seems apparent he is done with me, I started searching yet again, to basically get laid because I hadn’t had sex in three months. That shit gets to you.

So on Tinder there was a serious faced boy, that looked kinda bad ass and was basically gorgeous. He had funny profile and a lot of swag. Said he was a stuntman part time. I swiped right, he had swiped right, I think I started writing first. It was a lively and funny conversation, at first I thought he was fucking with me because I included the word “vibrant” in my profile. I pursued. We talked, he flirted alot. He said he was feeling all sorts of sexy thoughts but didn’t want to cross the appropriate line. That was good, don’t ask for pics and don’t send me shit.

After about four days of chatting he came to my house when my dad was gone at approximately 12:40 at night after I had had a few drinks. He came in in a blizzard of conversation, kept rubbing at his nose, and overall was manic. Not sure if this was nerves but I served him a few drinks, and I liked the way he made me hysterical laugh. Like, stand up comedian type shit. And a fucking killer Australian accent. It was like I was watching a tv show...and I may have said some weird shit, He did say I was “weird” because I had gone to Catholic school.

More drinks, some weed. He is fucking gorgeous. Like the perfect Aryan boy, but “hung like an Italian” self-proclaimed.

Voice kinda like a half gay man, kindy squeaky voice, but at an impressive six foot tall, baby soft 1940’s hair. Dark blue eyes. I had a hard time listening to him because I was too busy looking at his face. I felt on more than one occasion that I wanted to say, “I love you,” but in that millennial chick, not really meaning it way.

I could feel the future pain coming on and whatnot...but I let him try and hit on me a few times. And the joy of turning him away until he took my chin and started tongue kissing me, rather buzzed, and then to do that making out thing for a LOOOOONNGGG time, it was fucking awesome as was the rest of the shit. He slept over, had a weird breathing issue, to which he informed me to feel free to push, punch or make him stop if he was making any strange sounds. I didn’t but it made me stay up and just listen to the breathing….

Next morning he was getting dressed and the sight of him naked...just again, perfect Nazi boy. Ugh, I think I am going to have to compartmentalize him.

But no, I already went to the town where he worked and kept checking the gps mechanism on Tinder to see where he was working. I searched some restaurants where he might be. I think I know where it is. I think that I need to chill. I def need to chill.

And this morning, with the promise to myself to not contact him at all, I sent him a gay gif to his Tinder. I can’t wait to get health insurance so I can revisit the therapist.


SO BUT AND, me and Nazi boy are texting. We are probably going to be having a lot of sex in the next 48 hours. I got a room for two nights in AC and I told him today in a text from Dick’s Sporting Goods, to “You are welcome to come down”

He writes after the word bubble was in limbo for a good minute or so, “And get to bang your brains out in a hotel room..seems suitable hahahah”

To which I replied to quickly, “Yes seems quite suitable”. I don’t like the sound of suitable, like it is just Ok and not a romantic encounter even. I dunno, I guess he used that word instead of appropriate, finding ways to not show interest or feelings. I am doing the same thing though, but as you can see by the title of this section, I already am fantasizing the future.

I just can’t emphasize how incredibly hot, sexy, cute and fucking hilarious this dude was. I mean, he may have been on coke, or some uppers or some shit, but I felt like the first time we met I was hanging with Robin F’n Williams. AND I got a little drunk and may have said some things like, ‘Oh god, I’m dead, you killed me emotionally. Tomorrow I am going to be a wreck.’ Expressing on some level how much i liked him. But he was just kinda scrolling on his big ole Iphone and not really responding.

I want to fight with this one. I want to debate, get emotional. Like the two in the Notebook. I want to love him so much, I want to go for broke with him.

He is six foot tall of perfect Aryan race, part German, Italian and Irish, and like a VIRGO which is supposed to be my best sign to mate with.

Ok, you know, it is easy for me to get overboard. I do fall head first. But I am going to be careful now. No more drunken habits...sending dumb ass Snapchats, instagrams, messages, and generally being weird. He did in fact say I was weird upon first meeting because i had gone to Catholic school. I find that pretty ballsy and upfront, but it didn’t keep me from playing hard to get all night to heighten the chase. And when things went down, GOSH it was so F’n good. I mean, I came the closest IN MY LIFE of almost 45 years of having a normal orgasm like women have in the movies.

I told him this, and he said he would “Have to try harder next time.”

Now I think, I should let him into the pussy, if and only if he can make me come.

I think I need to make him work, but let me tell ya, he was very generous in giving me all the time in the world to get my juices flowing.

Ok, so anyway, I am super excited about tomorrow night, when I think he prob won’t get to the hotel until after work, like midnight, but we have a whole another night to be together. I do hope he stays down there with me. I also want to not drink more than like three or four beers. I want to remember and feel everything, no numbing.

But I do know he has mentioned that at work he can get some blow. Prob from the Mexicans at the restaurant he works. I’m not going to lie. I would like to do cocaine with him. And I know, that goes against the feeling anything because it is essentially, a numbing agent.

I am smitten from a distance and trying to remain objective in the situation. I think I learned a lot from my expectations from Dark Horse. I need to recognize, I also met Nazi boy on Tinder and that I am a lot older than him. This will be the only second time we hung out, but I do in fact feel I know him much longer.

That’s all I can say for now. My wisdom tooth is hurting, I think I have been grinding my teeth out of stress, which makes no sense, I really feel peaceful.


The night before yesterday I drank like alot of tequila and smoked pot and danced around my room, trying to not feel like shit because I had my period, and hoping to deceive my brain into thinking, “Hey, I’m having a great time!”

No, I wasn’t, but I was mostly trying to deal with the fact of turning 45; because odd numbers in a birthday are weird, and sexy Nazi boy blew me off when I went to AC and also he hadn’t texted in like four days. So, drunk me, adds him on Snapchat, an app I have deleted and added, oh like three times in anger and sadness. And of course, there he is, doing a rant on some sign at a bar, looking much more hairier in the face, fucked up, possible on coke, but still, even with the Joe Pesce voice; very much appealing. I then went to bed pretty drunk, took a xanax (I think?), and passed out. It is a miracle that I have not suffocated in my sleep from this combo. Yes, I also hear the words, “I wish I was dead,” several times a week. I don’t know if this is me, or some demonic forces, or a combination of the two. I just know life has become increasingly painful, and full of peri-menopausal moods of doom, to the extent I do sometimes think things are much better in the afterworld.

Not to mention Prince died suddenly this week, and that kind of shit, like Robin Williams and David Bowie, always hit me like I am related to them or some shit. Jesus God, how do I make all this estrogen go AWAYYYYYY!!!!

It seems it is at the core of my pain. Elevated estrogen makes you more emotional, moody, depressed, afraid and anxious. I mean, I am not having kids body, stop that shit.

I started taking this shit called calcium glucarate which is supposed to balance hormones. And, oh yeah alcohol raises estrogen. Drink more, bleed more, pain is more.

So, my drinking of like 26 drinks of week is probably making me more unhappy. Conclusion? Time to grow up perhaps? Time to say, put aside the temporary happiness, for long term peace of mind? Yes, please.

I think us women just try and try to feel good emotionally and spiritually and wind up after a time, giving up and taking the easier, more comfortable route, such as having the pizza, drinking the wine, or smoking the smokes. Like we feel we have to suffer enough to look and feel good in our middle age, that something has to give. Something breaks the dam of consistency and we let in the deluge of depravity and transient feel good stuff; that at younger times in our lives, worked out just fine with no side effects.

But now time is shorter, and it seems that side effects come immediately. Hangovers last longer. Weight comes on faster. People irritate the fuck out of us sooner.

At the core though, I think women want to know they are loved and someone appreciates them. And I always find these men to make good on that on social media. Maybe not the best place to find love. But my cousin found his wife in a Staten Island bar. How much more different can that be?

The question for me is how much do I chase….and if I do chase, how much is too much and how much means I am interested. I do research on this shit at like four am, when I can’t sleep and my uterus hurts. Like last night.

Also my ex bf from like 7 years ago started writing to me in email. I mean, we broke up in a horrible way. He still claimed he loved me at the end. I moved to another state (NY) to be able to move on because the temptation to find him or contact him was way too strong.

It was painful on some level to talk about music with him. He was looking for approval I think. He sent me some songs and updated songs that, we, as a band long ago, had performed together. The difference was there was no cursing and yelling, and angry messages. He was calm and sane. It was kinda scary, like a serial killer. I could easily use him to help me record my own songs, but then, I think that would be morally wrong to lead him on. I think I am very much still a girl that needs a guy to help her with her needs; whether it be a music software program I don’t understand, or reassurance about my size, beauty and accomplishments.


So, yesterday was nuts in my town. There was an escaped fugitive around that dumped a stolen car in a CVS a mile from my house. I went around making snapchat vids and posting them regarding the status. It was fun. This coming a day after I found out a piano students’ brother was murdered at a frat house in Newark, NJ. A shitty day; and I mourned and cried a lot.

But yesterday, having been freed from lots of drinking the week before, I became light and happy. I was not thinking of Nazi boy soooo much, though I felt a twinge of pleasure when I saw that he viewed my snapchats. This social media stuff has me by the balls. But I did in fact, start getting together some ideas with my friend Brett to start a new youtube video page that has him and I riffing on shit.

He is a great video editor, and it could be fun. So, I was inspired to start thinking about doing creative stuff, since I have been in pain mentally and physically.

Also for the millionth time, I have come to the conclusion that alcohol is really shitty for me. I mean like deep down inside Kryptonite. I have written about this for probably at least 15 years. But to be sober? I think the only way is to give it up for good. I mean, I have done enough drugs and alcohol for the rest of my life and now that I am 45, i need to preserve my brain cells.

So that is a good thing to work on. Progress with four days no drinking. But still, yes obsessing about the Nazi boy because he is very incredibly sexy. And he alluded a few times to banging my brains out etc. which I do take seriously.

I keep stopping myself from writing to him. I am doing the ignore thing but he is not even probably TRYING to ignore me, he is just basically I think not interested because maybe I came off a little too crazy the first time we hung out. It didn’t stop him from fooling around with me, or sticking it in. Which oddly, he said he didn’t know if it was ok since he didn’t ask me.

That is haunting me still. Was he just fucking with my head by saying it was rude to stick his dick in me without asking? I mean, it was like way too short. That part bothered me. I at least want to do that again.

I dunno, I feel like as the Buddhists say, anything to do with desire and want, leads to suffering. This was true with Dark Horse, I was ghosted by him. I was sent away, and I thought I was in love with that guy. Man, am I starved for love and affection. Big time. That is a void that can’t be filled really. I could fuck all the men in the world and probably feel worse.

I still want to chase. I still want the newest Tinder package. I still want to have him inside me, and for those few moments, leave time and space and forget I ever suffered wanting him before.


So, I had a bad week last week. First the brother of one of piano students from long ago was shot and killed in some kind of burglary. He was 23 and about to graduate. He fought for his life and was shot in the hand and head.

Then like four days later a very dear and excellent and funny and goofy and awesome kid accidentally killed himself. I don’t know the details but he supposedly experimented with some household chemicals and became brain dead.

The parents had to make the choice to take him off a ventilator and donate the kid’s 15 year old organs to a bunch of people. Someone said that the bone marrow alone can help like 100 people.

This hit me very hard. I loved this kid. I probably was a wee too attached. When he mom told me she had to cease lessons because of budget, I was sad. I was also sad that maybe I just wasn’t cool enough for a 15 year old to learn drums anymore; which I had seen as a piano teacher, happened all the time. Kids dropped out around the teens, because new interests arose.

I went to the wake with the hundreds of people, and the freshly scrubbed high school girl faces, reddened with tears. There was a video montage, tons of pics and I waited on line outside for an hour and a half to get inside in the bright spring evening light.

I was ok until I saw his mom and broke down. She also had a comforting look for ME, and hugged me and said, “He was the one, I can’t imagine a world without Luke, I mean, did you see those videos (he made funny songs and videos)?” I just said he was an awesome kid, and something like, “He loved you and you loved him.” Which, was awkward but it was nice to see her hugging him and the loving relationship they had. I never had hugs from mom. NO body touched probably because of all the Irish repression and underlying guilt of some deep sex hangups. Anyway, this family was very loving and real, and even though a divorced family, they were all mutually friendly and non-hostile.

I have felt the repercussions, I have cried, I have hit up the dad on FB with memories. It doesn’t makes sense. I now warn my kids in school when I substitute teach to not FUCK with household chemicals.

And then, a new project with my friend Brett. We are doing a thing online on youtube of videos of us just talking about shit for a few. It has potential. Maybe even some use of my songs and things that can be funny if I spend more time thinking about comedy. I feel more alive, and frankly, I am thinking a forever break from alcohol would do me good. All it has ever done for me is make my life miserable and act like an idiot.


I spent last night being up at 3 am responding to chats from Charm School. He continues to post snapchats with girls at AC, girls at the movies, girls in the club and has ignored my outright offer to fuck.

So, feeling anger lately, feeling unwanted and depressed about it, I stay up to answer his drunk messages. Filled with pathos and watching a sad cartoon he shoots on his iphone, I await some recognition that I am pretty, smart, funny and cool enough to bed down again. Even though our last hook up was over a month ago, I still feel some kinda hope that it may happen. Even when he sends me a direct message with a picture of his beautiful self that is captioned, “Too drunk to fuck.” and I don’t write back something like “Go fuck yourself.”

I could just remove him from my friend’s list on this damnable app, and never have to see his gorgeous face and shenanigans again. I should, because it is just a distraction into suffering and deliverance into self-doubt and shame that I said the wrong thing or acted like a drunk idiot at the wrong time.

I know I am about of his league. He is 15 years younger and a hot guy which means he can get laid anytime he wants.

I think I want to lay in some passive aggressive stuff to get it out of my system. Just keep him around long enough to abuse a little bit. If he even notices it. Off to work now subbing for first graders, and I got a new job bartending at a bar on the shore that I have been trying to do since living in NJ for like five years. Boom. Big money and the Big Eyeball roaming around watching drunk assholes overtip me.


So I basically got fired after doing a trial bartending gig. I fumbled with the glasses and stuff and was thrown into a situation that my brain wasn’t ready for. I was given a “helper” bartender chick that I knew from day one wasn’t going to be trusted, and wouldn’t you know, prob talked shit about me to the bosses and that’s why they gave me the convo in the office. I was quite defensive and intelligent in my defense, but when they offered me a serving job (which I hate and suck at) I was ready to say no, but then the manager withdrew his offer and set me free, with a kindly, “Better days ahead.” They must have a routine down on how to fire people so well.

Anyway, it hurt my ego, I was having menstrual cramps and feeling weird and out of it, so I basically cried in the car all the way home. I blew off some friends who wanted to do a web comedy show online for youtube. I had nothing funny to say and ranting about being fired; well I just don’t want to broadcast that shit though it would’ve been real and truthful.

The summer is now. It is hot and it hit like a ton of bricks. I find this terrifying. To go outside to all the bright splendor and joy in the air. It is scary to me. I don’t know why very extremes in weather scare me. I think I feel like I am missing out on something by staying indoors but when I step outside, even to just get the mail, I am ready to run back into the AC world of humming house appliances and silence. Even the birds affect my well being...oh, you are alive with the ecstasy of life through your song? I can’t hear that deafening ethereal madness. I think the Universe speaks to me very strongly when I am in a vulnerable place; as in being fired, meant to feel not good enough, and being on the rag as a peri-menopausal woman. I eat an apple. I try to get some exercise, something to make me feel better. I obsess about a boy, the Charm School one at the moment; I wonder if he has any interest in me at all after our first Tinder meeting over a month ago. Sure, there was late night sex vids and texts back and forth. But he never invited me out or over for some real sex and intimacy. He has the perfect combination of bad boy, sexy, getting over his ex, possible alcohol abuser, funny and smart, that makes it difficult to do other things that normal people do.

On a good note, I was referred by a cool guy I’ve had a crush on for like 25 years, who is married, for an acting gig. He must’ve really talked me up, because the writer/director pretty much took me on board after one convo. The script is funny and smart, a great role for me...so, now i can focus on the part, not deal with assholes at the restaurant/bartending gig, and keep my love and passion of art alive. I just wish I had the courage to delete Charm School from my Snapchat app like I did with the previous sex-user I found on Tinder.

It is Memorial Day weekend, and with all its sadness, all the innocent deaths, I feel like maybe going out dancing out in the dark places of Queens, NY, see some music and be around faces that know and care. You have to remember, I live out in the boondocks of south NJ, with my ailing dad, and the quiet is lovely when he is gone. But I have hardly any friends here. It gets lonely.


So, I wake up and have some food at like 1:30 this morning and see there is a snapchat message from good ole Nazi boy. At this point I am cycling out of his orbit, because he is too damn weird, albeit gorgeous, even for me. But he sends a photo of a face swap with a girl’s face covered in cum. I just write back “watttttttt” and he sends “hahah” and then I am disturbed and want to go back to sleep. These late night eating jags are not helping lower my belly by the way.

Anyhoo, I think he is a troubled guy. I still think I want to fuck him. I think that he could be hitting the bottle when he sends these weird messages; and likely sending them to more than one person at a time. I don’t feel special, but there is a part of me that is at least satisfied by being included. The idea of hanging out seemed to be ignored every time I asked...and now it has been over a month since our Tinder hookup. I dream about how hot and sexy it was. The dude picked me up from a sitting position in his lap and plunked me down on the breakfast island. Not many dudes can do that, or I don’t think ever have. He hits all the sexy girl needs, acting like a wolf on the hunt when I knew he wanted to get intimate, and I kept shying away and making him chase me. Even though he corrected me and made twisted faces at some of my stupid remarks; he still put his dick in me the next morning, which sucked. It was like five minutes.

So, you can see why I want more. Why I would like to have more….but as obsessive as I am now. I can’t imagine how much more I will get when we have a really amazing, long, fucking session and his spirit and soul have been injected into me. I fear and long for this.

Summer of 2016 has begun.

I feel like a sexual Renaissance has occurred in me. And he is my youthful play thing.


SO the vision of the day had to be a tick, fat and juicy crawling across my keyboard today.

I was having a good day, killed like two hours driving around in my red convertible. Not wanting to go home to dad, I found a restaurant hiring and had some chicken wings and water and filled out an application for a bartender. The place hadn’t opened yet, so I had to go to its sister restaurant to pick up an application. The bartender was nice, and I ate hungrily. Hadn’t had any real food all day except for an orange, a tiny sliver of bread pudding with raisins, and a snack bar from Nutrisystem, way too chewy.

I came home to my dad trying to vacuum up some wet cat food with a vacuum that was not meant for wet things. I immediately tried not to go into DEFCON 3 because, I have realized that living with a sick old person that is your father; needs some sympathy. He was not well and I was living free in his home, doing minor duties and not paying rent. And oh yeah, he bought the convertible I was driving. So the guilt involved sometimes precedes my launching a nuclear attack.

I had to calm down, and understand what was going on. My dad put away the vacuum, after in fact yelled a little about he should buy a new one and that it was broken and crap (it was) and not at all a wet vac, which I don’t know if he understands what that is.

He is a sloppy man to boot, and I live in a filth ridden home, not terribly so, but just enough to make me uneasy, and I am nowhere near OCD. But the constant stress of trying to keep a house alive that gets wrecked so easily by this man; I mean he is like Mr. Breakit.

I had to try and keep cool. It seems like he was upset his aunt died. I don’t know his relationship to her, but I think she was kind to him, and had a son that became paralyzed from jumping into a pool. I think I was able to feel compassion through the anger of trying to avoid stress and coming home only to find it. Yes, I made it about me, and hard to turn our care to others when we are barely surviving ourselves.

I started an antidepressant a few days ago. I do feel somewhat different and a bit more upbeat and less depressed. So, I guess it is working, but I am only taking a half dose and not going crazy with it. I did drink one night on it, and I think I got pretty drunk, complete with getting dressed up in lingerie and sending sexy vids to two different guys, maybe four.

Also on a sad note, not related to my father, there was a terrible massacre in Orlando, FL yesterday in a gay nightclub and 49 people were killed. It is a sign of the times. Nothing is changing at all. It never will, only get worse, and my hopes is that good will balance it all in the end or at least win a little bit. We are only parts of our destiny, but we must swim along it when the waves become too great, and stay afloat. There is the shore to find, the port o call of our stop for a little while. Then it seems we are washed out again and thought to be lost; only to have to swim harder the next time.

I am going to a music festival this weekend. I am also attending rehearsal for a sketch that I am in for a character that is probably the best role of my life thus far. I have been an on and off actress since I was a little girl doing community theatre. I know I am good at this. One thing I have learned in my 45 years, be awesome at the things you were awesome at before. It will make you happy and childlike again.


First thing I do is charge my phone and look to see for messages from Charm School. How can I make my brain make his memory disappear? Like just because we shared intimate sexual moments, I think he owes me something, but to me sex is a big deal. For him, very hot, sexy, tall good looking guy, he can have sex prob at the drop of a hat. I feel angry and somewhat hateful he is in that position. Like he has the upper hand. Like, I think that if I was a good looking guy, I would have the world at my feet too. Then again, why am I complaining, since I am a woman with a lot to offer. It is just nerve making, and angry making. I don’t know why I can’t let go. I haven’t been with him in over a month and a half. I just want to be set free from these obsessions. How can I teach myself to not care? I know this must go way back to when I was a child, and I was molested under some influence of alcohol. And getting special attention, and feeling like I was extra special when no one seemed to notice me. Then all that attention went away, perhaps because my abuser felt so guilty or had his own crisis. Then as much as I don’t remember the time frames, i think I was able to replace it with being a good student. Doing good. Maybe I have to show I am better than this jerk that used me, and recently called me a nutbag, which hurt me but yet, he still continued to speak to me via text...it is overwhelming these sex issues of mine. I can’t seem to get a handle on them and probably because I keep choosing those who have worse ideas of sex than me to be with!

God help me in this quest for a spiritual life. I want to be freed. I want to not want sex or desire transitory pleasures. I want to practice a life of discipline on some level. Help me Universe to set my path and take it one step at a time. Amen.


I am sitting here in a fairly warm kitchen, summer is blazing outside and I am still braless and not up and ready to go out at 11:12 am. I am going nuts because I am simultaneously trying to locate a new iphone that works; as mine is torturing me by not charging at all, then charging sometimes up to like 8% then going away. I am really frustrated, stressed and also had to make a payment plan with the IRS for shying away from the truth on my taxes. That shit comes back to haunt, don’t lie on your taxes anymore.

It is scarily true that one of the main reasons this is freaking me out is that Charm School, the latest hot piece of ass 30 year old, started conversing with me on Snapchat, and I want more than anything to hang with him; think of him, fantasize about him, want him like crazy. Not having that phone working means no way to talk to him. No way for late night sexting. No way to ask if he wants to hang. This is even more important to me than getting news on a possible new job. It comes down to I am SICK OF BEING ALONE. I want to be with someone. Someone on the regular, even if not fucking. Just someone to hang with.

I am terribly lonely and I realize I have hit this dude up to hang. And I was even offering sex. He just kinda ignored my question, which drives me mad. Still is. I have conversations in my head with him a lot. He is probably in his own obsession with other girls as is everyone else who wants someone. It is a rare event to find someone to be with that is obsessed with you back. I believe the last time it happened to me was in 1996.

God give me strength to focus on the real shit. The important shit. Think I am going to Atlantic City now to gamble a measly ten bucks.


I spent the good part of last morning, like the early morning hours drinking gin and sending vids to the latest love obsession, Charm School. An exceptionally good looking, nice body, nice everything, tall, dude that I met on Tinder around two months ago. I was smitten but he never approached me to hang again or talk again, etc. I kept up texting and called a couple of times, regarding “hooking up” to which my painfully difficult voicemails, were heard but not answered which felt especially bad. When someone can’t tell you, NO THANKS, not interested, you spend the rest of the two months, pondering, wanting, fantasizing and needing them. It is difficult as a person with obsessive qualities like me, Esp a sex abuse victim that puts so much status on sex, and that feels owed something, or at least in need of extra attention once I give up the goods. Granted, our one hang out was mostly conversation, but the fooling around part was hot, and the sex was the next day and very brief; which led me to wanting more.

But being of his sexy status, I am sure he has no problem finding women. The app Snapchat was a way for me to keep ‘contact’ with him by viewing his life story, him viewing mine, and in a warped delusional way, maintain a friendship. Occasionally we would chat in there, and most recently we had our second all night sexting convo, that got into some kinky shit. Then the next day we talked a whole bunch via texting in the app. Then around 730 pm that night, he just stopped writing back and went on showing vids of him exploring Hoboken, NJ, hitting up a bar in Jersey City, and hanging with some dudes. There was no late night text, which I have spent many non-sleeping late nights waiting for, and yes, like gambling, once in awhile, he hits me up and I feel special.

And that is the operative word here, “special”. I am creating a feeling of special in my mind, of how he thinks of me, even though in no way shape or form has he asked me out of a date, texted me first, or God forbid, called me. He is 30 after all and young dudes barely know how to talk, let alone talk on the phone. I recently saw a sexy black dude lay down the law in a video on Facebook about how to tell when a guy is not into you.

He made it fairly obvs that in this case there is NO interest, I am just a random play thing. And in that case, because the guy is keeping the door cracked open to you, just to be able to get to you when he wants, the best thing to do is to slam that door shut and lock it.

And that is just what I just did. I slammed that door, I deleted the one viaduct of human contact, I deleted Snap chat. I will go through withdrawal, because my crush is def pure...but I need to refocus on brain on what is important in life.

I am proud of myself. I love myself, Amen.


Some days make you think more than others.

More than half my life in the timelessness of the Grand mysteries of the Universe, I feel her presence still.

I feel a new kind of love and protection that I had never felt when she was here as a child or young adult.

I feel I am continuing some strength of hers I thought I could never muster.

I am becoming a better person by her spirit over my shoulder.

24 years gone; but the flip side will be here soon enough and we can laugh again about dad, my beloved mommy.

My dad has been up my ass all day, Clean the fridge. Open the cans. Add the water, I have no patience today. I need to be left alone. Then when I tell him to leave me alone he starts yelling like a lunatic. I am tired of dealing with men-children, people who don’t know what’s up emotionally and just act like idiots. The rage and anger of loss; when meanwhile my life is on such a good track, my mom would be happy for me, I feel she is happy for me. I feel she wants me to be strong and hang in and be okay, and deal with my asshole dad (whom we used to complain and laugh at together) and wait until he finds his ‘reward’ in heaven and disappears so that I can have ultimate emotional freedom from this pain.

I want to drink tonight. I want to go out and party tonight. I want to make some fun, get laid.

I want to make Charm School, the guy I met on Tinder, meet me out, and bang me silly.

I don’t want him to ignore me anymore. I don’t want to be alone. I want him to want me, and when he says he does via messages on Snapchat etc, why doesn’t he ask me out? Why am I not worthy? Why am I alone and begging for love? I can’t play it cool anymore, I can’t be a game player, I just want to lay it out. In the meantime of course, all the guys I don’t want are calling and texting. Is this a grand joke, we can’t always get what we want.

Maybe just for today I will wander free and not come home until whenever.

I wound up in a coffee shop called How Ya Brewin”? Got a smile from a cute surfer guy, gave a dude a quarter to pay for his food. Got the wrong bread for my roast beef sandwich. Heard two ladies talking about Russian blue cats. Had a thoughtful sweet, other dude give me sympathy from Snapchat and say he will give me a hug on Friday.

Now I am going to work on the web series I have for youtube with my friend Brett.

Move it forward.


I spent my holiday weekend getting drunk on both red and white wine. Two bottles of each respectively. I think in the long run, my liver is ok with this because when you feel like shit, have a hoarse throat and are not a happy camper; it is ok to get drunk. I did eat some good hotdog, hamby, corn, yams, little steak late night after I drunkenly tore at it like a Neanderthal, which in truth, I am 2.7% one still.

I know this for sure, I took a DNA test.

I found that I was still crushing on Charm School, and that he doesn’t crush on me back because he doesn’t respond to my texts right away usually, or ever hit me up. Unless he has some kind of diabolical plan to long term make me his submissive slave, I mean.

We did in fact had a punishment based sexting situation a week or so ago, and he sent pics of girls getting flogged and tied up. I am pretty sure one of the pics was from his personal collection.

I have an uncanny ability to study photographs, like a Jack Nicholson in “Chinatown,” and see the evidence. Charm School has wide fingernails, rounded short nails, and an obtrusive thumb bone; prob from all of his self-proclaimed bad ass fights.

The photo was taken in a hotel and it appeared to be a young very tight blond. I didn’t ask if that was his hand in the pic. Why fuck up the fantasy?

So, I made some drunken vids, which I thought were funny as hell, for Snapchat particularly and I don’t think CS checked them until late night. I don’t know why it means so much to me. But I think the crush is fading and now I am hitting up his friend late night on Facebook. That shows dignity on my part. And maybe a little spite; but I am well aware that CS is so hot and I am not in his league but in actuality, he still fooled around with me that first time we chilled on or around April 28th, in my home where he slept over. There were real moments of interaction. He told me childhood stories, we made out for like twenty minutes before the other stuff like HS kids. I dunno, I mean, I did act a little crazy, I think I said a few times that I was going to be destroyed emotionally that next day, because he was so awesome and funny and cool.

I also wonder if while I was hanging with him he was texting his friends telling them how nuts I was. I know for a fact he was texting about the Ranger’s losing to Pittsburgh.

I think I have to take a world view on dating...whoever shows interest, enjoy it as long as they are not jerks.

I also have a 51 year old dude that seems interested though he is dating a chick, and banging her. And a 30 year kid who is all about me, funny as hell cute, and STERILE!!! Yes that is correct, we can bang with no fears. He worships me and thinks of me all the time. But he is not making too many moves to see me, so what is up with dudes 30ish? So then, even when they like you they aren’t up your ass?

I am ok that I have had many years of singlehood to be okay with myself. And I am not one of these people that have to be with someone or implode. I think it is ok, but I still do weird stalkery things. I am going to a therapy appointment this Friday, so hopefully I can hash out some shit about why I want men that are not wanting me.

But life is so good lately. I went to AC and day drank a bunch of champagne and spoke to a bartender that I flirted with a year ago and then he cut me off. He is like 15 years older than me and looks ok, kinda like Steve Martin but I do not want to fuck him. He seems interested in me but I don’t think it will be hard to just ignore him since I rarely drink at his bar.

But as for driving buzzed home on champagne, with my convertible top down in my dad’s sports car. It is priceless and the summer memories are being built. I don’t want to have to go back to work on the 25th. But I have designed my life pretty well, and I have enough money to last me until I get a brand new job paycheck.

I also have an old Tinder dude that has Lyme’s disease or maybe Parvo some weird other virus and I am hitting him up a lot to see how he is. It is nice to stay in touch with someone who maybe feels alone and sick and lives with already sick mother. I told him I would bring him cupcakes but he doesn’t show any emotions pretty much. Which scares me a little, and the fact that the first time we banged he kinda hurt me and was excessively aggressive. Yup I keep talking to these guys. Thus therapy on Friday again.

Just checked phone. CS’s new name on Snapchat is now Dickneck, so I won’t be possessed to open his snaps. That way I can remind myself that he is not interested, so thus I should not show him I have an interest in HIM. Not that he gives a fuck, right?

Ok, I am on Nutrisystem and want to get buff. I need to run home and microwave some small dinner.


I just came from my second therapy appointment and the lady is awesome. She is very helpful, she listens and remembers and seems like she gives a fuck. She got me to feel some real emotions. I think she is the best one I have ever had so far.

I deleted Snapchat, I need to go cold turkey on Charm School, delete his ass mentally and physically. I am getting jerk off vids at six am for God’s sake. I mean I don’t even know why I answer them. I wonder if he himself was sexually abused that he has to get sexual attention at every turn.

I think by cutting him off it will piss him off. I think if I make him seem sexually undesirable it will make him have to take a look at himself. I don’t know. I guess I should thank him for letting me look at myself and what I don’t want. I have the intuition that creepers like him find solace in someone that is always there.

I really want to say it is getting tedious and if it ain’t leading to sex there is no point of you talking to me. I met you on Tinder, remember? I want someone to fuck on the reg and that hasn’t happened, even when I left the door open to other dudes. I mean, it seems as if I can’t find the right situation or maybe I should not try and that I have to get started on editing the screenplay and making things happen.

Otherwise, it is not far from the truth that I am lonely, and want to drink more than I should, and sometimes I do that, and then try to make up for the hangover by going to the gym and eating well. It is a losing game in all. I want to be free from these fixations, including men and booze and drugs.

To make things more interesting, I have been chatting up at night Charm School’s less attractive but more connected in the film business’ buddy on Facebook. Maybe a little out of spite. Maybe out of interest. Guy does in fact have a serious gf and all.

We got into some sex talk last night. I think I was half lying when I told him the dirtiest night I ever had. I guess he was drunk when he was writing. I told him some stuff but NEVER mentioned I want to bang his friend. I want to not even say his name. Fuck that guy. At least I may have a shot of getting a job in film through this new dude, let’s call him Budd. I am having heart pains right now and I feel that I need to calm down my roll, slow down on cigarettes and take it easy. I also feel like the times are a changin in my life and I am in fact moving forward.

Let me reiterate, FUCK THAT GUY! I deserve someone to be nice to me!!!


So I kinda ignored Charm School after he send a weird porno movie at like nine am followed by him masturbating, which I have to say, I don’t mind part two, but because I had good self esteem last week, I didn’t respond to him. Then three days later, Friday night out drinking in a club he snapchats me and follows it up with, Sorry about the pornography the other night, and he was drunk. I just made mention of the porno vid which he agreed had some interesting machine involved in fucking a man’s ass. I think he just wants me to fuck him in the ass.

In the meantime, I got hot and heavy with Budd last night, even so much as a video chat with him jerking off and me showing my boobs and well, liquid explosion. I was very drunk on almost an entire pint of tequila and seltzer. I was most likely slurring my words and over talking. I had also earlier sent Charm School some vids of the exact kind that I sent to his friend. You see they are buddies. I met CS on Tinder over three months ago and the dude has shown no interest in fucking me again. (the word ‘again’ just played on the Whole Foods store radio) So what do I do? I hit on his friend who has a long term gf that he claims the pressure is on to marry. He kinda started the sex talk, so I went along. I mean, now I realize it was a spiteful thing. CS didn’t “want” me, so I try to get back at him by hitting on his friend. Seems logical, right?

I am so incredibly lonely, I am so incredibly desperate for attention and love. I am a sad person and I even tried to find CS through some driving school he was at today. I don’t know how to put down the bottle, because I think it is just furthering my sadness and depression.

Tomorrow I meet a Crossfit person. I think I need to do something that is a group environment that will give me some friends and support. The body thing will be cool too. To be able to see muscles will be cool. I dunno anymore what else to do. Maybe if I look hot I can get some more attention and not drink so much. Hahah. I am looking for outside happiness, and maybe the least lonely I feel is right now talking to you. I think if I can write my stories, I can at least be less alone.

But I think of ending it often but I would never do that to my nephew. The closest thing to true love I have with that kid. And not in any weird or creepy way. I give him pure love and he sends it back. I think this South NJ life is killing me. I need to be closer to them and love and friendship and people that give a fuck. Here I am chasing emptiness, because truly, what would happen even if I did fuck those guys? I would just obsess about fucking those guys again. And the cycle of emptiness would continue. I need something deeper and more fulfilling to mend this hole.

I had a dream about James Franco. I admire his constant motivation for acting, writing, directing, teaching. In the dream he was in some kind of auditorium. He was being chided for not hanging out by some dudes there. I was just sitting in the audience or something. Anyway, they said they needed “bell players” or members of a chorus for the play he was doing. And I skirted around trying to talk to him. I wanted his attention. I wanted him to say I could be in his play. I was again, even in my dreams trying to get outside love or acceptance.

Not to mention, the other night I did an acting sketch act that had the most lines I have ever had in a play or musical or movie. I pulled it off with talent and finesse. I remembered I think 90% of my lines. Afterwards, I just wanted to hide, but I did get some fist bumps, and high fives and “good jobs” etc., but overall, it wasn’t a rush or a great flood of heart swell. I think because I did it for the right reason. I did it for me.

I did it for me.


I have been spiralling and making poor decisions lately in regards to booze and reaching out. I did in fact talk to my therapist, who is in my small world, the best person in my life right now. She is probably the best human therapist I have met, I have prayed to aliens, God, saints, my mom as an angel, and authors for help.

I have to realize that meeting people in this world is transient. I still fixate on CS aka Charm School. When that crazy notification pops up on my phone, the sound of the Snapchat woodblock or something, I am salivating like a dog.

I want to give up these ideas. The therapist said I need to be authentic to CS and just tell him I like him. I have found that this is the scariest but truest thing. Time to be fucking authentic mother fucker.


My reality today was warped into a sense of wonder, humor, love and friendship by meeting a 60’s something year old weird guy. He was to train me today on my new job today on a golf course. He looks like Leslie Nielsen, he stands tall and has a deep strong voice. He talks to everyone, is ultra friendly, and if you have ever been on a golf course; sometimes the snobbery doesn’t take too kindly to a friendly and open-hearted park ranger.

He was an ex cop. My fears about working with him today, on my first job was valid. Yes, he is a bit OCD with the parking of the golf carts, or the placement of tools, or the application of the rules. But when he started talking to essentially a teacher, me, it showed more truth about the fact that he “didn’t like school” and that his teacher would just let him sit in the back of the room and play with models of Medieval castles instead of being bored to death or worse, talkative in class.

At first, I was like, this dude is mentally ill. But when he started telling tales about growing up in the 60’s, and working for the Coast Guard, and seeing a UFO (didn’t show up in the radar on his boat) I began to see an interesting picture. Tim, his real name, because he deserves the respect of truth, is a genius type. He can kill Jeopardy, he remembers amazing facts and details of stories. He has a bit of a rebellious side and a need for making conflict, but I see a fascinating man-child, who expresses joy and caring to everyone he runs into, even the golf snobs. You can see them put up their defensive, snarky, resistant selves, when he approaches them like long-time friends with the innocence of a child.

I think this will change my summer. I wish to be able to work and learn from Tim. I hope I can tell you more about him soon.


I basically passed out early then got the expected on the weekend, drunk based Snapchat from Charm School. This time was pic of a shirtless guy’s back, in some club on the NJ shore, with the caption, “Jeebus, Bro.” Not sure if I was supposed to make fun of the dude in the pic, or say hello, or whatever, But I didn’t respond. Then at five am he sent a pic and vid, not to me, but to his whole story, stating, “A friendly reminder, I can, and will, kill you.” I think maybe this dude has some anger issues, and prob relating to his ex, or whatever.

I wanted to talk more about the Ranger dude. I think Tim almost made me cry as he left me yesterday after working all day together. The man has amazing stories, the man has amazing knowledge (he reads like two books a week) and is funny as hell, and on vibe with my emotional self. He tells everyone he meets to “Be careful” as a leaving sentiment, and how OTHERS react is an amazing telescopic look at their character. There are snobby, self-involved, self-critical golfers, a sub-group in themselves; that are stand-offish to Tim’s in your face friendliness and openness. They seem weirded out at first, they physically withdraw a bit, but once he starts giving real golf advice, they all listen. Some with less defensiveness than others, but always with a hint of fear in their eyes. At first, you think this dude is fucking crazy, I was a bit scared too. But when you see that his continual sentiment of ‘being careful’ and ‘watch yourself out there, ok’ comes from a very caring place.

Goofy and incredibly active minded, he is a one person show. I basically listened to his stories all day at work as we drove around in a golf cart. Our job as ranger was to fill up the coolers of water on four of the 18 holes for the golfers, make sure the flow of play is smooth, and basically “play” with the beautiful views and landscapes of the course, as Tim calls it.

He is the kind of guy in 80’s movies that people make fun of for being a dork. He is larger than life. He looks like Leslie Nielsen with light-changing glasses, and has a booming narrator voice. He is probably 63 or something, but looks and acts like a veritable large child. He took out his comb yesterday and said, “I have to comb my hair so I look pretty.”

He waves and says hello to people that he has met before. People that have houses on the perimeter of the golf course. You see, Tim talks to everyone, and when these folks were outside in their backyards, making a BBQ, Tim yelled hello to them as we zipped past in the golf cart.

They weren’t even looking his way. But he said hello anyway. I get the sense that if he met you once, he remembers your name with his steel trap memory, and because he is such a people-loving person, he can’t help but administer a greeting. Even when they were looking the other way. This touched me, and made me a little sad to think; a character such like this must’ve been made fun of in school Especially since the teachers did not take too kindly to his manic energy. I don’t know if he driven to be liked, but one interaction was telling.

He approached two middle aged, tv producer looking golfers and one of them said, “You again.” Tim said, “Oh you want me to go away?” And he seemed to laugh it off as he approached even closer to the golfers to molest them with conversation. When people are cornered like that, you see the animal in them. Another yuppie/doctor looking dude, golfing alone, was molested by Tim’s friendliness in this scene.

TIM: You making out alright.

YUPPIE in glasses and polo shirt, blond hair: (sheepishly) I just got a ten on the last course.

(the par on the course was five so he was five over par)

TIM: You want some nice cold water, we are dumping out the coolers now, (we dump the

Cooler water at the four holes around 6:30 at night before closing)

YUPPIE: (as if told by his mom, goes ahead and dumps his big bottle of Poland Spring

In the grass to refill with colder cooler water. As Tim has him in close range, he gives some


TIM: You know what the best thing to do is? Throw out the score card. It will just frustrate

You. All new starting golfers and new players shouldn’t use a scorecard until they get a

A little Better, it will just frustrate you.

YUPPIE: (again sheepish, kinda nods) Thank you.

TIM: Ok, have fun and be careful, ok. Get home safe.

Then there was the turtle incident. Which, I guess because I am on anti-depressants now, I am not feeling so terribly bad about. There is a little bridge and pond on the course, so very pretty.

Yesterday, two cute 12 year old boys were fishing off the bridge. Tim is all about the rules and getting in your face, telling you what is what. I am not like this nor will I enforce the rules once I am alone on the job. He told the two kids there is no fishing on the golf course, and that the Park ranger would come and enforce this and kick you off. He said he didn’t want to see them get in trouble. The kids didn’t leave or budge. The mom was there too and said they had been catching all sorts of fish already and that the Park ranger was very nice about it. Tim, slightly OCD I think, wasn’t being too annoying about it, but the whole time I felt that he was trying to spoil their fun. As a past fisherman myself, I enjoyed them fishing. I had had a bad experience a few summers back with some white perch, and vowed that I could never fish again. I saw the life in their eyes, and I realized that I could not personally kill an animal and be ok with that.

Anyway, Tim let me take out the cart alone on my second day, and I was zipping around waving at golfers. All of sudden I felt less safe and protected without Tim driving. I must be so very lonely and single for so long to get a sense that once I have a man I can relate to near, I need him.

So anyway, the two cute 12 year olds had a fish on! I saw it pop out of the water and drove around near to where the two were on the mini-bridge. It was a big pickerel! They are mean looking alligator fish with sharp teeth. I Snapchatted it, then a few minutes later, one kid hooked a poor turtle.

The damn hook was through the turtle’s chin. The kid was hanging the thing off his pole and i got upset and told him to hold the damn turtle’s body! It was obvious that because the poor guy kept ducking his head inside his shell, and making little squeaky sounds, he was scared and in pain. I told the kid that this is why I don’t like fishing, because I don’t like hurting the animals.

In an urgent panic, I ran to the golf cart. Just an hour before I had unwrapped a first aid kit in the cart, out of curiousity to see what kind of stuff was in there. There was in fact, a pair of surgical scissors, never been used.

I ran over to the kids with the scissors. They had no knife, no rags, no fishing box, nothing with them! At this point, the poor guy was bleeding inside his mouth. I tried to cut through the hook. NO go. This was sad. I had to cut the line and the animal then was stuck with a fish hook earring through his chin for the rest of his life;which I feared would not be so long.

As the kids plopped the guy back into the pond, I said, “Say a prayer for that dude.”

The whole time the kids’ father was parked on the road, apparently waiting for them. I went back to my cart, and watch the boys and dad put away the poles in the back of the pick up truck. The boys did not turn their heads to say goodbye to me, or thank me, and their faces showed the solemness of a funeral procession.


I just started working for a place that is a restaurant on the same premises as the golf course. See, even though I rocked it today and made $122 dollars in tips today cash money, I have a real issue with management.

Just like Tim but on the other end of the spectrum, this manager is named Frank. He is German born and treats all that is under his power like slave-minions. We waitresses are all under his constant control and obsessive crazy control. Not sure why he was up my ass all day today, but I will try and explain.

So, I trained with two chicks, I “learned” a plethora of information. I learned how to serve, what dressings the restaurant makes and has, and most scarily, the computer. The computer system is not just about finding the food you want to send to the kitchen to make. Oh no. We have to also make sense of the table numbers, the various amounts of time you have to spend running around. The amount of time you spend managing your time is just as important and timing the meals and when to “fire” them. There is in fact a “fire” button that is sent to the kitchen when you are ready to serve their meal after th appetizers or salad. You can’t just “fire” right away. You have to let them eat their damn salad or soup or whatever.

But today, left alone, thrown to the wolves, I was a lone server in a lunch shift, which, I was hoping was not too busy but NOOOOOOOOO>

I was there a mere two hours after trying to navigate the system of stocking items, making iced tea and coffee, filling up ramekins with sauces and dressings, and sorting silverware, and stocking items, and trying basically set up the day for shit.

I had a harsh sounding and new from vacation bartender lady kinda helping me. But once the ridiculous amount of people started showing up for lunch, I soon realized that I had a Nazi on my back.

The manager Frank, which reminds me much of the sicko in “Blue Velvet” played by Dennis Hopper by the same name, was up my ass and on my case at every turn. And I didn’t know shit about WTF I was doing; computer wise or otherwise, Which means in reality, I had a basic understanding of the computer system, but apparently not enough to know the seating patterns of the restaurant.

Meaning, this joint, next to the golf course, where I also work, has an outdoor patio of seats and a dining room separate from the bar area which is the most used area. It is like there are two outlander areas that one must also use when shit gets busy. I accidentally dodgily used the dining room on the computer as seat placement for the patio. It made sense to my middle-aged, overwhelmed brain at the time.

Then ensued me accidentally putting two tables together with food, having it broken down and voided with Frank, having some people walk out because there was not enough help there to help them, and one meal being completely comped. Even after they ate ¾ of it.

I need to drink now a bit. But let’s just say, Frank the German, is hated by all at this establishment, but the money is so good, they all stick around.

Did I mention I was left alone for lunch service alone at a busy place and no one really gave a fuck? Ok, good.


I tried to let go of Charm School, but it feels like an addiction. I delete Snapchat, go back on a day later, watch his vids, stalk him at work, etc. I watched him take out the garbage behind his job, and my heart skipped a beat. His practical silhouette was breathtaking, yes I guess I am in love and I hate this feeling.

I saw him back there and then sunk down in the car afraid that he would see me.

I then went to therapy, and told her all about only some of it, not the watching him. Just that I had planned to go inside but didn’t. I want to do this just to see him, but I have a problem looking nonchalant. This is very incongruous to me wanting to delete his vids off snap chat and be left alone.

I can’t. I guess it is being denied and ignored so many times by him, that I need the attention even more so. I will not be ignored like I was in childhood and denied love. I guess I have to seek the arts yet again to make me feel better. I saw that he posted he was signing up for Sag-Aftra membership. I want to be a part of them too damnit, I want to be an actor. He made me both incredibly angry and jealous, while also inspiring me to go get it myself.

I want to be free. I have to stop the drinking to move forward. I want to be special.

I want to be loved, my heart is so broken, I want to sleep at night and not be afraid.

Heal me someone. Heal me please so I stop hurting myself and looking for other broken men for love.

Deep breath. Yes, I am sad now. But I have done good things at my recent serving job. I have done good things at my other golf course job.

It doesn’t make your heart full, it doesn’t cuddle you at night.

Good thing I have a date on Wednesday with a new boy. He seems to be all about me. It will be a good distraction.

It is deep summer, August, and hot as hell. 2016, Summer of shooting and death. A young jogger was killed near my hometown; a place that is known as sacred, white, and mafia-ville. She also worked where I used to work. This summer is incongruous and scary.

Going to hit the gym soon before work, I had a soft pretzel at three am. (on my period).


It is real.

It is true.

And it comes after I have been drinking, triggered you would say, or been rejected emotionally.

So, I am in that place and I hear it alone; when everyone else thinks I am ok and fruitful.

I can act happier when I’M around people and even feign an exaggerated warmth.

But inside, I rot and decay, and I count the hours to smoke a cigarette and be alone in my room to look at the dark ceiling.

I feel hateful towards men that haven’t returned my affections, or because of their own brokenness, have decided to be mean and troll me emotionally.

I dream of murder one night, then next, saving hundreds of tadpoles in glass containers and even saving some squished into a baby food jar.

And the deep sense of sorrow that some were lost.

Today I will get a manicure if the store is open, it is Labor Day, and I will let someone touch my hands to feel more alive.

Thank you for listening.


Things have been a depressive mess but on the upnote, I haven’t drank in almost I think 9 days or something. I am trying to eliminate it from my life. It is so clearly a depression-relapse trigger, that I need to look at who I am and what I need to do to make my life good.

I need to focus on being that talented, joyful person I was in sixth grade that wrote plays and came to life through writing stories. I cannot be afraid to be alone anymore.

I want to be happy and alive and sit here at this computer and write to you, write dialogue for movies, not be afraid of the damn formatting. The damn formatting of scripts is making me very mad and scared and fearful to write.

But yet I have tons of stories to express. I think I have emotions to share with others.

I have been moving back from talking to guys as much. Moving away from others that are male and cannot give me anything.

Especially Charm School, who is so pretty on the outside and an asshole on the outside.

I want to pick up my bass and work shit out through music. Write some songs. I want to come alive again even if it means bouts of mania, which I do feel creeping in.

I have a lot to give and I think that the alcohol thing is the thing that fills me with doubts and self-loathing.

The cigarettes ain’t doing me favors neither--I think that also takes my moods down a notch. My fears of deliverance from sorrow are strong too. Why am I afraid to be so successful and happy? Because I can remember some times when I was joyful, and circumstances beyond my control made it all go away. I was left feeling that no matter what I do, I cannot maintain joy.

I look toward the day when the fears of being sad are greater than the fears of being happy. That I will be striving to avoid sorrow as much as possible. Until then, anyone or thing that can question my happiness and judgment of choices, can be kicked to the curb and fall out.

I am going to a metal concert as a 45 year old woman. I used to listen to these bands like 30 years ago. I am going to try and write about it a best I can. I may even make a fake press badge to sneak around. You can’t take the rebel out of me, raised Catholic, I will find opportunities to go above and beyond the usual.

No fears today. I am travelling alone to a new place and not really ready to challenge the noise of metal music. I will see how long I last.


My name is Deirdre and I am an ex-metal head. I am 45 years old and still have some metal type clothing. I was given two tickets to a metal concert. I have not seen Anthrax or Slayer in probably 25 years. I remember going to the iconic L’Amour East in Brooklyn, NYC in the mid-eighties and learning how to smuggle in heavy bottles of Budweiser forty ounces of beer in your backpack. You could even drink outside the venue with no fear of bouncers, security guards, or club venue workers telling you to take off or dump your booty. When you are 18, and can get away with drinking in a club, being able to stay out beyond your curfew, hear loud ear-bleeding music at close range; immortality reigns free.

Fast forward 25 years, and my taste in music has opened up and remained basically hard rock to prog rock. The days of partaking in death metal shows, punk, hardcore and the hybrid crossover metal have faded into the same either as my brunette hair. I even am able to enjoy avant garde jazz and experimental music of the 60’s as I drive in my red sportscar. But lately, and maybe it has something to do with being mid-life, and being confused and tricked into trying to understand this new chapter in life, I have been listening to metal on the radio, on computer, but mostly, in my head.

They say it helps to express anger. I supposed listening to fast, loud, and aggressive music can make one understand the pain of life. Why else would teenagers be so drawn to it? I find that if I am in a very mid-lifey mood, I lean towards noise. On the other spectrum, if a classical song is on the radio in the car, and I realize most people don’t listen to music this way anymore, I will also let that play. Whatever helps to tame the savage heart.

When I was asked if I wanted some free tickets to see this metal venue, a two-day affair, in which the headliners were Slayer and Avenged Sevenfold (clumsy name) I took it as an opportunity to do a little observation of the types of people that go to metal shows. The current atmosphere in the local environment was of bombing and violence. Several locations in NY and NJ were being lit up by small contained bombs. The town of Chester, PA where the venue was being held was a severely depressed and crime-ridden. There had been several cop killings recently. It all seemed a great background for the chaos, confusion, and darkness that metal music brings to the table. I am not celebrating the injuries and deaths; it just came together at a strange time, when all that surrounded me was concealed in a veil of fear.

The drive was long and I was headed to unknown places. The weather, sticky and humid, threatening rain.

My anxiety was driven as well. Having recently upped my dosage on anti-depressants, I was adjusting to a brain clarity that was too clear. Garish with a reality starkness that was not easy to make peace with when entering an unknown situation solo.

I had however done something so smart. I was giving these tickets for free from a friend who works in the radio business. I decided an hour before getting out of bed and going to the show, that I should put the extra ticket up on craigslist and see if anyone would buy it. As I was debating in bed around 2:33 pm on a Sunday about NOT EVEN going, my phone rang with a number from Tom’s River, NJ. I answered in a bit of nervousness, I have so many debtors up my ass. Some kid wanted the ticket for 25 bucks which would cover my gas and food money at the show. I was actually a bit more excited about the choice of food trucks than the actual music. Priority shift in midlife. Or as my friend calls it, three-quarter-life, since most likely we aren’t making it to 90.


Today little old emotional me hugged my APN. Her name is Tresy Thomas and you will never meet her but she was my favorite medical professional. She listened to me when I broke down, she didn’t ever rush me out of the place, she listened. So today when she said she was leaving, I was like “where ya going?” like a little kid. And at the end of our appointment, when she said alright my friend, take care of your health, I lost it and just reached in for a hug.Then I said that is why I need medicine, like an antidepressant because I am so emotional.

Then I ran to a corner in the waiting area to calm down and the other nurses and such gave me info for my next phase of the breast while I wiped away my tears and tried to compose myself. So much going on, and I have been blacklisted from my family and am sad and depressed over some things that have happened. I have to confess now.

I turned in my brother and his wife for using drugs in the house, marijuana, and his dealing of drugs to co-workers, but the upsetting part was that they leave the stuff around for the kids to smell and see. I saw his almost three year old daughter pick up a test tube meant for pot and look at it. I had my special 7 year old love, my nephew, sitting on my lap when he began to tell me that he thought he was a bad kid, and that he didn’t like himself cause his mommy yelled at him all the time. And when he repeated it to her, she just rationalized it by saying he never listens to her, and shook it off like his feelings were nothing.

Perhaps I am only projecting my own hurts. When in the family my mother and father ignored my cries for help after being sexually abused by an uncle, and then acting out by sending sexually explicit letters to a friend across the street, signing them a Mr. X. The cops were involved in finding out about this letter, and there was a policeman on stake out in front of my friend’s house. I never truly got over losing a friend like that. I never felt safe around men and trust was always an issue. I still to this day feel abandoned and ignored, and put expectations from men who clearly have no interest in me; to fill a void of love and concern that is as empty as a well.

I cannot explain what really drove me to call child protective services on him. I just know that I see kids screaming for no reason, and pinch marks on the back of the little one’s arms, and their mommy makes statements like, “I am surprised no one had called child protective services on me,” and explains how doctors tell her that abused children have marks from abuse on the backs of their legs, not the front, and the drugs, and the sadness. The anger in that home is so deep. I feel like my younger sister now won’t talk to me or see how I am, even after being there like a close friend when I had my hysterectomy. Now all is quiet, and since my father is backing me up, my brother won’t talk to him either or invite him to his daughter’s birthday party.

I am sad and alone and I sit here in my room, drinking a Slurpee, a Percocet in my belly to ease mental pain. I am going to the city with my friend tomorrow to accompany him to get fitted for a big time major motion picture. It is directed or produced by Steven Spielberg, with Tom Hanks and Meryl Streep. I am the actor but he got the background work. I am a bit jealous, but maybe if I go too, someone will give me some background work too. I am living in a fantasy half the time to make due with my reporting of a wrong, I hope that I can still be a part of the family and not be so banished.

I have felt this way before, in high school when there were some boys that got me drunk and passed around a fat joint, they took advantage of my drunkenness, had sex with me, made me give a blow job in the woods. The whole school called me a slut. They wrote about me on bus stops, I felt alone. Two months later I was pregnant with my boyfriend at the time’s kid I later realized. At the time, it was thought it was the date rapist’s kid and my cousin then betrayed my trust and told my family. The whole family came to get an abortion with me. My older sister was informed of this on the morning of...she just had a look of shock and sadness when my mom told her.

Secrets, lies, pain and abuse. Cycles go on and on forever. I hope I can find peace.


So between period week last week and starting a new job at a new golf course, I have been in either a lot of pain, or scared of going outside or just happy to be around hot dudes.

I have said goodbye to the Dark Horse character, a tall dark handsome lad I had been banging on and off for a year. He wanted to keep the sex,”casual” and I just said, “It was nice knowing you, ______.” To be honest, it hurt like a bitch to tell him, because I enjoyed his company, although he was a dick sometimes, and he was great in bed. I also pushed away another Tinder dude because he was mean to me on Snapchat, or maybe just snarky. I don’t got time for that.

I also have some issues with letting go of a funny man, filmmaker who has a GF and claims to be under “pressure to propose” but I really just want for someone to love me, same shit.

I seem like I need to do more creative things like write music. I have found great interest in listening to Stephen Sondheim in interviews, and cosmic coincidence; his songs were playing today in a chowder restaurant on Long Beach Island, NJ. We are getting windy and shitty weather here because of the remnants of Hurricane Matthew.

But on a good note is brought me here to this little cafe called, How Ya Brewin’? Where the wifi is good, and the vibe is young and positive to the point of disgust. Or like now, some guy just licked the butter off his fingers from his bagel. These little noises make me sick.

It is a weird time being 45, unmarried, no kids, single. It is like, you have the world as your oyster, yes, but the work it entails to shuck the damn thing takes so much effort, I wind up sitting in bed alone and staring at electronic devices.

But I keep getting obsessed with the idea of writing stuff, screenplays, this. It is like a haunting thought. I think if I am deathly afraid of being a writer. I need it to probably deal with my sorrow and inner conflict and hatred towards my dad. It is very possible he was a pedophile to my sister, and possibly to me during a bathing time towel off. I think he knew what he was doing at the time. Imagine having to live with a monster. Being like a kidnapped victim, and relying and actually feeling sympathy for the very person that hurt you. It is like living in a constant turmoil of the self.

Comedy from all these painful experiences. I have made things on the internet that talks about my life. The overwhelming thing is that I have a voice that constantly says, “WHO CARES?” And then it says, go die, or something like that. I see interviews with talented funny ladies like Roseanne Barr and they all have serious trauma/tragedies intervene and dissect and change their lives toward the funny.

Roseanne. She has a naivety, wonder; and innocence and self-lessness about her that makes me feel ok about myself. Because, if she can go through a few nuthouse experiences due to these traumas, then great for me. I have had my share and knowing that you can never be fixed...well there is only way way to deal with shit and it comes down to being creative.

I think I have to tell someone, like you, or me who is reading this, that the unknown is possible and I can do it. I may not be able to write music with my hands, but I can with my heart and mind.

If I could be closer to my heart, I think I could make lyrics a lot easier. What can you do?

You have pain and you have loss of innocence. You have joy and you have panic. You have fear and you have limits. The lack of relationship makes you feel like you need to fill up time with good things. I don’t know what good things are but I bought some lace today to do some sewing.

Some sewing. I don’t even know if I have a sewing kit at home. Middle age is always about “what the fuck do I do now?” because for the most part, I have achieved all the creative type things I wanted to do.

Some lyrics. ’d rather not know than know, My heart could not take the blow, if I were to ask, do you love me, and you were to say, “NO HONEY” I’d die, I’d dieeeee.”

I would rather not know, then take the big blow, a kiss to my ear would be rather clear, but please don’t deflate my...heart dear, strike my arrow down and annoint my frown…


Not too long ago I had a biopsy done of the inside of my uterus. Now I had one done of my cervix. I don’t know what the hell to think. I am partially wanting to love everyone. And partially wanting to give up all hope. I don’t think I can be any closer to thinking my life is over and beginning at the same time.

I want to hug my nephew and niece and play with them all day in the dirt. I want to kiss them and hug them all day. I want to talk to them with love and understanding. I want to please God be free of smoking forever. I want to understand that life is not too much longer, so every day will be filled with love, joy and hope for others. I want to push the threshold to happiness until I cry with joy.

I want to write sketch comedy. I want to fly on a bicycle down a steep ravine like I did at 12 in Forest Park. I want to be closer to family than ever before.

I need to be loved back too. I need to be loved back too. But the getting comes from the giving.


I have to be kind on myself. I have been in the darkest of places physically and mentally and emotionally. I have felt the need to think about suicide and drink too much and snort tramadol up my nose and escape into bad things. I think that all this is making me depressed and it is my fault.

The Universe showed me a true sign this week. I was in NY with family, and I enjoyed my playtime with my niece and nephew. The hard part was dealing with the adult family members, all with heavy issues of their own, including a marijuana addiction; which, when there’s kids involved, it can be upsetting to see them being neglected on a very subtle but damaging basis.

So I drove home from NY, back to the NJ shore, and sat in my driveway, crying a bit. Exhausted, depressed, also having just been fired for me not showing up in lieu of my own overdrinking and rationalization that I wanted to spend another day with my family. I lost a good job with the kind of freedom that only comes once in awhile. I took my bags from the car, and weepily and wearily looked up to the sky. Many bright constellations were out, with the centerpiece of the Northeastern sky, Orion, big and twinkly, with even it’s Seven sisters blurrily visible. I said out loud, “Just give me a sign,” half talking to God and half talking to my mother i think. I scanned for about five seconds then, flash! A streak, a shooting star without a doubt streamed from Orion, a leftover meteorite from the Orionids. It was a late comer, but i broke down immediately in a kind of relief; like something was going to get better, like I was going to get better, and that I was not alone.

So, whether alien, mom, or just a plain ole space rock...it certainly has me still thinking a week later. And I made a wish that probably alot of single women at 45 make. I don’t know what is to come of it but in the meantime I have a lot of work to do. I have to use my gifts better.


What is my point is that today I took a job delivering pizza mostly, gluten free and cheese that is pure and unadulterated, to rich people in Monmouth County, NJ. A lovely pocket of the east coast; will hilly sweeping roads, a big river called the Navisink, where dolphins sometimes get lost in; and the same county where Jon Stewart and Queen Latifah live.

But none of that really touches my day. I was welcomed on a Sunday but a lovely redhead with a military jacket with a hug hello. I good hug hello. How often do you start a job with a hug?

Her name was Avery. Oh lovely, rolling hills upon Wales Avery. You are a natural redhead, you are stacked like a brick house, and funny as hell.

There is my boss Mike, He is one of my managers. A bearded fellow in school for a double major of Criminal Justice and Computers. He was kind and gentle in explaining my duties; which included getting accustomed to a Toyota Prius, which is a weird anti-intuitive car, but once you learn it, it absorbs you and lets you rip it like nuts. I was heavy on the foot. Also, for a delivery job, it is the first time any company, big or small (this one is small) let me use their vehicle for delivery. I find this a good thing, but also a blessed thing. I have had a good record driving, plus with the help of the Universe, have been safe and good enough a driver to be allowed to drive SOMEONE ELSE’S CAR I really don’t know. The car is the owner’s car, his name is Paul.

Paul is very kind and gentle too. He reminds me of a good friend I have, but only if he aged like 15 years. The guys speaks and looks like one of my beloved friends; which I have few select of, and immediately hired me. My confidence was good. Here’s a pro tip: don’t work anywhere they owners don’t make you feel safe and respected.

The comes Harrison. He is a very open gay man. After about five minutes of meeting; he was talking about gential shaving practices and how it affects him, personally. I took it as a hug of trust, and emotional and mental hug of trust, but then he gave me such a wonderful REAL hug later, and twice, that I think I will be his friend forever.

There is then Casey, a beautiful little blond thing, 21 that could be an real life Disney princess. When I met her, she said, “Oh you must be Deirdre!” and squeezed my hand so hard it made my ring hurt me and dig into my finger. But again, I took this as love. I felt touched. So far, I am feeling that I have found a home. A community of work.

There is then Isabella, introduced to me as Bella. I rightly said, after a handshake (again, how often do people shake your hand on your first day of work?) I asked if that was short for Isabella, and she said yes, and I said, that is beautiful.. It is a beautiful name.

Who else? The Mexican dudes in the kitchen. Frisco and Pancho or some shit, no joke. Also kind and yammering away in Spanish. But again on a good note the first thing I said to Frisco was, “Buenos Dias” with a handshake, He smiled. We all want to be accepted.

I rode around beautiful areas in this Monmouth County of the state of NJ I speak of. I pulled into a gorgeous house with a long gravel driveway to deliver two boxes of wings. There were a three car garage, but the way it was designed it looked like three barn installations. Pretty common for this area; it is horse world here. Money and history always brings a horse farm around.

A lovely young woman came to the door still in her horse riding outfit. Her beige riding pants were smeared with horse-related dirt. Her dog Charlie came running out. I gave her the wings and she gave me a small tip. I told her the dog was cute but he ran inside before I got to pet him. It was two strange rejections; getting a cheap tip from so obviously a wealthy person, and a dog running away from my affections.

I was driving a beat up white Prius, which was a kinda cool, space-control center type of car. I felt embarrassed at this vehicle for a moment. And the idea of status came into play, and I thought, If only i was driving my sporty red convertible, maybe she would respect me more?” Only in my head. We have to keep such thoughts at bay, never to compare our state of reality to someone else’s, for we do not know what they think. We do not know what they do, and a cheap still represents a poor performance by a service person, but to them, perhaps, they are just lacking a few extra singles.

On the other hand, another obviously well taken care of young lady, hanging with her friend at her kitchen table, with a house sitting luted and seared on the Navesink river, gave me a ten dollar tip!

I am happy to have this job. Although in the past I have delivered pizza and other foods at three other places, I feel that this place has a great lesson and a possibility of love to experience.

DECEMBER 31, 2016

This day is an uptick in the last few weeks of me hemorrhaging blood from my uterus thusly leading to anemia of great proportions. I have been sleeping a lot. Avoiding most things, depressed, drinking now and again, crying, eating like shit and now...things have turned because of a guy.

Hard to believe, yes I met another online dude. And I was all ready to say fuck this shit. I was like forget dating, nothing matters. Then a 34 year old Navy vet stepped in and started writing emails to me from ok cupid, that were very kind. Non-sexual. Admiration boasting, interested in my “work” as a writer and actress. Complimentary, and yes did I mention, never brought up anything sexual? For this incest survivor, living with a pedophilic dad at 45 years of age, the last thing that I ever want is to be treated sexually, or even told I am beautiful. It is old hat, it seems manipulative. I have been texting Mark, his real name, so far he is deserving of only good words, so I will make him real here.

Because I want him to be real in my life. I had a stint at the hospital yesterday, at the ER. A dude I never met offered to pick me up and take me there. I broke the ice and actually called him (gasp) and he had a sexy voice, a fast clip speaking manner, much like Quentin Tarantino, with even a slight resemblance. He looks like a combo of Greek statue, Irish rugby player, and Ukrainian spy. He is picking me up tonight at ten pm to go see a movie in a town north of here, so we can talk in the car (his words) and then ring in the NY watching a movie. My thing is that I hope he kisses me at midnight. Been too long, since I kissed a boy I liked on this night. I can’t even remember!

I am trying to not be too over excited and luckily the waxing iron is making it easy to be not as emotionally involved, but I can’t help but think, this guy is giving me a light. I asked in tears in bed with a full heart, Please can I find love this year...and it felt very warm and cozy in my chest right after I said it.

I also keep thinking about the shooting star I saw that one night when I had just driven back from NY on a mission to get cocaine, primarily. In pain and bleeding, I looked up to the Orion constellation, always so present in my night sky, and declared out loud, ‘Just give me a sign!’

I scanned for three seconds, and a leftover Orionid streaked quick and light. I had to force tears because in my collapsed mental state, I didn’t even have the energy to cry naturally. I instead felt a relief of sorts, that SOMEONE, aliens, my mom, God, was looking out for me and watching, and that I was not alone completely, and this pain was not for naught.

I now realize that yes in fact, pain can be managed by how we much we love ourselves. How much we can make it all better by eating things that make our brains and cells work better. Avoiding bad things, including thoughts, and how much the twinkle of love in a romantic partner can make the world a better place all of a sudden. We are all complete already, so if we find someone who is kind to us and we are attracted to. It is like being affirmed of the perfection we have ignored in ourselves.

I hope I won’t have gas at the movies after all this spinach I have been eating to make myself feel better.

We are seeing PASSENGERS by the way, we both love sci-fi. Wish me luck readers!



So that date went pretty boring, the movie was pretty cool, I shed a tear at the big Universe shots, and the future sci-fi shit really churns my butter.

The dude was weird, as per usual with the guys I meet. A nice and lonely guy. He texted me once after we hung, but that obsession never became one though in his pics, he seemed like a cool hottie ish person. It’s ok. I have moved on to making more mistakes with married dudes and went back on seeing Dark Horse, an emotionless Classical musician who probably most likely gave me HPV. Use a condom people. I didn’t and now I have to get my cervix scraped once a year. It hurts.

I have moved on to a job working at a pizza place in the fancy neighborhood of Red Bank, NJ. The claim to fame of this place is that Jon Stewart frequents it often. This started a healthy obsession of trying to make a DVD of all my acting work, writing work, and other creative accomplishments and hand it to him when he came in to pick up some food.

So far this DVD is almost done, it is about five minutes long, and I think highlights some good stuff. I hear he is a good man, and I think he has deep integrity. I offered my help in any way to be on his team, as he is working towards a new show on HBO that uses animation for his message. Politically as well, I am with him in soul and heart.

I am seeing a therapist still trying to get to the bottom of my need to escape through drinking and men but so far I feel a slight learning advantage; as I am being more thoughtful of my consequences. I think emotionally I am not there, but I have some need to do more creative work, and this Jon Stewart thing is a way to go forward by looking at my past works and fueling a new desire to make my current works better.

I am lucky to have a team of two great friends helping me do this thing, this video thing, who partake in my fantasy ideas with an open mind and heart. It may just come out funny after all.

I am grateful my dad is still housing me at 45 years of age and paying for a lot of my things. Like car payment, insurance, registration, and tolls. He is getting older, and sicker and I am trying to be patient with his lack of hearing and blatant slovenliness around our disheveled house. How can I be good to others? How can I be good to myself and teach others in the same vein, and as a bonus, how can I make others laugh through my entertainment ideas? Some new obsessions, and they are no longer based in short-term satisfaction of the ego. I am not so scared of the unknown, I am feeling bright about the world and all the Universe has to offer. Call me Pollyanna, call me crazy, call me fat and lazy, but I feel that I have risen out of an alcoholic type phase and seen some light. I hope you see the light in your soul too, and follow through in little ways. It is February 12, 2017, the day of my parents’ anniversary. They would have been married 51 years.


Ah life. Just when you spend the day getting along with your pedo dad in Atlantic City, walk on the sand, find a phenomenal crystalline, sedimentary rock that is probably a million years old, and I am going to look at it every so often with that in mind for perspective, eat a yummy French Onion soup and Caesar salad, you get a letter from your bank saying you owe $105 dollars in overdraft fees.

I am stressed, I just smoked a joint laden with tobacco, am watching The Chappelle show, and thinking about how pissed I am that a boss could screw up so bad and cause a domino effect of bank charges.

My boss, a cranky guy, who initially at the interview was fairly cheery and winked at me at the end of the interview, made a direct deposit payment to an old delivery driver’s bank account.

Me, being a trusting lass, eight days later still had not checked my bank account because I had FAITH. I almost wanted to be in denial about my money situation, to NOT worry about it because I knew I had my budget balanced and shit. I had my shit together. Paying bills on time and being responsible. And this fucko fucks up my lovely day and makes me feel like smashing that very rock into my head. Like some kind of self-punishment, for not checking my bank account and see where I am at in general with finances. It ain’t my fault wholly, and yes it is 99% cranky ass’s fault, and I just want to smoke a bunch of cigarettes anyway.

I am stressed but then I think of the fact that in two weeks I get to go to Puerto Rico, a beautiful tropical island for three days. I get to go away. I get to be an American and travel mostly safely and enjoy debauchery for three nights that which my liver has yet to see.

It almost seems a joke. A lesson, don’t depend on anything: including money. I still hope he feels like shit right now. I hope you gets that this means war and don’t expect me to bust my ass until this shit is cleared up. I told him about the bank fees, and if he could help with that, but I didn’t get an answer back. Coward. I am angry but the weed helps. Ain’t gonna lie.


So it is now April of 2017 and I haven’t written for a month and a half. I have some good angry stories to get out about angry people I started working with at a diner in Red Bank, NJ.

I left that other pizza job after being fired and then today I pretty much was told to go home because in this case, I am going to quit because it is another case of working with bosses that have a shitty life, and then take it out on the most sensitive and ‘weak’ type employees.

I took this diner job to do delivery because it was a few blocks away from the other job and I saw a sign in the window after being fired from said pizza job. It was literally an hour later that I dropped off the new info to the seemingly nice old lady waitress there. Her name was Mary, my middle name. The other waitress was named my name, and the owner, a hot type dark guido type Greek guy was named Louie, which is my father’s name. I thought this job was cosmic and meant to be with some kind of synchronistic serendipity. Oh boy. When you have these ideas, be very careful.

At first it had a charming, tiny Queens style diner feel. Everyone was pretty friendly. I liked the counter and talking to old men eating eggs.

I noticed that pretty early on the boss had some issues. He would rib me about mistakes; then he got mean about it and yelled at me to get on the computer for two hours to learn the menu when I basically told him I didn’t have enough time learning the computer while taking phone calls for deliveries. The bullying started also with Mary the passive aggressive waitress who would say things and look directly at me and say, “The day keeps getting better and better.” sarcastically. She also made it clear who were her favorites and slowly started treating me much like a five year old in kindergarten that acts out. I stuck it in while having strange text arguments with my boss because even after a month of working there a couple of days a week, he couldn’t give me a schedule of any kind. I told myself I needed the money and I did like making tips and driving around bringing food to much more happy people than the ones I worked with.

So then today, Mary said, “I am going fire all of yous.” I laughed and said what’s the matter now Mary. She was OCDing out about something being out of order. She said she was getting bored of the faces here, but not her Deirdre, who was the other overworked waitress there that was a fixture at the diner and could do no wrong. So I said, very sweetly, “You are so nice to me Mary.”

This time it was me using sarcasm, but said with such a lack of animosity, that she just shut up and stared at me. Then she tried helping me fix some menu issues I fucked up which seemed pretty easy to fuck up. Then I gave a lady her take out food and mistakenly gave her a free tea and coffee which belonged really to another take out order than confused me.

Cue angry overworked boss. He shows up after a 45 minute drive from the hell swamp known as Staten Island, and comes into a bunch of misunderstandings, and a trifecta of deliveries that came through on the fax through grub hub. I was trying to do like three things at once and get my shit in order for two previous deliveries. He starts bitching about orders and raised his voice to me saying, “Do you know what you are doing now?” Like twice. Since I am on my period and in a lot of discomfort because I have a lemon sized tumor on my uterus, “Speak to me respectfully first.” which angered him more which he snapped back with, “Then go home then.” I said pay me first from last week. He said he was busy and told me to go sit in the corner...sit in the fucking corner? Oh no you didn’t.

I waited about five minutes texting at the counter watching CNN news about the war in Syria and smiled very serenely because I knew I would never have to work with this assholes again. He gave me pay for what I think was too much money, but I didn’t argue. I asked him to pay me for the day of an hour and a half of work, like 15 bucks, and he took his power back once again…”Payday is next week for today.” I got my jacket and cash and walked out without a word.

Four hours later I get a fake apology text. There was no use of the word sorry or apology. He merely said he could have handled it better and that he hoped there wasn’t any hard feelings, and then…talk to you later...hahahaahha.

Talk to you later. I will never talk to him again. I will go collect my pay with my head held high and ignore any future texts.

This cosmic experience was about standing up for myself without fear and moving on with serenity and peace from a toxic environment.

Also, I am getting a hysterectomy in two weeks.

nd chapter of my life and I want to keep you close.POST HYSTERECTOMY

Hello, how are you? I am sitting in my pajamas after a week of recovery, which entailed two in the hospital, then six days with my aunt and uncle.

The whole experience started out rather peaceful then became a world of horrors and pain. I do not suggest you get the operation done unless you were like me, suffering for years with a fibroid in your uterus for the last ten years of so, and tired of having to wear adult diapers, and bleeding like a stuck pig. That part of my life is over, not I can have a semi-normal life holding my resentments as I may; just without having to lie about not being able to work or missing work or staying home before the period because you feel so lousy.

I am not whole now. I guess I have less organs. I have no uterus, fallopian tubes, no cervix. The doctor told me he removed my cervix and then sewed up the top of my vagina like it was a stuffed roast duck. I do feel like the time on that table, being rolled in, the humiliation from a cunt nurse, gave me the distinct impression that I was a piece of meat going to be butchered and divided out for the right parties to do pathology and check to see if I had any good meat left, then throw out the rest. Where do the cut out organs go? Is there an organ recycle bin? They then send them to aquariums for sharks to eat? Do the pre-med students get to study my 6 cm fibroid under a pickled test slide to note how very wrong my biology went thus creating the intense pain that had invaded my life for a decade?

I don’t regret this. But is has changed me no doubt less than two weeks later. I feel someone lighter, my belly is flatter. My dad commented, “You lost weight,” when I came back home after spending six days “recovering” with a mad man uncle and his doormat wife. I replied, “Yeah, I lost some organs.” His health aide/part time maid from the Veterans Insurance plan was sitting in the kitchen playing poker on her phone, working hard as usual, not a comment from her, or a look. She completely ignored me as I returned from my horrific experience, and this is a woman that has told me in chats that her father molested her. Thanks for the compassion, bitch. I can’t understand people sometimes.

It is not generally that I feel like complaining for a whole section of this book, and probably only women or women who have had hysterectomies will understand this, but I am going to complain more now.

Fuck all the reasons to not help myself from staying in pain. Doctor surgeon of the Persian accent, because saying your accent is Iraqian sounds too scary, actually tried to talk me out of the surgery. First doctor ever to do that. I cancelled it years ago, then six months before less than two weeks ago told another GYN that I didn’t want the surgery. He seemed calm, cool, and collected, and was very handsome. Trying to talk and look in the eyes of someone that is going to change your life and possibly take your life, not purposely of course, is very difficult when they exude sexuality. It is a challenge to concentrate. But our eye contact was indeed locked, and he answered my questions with minimal body language impatience signs; and right before the surgery as I waited for his performance in the hospital “green room” he winked at me twice, and the flirtation eased my worry and made me feel safer, and hopeful, that I could land a date with this sexy beast. Yes, my surgeon was a sexy beast, and maybe secretly like to cut up women more than he liked making babies. But for my follow up appointment this week, I may in fact give him a card with my number in there, and thank him for changing my life for the better.

Spoken like a true 46 year old with no kids and no boyfriend, and no chance of having a family.

That is correct. I am sterilized. I can never have kids. I don’t think I ever did really because my life is a whirlwind of change and I am, ridiculously “free spirited”. Plus I can barely take care of myself properly because I need so much solitude, rest and the need to be able to do whatever I want. Work interferes with that, but so far I have not gone hungry, and only been homeless for a couple of very high-bottom days.

At the most, I am now able to be even more free spirited. I don’t have to spend money on adult diapers and maxi pads. That alone is like 20 dollars a month at least. So, time to start a saving fund for period-less days and at the end of the year I can put it towards a vacation or something.

I worry about not being able to enjoy sex now, as a side effect that can happen. But in truth, did I ever enjoy sex? The answer is probably with only one or two guys in the last decade. One of them I met on Tinder and still talk to, and I have him in mind to have sex with me with my organless body because he is great in bed, and I can tell him to cum inside my dead end vagina without worry of pregnation. I made up that word just now.

I realize this is a dark look at this experience. I realize it is supposed to be a good thing, but to name this surgery, “hysterectomy”? Is there any other way to talk about it? If I was the person naming it I would call it a “Freedomectomy”. No pads, nor blood, or clean up, or worry of babies unexpectedly. There, that makes some light come in a little, at the edges?

Of my missing parts calling to me in anger, why did you leave us? Why couldn’t you put up with us?

And I answer, I am sorry I let you down. I am sorry I smoked, drank, did other things, did not eat five vegetables a day and salads and drank good water, and moved to NJ, where everything is somewhat toxic.

I am sorry body, I let you down and you made tumors inside me to tell me I was doing something wrong.

That is the truth. I feel saddened not by the loss of these parts, but by the fact that I did not care enough about myself for so long that I took poor care of myself. I don’t believe these tumors were genetic.

What can I do now but love my new lighter, fitter, stronger, body? I can love it and treat it like a new temple that has been pruned of bad energy and forces that cause only pain and suffering. I can love the new body, I can eat fruit and vegetables. I can try for organic but please don’t make me only eat organic, body. I can tell it you are part of the new me. I will not drink anymore or put drugs in your temple. I will sleep when you ask, and pray and meditate good thoughts. I will share you with those deserving, which sexually is in reality nil at the moment.

I will take you in loving arms and forgive myself for hurting you inside and out, and tell you I won’t hurt you again in other ways, psychically or spiritually. I will avoid jobs that have environments where I can abuse any part of you. Because, dear body, you are all I have for the next second part of my life, and I want to keep you close.


I am recovering from a hysterectomy surgery and currently going stir crazy here living with my mentally and physically ill father. I have a dead mom that I think would want me to look after him. She loved him at the end of her life because that is what happens to your brain when you know you are going to die; you cling to those that were in your circle, even if those husbands hit you in the kitchen in the face and called you a “cocksucker” in the middle of the night.

I hate him deeply still, and live with him. I feel compassion too because he is so sick and dying in a slow-motion way. I think I have become clean and sober (save the pain meds, fuck you if you think I am forgoing them right now, AA program or no AA program) so I can deal with this all my brain power and faith in God.

It is ok. I am ok. I am healing well saith the surgeon with the velvety smooth hands yesterday. I can do “light”driving which to me is like 200 miles a week. I put like 120,000 miles on my car in like five years.

I have a dad that needs attention and was neglected in his youth. He had also a sadistic, gambling, cheating father. Those are the rumors. As far as I know, he was definitely fucked up. He showed me a photo album with beheaded Japanese soldiers from WWII. I don’t know what motivated him to terrorize me, and I wonder if perhaps I blocked out sexual abuse. I have some flashbacks of the man, a dark basement, decorations on the wall in the design of musical notes, maybe made out of black plastic. The fake wood panelled walls, the cellar door escape hatch that led out to the back yard; where the sick man grew his radishes and tomatoes and cucumbers. The sins of the fathers...I can see the man passed on those ills to his sons, and it also seems like his daughters escaped that sadism.

I recently also spent six days with my uncle, my dad’s side, and his doormat wife. She on all accounts doesn’t act like a doormat on the social side, but in his house, where he gives her allowance money like an employee; she is his servant and emotional whipping boy. Everything is a dirty look from him, a judgment, a nonsensical offense, and one morning there I smelled vodka coming from him.


I disliked him too since I was a kid, and when he tried to insult me, “You’re just like your mother,” instead of blowing up, I just said, “Thank you, that’s a compliment.”

I did smoothly say he was a bully. And he looked confused and then he and the doormat made some word play with “bully” then I explained how he doesn’t ever ask or care about others’ feelings.

He then started to punch me a little too hard on the shoulder (I was a week in from surgery mind you) until I had to say, “STOP HITTING ME!” I regret not getting up and leaving the situation, but his sick pull had me planted in my seat, the searing, scary compulsion of abuse---stick around, you ain’t going anywhere.

I hope I never am in the room with him ever again.

He is erratic and most probably an alcoholic and I was like detective injured niece, observing behaviors and trying not to play the victim but painfully aware in my body and mind of these ‘sins of the fathers’. The pain being passed down and through uneducated means, continuing in a different energetic force.

I see my dad as getting less sadistic with age but more depressed about his mortality. He refuses to go to needed doctor appointments and then does childish, attention-seeking behavior by pissing on the kitchen floor by accident while aiming out the sliding doors leading to the concrete porch out back.

God this is depression and yes, noone but me needs to read this. But Orin and Amelia, if you are reading this. I love you guys so much and worry for you too. Your parents are drug addicts, addicted to marijuana. The are selfish and at times mentally abusive to you. You are now 7 and almost three and all I want is to be gainfully employed one day with a decent place to live so I can take you guys in when you want to escape them; which I am sure will happen one day.

When I say to your father, my brother, that he is acting just like our dad, who was a rageaholic and an agoraphobic for some time, he states, “I don’t care.” He doesn’t care. That is the way into the repeating pattern and instead of education, he choose alcohol and drugs. Instead of going to psychology class, it was beers and blunts.

My mother’s death caused a lot of fallout. I think her death was self-chosen in that she chose to smoke and not eat well. My dad is doing the same two things but his health is holding out. I think if she lived and daddy died my life would’ve been very different.

Since reality is not what it is visible by the five senses, maybe I can pretend she is still here. What would I do differently? Would be fight? Would we be close? I think we would be very close. I can feel her now agreeing...she is pleased I am not drinking anymore.

I feel happy to exist as of late, like my expectations are lowered and my happiness higher.

I think the whole idea of being fully aware of a moment is key, and any decisions I make will be fluid and effortless.


Up all night after a long nap from about 3-5pm, then some pig out session of White Castle. Then an two hour long facetime with a buddy that has been my everyday type go-to support system for the last two months since I have been sober.

I am feeling that since I am like 18 days into my post-surgery hell, I am beginning to be ignored. I have felt abandoned by most of the people in my immediate circle.

My sister wrote me a text today, but since my body is going through a lot of changes, I am requiring more care than I thought. Since I have an aging sick father incapable of emotional concern, and I live with him, I am in the most possible of all places of non-speedy healing there can be.

Not to mention his borderline neurotic girlfriend is visiting, whom is a Catholic on the outside but a true hoarder and non-Christian on the outside. She and my dad bicker and she judges him non-stop and fusses over him in such a way that breed anger inside me to the point of driving me to have words with her more often than not.

I also think about my brother and sister-in-law that failed to come see me in the hospital because they are drug addicts. They function at work barely and then come home and yell at their kids, kick the dog (literally) and keep pot and paraphernalia in plain view of their 7 year old who has said on occasion, “Why does the bathroom smell like stinky cheese?”

I have to forgo my anger and maybe one day report my brother to his job for dealing at work. My plan is on the realm of Better Call Saul the tv series about two conniving brothers that find ways to sabotage each other. I am admitting this here as my most obsessive confession, because all the rest pale in the light of rage that courses through my tiny veins.

No man has given me this type of obsession. I think the fact that his kids are at stake, or the fact that my sister in law is so jealous of my nephew’s love and adoration of me that she does her own versions of sabotage like; not telling the kid when I am coming over, so as not to make him “disappointed”. Not allowing me to take him on car rides or trips to the movies or mini-golf.

The removal of my uterus and other body parts has given me a new courage. I think my filter will be stripped away. I feel that when the time comes, this anger will be released but I hope not in front of the kids. I hope that I can be diplomatic and loving. I see the way my brother and sister-in-law act towards their kids when they fight.\

Right now, I am pacing the kitchen between words, speaking aloud, and writing an anonymous police report regarding his drug dealing and keeping large amounts of marijuana in his home.

I have been having out loud conversations in my room, in the car, to the two of the asshole parents because I am trapped at home in recovery from a hysterectomy whilst dealing with my own physical and emotional losses. I am trying to stay sane by verbalizing my anger to the air. I have also started writing short stories in tumblr to get out my anger; in the hopes that maybe the mother of my niece and nephew may google me one day and read about herself. I think she will most likely hate me even more.

It is impossible to reason with people under the influence of drugs as well. I think I may need to commiserate with some other people regarding this situation. I am saddened deeply but all this and perhaps that is more at the root of this.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I hope that one day perhaps maybe I can help you, reader, or possibly open a discussion on the truth with others.

I am also afraid to get the police involved because they will take the children away and I am not sure that they will go with me. I have this fantasy that one day the older kid, my heart’s love, with want to be with his aunt because he will see how his parents are fucked. I can only hope for this.

I ask my Higher Power to give me the answers. I ask for peace and love in dealing with this problems as I heal. I will continue to yell and talk aloud to my problems until the day I have the true courage to put it into words to the right people, if that is what the Creator of the Universe wants me to do.

Please send me strength.


I have been getting better in regards to my surgery. I think that I am feeling a change though my belly is swollen like crazy and I haven’t been eating too hoglike. I had a stretch of bad foods then my face looked swollen too. Trying to avoid the bloated carp look.

I had to separate from a toxic friend that I had been in contact with since I was cut open. So, he got all moralizing cause I told him I was going to hang out with my other good friend who I spoke highly of. Well he started ripping into me regarding this other friend who is married, and that would be lying to his wife to see me, and was I strong enough not to hook up with me. He started getting a real attitude calling it “bullshit” and then I turned it around to say him telling me about my friend lying to his wife as bullshit and that he crossed a line. He then after his text rant, apologized almost immediately, and said “now you hate me again” cause over and over again I have to separate from this nutjob. He then tried to hit me up this morning, saying sorry again, and asking how I was and I just had to say, “ “sorry” doesn’t make me want to talk. I am upset. Please leave me be. Forcing communication is not helping” or something like that. Jesus, I feel like I am always having to school men. They obviously fall for me and then they get in my business when they know I am not interested. I am happy my friend is lying to his wife, she is not me. I have known the guy for 30 years and our bond is golden. I would pick the married guy as a friend over the nutjob anyday. As we are here now as I type I just got a text from said married dude.


I cried a little in the Chinese food store. I am not doing so well mentally and I feel like I can feel staples inside my body. I have a fear I wouldn’t bounce back from this surgery. I am thinking I don’t see a point to anything. The existential crisis looms heavy. The rocker Chris Cornell killed himself in a bathroom by attempting to hang himself. Drugs might have been the impetus plus a depression and battle with drugs and booze. I have given up the booze and stuff, still taking pain killers, but even they don’t work. I wish I could say that I am alive with pleasure, but I feel half dead with dread.

I started crying because the Chinese lady knows me. I almost worked with her. She wanted me to work for her but I blew her off; for awhile it was a cold reception in that little crappy store, but then today I walked in and betrayed my heart with a big smile. Her smile back warmed me.

I think her small amount of concern about how spicy she would make my hot and sour soup, touched me in a way I truly needed. The loneliness of recovery is weighing hard on me. The lack of real socialization, the no work with the kids I love so much. The loss of my favorite kids, my niece and nephew, is making me oh so sad. So I had to to fight the tears. I let is rise and then fall, and staring at the wall of Chinese calendars, the prettiest one the 2017, the Year of the Cock. gave me an internal dialogue to make me lol inside a bit.

Me: So, Jenny, can I have one of those calendars, the one with the Cock on it? (twiddles eyebrows up and down like Groucho)

Jenny: (smile with painted on brown eyebrows) Yes, you can have a calendar...year of the Cock, yes, very lucky with money.

That is the end of that story. Now I sit home watching the beautiful Godfather 2 for the first time in my life.


I live with him. I am 46 and he is 75. He looks at my body when I have my back turned to him, or even when I am facing him, he looks at my breasts. This is going to make me scream one day. The next time I will scream. I will say STOP LOOKING AT ME THAT WAY you fucking disgusting creep, and I know you molested my sister and me you sick piece of shit. I know why you give me money and support me, cause I am mentally and physically still fucked up and you know IT IS YOUR FAULT. I am sorry, I cannot GET OVER this and never will, some of us are too sensitive for the world when trauma is inflicted early on. And, not an excuse but it peppers my waking moments. Good thing my mother used criticism instead of compassion when I expressed my sensitivity and fear and tears to the big and scary and hostile world I perceived as a child. Just kidding, it didn’t help. And when faced with psychotherapy options, when police officer told my parents I needed it, they asked ME if I wanted to go at 11, rather than taking me and having a professional help me. They didn’t want to know I was being hurt either, so why should I care about myself if my parents didn’?

Something like that I will say. I am not in denial, I see all. I feel all. I am hateful and wish I was dead lately. I wish I didn’t have to deal with this surgery and this fake healing and this new healing and people saying the wrong thing to make me feel worse. There is no way out right now. I have to keep going and I don’t want to keep going. I don’t want to drink or kill myself, but I think about it as a solution. Then I would just either dead or hungover and hate myself more tomorrow.

I don’t want to go to AA and I don’t want to not go to AA. I need something but not that something and brainwashing and all or nothin but also contrarily, you can just take “some of the program” and forget the rest.

On and on and on and on until I am on death’s bed. Death, where is thy sting? Everywhere, Stephen King was right. His horrors know the internal horrors and yes he has dealt with sexual abuse. I wish I had a way out of these feelings or was adept at denial. How does one go back into denial once they have seen the truth? You cannot stuff it into the dark place from whence it came, it is seen with your soul. The soul denies nothing, the heart cannot unfeel, the mind can try and forget and repress, but at this point, my mind is very weak and cannot hide the facts of the past. They say the mind only remembers memories from the last time you remembered them, so you may keep reforming memories. I hate being judged by my older sister, also sexually molested by my dad and an uncle, when she admonishes me in her mother tone, when I misremember a fact or see it in a new way than what was really how it was to “HER”. She made me her whipping post emotionally cause she never dealt with the sexual abuse. Nor talked about it in length, and for all I know could have went to therapy.

I ask for kindness, empathy and compassion.


Today it was an interesting day. I have mentioned how the person Dark Horse caused me a lot of pain over the last two years. I met him on Tinder, we met up like three months later in an abandoned cranberry mill/State park. We drank a six pack of Miller Lite then talked for hours leading to sitting on a park bench and staring into each others’ eyes and making out. That led to passionate embraces and then sneaking into a women’s bathroom

We hid out in a stall and then he pulled his summery-ish sweaty smelling dick which I sucked anyway and I me looking up into his green eyes and asking if he had a condom, to which he just stared back with no answer. Then a park ranger kicked us out of there and we walked hand in hand to our respective cars and drove away from each other.

The next time we met was on Tuesday night. I lied to him about working the next day because I wanted to be with him. He picked me up and then we checked into a room at Trump’s Taj Mahal, drank alot of beers, shared a Viagra that I stole from a millionaire’s beach house, and had the most exciting sex of my life. He was so aggressive with the blow jobbing that I contracted a very serious and rare strep A infection. The doctor in the ER scared the shit out of me asking if I had used a condom during the oral sex, and then half-assedly diagnosed me with GONORRHEA and I was intensely hateful and angry at Dark Horse. I stalled in asking him while waiting for the lab results in a voice-shaking phone call about his STD history. He was so calm and soft on the phone and I was terrified to chase him away but also wanted to share my anger and fear thus dumping it on him. I wanted him to suffer too. It wasn’t Gonorrhea but it was a very painful throat infection that cost me many more days off of work.

After that, falling head over heels I chased him. He rarely if ever initiated a text and never a call. I was broken hearted and living in South NJ, there are not too many hot Classical musicians around to make friends with and love. So, it became a monthly thing. The casino, a room, drinks, sex, weed, cuddling in bed. It was a girlfriend experience--but without him showing any emotion in particular. I wrote a song about him in my phone, pining in a 1940’s swing style tune, “I’d rather not know than know; my heart could not take the blow. If I was to say do you love me, and you were to say, ‘No, Honey,’ I’d die...I’d dieeee.” I love that song and hope to write it into a real tune.

Anyway as time went on, the sex and hangs became a little less. I asked him in an email if the sex was just casual, and finally he answered yes. I had some balls and more anger too, so I just wrote back, “It was nice knowing you _____.”

Flash forward again, three months later (alot of him and I meeting go in multiples of three’s) I was drunk in AC alone, having been rejected by a ritalin addicted friend. I had many tall boy beers in me and plenty of mary jane puffs. I asked him to come down and meet me around 6 and he kept me on the hook until he was done practicing the bass and showed up around 11:56 pm.

In that time I had stole a shimmery gorgeous gold top at one of the casino boutiques. It was a rush. I shoved it in my tiny fake leather back pack and raced back to the elevators, luckily only a stone’s throw away, back to my room to throw it on. I had never owned anything so pretty. It was silky, with gold sequences too tiny to see with the shoulders cut out. I looked sexy with no bra in it; as the textures just grasped and flowed around my full tits. I put my hair in a high ponytail, the kind that was just a little pony, and the rest down, and took some pics of myself. Now before you judge me, know that I returned the shirt the next day, but chucking it down the center of a rack of clothes. I am not a thief.

He showed up, and the loss of my friend, the ritalin one, was wearing on me as I drank a lot of beers with him. He asked how many, I said five. He said, “FIVE?”

We watched tv and talked then wound up in bed, it wasn’t very memorable because I was too drunk to be in charge and then next morning I think he pitied me. I remember that look on his face when he first arrived. I think he was thinking of that email I sent giving him the heave ho; and why did I then contact him again? I am reading into it of course, but it all seems nuts now.

We also before that had met in a park at midnight and fooled around in the early part of spring. I had sex standing up and he got me very aroused and soaked. It was fun. I then got heavy into drinking and dived into a deep depression, and he probably found a younger, hotter person to fuck. He is 14 or so years younger than me.

Today I saw him again, and the last time I saw him I drove him home from mini-golf because he lost his keys. It was fine, he was kinda weird as usual, especially when I got a hole in one. He is very competitive.

Today I saw him again, probably like a 8 months later. I had dropped off cupcakes at his house one day, to his MOM (who he has issues with big time, still lives there) and then got a lame, “Thanks” in Snapchat but no such other mention of how good they are. I have been trying to get the cake pan back that I sent them in from him for a week now. Him usually bailing on his word to meet me, but at least a final admission yesterday that he sucked at getting the pan back.

Today in a CVS parking lot, I made him meet me there while I waited for my pain medication that I have been using not for exactly the right reasons. As soon as I saw him, we both had some big smiles, and I started babbling nervously about the fucking cake pan. He held it up and was like, “Look at this, see this!” And that made me giggle like a schoolgirl. We chatted outside, me awkwardly looking up and to right at him as I sat in my convertible Mitsubishi Eclipse Spyder GT. I love that car.

He stood wearing his chillaxing clothes, a fake faded burgundy tee shirt with an Anchor on it, and darker burgundy long basketball shorts, and at one point I caught his pee pee kinda poking out a bit. I liked this.

At a giggly moment, I grabbed my pocketbook, knocking over the fucking pan onto the floor of the car; and made an exit, giving him a nice hug. Of course with the hot sun and nerves, my damn back was sweaty as hell; enough so he declared, “NICE” twice, and I slowly rambled away as he told me to keep feeling better and then “See yaa” in a tiny dicky tone. I felt that me ending the conversation was a win for me because 100% in the past he had ended them first, and quite dismissively when kicking me out of his car after our casino nights. I look in retrospect and it seems he tried quite alot to be a dick, but yes, I may in fact have a large crush on him that is not going away.

Then I came home and got an email stating that I was picked to be in poetry and art exhibit! Two of my poems were chosen and I have to interpret a painting as part of the exhibit.

It put a nice icing on the day today, and I told him right away. He offered a kind congrats and I thanked him.

I want to see him this summer and be the first man to test drive my sterilized body; he doesn’t want kids so am I not his dream girl?


I won this poetry contest and I have to interpret a painting by an artist and it is just a boring still life. It is a book, a seashell, and a candle I think. Watching South Park and the cursing is just horrible!

Just kidding...I am feeling all sorts of staying up too late and drinking coffee that is way too strong because I slept a lot because I drove 300 miles yesterday spending time with my cousin and her two kids. I took a friend with me cause I was feeling rejected. My brother, who is a marijuana addict, refused I come visit because he needed a day with the kids. This is a spiteful maneuver on his part since I have not seen the kids in over a month. It is hurtful to be denied the opportunity to love and be loved. But as a hurt and addicted angry person, how else should I expect him to react? He has some deep seeded jealousies as I can do whatever I want and he knocked up his now wife ten months into their drug fueled party relationship. I know there is problems in the family like most, but in his case, he is destroying himself as well as his kids’ future emotional health. I speak up regarding this issues, I speak my mind, then my brother pits me between him and his wife.

I have written some blazing and hurtful messages to my sister-in-law disguised as prose on my blog site. If she did a search and read it, she would hate me for life, but I was just making my point clear. Don’t mentally abuse children. Or humiliate them. She was abused and humilated as a kid and is doing it to her kids. I can’t wait for her daughter, who is not even three, gives her a run for her money when she realizes her mom is a cruel person.

I have a sleeping problem. I have been healing pretty fast lately. I have been almost able to be ok. I have almost been able to see the light. I am applying for a job at 7/11 which I know is below my intelligence and training and education, but I have a crazy fantasy that I will meet my husband at a 7/11. I am so lonely. I don’t even realize it. I want more stories of fun and happiness. I want to sleep more and not be trapped in the end of my days. I want to work more on screenplays and shit. I am scared to do what I want really to do. Fuck fears please, and maybe I had too much caffeine and sugar.


Today was a hard day because I slept all fucked up, woke up early, had potato chips for breakfast, went back to bed. Snoozed my alarm then went to substitute teach for half a day for a really nice first grade teacher. The class was going nuts for end of year excitement, so I let them mostly play and they watched a Disney movie. I was in a post-opiate haze from the day before and got through the less than four hours ok. If I had to do a full day I would’ve maybe skipped my dental appointment. But since I was still fairly energetic, though yawning extensively, (just did now) I went to get a minor cavity filled in the lower left side of my tooth area.

I got seen like right away, and the dentist, who was not who I wanted, was a German, Polish, I don’t know, kind of ruddy faced serial killer looking dude. He looked inside my mouth very gently and stated it shouldn’t be a big problem. I then waited for the anaesthetic as he stuck a needle in my mouth and started pumping me up with ephedrine. At first it seemed like he was done then continued to poke and inject me in deeper sections of my mouth that seemed much too deep to even be effected by a minor cavity fill. I wanted to tell him to stop but I had a needle in my mouth.

After he left I felt a sudden rush of heat and fear. My heart started beating fast, started feeling my throat close up. My jaw and face became numb. This was not right. I told him that I was having trouble breathing. He didn’t seem concerned. He acted unconcerned. Even the hygienist seemed like this was all ok, to not be able to breathe and have heart palpitations, and all.

They offered to give me a minute, but the rising fear and panic told me to get the fuck out of there, so I took off my paper blue bib and looked around and almost just left. I stood in the waiting room looking around in a wild confusion, like a lost animal, and went back to reception desk to talk to the aloof, bearded reception boy.

I told him I didn’t want the procedure done and that I was having a reaction to the novacaine or whatever it was and that I needed to go to a dentist that was less creepy; the other guy from last time, This was like a factory dental facility, and one that took Medicaid so perhaps not the highest tier medical men. The young bear looked up the other doctor and I was hoping to make my escape before the dentist came back but no luck. The hygienist who seemed overly nice in a creepy asked how I was and I proceeded to tell her what I told you and that I thought the dentist was a little excessive with his ephedrine, which I know as speed, and wasn’t able to handle. She said “have a great night” or some shit, which in retrospect, I wish I had said, “Are you fucking kidding me you dumb bitch?” and walked out in a huff.

Driving home was weird and I was on E on gas so getting gas was like being on bad coke and feeling scared of choking on my spittle which was welling up in the back of my throat. Came home and yelled at dad about the mailbox, panic and fear, drank some water, couldn’t feel my fucking involuntary reflex action, and immediately rolled a cigarette.

It is now six hour later and still some numbness and discomfort but I chowed down on two bowls of rice crispies and some chicken box soup. I hope I never see that Yuri fucking Nazi looking “doctor” again.

Highlight: Watching Maria Bamford’s comedy special on Netflix.


Last night I hung out with Dark Horse, a guy who is someone I’ve known for two years from Tinder. Right off the bat he put me on guard when he asked me if the red convertible was mine in the park parking lot. It was like a weird judgment, or some kind of comparison. It seems innocuous but in truth, it was the way he said it. Moody pothead and Classical musician. Yesterday out of desperation because I haven’t had sex in like 4 months I was looking to get some action from this particular guy. It turned out because I’m not smoking pot he thought this was some kind of threat and wound up blowing some pot in my face. I have been off weed and alcohol for four months. Yes, I have taken non-narcotic and narcotic meds for the purpose of changing my mental state, so I am not completely clean. Which at the time smelled pretty good, but as I am writing this, I am going back to my initial decision to tell him good bye like a year ago, when he made it known that we were just in a casual sex-type thing. I bid him adieu then and within three months I was drunk, depressed and alone in a hotel room in Atlantic City, and called him up to come hang. Like four hours later, after doing his school work, he came down and was very happy to fuck me drunk and insane-acting. I weep in my heart for the choices I have made.

So I am relatively clean and sane, and had a good day with good friends at a roller derby in Philly, most of which was confusing, but interesting in a Philly culture kind of way (everyone was like Queens, NY people) but as soon as Dark Horse hit me up with “What are you doing” I had to hold myself back from writing back. He invited me over after I was done with my friends. I had dinner with them, breakfast for dinner in the format of corned beef hash and eggs with rye toast, and shot over to him. He of course, stalled me cause he needed to take a shower. So, I went home and changed into a pretty summer dress, and headed over. He was stoned and high, acting completely different from whence the last time I saw him at mini-golf. There he seemed to be giving me a hard time for no good reason, and this is why I also don’t like users of drugs. Behavior is so wildly different. Plus he kicked me out after sex at like two am, instead of letting me sleep over, like adults do. He was the first to fuck me after surgery, and maybe it was the position of fucking on a couch sideways, or the fact that he had a rubber cock ring on during, but it hurt. Just as I feared, sex after hysterectomy hurts, or maybe just with this clown. I do have to say though, he works the pussy with his fingers and tongue good. But, from what pleasure is the price I paid? I have paid for depression that follows, of not feeling respected totally, and the fact that when I said sex hurt, he just smiled and put on his shirt. I guess my instincts were good last year.Time for a nap at 2;45 pm.

Sunday, after a tuna on white sandwich.


I stayed in bed mostly yesterday on a tramadol, because seems after a sex day I got through some emotional roller coaster; but considering it was the first time having sex after having my insides taken out, it was more like, “Ok, how do I feel now, does anything feel weird?” I did feel some pain during intercourse with Dark Horse, but the fucking douchebag banged me on the couch sideways so maybe not the most comfortable place to get banged.

I think I should hate him but the feeling/obsession persists: he is damn good at sex and me want more. I think I should take control. Tell him I want sex but no talking, just fucking then leave.

Also, I have some amazing news. I will be meeting with a horse farmer today who is offering a studio apartment for the care of two horses...I am very excited. I will have a room of my own...I can decorate it and make it nice...I can have a creative space to think and not live with a pedophilic father. He will have to make due.

I feel that my freedom has been attached to a dependence for a long time...I need some freedom that is based on my own work. I am hoping that I can make my way in the world now and be responsible for two horsies. I hope to be ok in the world now with some mental space, and a new environment to charge my batteries. I hope I have a private entrance to my own etc. It will all be discovered soon.

My cat may come with me, I will see how she fares with my dad. Plus eventually my dad will be dead and buried and I will need a place to live.

I have my own selfish questions, what if I want to stay out for the night? I have to put the horses back inside. What if I can’t take a vacation? What if I need to be somewhere? I guess they can stay out late if needed. Even overnight if the situation happens. I may need some rubber boots for the farm. Slopping shit and what not. I am excited and nervous, etc. New grounds, and new life. Being sober seems to make all things possible...this new way of life is making me feel very alive and on the ‘right’ path. I hope this right path leads me also to bigger and better.

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