Oh, my! – A ceaseless ramble on the state of my personal union, as it were.

I changed my profile on the vanilla dating site. It reads: ‘Looking for sub male. Must be strong and manly, with an intense desire to serve.’ I wonder if I should be more explicit…’Must enjoy breathtaking pain and the sound of laughter’. Hmmm, probably not. However, since I changed it, less than a full day ago, men are coming out of the woodwork. Men who read my old profile and passed me over. That absolutely pisses me off. And, yes, I do ask them about it. No, I haven’t gotten a real answer thus far.

I think the reason the responses I’m getting make me angry is because they feel like a judgement. I said essentially the same thing on my old profile, but in a much more indirect way. Perhaps it made them have to think too much. Who knows? But, I doubt that’s why. I think it’s because they think that, due to my sexual bend, I’m a loose woman. That could not be further from the truth. I don’t care what day and age we’re living in, I am not one to sleep around. I don’t think it’s good for the soul. And, for what it’s worth, I do enough things that aren’t good for me, already. In about an hour, I’m going to the liquor store and then I’ll be doing one of those very things shortly after. See? So, why do I need to fuck everything that moves, putting myself at risk for all kinds of nasty, microscopic this and that? (Yes, I have heard of condoms. If they worked 100% of the time, I might be inclined to ride every dick I could find. In any case, they aren’t, so I don’t.)

The Widower has taken things to a new, uncomfy, level. I do think it’s sweet that, every morning, I get a new text with a cyber rose and well wishes for the day. And, every night, I get the same, along with kind words and wishes of sweet dreams. I also get texts saying that, if he has to knock on every door in Texas, he’s gonna find me and we’re going to live happily ever after. Recently, he said that if I am not with someone else in a year, he is going to find me and marry me. He has recently started throwing the word ‘love’ around, as well. He saw my picture and thinks I’m a blue eyed Mexican. That’s a common misconception about me. I don’t know why. In any case, he noted that it’s rare to fight a light eyed latina in Texas, and that it was like finding a diamond, or some such thing as that. (I’m sure I’ve already written about this, but memory is not a friend of mine.). Anyway,. he’s brought this up more than once now. He’s Mexican and I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m just your usual Heinz 57 mutt of a white girl. I don’t want him to feel insulted. But, like I said, it’s a common mistake people make about me. I think it’s funny and wonder why it even makes a difference. I don’t go up to people of any race and question their heritage. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as you’re a nice person, I’m cool with you. But, I digress…

Tomorrow, Exish and I are going down to the coast. I cannot remember a trip I’ve dreaded as badly. Since I left the old house when we moved here, I have not been back. I have no intention of going back, either. I don’t want to see it, remember anything that happened there, or set foot on the land on which it sits. We’ll be getting to Mom’s house late afternoon, and I hope to meet my new great-nephew. He’s such a lil chunk! I can’t wait to hold him!

I’m not looking forward to seeing Youngest. The last time I went down there, a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t see him. Didn’t even tell him I was there till right before I left. He asked for money, of course. I did leave him a little cash with Mom. The time before, I only saw him when I bailed him out of jail. I fucking miss him so much. But I can’t take any more of his…I don’t know. His shit? His relentless refusal to conform to even the smallest societal rule…the way he just doesn’t give a fuck. I love him so much that I can’t even put it into words, but I just cannot do this with him anymore or I’m going to fucking die. I think that the decade of fighting for him when he was so strung out he couldn’t function was enough. I feel like I’ve been to war. If I had known, at the outset of that decade, that you cannot fight dope, I would’ve let it run its course. Truly. Considering the toll it has taken on me and my family I would not have lifted a finger had I only known. Dope wins every fucking time. Finally, the threat of doing hard time at the TDC brought an end to his dope problem. But the alcohol has remained. Doesn’t it always? First to the party…last to leave.

All I know is that I can’t finance his alcoholism or even make it easy for him. I thought he was doing better, but recently discovered that I could not have been more wrong. My hands are coming off that wheel. They have to. I can’t survive this any other way. And I don’t care if that sounds selfish.

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