Update: resignation terms accepted, then they offered the $ to a friend I picked out to take it. Very smart guy, and decent. I went from scorched earth to helping him behind the scenes 🙄 Just as well, better for my karma, and that friend isn't the one I want to understand better, the one who comes from Outrage, a little town in Kentucky.

My boss remains in the acursed universe (of which I am the center, of course lol). I'm writing hexes into pulp novels in which Witches fuck whoever they want and are unruly, and the central witch-damsel casts a spell to make the bad man capable of erections but never able to cum again, not EVER. And he pops huge boners around his bosslady too. 

Spite fantasy fiction, that has to be a thing.

______________

There is something in me that will not bend. It's not my finest quality. It's why I break. And when I break, I break shit, logically enough I would argue. 

When I was just an actual teacher, everything came together there for a spell and I was happy.  But then I was flung from one intrusive need after another, impositions on my wellbeing. And all the successes at work, "the personal growth", since then has been, well frankly "pretty good for the money" as Times New Roman used to say.  A person should not marry / stay married to "pretty good for the money" because, well for a lot of reasons, but topping the list is that the other party, the person/thing you've married, expects stuff from you all the time. And every time you give in, give over, you resent it. Then you seethe. Then you leave. Or, you cannot leave so easily, you're stuck (tenured or equivalent), in which case you growl, then bite, because you are not a dog. Maybe you don't lose your mind and you don't start to go murdersuicidey, maybe that's just me 🤔 (🤨 you don't?)

I do wonder what this all will get me / is getting me. More fun, would be great  🤔 I wonder how you get that 🤔

medicine - grace potter and the nocturnals

my name ain't mercy

His forms of madness are mildly fascinating except when she remembers she is supposed to find him a sufficient object of all her attention, as she is for him. She is the center of his universe, he says. She's not quite sure what the universe is. She thought she knew until she tried to put it into words, but her words for it were nothing like his nor like the words of that nice condescending black physicist on television. In her words, the universe is the planets and our guts and dirt and thoughts and time and everything hurdling in sweeping circles tethered to a cosmic center that is surely awful on a scale too bright to fathom without burning the eyeballs of your soul to smithereens. It stood to reason then, she supposed, that he could not see her at all. He insisted on her attention when at the same time it did not seem like he needed her there, that she could warm him as a thought from a guzzillion lightyears away just as well. Better, actually. A million miles away, he was free to imagine Her as anything without having to close his eyes. What he would say if she were physically present would be the same: "I'm really looking forward to my sandwich", he might say, while she was on fire right there in the kitchen. Because a person cannot look directly at a sun. 

"Suffocate Isolate"

see

40 lightyears away - lee harvey osmond

bonus track - if I could I would ❤️ + still want a chicken

VIRGO (Aug. 22 - Sept. 21): It's time to jettison the stuff that doesn't really matter. This allows you to direct your energies to where you want them to go.  

NO ft yess🐍

cut you to pieces - the matinee

NO is powerful and can mean yesss when it means NO to anything (body) that gets between a woman (me) and what she wants, now, not someday. 

I want to shoot a god damn gun. 

Hotter - Lu Kala

Play me a song? shake it for me girl - luke bryan 🙄

You have probably heard the platitude, “Be cautious about what you wish for. You might get it.” The implied warning is that if your big desires are fulfilled, your life may change in unpredictable ways that require major adjustments. That’s useful advice. However, I have often found that the “major adjustments” necessary are interesting and healing—strenuous, perhaps, but ultimately enlivening. In my vision of your future, Virgo, the consequences will fit that description. You will be mostly pleased with the adaptations you must undertake in response to your success.

Say Something (smib) - Timberlake ft a wanted man

 

bad times - mo kenney   for you version

the jeans 

There was a defining moment, I remember it, a tense detante meeting of sorts. I was wearing my favorite of his jeans, the ones he left behind. I remember how my body felt at that moment, fatigued by what we had gone through. And incandescent with winning. 

I haven't put them on in years, wouldn't be able to fit my curves, no way. But I couldnt bring myself to give them away. They are a uniform I wore to war once, kept at the back of a storage closet. Lately, I could feel my ass wanting them back on. Feel my skin wanting to pull them along my thighs, how it felt to don them, jiggle hop in and button. I didn't think they'd fit. But my body knows things. I'm learning to listen to it again. My body has a lot to say.

Welp, so much for banking the ol' temper. #title9levelmad

Megan Trainor - No.

Can you spot him? Showed up today.

from Lunar playlist:

Hole - Gold Dust Woman (current mood)

julia holter - gold dust woman (aspirational mood)

Now that my $ has moved to Phoenix, I find that I have very little desire to go there at the moment. I watched the moon rise as I drove southeast. I coughed terribly, singing in the jeep alone to clear my lungs. 

I used to do the lottery test on myself. Try it:  if you won the lottery would you still want the life you're living, same lover, same job, same home, same body? 

If the answer is no, then you must stop living that life, lotto or not, you only have one life. If the answer is yes, then keep doing what you're doing (even if it is hard, which it sure can be). 

I stopped doing that test because the answer was no but I wasn't in control of it, I wanted things that could not be bought with any amount of money (still often do). I wasn't trapped, I just didn't know where to go. I was just reaching the point of Do Anything Different, and I was perusing options. I let someone fall in love with me. I went to New Orleans to blow some shit up for the fuck of it. I was moving towards...

Then the pandemic. We all froze. 

My point is, we've been probably living out that life since, back when we got the babies and the puppies and the prepper supplies and we still have all that stuff. We defined our relationships by whom we could keep safe and how we would do that. And now here we are. In these relationships and situations. 

So let's take the lotto test, shall we?

I'm afraid to report I got nothing but "fuck no" as the answer in most categories. 

I'm trying to make decisions one at a time to address things:

Would I want the same body? No. So I changed it.

Same job? Fuck no, I'd quit my job today if I could, so I took the first step in getting a divorce. Ugh, divorces are such a pain in the ass. I've never divorced a job instead of a person before, but divorces just inherently suck, I know it will. 

Same lover? This is a tough one. Maybe. Right now, since he's tied to Phoenix and since he does looove me maybe it'll work, he certainly tries hard. But. He thinks we are living happily ever after now, which tells you what the problem is: he's clueless. 

(I was once so in love that I was suuuuure it could work, and I tried soo hard = I was likely fucking clueless. Live and learn.)

Action steps:

1 move half my job to Phoenix, the fancy hard part (grant), bring in the priests to shame everyone in my honor, flipping off my boss feels delightful, savor that.

2 let Nebraska consider step 1 as his argument for my staying in this relationship - I want other things but that's what's he's got, so I'm trying to value it.

3 keep focusing on my body, it is of UTMOST IMPORTANCE to feel WELL. If I don't want to be inside this body, feel in this body, fuck in this body, trust this body, then nothing else is worth shit.

4 be a total fucking cunt about protecting my time for item 3 🖕

5 sell the damn duplex (move from frozen to fluid [assets], literally and metaphorically).

6 go the cottage, dig my heels in, not fly to Phoenix next week at all, make them wait if they want me so badly, I'll go when I feel like I did 2 weeks ago, healthy and horny.

 7 bank my temper, this relentless painful cough is a form of infuriation, it feels like burping smoke after breathing fire. 

The lunar eclipse is at the "fuck no" end of the spectrum, energy wise. It removes things from your life so new can come. It's for what fails the lotto test.

I have lost the equivalent of her weight since June. I have shed one entire Janis Joplin, like stepping out of a suffocating macott costume. #notateamplayer

Respect viruses. And Hard Change. Never underestimate worthy adversaries. Important rule.

Let Me Breathe - action bronson, from Scorched Earth playlist 

It just keeps getting better, the 9/11 call wooooooow!, by the time we get to IKEA I cannot stop coughing but it's worth it. 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️🤣😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️🤧🤣😶‍🌫️

It's remarkable that we continue to reproduce so much, honestly. Sperms must be ninjas, leaping over tall (tallest!) buildings of stupid, getting couches pregnant if they can, anything, hail marys all over fuck.

scorched earth [playlist in development]

I am more physically ill than I have been since I went to China in 2006, when I threw a punch hard enough at Ex to punch my own self in the face, coughed just like this for months, and wound up divorced from that asshole and with his job as my own to boot. A job that I am, finally, shedding - an admittedly discomforting process but also deeply satisfying, not unlike getting at that persistent itch at the very back of my throat - leaving a coiled empty snake skin in the exact shape of myself behind, a ruse, a warning sign of Curse.

Thank you, my grandmothers, for your fortifying incandescent rage. My rage. 🙏

Shirley's ashes ft. Hidden Voice recorder 

My mother said there would be days like these, indeed. I tried to avoid it longer, to get to the cottage safely, Ma, but I didn't make it. Days like these always really suck. I've left men. I've kicked men out. I've left whole lives behind a couple times. I've (temporarily) relinquished the care of my children twice when I have been forced to do so by the men and the lives. I've rarely left jobs, and never changed career fields, so I am in new territory on that; I have been poor, I hope that counts as experiential learning. I am familiar with the prickly back-of-the-neck sensation of a hostile evironment being enjoyed by someone in power over me, the chilly shadow thrown over my body of sanctioned menace. Yes, I am quite familiar with that. I cannot say that I feel unafraid or that I am not bereft. My body is certainly doing its bereft routine, dropping weight like a stone, the flight/fight response, hardening right before my eyes in the mirror as it prepares, muscles tight, carving themselves into what looks like hours spent at a gym but it is actually the result of a million clenches like my molecules are each doing squats, and I feel like utter shit ft. resplendent, an inverse proportional resulting in looking fucking fantastic as if by dark magic. My body and I recognize the sensation of my back against a wall and the man in front of me must be made to move, to make a hard choice about which way he will jump as I come out of cornered right at him, and what that choice will likely be (regrettable). I have never forced several to jump at once. That'll be new today.

Hmm. What is the soundtrack ... 🤔 

hard time - seinabo sey 

cleaning my gun - mark knopfler

14220 is Mercy adjacent. Does anyone in that zip not work in healthcare some kinda way? Just saying, there might be a link between our healthcare workworld and despair 🤔 (Duh)

They say medicine is an art. That's what I'm there for, to tell them that, make them write, teach them an artform. But medicine is more like magic. Alchemy. "If you cannot curse, you cannot cure."~ Sabrina Scott

I'm on 5 meds - steroids, inhalers, antibiotics, etc - to combat whatever this very nasty bug is (not covid), which took me down in less than an hour from first sneeze to nasty cough to wheezing face bleeding ear infected mess. My primary was so happy to see me, she feels bad but I'm always so funny when I'm unwell! I want her to laugh, that helps her work the needed magic. 

Moving back to the cottage to heal and rest up for Phoenix. Finally submitting my pistol application on the way. (Jesus, that process is bonkers. You can get married a hell of a lot easier and that's more deadly! You don't need classes and character witnesses for that shit, and you should!). By doing so, I am trying to start wrapping up this "sonic boom HELL FUCKING NO" phase (protracted tantrum). Having dropped 15 pounds and reanimated my hair like a pile of slither on my head via the vitamin shots, I want to at least be open to a float in the Rise pool before I seduce the fuck out of med students in front of a bunch of priests. Which I fully intend to do (yesss). 

ane brun - to let myself go (keyham DM rework) 

"Maenad", 'vi:tɔld ˌpruʂ'kɔv:ski

Bonus track - name is BURNS, only in Buffalo lol 🙄, we are so droll in the face of loss(es)

My mother loves this house. Every time we pass it on our way to the 100-yr-old little grocery that makes sausage to die for (marjoram and blueberries, omg), she says "my my!, this town is so lovely!"

It would be a thrill to get that house just because she loves it so, to give her the Benjamin Moore color wheel and let her go crazy with the cheese whiz on it. It'd be like I'm magic, which I am (just ask my mother). Then I'd create a line of credit for her at the "antiques mall" in town with the billion stalls of old lady shit that makes her gasp with memory. "Do you remember?!", she asks about the vintage butter hen, which oddly I do kinda remember, some genetic memory of a great grandmother feeling well enough surrounded by milk glass in her kitchen. And I could do that. If I were mad enough.

It would be quite mad to go to Phoenix to guest lecture as part of my recruitment this month, while simultaneously buying another huge fixer upper in NY, while simultaneously trying to land the duplex sale around squatters, while simultaneously readying myself to sell my current home (probably) despite it being now covered in murals that my mother painted - and what if she dies (!?) then I'd be bereft of all these touches of hers (!!) - while simultaneously brewing a pheromone miasma so strong that I think my bare feet might spontaneously sprout leather boots. 

I should be thinking about a condo in Phoenix. But I am not. In the first place, I'm not sure I want to work in Phoenix - they're test driving me, but I'm test driving them too. 

Plus I'm sick, planted on the couch with a nasty cough, my body pressing the pause button for some much needed rest after pulsing for months with gameness = incandescent with feeling(s) + silent + self determining. Trying to crack myself open to let in what wants to come to me, and to let out some of the steam. Putting distance between myself and everything, working my body as a tool to get that done, carving myself into my own Galatea. I don't want to spend any unecessary energy on condo (beige) thoughts. Wherever I go, there will be a bed, I trust.

Fun fact I am learning: health humanists could work kinda like travel nurses, demanding more money for less commitment. I wonder if working that way requires being a person who could throw their lives into bags with little warning, or if working like that turns you into a person who can do that (?). Nature v Nurture (?)

There is something so planted in me that it's difficult being mutable. Until I lose my temper. My tantrums reverberate far beyond detonation, waves of consequence beyond what can be known at ground zero(s). My mother put her foot down only once in her life, the day she left my father, and 38 years later they both still think about that every single day, think about each other every single day, living out the significance of that moment, both of them endlessly mulling it as if it might be relitigated even now. 

Be careful where you plant a foot. You might later wish to root out just what you planted. But maybe that's part of the process, the effort it takes to yank yourself freer showing you what power you still have. 

Forget Me - chris klaaford (kitchen version) what the close captioning lyric robot does with "vitriol" (great word) is hilarious 🙄

"gameness"

"against jesus"

Woke up sick oof 🤧 Disco and I are watching Interview with a Vampire

Killing Myself - Kevin Welch ❤️yeet

I've got to see you again - norah jones (alternate version - the allaire sessions) 

newly minted, smib

nothing compares to you - chris cornell

It is the new moon in Virgo tonight. Every augurie good. 

labor day

Being in public for no reason other than to be among my herd. Humans. I chose a coffee shop which might be frequented by a friend who lives in this burb (last I knew) whom I have not seen in person in a while though I have seen his cock umpteen times, sending dick pics being how he loses his mind. I’d like to see him again (the rest of him). 

I’m wondering: what is the relation of a fetish to a compulsion to a slow motion psychotic break (?)  Diagnosing a psychotic break sounds like a pretty easy thing once the psyche is visibly broken, bringing to mind men walking around without pants seemingly unawares, raving at passing cars and the like.  But I don’t think that’s how minds and hearts break mostly.

A couple next to me is discussing the oppressive tipping situation, which seems to them a harbinger of the end of days, a vignette I want to share as an amusing observation with another friend who is right now marching in a Labor Day parade, surely chanting something worker affirming, but I cannot share that story because I am at this moment enjoying a chai latte after tipping the barista merely the change from a $10 for a $9 muffin, the privilege of which would disgust as much as amuse him, and that’s not what I’m going for, “going for” being illusive with that friend already as I sit here in my bedazzled New Orleans t-shirt.

I bond with people who border on madness, more men border on madness than women in real life, in literature the maniacs are all women who are wild-tressed sexually unhinged brunettes, which I suppose is what attracts the somewhat troubled men to me, as if their cocks are homing pigeons to my trope. 

I am told that I am quite funny. Inappropriate is the marrow of my humor, to be safely shared with a meeting of eyes, an unspoken understanding calling attention to something they should not be thinking but which they are thinking, tamping down a giggle behind a cough. Think "sweater pants". Bam, intimacy sparked.

My instinct is finding something absurd to deflate the stated agenda, whatever that agenda may be, because although there are countless agendas in gatherings of humans, typically someone is in charge and the goal is absurd (to me). If I were marching around and picnicing in Caz park for workers’ rights today, for instance, I would be doing so, on the face of it, because I believe baristas should get dental coverage (I don’t have dental coverage – does anyone actually have dental coverage?). But. I can imagine the march from here, a stimulating mix of diverse folks chanting lustily, one of whom is my friend, his earnestness rendering him something akin to a grown boy scout ripe for defiling. I’d be all about the rights of workers while actually observing the body of my friend, who has come back now (mostly) from losing his mind over the little wife who left him for the man she was sleeping with when she married him. He has gained weight how men tend to do that, I've noticed, a hard ripe tummy, the kind of weight people put on after they have been molested, a protective girth. I tell him that he needs a dog, and I send him petfinder ads every morning. But. He needs an affair with a married woman, needs to shave that tummy right off with the nervy energy of illicit desire, and I might even suggest that course of action, a perfectly innocent proposition from me as I am not (yet) married.  He might say that such an affair would be unthinkable, given that he was torn asunder by infidelity – if so, he’s not yet to the later phase when you find that it didn’t kill you / it isn’t fatal.

They are probably together, my friend and the coworker I threw down with once (twice maybe) (those were dark cloudy days), whose attendance at worthy marches is a given. The coworker’s ass ranks number one in drunken ladies room confessionals and, despite the public do-gooding, he has a susceptibility to doing no-good that I personally tested (epic fail).  We never have spoken about that incident, but since then he occasionally quips that I might puke, as in ‘don’t tell her that gross story or she might gag’, comments that invariably make him blush scarlet. What I can't remember I can well guess, so clearly sticking in his mind that he has a Pavlovian response to my putting so much as a carrot stick in my mouth at picnics. 

I leave it simmer.

I am contemplating: the relationship between desire and stress.  Not a little stress causes too much online shopping typa deal.  I’m talking about the duress of life:death:meaning:need colliding like fusion, unearthing desires buried in drums that were never supposed to leak.  But they do. 

part time lover - vladimir buiakov (adorable version)

Play me a song?

to the one I love (mustache ride version) - ben aaron