Welcome

Welcome to my blog! 🙂

First things first…

Some of you might have noticed I posted a blog a week or so ago and then deleted it. I decided I didn’t like it; it was too negative and there really wasn’t anything anyone could say to it. Essentially, I did a social thing and felt like a misfit, and it set me back a ways, missing John and feeling like I don’t know where I belong now. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, nothing anyone said; it was about me, trying to recapture what once was. But I came to realize that the “get yourself out there” and “you have to move on” messages I’m seeing are nothing more than societal dictates, the rules that “they” put forth in order to have a proper life. According to whom?? After I reminded myself that I’ve never given a flying fuck about societal dictates and I’m not going to start now, I realized that I have to go about this grieving business in my own way, in my own time. And do whatever I need to do. If staying at home a lot and watching old movies is soothing to me, then that’s what I’ll do. And let’s face it — with the exception, of course, of the beloved individuals in our lives, people can be so overrated.

Enough of that. On to the good stuff — I played with B again last Friday. 🙂

I went to his house in the afternoon. This time, his wife P was there. I had met her once before, but this was the first time she and I got to talk a bit and get to know one another. She had to run an errand, and I guess it was the plan that B and I would be playing when she came back and she’d join in, but it didn’t go that way. B and I got to talking, and we were still yapping away when P came home. So she came in and joined the conversation, and we ended up sitting there on the couch (with the dog, of course) talking until it got dark. I went to use the restroom, and when I came back, it was just B, saying that P had begged off, needing a nap.

I didn’t get to see this last time, but they have a separate playroom outside of the house! B called it a woodshed, but it certainly doesn’t look like one. Very comfortable, with carpeting, a desk, a chair, a bed, and heating/AC. He closed the door (nope, no dog hanging around kissing me this time), and we got down to playing. Like the first time, I enjoyed myself so much. We started with OTK and his hand, and then moved on with me on the bed, pillow under my hips, being strapped with his belt and then caned. Just to switch things up, he had me stand and bend over a chair, putting my palms on the seat, for the final cane strokes. A couple of them went low, and he apologized, but I assured him that does not bother me. What I don’t like is when they’re too high, or all on one side. Gotta be even! Or somewhat, anyway. And the belt was delicious. Always my favorite. And he didn’t wrap at all.

I cried this time. Not because it was too much, or too painful. It pushed me, but I could take it. No… the tears came later, when he was holding me close afterwards. He said, “You’re beautiful, Erica Scott,” and I said, “Don’t… you’ll make me cry.” He said that was very much allowed, and that I was safe in this space and he was here. And so I clung to him for dear life and wept. Couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since a man said I was beautiful. ♥ And my emotions are very close to the surface these days (not that they were ever very far below).

We went back into the main house, B woke P up, and then I said goodnight to them and took off; it was after 8:00 and starting to rain. He will be out of town all this week, but we agreed to get together again after he comes back. Also, one of their favorite cafés happens to be a long-time favorite of mine as well, so we’ll probably go there at some point. I really like both of them.

I’d promised I’d send him pictures, so I took a couple when I got home.

I’ve been getting professional deep-tissue massages lately; they help with my chronic tension. I found a local massage studio and a favorite masseur there (the owner, no less), and I had an appointment with him yesterday. I usually keep panties on during the hour, but everything else is off.

However… even though I put on my most full coverage boy shorts, there was no hiding those lower cane stripes. Ooops. Well, I wasn’t about to cancel the massage; I needed it. And I figured this guy is a professional; if he sees anything, he will be too discreet to mention it. So I went.

Sure enough, he didn’t say a word. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t vary in his technique at all. It was my fourth time there and I think this was the best massage yet; I was in la-la-land when I left and very glad I didn’t have to drive far. When I got home, I wondered… maybe he didn’t notice? I mean, the lighting is sorta dim. So I took another picture.

Oh yeah. He noticed. *blushing* Those boxers covered my butt, but nothing below it. Oh well…

All jokes aside, I’m glad he was professional and discreet about it. If he’s said anything, I would have felt a little skeevy about it. But I’ll confess that when he was working on those areas, I had a powerful urge to giggle. (I didn’t, though.)

Between Friday’s scene and Saturday’s massage, I was truly out of it. In a good way. So relaxed. I tried to watch TV last night and kept falling asleep, so I finally gave up and went to bed. And slept until nearly noon today.

I miss John every day. I probably always will. But my life goes on. And damn, it feels good to feel good for a while. ♥

Dazed and contused

And blissful. Don’t forget blissful.

(Yes, this is a long read. You know the drill. Get a beverage.)

You know, I got the green light from him to mention him by name. But you know me; I tend to err on the side of discretion. And he has an unusual name. So, just in case, for now, I shall refer to him as B. If he chooses to comment on here and reveal his name, then that’s okay too.

B is someone I’ve known for a few years, seen at parties, bantered with a bit on FetLife, but we’ve never played. Which is kind of a shame, considering we live near one another. But it’s just one of those things that didn’t happen. Plus, he has a very busy life, works a lot of hours. And he’s a newlywed with a beautiful bride. (Yes, she is kinky too. Yes, she knew we played. All is copacetic.)

We’d met for coffee a couple of weeks ago to talk, and agreed we both wanted to play. He said I was welcome to come to his house, and since parking on my street is such a nightmare, I thought yes, that would be perfect. We had set it up for last Friday, but he’d gotten called in to work that day, so we switched it to Saturday at 1:00.

I have not been playing, obviously. I haven’t doing much of anything, besides working, going through the motions of functioning, and mourning John. It’s only been recently that I had felt the stirrings of need to play again. But of course, along with that came the bombardment of insecurity and self-consciousness.

I haven’t wanted to be seen lately. I’ve felt drab, deflated, colorless, sad. When I took a selfie, I’d smile, but my smiles never reached my eyes. And I certainly didn’t feel attractive or sexy. Grief takes a toll on one’s psyche for sure. John was so very affectionate with me — always touching me in some way, holding my hand, putting his arm around me, cuddling with me, nuzzling me with his nose, which always made me giggle. I’d gone from that to no touch at all for a very long time. Skin hunger is real.

I also wondered what kind of tolerance I’d have… if I’d have any. If it would feel the same. If I’d be able to handle it without breaking down into a million blubbering pieces.

Oh… and this shouldn’t matter, but dammit, it does. He’s a lot younger than I am. I mean, a lot. And he’s a very tall and attractive man. I was texting with my dear friend and sis Lily Starr before the event, and I confessed that I couldn’t believe he wanted to play with me. (sigh) And she said:

“Of course he wants to play with you. You’re Erica Fucking Scott.”

I laughed out loud. And then thought, goddammit, she’s right. I’m still here. I’m still me. Down but not out. And I’m going to have fun. Because I damn well deserve to.

I showed up at 1:00, and when B opened the door, I was greeted by his behemoth of a dog, a big friendly bundle of part pit bull, part Rottweiler and part something else that’s huge, I forget. And who thinks he’s a lap dog. You know me and dogs… I was in instant heaven. There was a cat, too, but I didn’t get to give him any attention. I tried once; held out my hand to him, and he approached to sniff. But before he could even come close, the dog came barreling over and plowed his way between us. “No! You will not pay attention to anything but ME!”

We chatted a little, and searched for his phone, which he had misplaced, but we couldn’t find it. I even tried calling his phone with mine, but he must have had it silenced. So, of course, it became my fault that he couldn’t find his phone. And then we got down to it.

It was a lovely, multi-part scene, in various rooms and even outside in the back yard. Nice long warmup, strap, and cane — I can’t remember the last time I was caned. Oh, yes, I can — New Year’s Eve, 2022. Long time. But I took it well, I think. And I needn’t have worried about my tolerance. It kicked in immediately, and I found myself craving more and more. In fact, when he said something about wrapping it up, I protested. “What, that’s it?” I blurted. “We’re just getting started!” Okay then. He was happy to oblige.

Ever try to do a serious spanking scene with a giant galoot of a dog hanging around and kissing you? It can’t be done. I spent roughly half our scene laughing my head off. The dog kept coming over, licking my face, my arm, my shoulder. Or he’d park himself on the couch behind us and lick my feet. B was laughing and saying “Leave Erica Scott alone!” (He refers to me as Erica Scott, the whole name. It’s cute. I like it.)

I felt so comfortable, it was easy to let my playful side come back out. B kept moving me around, switching positions, and finally I snapped, “Would you make up your fucking mind??” Oh my. That immediately pushed us into the “That’s it, now you’re really gonna get it” zone. Which, of course, I love.

He finished me with a hard strapping, and that was the first time I found myself struggling a little. At one point I asked him please to slow down a bit, which he did right away, and then I was able to continue. Funny how, even in my peak days, I could take it hard, I could take it fast, but hard and fast at the same time overwhelmed me and still does.

Aftercare was lovely. He held me, rubbed lotion on me, let me come back down to Earth. I was a bit dazed and spacey, to say the least. But amazingly, I didn’t cry. I thought for sure when I played again, I would break down and bawl. But the urge never came. I just felt giddy and blissful. And alive.

I left around 4:00; he had someplace he needed to be, so I had to pull myself together and be on my way. Since we never did find his phone, I promised I’d take pictures when I got home. Which I did.

Ouch. So delightfully sore. I was in a happy, ditzy space for the rest of the evening. Oh, and I was starving, so I stuffed myself at dinner, and had chocolate cake for dessert. Everything tasted sublime.

Oh, and here I am in all my disheveled glory that evening. Hair still rumpled, makeup gone… and miracle of miracles, my smile reaches my eyes this time.

It’s been two days, and I’ve faded somewhat, but I still have marks. Which is fine with me.

Thank you, B. For bringing Erica Scott back out to play. For making me feel safe and comfortable. And for being so lovely and toppy and taking such delicious control. 🙂

In other news… I got through my first Valentine’s Day without John. It was not easy; very emotional day. Friends wrote and texted me, and were very supportive. My grief group met that night, and we all brought pictures of our loved ones to pass around. Many of us cried. My dear SIS Jay, who knew I’d be missing John’s flowers and chocolate, made sure I got some anyway.

And look! A week later, and they’re still gorgeous — even prettier now that the lilies opened.

This past weekend was the Oasis party in Vegas. I admit I felt FOMO, especially looking at all the posts and pictures on FetLife. There are some people I would have liked to see. But I have to stay grounded in reality. And the reality would have been that I’d be utterly miserable and sad there, missing John. It was one thing to go by myself, knowing that he was waiting for me when I came home. And even that was tough. But now? Ugh, I’d feel so apart, so alone. It’s just not something I can do anymore. So, that part of my life is done.

But I will not deny myself pleasure. I need this in my life. And hopefully, it will continue. There will be more sadness, because I lost the love of my life and nothing will change that. But I’m still here. And I must find my joy again too.

Thanks for reading. ♥

Brief interruption here…

Just breaking off from the goings-on of the day to say that it looks like I’m playing tomorrow for the first time in what feels like forever and I’m excited and I’m nervous AF and I can’t concentrate on my work to save my @#$%ing life and why isn’t it tomorrow yet and what should I wear and and and…

deep breath

Okay. Back to work. It’s been a brutal week, emotionally, but I am so hoping it will end with a dose of joy and much-needed feel-good chemicals.

Stay tuned…

EDIT 2/15: Late afternoon today has been rescheduled to 1:00 tomorrow. Stay tuned a little longer…

Well, kids… I did it

Last Sunday.

I did all the research, met with the tattoo artist (Danny) for a consultation. I felt at ease with him from the moment I met him. I explained what I wanted, and he said it was quite doable. I thought “why wait?” and made the appointment.

A friend joined me at the tattoo parlor for moral support, which was very sweet of her. Danny showed me a stencil of what he’d worked up for me, and we positioned and sized it until I thought it was just right. And then he went to work.

It wasn’t nearly as painful as I thought it would be. It stung, but more of an annoyance than really hurting. The noise was minimal too — people had said it would sound like a dentist drill, but it wasn’t anywhere near that loud. The three of us chatted away during the process and I barely noticed what was going on. I had been very nervous going there, but once I got in the chair, calm came over me.

I didn’t look at what he was doing; I didn’t want to see it until it was done. But my friend watched the whole thing and kept exclaiming how pretty it was. When I finally looked at it, I nearly cried. I couldn’t believe I’d actually done it.

Danny then put a clear film of Tegaderm over it, which fit like a second skin. I was to keep that on for 48 hours. So last Tuesday, I got into the shower, let it steam work a bit until I was able to lift a corner of the sheet and then very slowly peel it off. After that, I had special soap for it, and special aftercare lotion.

I could exercise and do pretty much whatever I wanted. The only caveats were no baths or swimming, and no constricting, clingy clothing. No sports bras. For the past week, I’ve been washing and moisturizing it twice a day, and otherwise pretty much leaving it alone. I was told it would probably itch and flake, and might even seep, but so far, there hasn’t been any of that. It just feels like a mild sunburn.

My next hurdle is getting through Valentine’s Day, which is going to be emotionally brutal. John always made a big fuss over it, made me feel so loved and special. (sigh) I wonder if I’ll be able to handle finally going through that drawer and reading some of the Valentine poems and other things he wrote me in the past. In recent years, he wrote a short poem for every day in February. I haven’t been able to go through that drawer yet. Twenty-seven years’ worth of cards and notes and other sweet memories.

And I’m craving play like crazy. Still working on that. In the meantime, I’ve been getting deep-tissue massages to release stress and tension. They feel amazing. Self-care is important.

I am very glad I did this. My own way of keeping John close to my heart forever. ♥

Correspondence Hall of Shame, 1/12

It’s simply amazing. No matter how much things change, some things remain exactly the same. I still get this incoherent crud on a regular basis. And this latest batch is so out there, I can’t even decipher them well enough to make fun of them. But I’ll try.

Well hello and I’ve read your entire profile and I like your style, it made me smile and think how fun this will be I love spanking entirely and would be more than willing to participate in your shared passion in the art of spanking , I’m going to write you a long message so you reply, my name is not important , I’m tall white dog owner divorced resident in Xxxxxxxx,I have a drivers license and insurance and my tags are current , I have a cell phone with a number you will need xxxxxxxxxx is the line to call for a good spanking on the behind, you’ll be red as a cherry 🍒 I understand the desire and you’ll be so turned on and wet from the satisfying sting as your ear rings , I know you are not to be degraded or expect Sex from it but let’s be honest you know how turned on it makes me to see your sexy fine ass in that thong like seriously I could eat that ass all year long and write a song, I know ur fit I’m strong too I’m legit , my only concern is that your going to want to much sex when I’m here to do the spanking it gets me too turned on and I’d die leaving with blue balls have you ever considered getting red hot spanked buns covered in my hot glaze as I gaze like a old porno magazine page when I was in the 8th grade, Lol we’ll hope I made you laugh and really hope you write me back I’m vaxxed shave everything except part of my back I love to massage and relax while we share the hot bath I love to pamper and spoil myself love using oils all over myself and have plenty of paddles and whipping sticks some I even made myself they have there own shelf , ask back anything else you got my number it’s on to make the move hope you like to win bcuz with me you won’t lose !

WTAF is all this?? Where does one even begin with this pile of dreck? There is no way I could make this up, folks. It’s real. Covered in his hot glaze?? What, I’m a fucking Krispy Kreme donut now? He could eat my ass all year long and write a song? (I doubt it would be a reboot of “A Taste Of Honey.”) Well, he’s right about one thing… his name isn’t important.

If you enjoy spanking as much as I do then we are truly together know what the other one likes the best. spanking a woman and rubbing it in slowly and playing with all of her body checking how dripping wet she is getting from it. seeinf her eyes as she turns and looking at you the lust inthem glowinf for you to take her with everything you got. you ask yourself should i stop spanking her now and mount her or just keep going. I keep going she will orgasum really hard while getting spanked and grab you cock for all its worth and start sucking on it and not let go if you cum in her mouth she is happy to take it all in and swallow it all and keep sucking it then mount you and start fucking you really hard trying to cum herself more again. if she does she can pass out knowing she has her pleasure to the max. wink, always enjoy to the max and play safe

Oh, wake up, honey, you’re dreaming. Because in reality, if you try to combine spanking with oral sex, you just might end up in the ER with a detachment issue.

Let me bust that ass and talk dirty to you for an hour or so you down?

No. Next?

40 years in the live style.Going back to my days in the days in the Navy
the in 2010 I Shifted to the sights (ALT , BDSM)
Many HAVE come and gone.
The last one lasted 5 years, before leaving the life style(tract my for picking ones too young(:-)
I now need a now need a new sub

I’m glad to hear he’s into the live style. The dead style is so extra. As for picking ones who are too young, I’m reminded of a line I heard on a sitcom recently, regarding an old man marrying a very young woman: “What do you get for an old fool who marries a girl young enough to be his granddaughter? A new prostate?”

As a Dom, I like spankings, floggings, bondage, breast bondage, tit torture, body worship, role playing, age play (Daddy/little girl), massage (giving and receiving), 69, dildo & butt plug training, hot candle wax play, ANR/Breastfeeding, titty-fucking, and using & abusing all three holes of a submissive or slavegirl for My pleasure! };-)

As a bottom, I like spankings. Oh, and massages are nice too, with non-creepy people. You can take the rest of this crap and shove it in your own holes.

if i were to put you in a federal prison, your punishment would be 100 paddlings every day before breakfast

Another one who likes to dream big. And if I had to experience this fantasy, my breakfast of choice would be a procured cyanide smoothie.

(sigh) And how’s your New Year going? I am still adjusting to life without John. Perhaps I always will be doing that. I haven’t given up on the peach rose tattoo idea, BTW. Now I’m toying with the possibility of putting it on my chest over my heart instead of on my forearm. That way it will be a little more private, but I can still see it whenever I want. I’m meeting with a tattoo artist for a consultation on Sunday.

Have a good weekend, y’all. Be safe. Hug your loved ones. ♥

New Year Musings

Been a while. I have much on my mind, so hunker down. Get a beverage.

First, my thoughts on the past year:

Yeah. It sucked. And looking back at the beginning of last year, I’m amazed that I was so consumed with what I called my “existential bleccchhhh.” I wrote this post last January. What a difference a year makes. Now, how I fit into the spanking scene is no longer a priority. Or on my mind at all, really.

I’m not really part of the scene anymore. I will always love spanking, and I will always enjoy the 20+ years of memories. But honestly, I don’t feel like I fit in with it anymore. Why? To put it simply, it changed, as things do, and I didn’t. No one’s fault; it’s just the way it is. And now, with some time past, I feel like I can talk about at least some of it.

I’ve always been a niche player. I am a 100% bottom; I never switch. And I bottom to men only. This didn’t used to be an issue. Now things are different. The party scene is more fluid. Roles are not clearly defined any longer. And it seems everyone plays with pretty much everyone — orientations as well as genders are fluid. I am not — repeat, NOT — saying this is wrong. It’s far more inclusive, and good for many more people. But for someone like me, it creates a feeling of awkwardness.

It used to be at parties, you basically put people together in some rooms and left them to their own devices as to how to play. Now, it seems the trend is to organize things a lot more, with games, themes, roleplays, etc. And when everyone is playing with everyone, and you’re not, you feel like the oddball.

Case in point? The party John and I went to last year over New Year’s. It was a lovely party, with good people. The hosts were awesome, the venue was comfortable, and we were thrilled to be included. However, I quickly realized how different parties had become from the first night of three.

There were a lot of spanking games, with different themes. But they all had one thing in common: bowls of slips with names on them. Everyone who identified as a bottom put their names in one bowl, and everyone who identified as tops put their names in another. If they identified as both, they put a slip in each bowl. And then one slip from each bowl was drawn and the two people were paired to engage in some sort of roleplay, with spanking.

As it happened, there were a lot more women at this gathering than men. Nearly all the men were switches. And pretty much all the women were too. Therefore, there were lots of women in the top bowl. And damned if nearly every time my name was drawn, I got paired with a woman.

Granted, I could have opted out and just watched. John had chosen not to put his name in anything, and I could have just sat with him and watched, laughed. But I wanted to belong. I wanted to be a part of it. So I decided to be a sport and be topped by whoever. And so, over and over, I bottomed to women.

Most of them were very respectful to me, knowing that this wasn’t my preference. The play was more on the light side, over clothes, etc. But it was excruciating for me. I felt uncomfortable and ridiculous. Again, no one’s fault but my own. If I wanted to play, this was how I had to play. I just didn’t like it.

I did say “most of them.” But of course, there always has to be one…

Before I get into this part, I am going to segue, and say something I haven’t had the guts to say before. But I do now. Because fuck it, it’s on my mind, and I feel like it needs to be said. I was thinking about making it a separate post, but I’ll keep it brief.

The #MeToo movement hit the BDSM and spanking scene hard. A lot of predatory men were exposed, stories of past assaults and consent violations were revealed. Things got pretty ugly and the scene was a dumpster fire for a while. But safety is important, and these truths needed to come out and be discussed.

But there’s one thing that, still, no one ever talks about. We hear all about the men who are handsy, rape-y, who push past known limits, who go too far, etc., etc. However, no one talks about the women who do the same thing. Ever. Not that I’ve ever seen, anyway.

Mind you, I am not dissing femme dommes as a whole, so spare me that accusation. I am friends with several femme dommes, they know who they are, and they know I have mad respect for them. But there are also the ones out there who hate men, and use their fetish in order to act out that hate. Who think the world revolves around them and what they want. Who think they are all-powerful and can do whatever they damn well please, demand whatever they damn well please. And they get away with it because people keep allowing them to.

How do I know so much about femme dommes, when I’ve never played with them? Easy. John did. Oh, mercy. Do I have stories. Years and years of stories. But I won’t go into them here. I will simply end this segue with something for everyone to consider and keep in mind, especially newbies. It is a reality that some tops are to be avoided (which, of course, makes us all appreciate the good ones even more). When you think of the worst kinds of tops — arrogant, egotistical, uncaring, cruel, in it for themselves alone — remember this: Not all of them have a Y chromosome. Predators and abusers are not limited to males.

So, back to the party. At midnight on New Year’s Eve, there was another game with the bowls of names. There was a table loaded up with implements. And this time, after people were paired, the top would give the bottom 23 strokes with an implement of the bottom’s choosing.

Again, I got paired with several women who were nice and respectful and kept things light. And then there was the one I didn’t know, had never met before.

When I went to choose my implement, I picked up the belt on the table. She said, “Uh-uh… my belt.” Okay, fine. She took her own belt off, and I started to bend over a stool. Then she said, “No. Those jeans need to come down.”

Say what now?

See, this is where I should have stood back up and said, “No, they don’t.” I should have honored my own boundaries. But again… I didn’t want to rock the boat. I didn’t want to be a poor sport. I didn’t want to not fit in.

So instead, I simply shrugged and said, “Okay,” and started to unbutton my jeans. And then she doubled down and said, “Hmmm… that didn’t sound anything like ‘yes, ma’am’ to me.”

Are you kidding me, lady? Who do you think you’re talking to?

Still, I didn’t say a word. I unzipped my jeans and shoved them down (leaving my underwear up, thank you very much) and bent back over. She gave me the 23 strokes, and they weren’t light, either. I grit my teeth through the whole thing. Then it was time to stand back up and finish with a hug.

I couldn’t resist. As I hugged her, I said in my snarkiest tone, “Happy New Year… maaaaaa’am.”

She laughed humorlessly. And then she said, in a voice dripping with condescension: “Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’re not going to have a Happy New Year with that attitude.”

I’ll be damned. I don’t believe in this sort of thing, but I’d swear that woman put a curse on me. Because 2023 turned out to be the worst year of my life.

Anyway… the experience left me feeling icky. And I realized this party wasn’t an anomaly. These games and icebreakers are now being played at the national parties too. And nearly every scheduled event involves some sort of roleplay, oftentimes ones I’m not comfortable with. I’m too damned old for the school themes, and I don’t like the whole family oriented themes either. And I don’t do any sort of age play. Again, more power to everyone who enjoys these things. The fact that I don’t is my problem. And I had to come to accept that maybe I’ve had my run and it’s time to bow out. Especially now that I don’t have John with me anymore.

I miss spanking. I still hope to find a local play partner. But my party days are definitely behind me.

So… a new year. 2023 was brutal, start to finish. Even in the early months, bad things happened. John had four different infections in rapid succession, which was stressful for both of us. My car was sideswiped on the freeway, on the driver’s side, when I was at the wheel. Then in June, the love of my life died.

The remaining half of the year was a blur of sheer hell, dealing with two problematic properties, bills, probate, a million forms to fill out, endless phone calls, handymen, roofers, painters, exterminators, you name it. It became ludicrous, so many things went wrong. After we finally sold John’s house, we went to work on the condo. New appliances, a new patio door, new lights and fixtures, new toilet, new mantel over the fireplace, the list went on and on. And when it was all done and the condo was sparkling and perfect, my realtor listed it. On the first day of the listing, it was 98 degrees, and she went to turn on the A/C. And then called me, telling me it was completely dead. My reaction was “Of course it is.”

I just had to roll with it all. I remember when the AC guy called and was trying to carefully and tactfully explain to me that the unit was fully shot, that the condo was built in the 80s and this was the original AC system, and they didn’t make them like this anymore, and he was going to have to cut things to make more room, and so on and so on and so on… and then I heard my realtor pipe up in the background: “In other words, we’re fucked!” And I laughed. What else could I do, really? I replaced the AC. And we sold the condo too.

And finally, after all that was done, this past month my favorite cousin passed away.

So yeah. Here’s my final thought on 2023.

Screw achievements. My achievement was I survived. I’m sad, I feel like I’ve aged ten years, I still cry every damn day, but I survived.

This year, I hope I can do more than just survive. I hope I can find some happiness again. I will never find love like I had with John again, I know this. But I need to decide what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, without him. More will be revealed, as they say.

I hope everyone had nice holidays, and that 2024 is good to you. ♥