I just want to kind of acknowledge a year of blogging. What a freaking year! I briefly skimmed back through my old blogs. It’s been a year of tremendous growth and change. Honestly many of the old angsty blogs embarrass me, but I’m leaving them.
I decided a while ago that I would not rewrite or delete history, no matter how much I want to sometimes. I’m embarrassed at the gushy mushy love stuff and my proclamations of certainty in situations that proved far from certain, but you know.. they are still valid. I wish I hadn’t written some of those blogs and I’m glad I did.
It’s not fair to look back at myself or my life or my blog with the benefit of hindsight, which is always 20/20 and judge the person making those remarks. We do the best that we can with the knowledge we have in the situation. I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve said things I’m not proud of and worried about things that didn’t matter and failed to see the impending catastrophe sometimes. I took risks and lost sometimes. It’s making me think I am my father’s daughter more than I sometimes admit.
My dad was the kind of guy that jumped into things, often with great result and sometimes with pretty predictable failure. He certainly didn’t get it all right. He was married 4 times to three really crazy women. He raised me, and honestly fucked that up pretty mightily. He spent 30 years in a career he hated and died weeks after he FINALLY retired. That’s one way to see things.
He also left a treasure trove of great stories and pretty amazing success. He was one of 5 children in a 2-bedroom in the projects of Cleveland. He was born missing one hand and was still a member of the wrestling team. He had a high school diploma (barely) and no other education. He left home to be a cowboy and joined the rodeo, winning a championship in Oklahoma riding Brahma bulls and bronchos before returning to Cleveland. He learned to draft and worked his way up, creating a lucrative career designing missiles, rover driving systems, fire engines, production equipment, packaging equipment and aerospace and defense components. He started out with pencils and taught himself computer engineering programs by lying and saying he knew them to get contract jobs and then working his ass off and staying late to learn before they figured it out and fired him. He bullshitted his way into opening a branch of an international technical firm in Cleveland. He was involved with a slew of beautiful (if damaged) women and had a daughter he raised single-handedly. He climbed mountains and white-water rafted and shot guns, lots of them. He skied and fished and hunted and hiked. He did amazing wood work and built ham radios. He camped and helped people and was a good listener, when he wanted to be. He played guitar and rode and built Harleys, one in our living room. Remember as you read all of that that he had ONE HAND.
He died alone on the floor of a motel 6 of a heroin overdose. He’d been sober 13 years and relapsed with his hooker girlfriend. The hooker he was with and loved and wanted to save stepped over his dying body and stole his money and cameras and computer and took off with his car. They only knew his identity because he had hid his wallet in a cracker box so she wouldn’t steal it. She had stolen from him before.
I think we are all sums of good and bad parts and I’ve said often that you need your light and your dark. I’ve had a slew of feedback from readers lately that said something like, “I like your blog because it is so honest”. It’d be a more flattering blog if I were more evolved or less truthful, but my guess is it’d also be less helpful to those people. I like the idea that my foibles can be useful to others. I won’t lie and tell you that makes me grateful that I have them, because really I’d rather be graceful and elegant, evolved and serene all the time, but it does make me happy that they at least have some benefit.
So, fuck it. I’ll keep learning and trying and risking and building and I’ll just keep getting up, and I’ll write angsty blogs that are too long, because weirdly the feeling blogs are the ones you guys seem to read the most anyway. (Weird, I know). You’ll have to just bear with me on the ones about kink and fisting and love and reward and sex though, because those are the ones I most like LIVING. My life is more light than dark and my blog is maybe 50/50.
Blogging is a mostly isolated past-time, spent typing to the proverbial “you”. I don’t actually know which things you like the best or which posts bring you back, but I’m glad you come here. I’d write it even if you didn’t, because the act of writing is so useful to me, but it gives me something that you do read it and sometimes comment on it or like it. I like the gratification of those numbers and messages. If you ever do want more of this or less than that, and you tell me what you want (honest disclosure.. I think that’s a podcast!) I just might do it.
I’m feeling nostalgic today.
On September 4th, 2012 I wrote the first post, titled Cherry Popping. Since then I’ve written 261 posts that were seen 35,553 times and got 1046 comments. I wrote about Hubby and the demise of our marriage. There was Great Date, with our NRE and our squabbles, our heat and our drama and our sad end. There was briefly Kinky Boy and all the things he taught me, including my love of Kink and why I will never ever ever date anyone else at work, and the fact that I am and always was poly, whether I had the words for it or not. I shared my love and lust of Roller Girl and my jealousy and her betrayal of me too. I STILL miss her all the time. I chronicled the long slow steady fall into love with Traveler and how he calmly and kindly captured my heart utterly, and my love and wonder of Cleveland and the podcasts we make together too.
I also wrote about Traveler’s wife and Peaches, Great Date’s Gal and Poly V. I told you about Forensic Guy who I never dated, despite what he said. You saw me almost consummate something with my dear friend Ph.D and how I just couldn’t in the end because I’ve loved him too long and too well as my friend, but you never know.
You could say it was a mess, and you’d be right, but it was also one heck of a journey and it’s here, most of it, a year. What a long strange road it’s been.