Hi, Bitchfaces.
A scene unfolded this evening that is beyond my normal shade of “Brian, am I fucking high?” I must say, I find myself unable to rest currently, as some internal debate between Evil April and That Diabolical Ms. Macon is going on, and I don’t want to listen to either of those broads.
This evening, we’re having some nipple numbing cold snap here in Central FL. Viking goes over to his Momma’s house to pick up a “big, heavy quilt”, and I’m just doing my usual, aggravating dogs, and hand mopping the floor.
He returns with a giant quilt that made the metal bed frame groan when I put it on the bed (thank you, Mrs. Viking), and then he gives me that look that can only mean one thing; he wants to talk. Using words. Both of us. A fucking conversation.
Fuck.
So, it begins, “normally, I wouldn’t ruin a surprise for you, but I needed to know if you were ok with it before I said yes..”, and I, naturally, figured that he was uninviting me to the Sid And Nancy Christmas I’ve cooked up, however…
“How do you feel about going to get like, facials, pedicures, whatever? My mom wants to get you something, and wanted to know if you were ok with those places…”
Y’all. He literally considered my anxiety and inability to be touched by strangers before he said anything. He took a moment and asked me about my mental state before he just threw me to the wolves.
I had to take a full 45 seconds because I knew I was going to ugly cry.
Of course, as you all know, my issue stems from the CPTSD, and I have episodes where my mind will tell my body that it’s unable to move in the direction of an exit. 3 hours in a Wal Mart bathroom stall where every attempt to leave left me unable to inhale oxygen and I pretty much decided Instacart and I were old friends.
Much as you could probably imagine, though, he comes from good people. Salt of the Earth, which explains him, obviously. So I did something I never thought I would do and I asked him, “your Momma won’t leave me stuck in a bathroom stall somewhere, will she?”, but I already knew the answer.
He said, “baby…no. Never”.
I had to take a minute and 45 seconds because I knew I was going to ugly cry.
So, it’s 4 hours later, and I am somewhere in my mind, just thinking about reworking the numbers, because somehow I thought I deserved this guy, but he’s a Viking version of Adonis, and no pair of Valkyrie wings entitles a chic to, not only being a factor, but being valued and… I don’t know. Something else, but I can’t quite puzzle it out. It’s just the way he looks at me sometimes, and I can see his hamster wheel turning, but no fat cheeked rodent appears to be jogging in circles. I sometimes almost place the look, but then it’s gone before I can pinpoint where I have seen it before.
I have talked before of my holidays. I collect strays, both animal and human. Those who have been abandoned, wounded, those that cannot trust just anyone not to turn on them at any moment. I have, for a number of years now, opened my home to those without family during this season, because I spent so many alone and I remember the darkest thoughts during the darkest hours.
Nobody needs to feel like that. Not ever.
Yet, I get Sid And Nancy Christmas. And gifts. And a family. Like a real girl.
Like a real, live girl.
Gimme, like 3 minutes, y’all. Ugly crying again.
So, I know it’s that season. Hearts get heavy and our memories get hazy, but don’t put yourself in the clutches of those who don’t love you as you should be loved. My home, be it there, be it here, will never be closed to those who have to choose between being the black sheep, or being alone.
Hit a Bitchface on the hotline. I’ll set you a place at the very punk rock looking Christmas I’ve designed.
I mean, y’all didn’t think I was going to go in like a square peg in a square hole, right?
Pssh. Not in this fucking life.
Too cool and yo uh deserve every sweet taste of that. Slurrrp it up!
On this:
Something else, but I can’t quite puzzle it out. It’s just the way he looks at me sometimes, and I can see his hamster wheel turning, but no fat cheeked rodent appears to be jogging in circles. I sometimes almost place the look, but then it’s gone before I can pinpoint where I have seen it before.
BTDT from t'other side and it's called respect.. not respect for rules, but respect fo Who You Are. He ain't wrong and weren't I 2,000 miles away I might ponder giving the boy a proper Tennessee Viking run for his money.
If y'all doubt me just check my last name.. and yes, I know how to make krumkaka, even got Tanta Anna's iron for it (which is older than i am by about 60 years)
Anywho.. remember to choose Gratitude here. It's what makes great relationships work.
I'm assuming my virtual seat is reserved? Gotta say, though, 1) I'm liking that Viking more and more, and 2) sis, you couldn't cry ugly if you tried...there's only beauty in you!