I’m one hundred percent sober, but giddy happy grateful appreciative rambling for what I have, and for what I made it past to get here. Not just what I went through. What I have willfully and self-preservingly put in the past. As Sansa Stark said, “I’m a slow learner. But I learn.”

“Sidepiece” is dismissive and hilarious and yet! accurate. Because the man at home is everything. And sidepiece (ahaha) is emotionally intelligent and wants to know about the man at home, talks freely with me about ev.er.ry.thing, tells me about his partners.

Universe, I am grateful. ✨

Trophy sidepiece.

Not a night has gone by all winter when this man didn’t start my car for me so it would be warm when I left his place. Tonight he pumped my gas (not a euphemism) and shoveled a path to my car through the snow that had just fallen. He’s a massive geek, a creative, and a complete jock. HOW.

“Wait until you see the popcorn I bought. And I checked the ingredients.” He’s checking our post-fuck snacks for my allergens. 😭

Surprise conversation where you find out someone you respect and adore is also a slut. Fucking swoon.

It’s raining hard. He just just left to pick up dinner. I’m in his living room in a hoodie & sweats & lacy undies & gorgeous bra underneath. This feels surreal and fleeting. I hope I’m wrong. I want to hold onto it, even though I know if I tried, it would glide through my fingers like smoke.

I’m too high to be looking at tea blends.

No nut November? Aaahaha. Not quite.

Starting now I refuse to acknowledge a gig economy. No thank you. I want a fig economy. Fig Newtons specifically. Original only. I want a jig economy. Society does not dance enough. I want a flourishing wig economy to ensure that drag queens are the richest people in this godforsaken country.