And I know summer isn’t over yet and I’m definitely not going to rush the last moments we have left— but September always brings with it a reset.

Normally I’d be welcoming that reset with open arms because to me a reset feels like progress and I love progress and personal growth like I love my late night cinnamon pop-tarts and milk.

But it was a hard winter for me personally. Maybe one of my worst. Most of the time I know it went unnoticed but I’m never one to bring others down with me. I’ve been through a lot in my life. More than I ever expected too. More this year.

More break ups. More restarts. More parenting aches. More financial resets. More loneliness than I’ve ever had.

I’ve never not known who I was. Even with all the struggles I’ve been through. I’ve always had a grasp on me. If not a grasp—then at times, at least a finger or two.  Because sometimes when things get hard you take sharper turns than you normally would just to get as far away from “that” as possible.

I’ve ran in the opposite direction many times and I can feel comfortable there. Mostly because what I do best is knowing how to adapt and survive. I’m like a chameleon.  I can change my colors and survive just fine.

But eventually those things and places and turns you made, they catch up with you. Because they were never for you. You weren’t meant to stay there. And then you have to come back home.

This last year for me was the loneliness I’ve ever been and the saddest. But I love my life. I love my family and I’m very blessed. So I wake up everyday slowly taking steps back to where I truly belong.

This summer I slowed it wayyyyy down. I didn’t rush my mornings. I didn’t freak out when I wasn’t being productive. I was ok not releasing a book. I caught more sunsets. Started getting up earlier. Picked wildflowers. Sat outside and watched the birds, listened to the crickets, and took in nature almost every night. For hours at a time. I walked barefoot as much as I could. And then any free moment I could, I camped—by myself. (Mostly)

I’m not afraid of being alone. I never was. I’m not afraid of how it feels. Spending all this time alone is good and healthy if you just decide that it is. I don’t want to be alone. But what I learned about myself while I was, could never have been done without it.

I’m more confident in myself than I’ve ever been. I’m 46 but I don’t feel like it. I feel like my life is just about to get really good. I think the things meant for me will show up and will stick around. Easily. Peacefully. Happily. I feel like the words I say will impact who they need to impact. I feel kinder. I feel emotionally warmer. I feel more grateful for those who have been by my side even if it’s not physically there everyday. I welcome new people and opportunities with excitement. I feel at peace. I feel calm. Finally.

Summer settled me down and it’s bringing me back home. September is where I start to buckle back down and become the bravest and most true version of myself. And I’ll be more prepared for the long winter.

There will be a day in the future when that season of my life will be just a blip of sharp turns. But it will also be remembered as one of the most important times of my life. Because it’s bringing me home to who I really am and who I’ve always been.

I’m wildflowers and shooting stars and bare feet and open fields and dirt roads. I’m jean shorts and tank tops and Sunday family dinners and mid day porch naps. I’m cowgirl boots and boot cut jeans and pony tails and belly laughs.

I’m just a country girl at heart heading home 💛

“Your eye has a sunflower in it. There’s the flower, a stem and a leaf. Did you know that?”

I didn’t. He see’s me differently. I love that.

Camilla (my 1986 vintage camper) has been my summer saving grace. I had no idea when I bought her just how much happiness she would bring me. She’s given me a place to—in a way—heal my heart.

The corner of my kitchen counter at home is littered with stress relief powders, vitamins, nerve reset potions, and lymphatic drainage drops. Proof that I am willing to try anything to not feel like I do or did and sometimes still do or whatever the fuck is happening to me these days.

Andrés smiles and I know I’m in trouble. I’m falling in a very reckless way.

And I like it.

“You know none of this was supposed to be the plan.” I whisper as I look into his beautiful dark eyes. “We’re not supposed to be cuddling like this, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Spending full days together. We’re not supposed to be telling each other—I miss you.”

“Yeah you did say that” he whispers back.

I don’t think either of us cares in this moment. I think we’re both willing to pretend that this won’t hurt in the end just to stay in this feel good moment.

He stands up. This is the first time I’ve been able to get a glimpse of his naked ass. It’s small but it’s all muscle. I’m instantly jealous of his skin. It’s the perfect shade of suntan, except it’s not from the sun. His complexion is smooth and clear. When I look at my skin in the mirror I see red blotches, purple-ish veins, and age spots.

My brain glitches. Oh my gawd!!! He’s got dimples above his ass. I didn’t know that was suchhhh a sexy thing! Hell!!!

Last time we were together, he spent the night and left the next day. We didn’t even get 24 hours together. This time (two weeks later) he is spending two nights. We will have our first full day together and I couldn’t be more excited for it.

Andrés is out of his cast and walking boot. But he’s still got a limp and gets around pretty slow. I am no longer afraid of him—the idea that a stranger would want to hurt me no longer applies to him. Even so—I know where to hurt him if I really need too. Just in case.

I like him slow, it makes us slow. We can’t be in a rush and it takes longer to walk anywhere. So I get to hold his hand longer. And we talk more. I notice more when we slow down. I take in more scenery. I see more birds flying above our heads. I notice more flowers and more of God’s greatness all around us.

Learning how to quiet my brain and be completely present in the moment has been a challenge and something Andrés has already called me out on. I’m not trained to just sit in the void. Life lately has been lived fully in survival mode. Surviving another break up. Surviving finances. Surviving dream chasing. Surviving this weird depression I’ve been in. Surviving everything.

So laying my head on his chest and emptying my mind is hard for me. I can’t fully do it. He has to remind me to stop thinking so much, settle in and relax.

And it’s something I reallyyyy want. I’d love to just turn everything off for an extended period of time. I’m trying really hard to do that.

The day goes way too fast for my liking. But what I like the most is how natural we feel. I feel like I already know him and he knows me. I feel like I already care for him and him for me. He doesn’t let an opportunity pass by to not touch me or kiss me. His hands are always on me and always moving. Feeling, rubbing, massaging, holding. I don’t find it suffocating or too much. I find it calming and safe.

We naturally gravitate to each other and he keeps telling me how lucky he is. But I feel like I am the lucky one.

Maybe we’re both lucky.

Nothing embarrassing happened his time, for that I am grateful (lol). I’ve had enough cringy moments for a lifetime. But I’m positive there will be more whether I like it or not.

He texts me after he leaves.

HIM:

You’re perfect

I don’t deserve you

ME:

Ok. Tell me why you don’t.

We are perfect for each other in a way

I just keep thinking about us not having a kid(s)

We are. Yeah wish I could but

I can’t. That’s not really a reason

why you don’t deserve me.

I know

And it’s just making me think about whether I’m

wasting your time

When you said you are not afraid to start over.

I’m not afraid to start either. I just don’t want to

make you miss out on someone you truly would want.

He’s not wasting my time. All I have is time. If anything I am wasting his. He wants kids. I already have five and they are older so me starting another round of kids is not a possibility. What’s very possible is that I’ll be a grandmother within the next few years. I can’t bring siblings into my family when some of my other children are about ready to start families. To me that just feels like a situation I have to avoid. The kids I do have, don’t deserve that kind of structure where their kids have an aunt or uncle who is under two. I know that it happens in families and I’m sure it’s wonderful. I would just like the remaining time I have left to live a softer life. I’ve been working so hard to get to a safe place. Starting over with more children is something I’m not willing to do, not for anyone.

I can’t give Andrés a family of his own. But I wish I could. He deserves a beautiful family and life.

Are you afraid to care about me? Like

what if you fall in love. How does

that make you feel if it was a possibility?

In a way

I do love you a bit

I just hate the feeling

of us meeting at the

wrong time!

You love me a bit?

Hahaha yea!

Is that bad?

It’s not bad.

I love you a bit also

I’d like to love you a lot more

before you run away from me!

I just hate that I met you

at the wrong time

I can’t help but think that maybe this is the right time. Maybe this is what we both need at this specific time in our lives. Maybe I’m meant to show him the kind of love and care he needs from another woman—his future wife. The future mother of his children. Maybe I’m meant to show him that he shouldn’t settle for less than what he deserves. And vice versa.

Maybe he’s meant to show me just how much my heart can handle—and not in the bad ways that I am used to.

I’ve had my heart broken enough. I’ve also figured out by trial and error what I want and need for myself. So when a good relationship breaks that is healthy, the heart break isn’t all that bad. It still hurts, but it’s not devastating, toxic, and hurtful like I am used too.

I’ve loved very deeply twice. One imprinted my soul in a way that has never let up. He still is by far my deepest love, one that never fades, not even after 33 years. And the other one taught me a lot about myself. Patience, compassion, and trust among other things and that love later in life is very possible—with the right person. Every relationship I’ve been in has been an important experience one way or the other.

What I don’t want to happen, is our relationship—whatever it ends up being, to be a negative and toxic experience. He doesn’t want that either. And I don’t think we are meant for that. Thankfully.

While I am in this “grey” space my goal is to not hurt anyone on purpose, and if I fall in love more than a little bit with Andrés in the process—I’m good with that. I’ll still have to let him go. That’s always been the deal.

In the mean time, I don’t want to hold anything that feels good back. Sunflower in my eye or not. Not one tiny little bit.

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As I’ve mentioned before, the weekdays have become my new weekends. And the weekend is my new work week. Lately I’ve completely flipped my life around. I for the first time in a long time, am starting to fall back in love with my life.

I’m working hard at my passions, I own my own home, and my children are all thriving and becoming amazing adults.

And I’m single.

Andrés is not someone I thought I’d pick to potentially break my one-year-born-again virgin status. I honestly didn’t know who or when I’d pull the trigger and have sex again after a full thirteen months of going without. This was something I thought about a lot and something I had never done before.

I will confess that I am a recently self-proclaimed size queen. I like my men big. I think I associate it with protection and safety. He’s small. Only a couple inches taller than me. And he’s not black like I have been preferring lately. But he’s adorable, he’s hot, he’s patient, and he’s way too kind. He calls me Queen and compliments me every chance he gets. He looks like one of those sexy soccer players from Brazil.

All of those reasons combined, I knew I wanted take a chance on him—that and he will be on crutches for the next couple of months, so he can’t murder me like I’ve convinced myself every guy on the dating apps want to do, you know after a roll in the hay first. This is a real life fear ya’ll! It’s scary as shit out there!

We’re not rolling in hay though. We’re under the stars at an RV camp where I’ve towed proudly, my vintage 1986 camper, Camilla. Set on the edge of Lake Erie, I had found the perfect spot for a secret little romantic moment with a mostly complete stranger.

Our chemistry is perfect. The energy around us is right, our eye contact is fire, and his kisses are intense in a way I haven’t had yet. It’s like he can’t get enough of me. I’m starting to think about him a lot of the time.

I hold my hand up against his. My hand is slightly bigger. Is this weird? Do I like that? He smiles at me, I melt inside. I guess I don’t care.

He’s younger than me, by a bunch. “So I was sixteen when you were born” I say to him as our bodies are close. Neither of us says much about that. “You need to make sure you keep looking for other girls, ones that can give you babies.” I tell him softly as the first star appears.

We can’t really be together. Not like a real couple. He needs to have a family of his own and not get too caught up in me. “I’m going to miss you when you go home.” I whisper. I know I shouldn’t say things like that. I shouldn’t text him unless it’s to see him. I should keep a safe space between us. He says he will miss me too. We could get hurt.

I know this is a situationship. I can’t think of one way that this would work differently. Not when he wants children one day. If he’s not permanent, my brain says I should hide him. I suppose I will hide him for a little while.

But what if I don’t want to all the time? What if I want to call him my situationship or something else, something more thoughtful out in the open? What if I want to openly enjoy his company, openly see him around other people I know. Openly care for him without the worry of a permanent label or a single worry about a version of us that’s not in the future.

Do I have to hide this version of me that’s happy in this space and not really ready for something more? Can’t I just let this be what it is in the special moments that we get to share intimately and not worry about what others will think or say? Can I be that girl to openly say, this is what this is and I’m happy this way?

I’ve always hidden this part of me that’s comfortable in this grey space. What if I didn’t hide her anymore?

The stars are speckled all over the sky now. He’s just swore he saw a shooting star. I call him a liar. So he makes me watch with him. Our heads are together as we lay on a blanket in the grass. He’s so close to me, his body warm and comfortable, we’re a perfect fit—something you can’t get with a larger than you man. I feel so much joy and comfort. I feel content, calm, and safe. Something I haven’t had in so long. He’s easy. This is easy. I love easy.

I want easy. Nothing more.

“There!” he points. I turn my head and smile at him. He smiles back and I can’t help myself. We kiss. Like really kiss. He rolls his body on top of mine and whispers. “I want you.”

“Yes,” I whisper back. “I want you too.”

If the stars could talk…they’d tell the beginnings of a very beautiful, short, no pressure, easy, and intimate love-ish story.

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Is it a year? Or more? Ugh…

LIFE LATELY—Thank GOD!

My weekdays have now become my weekends. And my weekends are now my weekdays. Fridays feel like Mondays and Mondays feel like Fridays. This is part of my reinvention. It is on purpose.

I’m set up at Lake Erie State Park. Camilla (my 1986 Yellowstone vintage Camino camper) and I are on our first solo trip together. This is only her second camping adventure to date.

I hitched her to my truck all by myself, then I drove the 45 minutes to the park, very un-nervous this time. I didn’t panic about corners and curbs, or fear that she was going to come completely unhitched and run head first towards the first ditch she could find. (Much like me at times. Smh.) I was more than confident in my abilities to drive her around after our first successful adventure last week.

Being able to hook up and haul a trailer and camper without a man doing it for me, was high up there on my REINVENTION list.

I may have mastered the tight corners and wide turns but I knew backing that thang up was going to be a little bit of a challenge. The easiest way to learn a new skill is to do it over and over again. *By this I mean fuck it up a lot! I even have steps to follow.

Step 1: Book the wrong site and realize it AFTER you already unhitched your camper.

Step 2: Shamefully call the park office—that you just left fifteen minutes ago, and admit you fucked up and booked a site with no electricity. Ask nicely if there are any other sites you can move to so all your food doesn’t spoil and so you can have outlets and lights when it gets dark.

Step 3: Get assigned a new site, hook Camilla back up, (congratulations you are now a professional at camper hook-ups!) move her while everyone is watching. Then try to back her up at a weird angle to your new site and fail at least ten times. When you give up, swing back around the loop and do a pull through—through someone else’s site. All while people are watching.

Step 4: Remember you don’t care who’s watching because you are too busy becoming someone amazing!

And finally a Bonus fuck up: Turn your camper fridge on freezer setting with all your food in it to make it cool faster and then forget about it until the morning, then realize what you had done.

Congratulations! Now all your food is frozen.

Aside from my life keeping me on my toes—I am at peace here. It’s quiet but it’s not. Campers are speckled all over the place and that smoky smell of campfire is permanently in the air. Children are using their outside voices, naturally and there’s a handful of dogs who should have been left at home. But it’s fine, I am relaxed.

There’s a honey bee that has landed on the outside of my screen door. I stare at it for a moment realizing that the last time I camped, there was a single honey bee on my awning. If it happens a third time, I might have to address the significance of it. Does anyone know what a repeated visit from a single honey bee means?

For now, I flick it from the safety of the inside of my screen, showing it no mercy. I’m still not fully recovered mentally and emotionally from the last time bees formed a Lorinda hate group and ganged up on me. Getting stung by 4 wasps was never on my summer bingo card!

When I bought this vintage camper with a very specific plan in mind—I had no idea that my idea for it would never come to fruition. I also had no idea that it’s purpose was going to be so much more impactful for me.

Last time I took Camilla camping, (which was actually last week lol) I had my family with me. Some of my kids stayed with me and some of them just stopped up. I invited my dad to come up with his boat. The water was perfect, the sun was going down but still warm, and it felt good to be on a boat again. Much of my childhood was spent on a boat with my father and siblings. I have some really amazing memories to draw back on. Being there with my kids—triple scoop, peanut butter cup ice cream on the hottest day of the year moment.

My dad had been working on his boat for a while and he was convinced that this time it would run perfectly. And it did—for about 15 minutes until it came to a complete stop after a loud bang. The motor refusing to turn over.

Being stranded on the water on a Tuesday is really not the best thing that could happen. Can you guess how many people boat on a random Tuesday night? If you guessed not a lot—you’d be correct. We eventually got rescued by a good samaritan but I also realized something very significant in that moment…

My kids and our laughter over that moment will be a memory I know they, nor I, will ever forget. Just like I’ll never forget when the propellor fell off our big blue boat when I was around twelve.

The next day my eighteen year old son brought out his small fishing boat. It’s nothing spectacular, only holds 3-ish people and doesn’t have all the bells and whistles. But he bought it with his own money and he re-carpeted it and re-painted it. And seeing every one of us gathered around that little boat—I had to have a family picture. It’s now one of my favorite pictures of us. As a parent that little boat makes my heart so happy because it’s his and we had so many laughs around it that night. Most importantly, he’s so proud of it.

LIVING LIFE ON PURPOSE—REINVENTED

The whole purpose of my story is this…I’ve come to love it when things don’t go as planned. I love it when random things happen. I love it when challenges are met with laughter and enthusiasm instead off stress and anger. And in those quiet chaos moments that happen to all of us, those moments have the potential to lead us to some of our greatest memories.

I realized when I saw my son sitting so proudly in his small fishing boat—that I like it best when things are saved, refurbished, brought back to life, or reinvented. He could have taken one look at that little boat and not bought it because it wasn’t this big, beautiful fishing boat decked out to the nines. Instead he saw something he could afford and he saw its beauty at its worst.

I could look at all these campers around me and be dark green with envy at all their newness and perfect setups. But—I only saw the potential my camper had for me and my family.

I just ate a microwave meal, while others are barbecuing steaks on their fancy outdoor kitchens.

Don’t get me wrong, I love new things too and I love when things work properly. I’m simply saying that there’s so much joy in the things that don’t go as planned if you chose to find the joy in them and maybe—sometimes we should start with where were actually at, instead of missing out on some perfectly imperfect memories because things aren’t completely lined up in our lives.

A lot about my life didn’t go as planned. But this version of me that I am now, that I’m reinventing—she’s proud and happy and tickled pink to be sitting in her vintage camper because that’s what she could afford at the time, writing her little heart out, eating a microwave meal and mushy blueberries from her unintentional freezing of all her food.

She’s reinventing herself the way *she* wants too, not the way the world expects her too—and she wouldn’t want it any other way!

Ohhhh—did I mention that I had sex under the stars last night?

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Lookin’ for a sexy man! Be cute, be flirty, be funny. No drama. Non-smoker a must, or I’ll think you are gross. I’ll pick you—you won’t pick me. Better give great head. Oh, and be available when I am, like 3/4 times a month if we’re lucky. —And done.

Instead it says this: Looking for movie, dinner, gym, weekend dates when my kiddos aren’t around. I spend way too much time alone.

BORING… ALSO;

I have one rule: My kids come first.

And it’s not that I come second, it’s just that we’ve been through a lot and they didn’t ask for my messy life. I’ll never expose them to that again, not for any man. And I guess I have a second rule: You don’t come to my house, so……maybe have your own.

Ok…now let’s get to the fun!

It’s true. I am only on the dating apps because I am lonely. Or maybe crazy! My last boyfriend was long distance and for pretty much the whole last year of the almost four years we were together, we didn’t see each other. The end of June was the last time I had physical contact with any man.

There were many reasons that had lead to our break up. Actually way too many which is new for me. Usually my relationships end with a very specific reason or event. This one was different. Which made it very very very sad. But that my friends, is a story for another time.

Back to now. Here I am. alone. sad. depressed. anxious. feeling sorry for myself. and so frickin’ unhappy.

I have never in my life gone a whoooooleeeee YEAR without sex!

Like who even am I right now??????

I’ve been on the apps for a while now. A few months. Feels like a lifetime because to be honest, it all sucks. The men suck. The conversations suck. The time and effort that these apps consume your day, sucks.

I suck…big time.

I suck because I don’t want to try. Not really. I would prefer it if Mr. Perfect For Me Right Now would just poooof appear in my inbox and make all of this easy. I suck because I don’t want to feel anything special for any man atm. I suck because I feel like I’m lying, especially when they get all excited about me. Maybe I’m already in love with someone from the past. Maybe not. We will never end up in a real relationship. I just can’t do THAT right now.

I suck because I roll my eyes and take screen shots when a man sends me “a compliment.”

R. Age 63 - Hey, by any chance do you have a membership to planet fitness? If you do I could use a personal trainer.\n And maybe a dinner date after.

A. Age 25 - It’s so hard for me to tell if you’re a sweet and innocent woman or an absolute baddie just waiting to be UNLEASHED

D. Age 43 - Oh wow, I love that you write novels. Do you have any new ideas? Can I be a character?

P. Age 57 - Hi, so it looks like you have the fitness part worked out. And you’re ok with working out together. Do u like partner dance. What kind of music do you like. Do you like roller coasters?

S. Age 34 - You remind me of the actress from the show vampire diaries!

G. Age 63 - Hi Sexy! Are you feeling Adventurous? wink emoji

J. Age 43 - Do you like fat guys lol? Asking for myself.

J. Age 44 - Wow!!

J. Age 56 - I was ripped start trying to meet someone special and hearing dad bods are so sexy so I put on 10 pounds still cant have happiness

S. Age 61 - Ur gorgeous and I would be honored 2 drive 2 u n my jeep 2 show u I am real deal and u don’t have 2 keep searching

L. Age 62 - Marry me?

T. Age idk/older - Any good at basketball? FUN FACT HE WAS MY MIDDLE SCHOOL BASKETBALL COACH. HE KNEW ME WHEN I WAS 12-14. Gross!

C. Age 63 - Romance, writer Let’s write action thriller With romance I would like to meet you (Phone number.) I dare you

T. Age 32 - If I asked you on a date to a paint and sip or bingo with a twist. Which one would you choose?

M. Age 60 - Marry me diamond emoji

B. Age 54 - Love your name and you are gorgeous. You will get a ton of likes!!

B. Age 55 - Evening Lorinda What’s the catch? Total package?!?! & naturally attractive 1000% intrigued. Happy to share photos Confident you will like! B

E. Age 47 - Yo girl u mo stunning den a taser

R. Age 36 - I have never wanted my ass kicked so badly

S. Age 33 - Hey!! Is this really you in the pics? Tbh you look much prettier than most of the girls here

S. Age 57 - Oh, those eyes

J. Age 46 - Ok fine, let’s do this. When should I pick you up and where do you want to go

G. Age 40 - What celebrity do people say you look like? I’m trying to put my finger on it…

This one I can’t… T. age 61 - Hey, we know each other, sorta. I’ll spot you if you spot me. I’m looking to bulk my shoulders to look like yours. I remember you from church. (!!!!!!)

BIG FREAKIN YIKES YA’LL!!!

I am equally entertained and grossed out… Not one is attractive enough for me to fall for those wonderful (that’s sarcasm) pick up lines.

BUTTTT wait all is not lost!

I did have some luck. He came to me in the form of a small sized, fit and athletic, sexy, looking like a soccer player from Spain, hottie ready to make the effort to see me! The universe worked it’s magic and the energy between us matched. Ta Da!

Anywho, after some conversations and a whole lot of hesitation on my end we finally met for a movie. He drove an hour and I drove an hour to meet at a theater. It was raining. And it’s important to point out that he was on crutches from a sports related injury.

Important Fact: I only agreed to met him because if he was a total creep I could overtake him because he was hurt. I refuse to be beat, raped or kidnapped or murdered. I’ve seen way tooooooo many social media reels of dating app dates gone wrong! I’m terrified tbh.

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I like to think of myself as a “trendy” or like a with the times kind of gal. But this thing—it snuck up on me. I was way out of the loop until my daughter and future daughter-in-laws were raving about it during the famous Amazon Prime Days. Which is just basically Christmas in July or a summer-time Black Friday.

If you’ve never heard of Amazon Prime Days then you are way more out of the loop than I am and I feel sorry for you…maybe. Ok, just a little bit!

Anywhoooo—this Oura ring was on sale and if you were shopping for one (I really wasn’t) this was the time to buy or you’ll be stuck paying full price when you finally do decide you want to be cool.

Two rings were purchased not by me. I missed the prime deal window because I was hemming and hawing over paying the price, even on sale, of another expensive thing. I was also half pretending to mentally figure out what color I should get and if I should get the 4 or the 5 version. 4 is cheaper but thicker. Of course the 5 is slimmer and looks better, but more expensive.

One thing led to another in my adult adhd brain and I forgot about it until I saw a link to the ring on a story of an instagram couple that I follow. I clicked on the link and remembered that someone out there trusts me with a payment plan option, so I finally pulled the trigger on getting the 5 version in black. 12 payments of $39.07 and this bad boy will be fully mine on August 3rd 2027. Yippee!!!!!

It arrived on my front porch 3 days later and I couldn’t wait to get it on and most importantly see how I was sleeping and also—not that I am going to pretend that I know all that it can do, or if it even can—hope pray it tells me when I'm having a heart attack or stroke or something like that— maybe even ease those cryptic thoughts that occupy my brain a little too much at this age that I've been forced to become.

I opened the package quickly and stuck that baby on my left pointer finger. Suddenly feeling an ease within me that I'll somehow become a healthier person just because of it. Payment plan—WORTH IT! Boom!

Lately, I'm in this place where I work weekends and have 4 days of the week off. This day that I am romancing you with was a Sunday. Last Sunday actually. After working 3—long 7ish hour shifts at my serving job at a fancy brunch house, by Sunday evening I was pretty much beat to a pulp. So I napped. At 7 pm. Which didn’t put me to bed until after 1:30 am.

I went to bed finally, excited to wake up and check on how I slept.

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This is the only way I have been able to be my truest self. And being true to myself is the only option. Especially now in my mid-40’s.

I don’t like where my life is headed—I change my mind.

I don’t like my job—I change my mind.

I don’t like what I’m doing with my free time—I change my mind.

I don’t like who I’m surrounded by—I change my mind.

I don’t like how I feel—I change my mind.

I don’t like where I've been—I change my mind.

Ladies in your 40’s, 50’s, even 60’s — if you aren’t happy, change your dammmmn mind. I prommmmmmmmmise it’s worth it!

It’s Tuesday morning and I’ve been up for a while. I used to say I wish I was a morning person. Often times when I didn’t have a reason to get up early, I would sleep in until 10, 11, sometimes later. I thought I loved it, but then the guilt would kick in almost immediately that I had legit wasted most of my day.

By time I got my morning—now afternoon coffee in, got dressed and situated I had blown half my day. I was in a love/hate relationship with my bed. A bed I slept in alone and have been for years.

A bed I slept alone in as I was going through my second divorce that I could easily describe as a horrific and my most stressful experience ever. A bed I sunk deep in not just physically, but emotionally and mentally as well.

A bed where I would ride out my depression and anxiety and rot—what I lovingly call bed rotting.

One small decision finally led to another and here I am—not exactly the morning person I dreamt of but I am closer to it than I have ever been.

So I wake up earlier—between 7 and 8. It’s an improvement and one I am happy about. One I can be proud of.

Call me the Queen of Change because I can’t break out of this cycle of change anymore, nor would I want too. Through all my trials and errors I have permanently burned into my brain that if I want things to change I have to change my mind.

Maybe it became a survival plan. Maybe not. Maybe I just knew I couldn’t live a certain way anymore. Maybe I learned to take control of my life. Maybe change became my healing. Change is still my healing. And guys it’s powerful!

Changing your mind, changes the course of things. It pulls everything into a different direction. It’s simple but it’s hard. It’s quicker now than it was before. It’s unapologetic now and I refuse to explain myself anymore.

I’m not lost—I know who I am. I’m not trying to figure out who I am—I know who I am. I’m doing what needs to be done—I’m not trying to hurt anyone in the process. I’m not trying to sacrifice anyone—I’m just done sacrificing myself. When I change my mind—it’s personal to me and nothing else. It’s not a threat when I change—it benefits everyone. I need to love myself first—that’s all it is. I’m not trying to make anything complicated—I'm trying to simplify it. If I blow up my life—then that’s what needed to be done. Just trust!

With all this being said—I have some really good & positive changes coming soon. I had to make changes in order to figure some important things out. I know in my head what I want to accomplish in my life. I just have trouble sometimes—even thought I have a passion for words—articulating all I want to say and accomplish.

But I've been working hard-ish behind the scenes. It’s summer y’all! I've been slowing it down when I can. I’ve spent some time and a little bit of money getting myself to a place where I have a clearer more precise path in front of me. Finally. So now it’s on me to put those charges to work and I have to tell you—I am so frickin’ excited.

• I’m going to be more honest—more real.

• I’m going to trust the wisdom of those ahead of me and focus on my substack.

• I am going to stop worrying about who’s reading or not reading my words.

• Most importantly I am going to be fully me and I am going to have fun!

I have so much excitement for what’s next for me and all of this wouldn’t have been possible if I didn't have a change mindset.

—Will you become a Queen of Change too? Maybe you already are one?

—What can you change your mind about today that will set better things for you in motion? Even if it’s a small change.

—What are you afraid of that is stopping you from changing?

It’s Tuesday and this has become one of my favorite days of the week. I don’t know too many people who can say that. But—here I am, changing my life just because I said so!

Good things to come. I hope you’ll join me!

P.S. I have a lot of fun and wild, somewhat kringy, somewhat embarrassing, totally real and often unbelievable things to say but I can’t just say them out-loud for free. I have to put them behind a paywall. Because they are so personal that I can’t just have them out there in the open for everyone. Please consider upgrading to a paid subscription and help me validate the chaos that is my life and my true personality. I promise it’ll be funny and shocking-ish and I won’t hold back! Hope to see you there!

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Bella is working hard in the kitchen, making sure I have the perfect cup of coffee to start my Wednesday morning. I can barely hear her brewing over the loud blowing of the air conditioner I have set on high to try to cool this place down.

There’s a hunny bee—just one, resting on my awning outside. I’m watching it closely wondering if it’s lost. What could it possibly want with metal and vinyl? If he thinks he’s making a home there, he will be severely disappointed! I am still recovering from the four wasps stings I got last week. The one on the back of my knee bruised my tendon so bad it hurt to walk, and the one on the inside of my arm left a dark red and brown marbled circle the size of a tennis ball. Luckily, the one on my face decided to play nice and only left a small hole next my eye. No creature that size should have that monstrous of an impact on my body. I will without a doubt, murder it or die trying!

I’m sitting here at my kitchen table living just a small piece of my biggest dream in real time. And to be fully transparent, I’ve had many soul cutting, and distractive thoughts that I would never get here. I hope you can imagine me purring like a kitten atm. The kitchen table I am referring to is Camilla—my 1986 Yellowstone Camino camper. She’s a doll guys! A freaking pint-sized doll! And she’s vintage!

Five years ago when I was dating The Drug Dealer—(we’ll get there if you keep following along! :)—I had this big idea to buy a fixer-upper camper and turn it into a farm-style, farm-stay Airbnb. I paid $2,000 cash for her and the drug dealer and I brought her home. I POURED—and I mean poured my heart into her. I parked her in my back yard and worked on her every chance I could get—for the last five years. Mostly by myself. The hardest stuff, my second oldest son helped with. One of the most interesting things about me post-divorcES (yes, two! It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine!) is that I can do a lot of shit on my own. And if you’ve ever been married or are married—maybe you know this—projects are most times a lot more peaceful and way more enjoyable when you do them yourself.

Having a partner who I work well with…is still on the dream man bucket list. At this point, my “list” could fill the entire bucket. No, I’m not being difficult. I know what people might think. But I’ve been through a lot and it’s called standards. I would have been through a lot less torment and disappointments if I had had the right boundaries and expectations set in the first place.

Short story—I refuse to abandon any part of myself again. The man that’s out there for me—he will feel the same way.

For now, I’m focusing on becoming the dream version of me. The one who never—under any circumstance—abandon’s herself again.

It’s ten in the morning at the campsite I chose to test run Camilla at. My teenage son is on the lake kayaking by himself. Maybe a better mother would be out on the water with him. I think he enjoys the freedom. He’s growing up so nicely. Never gives me a problem or a need to worry. The only exception so far, was the few beers him and his friends stole from his older brother to drink around a campfire a couple of weeks ago. Then he threw them along the tree-line of our woods. Hiding them in plain sight. I guess that shows how afraid of me he is.

I don’t love that he drank a couple of beers. But at 15, hanging out with his buds—I get it. He’s finding himself. I’m still proud of him. I know I was doing way worse than him when I was a teen. I just made sure I wasn’t going to get caught. If they were smoking cigarettes, vaping, or smoking weed, trust me—Momzilla would have her claws out. They weren’t. I asked him not to do it again—because that was the right thing to do as a parent. But the real lesson he learned (from his older siblings) was to put them somewhere not so obvious like the empty can bin. And maybe ask permission before he steals from a stash that’s not his.

I am really happy today. I feel the need urge to mention that. I haven’t always felt this way. Honestly, a few months ago and a few less prescription refills of Zoloft running through my veins, I was a high speed train headed for a brick wall. The most unhappy I had ever been, and I quietly feel the need to remind you I’ve gone through divorce not once but yes—twice! If you want to know what living in hell might feel like, go through divorce with men who don’t want to get divorced. Maybe you already know. Hopefully you don’t. Anyways, that unhappiness—this recent spell, was not divorce related. It was personal.

Check out my last Substack here!

The difference in my happiness now vs. then comes down to a few things. 10 to be exact. Okay… 12. Yes, medication and sunshine are key! But truthfully, what changed things for me finally, came down to these ten mindset changes…and believing in them full heart.

1. Deciding that I didn’t start over. I just got real honest.

2. I stopped abandoning myself. Quietly. No explanation or validation needed.

3. I decided I didn’t want to live a life I survived. I want one I live inside.

4. Being in my 40’s isn’t a mid-life crisis. It’s an awakening.

5. I didn’t miss my life. I just stopped being present in it for a while.

6. My dreams didn’t expire. They waited.

7. I’m not behind. I’m becoming.

8. I don’t need a love that saves me. I can have a life that doesn’t require saving.

9. Divorce is only part of my story. It is not my life’s headline.

10. Is this really 46? Yes! AND I’m just getting started!

Sometimes when you feel yourself close to rock bottom, it’s easy to just allow the negativity to overtake you. Self-pity and a victim’s mindset are very enticing assholes. They can feel better, or sometimes safer than actually being honest about your life and the decisions that you have made or in some cases, were made for you. I know now, and I think you could possibly know this too—don’t pick those assholes like you’ve previously picked your men, they might feel good for a hot second but eventually they get you no where good.

I say this a lot—that “Life life's.” My life has life’d harder than I ever expected or wanted. (Again, check out my last Substack here) I tried like hell to avoid it, as anyone would. If my life’s story was a course in college or a high school class, I’d get an easy A for my unwavering effort. But if my “teacher” was being truly honest about my grade, I’d deserve maybe a C+. I’d still pass, but barely. Instead of playing the role of the victim or wallowing in a deep, shark-infested sea of self-pity, I accept the truth about myself—I could have done better. And I whole-heartedly, extra-excitedly, scream it to the world now that I am here for earning my A.

Meanwhile—I’ve learned this very important lesson today, Silk pajamas aren’t for hot, summer mornings.

It’s time for me to button this up and throw my bikini on so I can join my son on the lake. I owe it to myself and my children to be more present in my life. And in their life. To be more fun. To be truly happy. And I’m thankful for this softer life I’m finally living, this dream of a day—where today, silk is my biggest problem and divorce is the least interesting thing about me.

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I don’t exactly know what I’m doing AND it feels like I’ve been doing that my entire life.

There’s this popular expression I've heard that goes something like this (or a variation of it) — “Throw spaghetti at a wall and hope it sticks.”

The spaghetti I am referring to is your dreams, goals, wants, etc..

Well, I have thrown a lot of spaghetti!

How much of it has stuck? Doesn’t feel like a lot especially lately.

I’ve tried marriage twice with no luck. I’ve tried other relationships and they’ve all failed. I’ve dipped my toes into a lot of side projects and passions and they all seemed to work but only short term. Not anything that has stuck around for longer than a few years.

(Am I sensing in myself a commitment issue? Adult ADHD perhaps?)

Last spring I threw spaghetti and it landed on the floor. Then my dog ate it!

I’m joking, obviously.

But for realzies— last spring I did a HARD launch into becoming a full-time writer and published author.

I didn’t launch into it softly. Not even gracefully. I literally did a full body trust fall, spaghetti gripped tightly in one hand and ended up finding out there wasn’t anyone there to catch me and no wall in sight to throw the spaghetti at. It was brutally embarrassing.

I knew I wanted to write. I knew I wanted to publish. Both fiction and non-fiction. I knew I wanted to include my physical fitness and confidence work into it. I had spent two plus years writing every chance I could, drafting up offers and programs. Idea after idea flooded my brain as my excitement for my new passion really fired me up. I knew for the first time that I was passionate about something that was and is going to last the rest of my life. This is different. I am 100% committed to this!

Sometimes you just know deep down in your soul when you’ve found that one thing that’s true for you and meant to last. For me that thing is writing. It’s what makes me feel whole and the most like myself. Especially on days where I feel the least like myself. Writing always brings me back.

Even with all that newfound excitement for my next passionate thing, I was extremely unhappy. Finding time to write didn’t work for me. I felt like I didn't ever have enough time and when I found time, that usually meant I was sacrificing something else. I wanted my writing to be the center of my day and everything else was to be worked in around it. I wanted it to be what I did all day. Not what I did when everything else was done.

I just didn't know how to get there and I really didn't want to wait for it.

Was that a huge mistake? I know dreams take time. I know all about taking the small steps. Being consistent. Having patience and taking advantage of opportunities when they come, sometimes finding the opportunities and making them come to you. I know all my goals and dreams aren’t going to happen today. Ugh…I know all this even if I pretend I don’t.

But—sometimes you have to just leap, land, get up, dust off, look around, and move forward from there. Even if you jumped into a place you no longer recognize.

Last spring I cut my income by more than half and this last fall I closed the doors for good on my self-employed state certified daycare. I just gave up $6,000+ of very stable income like I didn't need it. Like I had a bullet proof plan in place to not blow my life completely apart. I jumped!!!

Right into a deep, dark pit.

My super safe life blew apart. I almost lost my house twice. I am not proud of this, but my parents had to bail me out the first time. A 22k bail out. Ouch! A few weeks ago I signed the loan modification papers that will take my mortgage’s unpaid balance and put it on the end of the loan. I now have a fresh start—again. I am so grateful for all that but…

Talk about feeling like a total failure! And the shame that I felt asking for help at the age of 45? I felt icky! I am a grown adult…asking for help…I felt like I should be over this part of my life. The part where my parents help me out. The part where I struggle. None of that was the shining and successful moment I was hoping for when I leaped into my dreams.

I ruined my credit. I don’t have a savings. No retirement in place. It’s taken me three, maybe four years to re-shingle my house. Two to re-stain it. I have dreams and goals for my house that bother me daily that I haven't accomplished them yet. I fell into a not so cozy depression. And I’ve used all my get out of jail free cards. What a catch I am, right? Ugh…

Speaking of catches—I broke up with my long-distance bf of almost four years a few months ago. I lost my best friend and further isolated myself from the outside world. I feel like a complete disaster—again.

Writing isn’t all that glamorous like people think. Like I thought. It’s a lot of alone time and a lot of time in your own head. It can be a very lonely place especially in the beginning. Isolation creeps up on you quickly if you aren’t careful.

I made it lonelier, I did it on purpose…but not on purpose.

I’ve always felt like I was on my own. I’ve always lived on a single income. Double income—what’s that? I’ve always fought my way out of the messes I’ve gotten myself into. I always knew I was meant for more, even at a young age. I know it could be worse. I guess I haven’t had it that bad. Sometimes I believe I’m just meant to be the Queen of Single everything. Sometimes I embrace that.

To that advantage—I only have myself (and my children) to worry about. And if I’ve only ever known a single income, I already have that skill mastered. I already know I can survive on my own.

I also know one thing is true—I’m going to make it, even if my spaghetti takes a while to stick. It’ll stick. One day. I do know I'll never give up.

What I’ve done after I jumped spaghetti in fist:

• I took three serving jobs I didn’t really like. Working weekend am’s and then pm’s on the same day. Sometimes that added up to 15 hours a day for multiple days in a row.

• I stopped buying anything I didn’t need. I told the kids no, sometimes. I did nothing extra for myself. No nails, no hair, minimal spending.

• I budget planned my utilities, then defaulted on them, then I’d started over with another budget plan. I paid as little as I could on repeat to keep the utilities on. Then paid them off fully with my tax return.

• I looked for anything and everything I could to keep my spirits up that was free. Which was at times really hard to do.

• I wrote every chance I could and ended up publishing my second book.

• I ended an almost 4 year long-distance relationship with a man who was a really great guy and my best friend, even though it hurt like hell.

The Climb Up:

• I filed my taxes and got a big refund. All those serving jobs paid off. Thank you NYS for no tax on tips!

• I drove to NYC on a whim to meet writers I didn't know. I put myself in the room with Cara Alwill, Marianna Pease, E.M. Gallagher, Allison Ziggy, and others.

• I paid off all my credit cards and any other debts. Which took me to zero. A fresh start.

• I got offered a dream serving job in a Brunch House that’s fresh, vibey, bright, popular, touristy, and growing with amazing management. I quit my other serving jobs. I make great money now only working the am weekend shifts.

• I designed my weekdays to work for me. Writing and getting things done that weigh on my mind. Monday - Thursday are full free days!

• I focused on taking things slower, calmer, and with more intention. Realizing that production isn’t all about how hard can I hustle and how much did I get done.

• I joined Cara Alwill’s monthly Hot Girl Writing House. I got closer to my muse! Eek!

• I turned my focus to meeting people with similar interests and goals. I started to build my community up, knowing doing this alone is a recipe for depression and failure.

• I decided to be more bold in my writing. More real and to take more risks. Even if nobody reads it…yet. Holding back is exhausting, right?

I jumped into my dream and it created chaos for well over a year. It felt like while I was in it, I would never fully recover like I wanted too. It’s hard to live inside your own brain sometimes especially when you realize you’ve been jumping most of your life. I sometimes wonder where I’d be if I hadn’t jumped. If I had staying in the places that were (sometimes not) safe and predictable. Would things be easier? Would I already be successful without having to endure all the failures I had? Would I be further along and stable? Or would I never dream of writing?

I know I wouldn’t be writing this essay right now.

I best thing about after the fall—you can look up and see all the obstacles that are in your way. And then you can get to work and tackle them one by one. Honestly I like this better than always watching my back.

I choose not to dwell. I’m here now and the way I’m continuing to climbing out of my own mess feels right. It feels good and my dreams feel closer. You can’t feel all that when you're still at the bottom. But—by taking the leap and then starting to climb back up, you can clearly see that it is possible to move closer to where you’re meant to go even if you choose to start from the bottom.

The only way to not get closer to your dreams—is to never jump! I am so glad I jumped even if it was hard for a while. I am no longer scared. I’m in a better place mentally and emotionally, and I no longer fear the mess.

Sometimes it gets messy chasing dreams and that’s totally fine! I know one day my messes will get smaller and my dreams will get bigger. I’m just going to keep climbing!

What’s holding you back when you know you need to jump?

We sip coffee, we pour wine, but spilled TEA is better!

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She goes on to call “bullshit” on herself.

She lied, thinking that if she acted like “little miss warrior” about her recent breast cancer battle she would be viewed as helpful, inspiring, and uplifting—full-well knowing it wasn’t the truth.

And it made me wonder… how many of us women do this—more often than not?

We’d rather appear sturdy and strong. Not dare show a gleam of weakness in our perfect onyx-lined Revlon eyes. Especially when it comes to the public’s eye— like what we went through or are going through isn’t that bad. Besides, there’s always that old trust-worthy saying to land softly on like a fluffy feathered-down pillow—“Someone out there has it worse. Right?”

We think if we butter up our battles like we butter our morning bagels, it’ll come out inspirational and powerful vs. sounding whiney and sad. Or worse… like we are seeking attention for our hardships. Umm Gasp! Let’s face it, we judge those people, don’t we?

So we lie. We say we’re okay in fear of being judged. And pitied. And reduced to a version of ourselves we’ve come to dislike the most. It’s easier to say we’re fine, it’s fine. When in fact we are absolutely not fine! Because lying feels better.

Confession: I used to think I deserved my struggles.

I’ve never Christina Applegate struggled but struggled nonetheless.

I thought things would be different by now. I thought I’d be farther ahead. I thought I’d be madly in love with my soul mate, and finally financially secure. I thought I’d be this magnetic, vibrant, well-dressed, always confident woman, traveling and writing and healthy(ier) and thriving easily in all the ways I’ve always dreamt about. I thought I’d write one book and become instantly popular and rich. I thought I’d done enough and had a big enough heart to get to that place…easily.

Have we been conditioned to only speak about our hard times as if we’re having our Oprah moment?

— Yeah, I went through a tough spot, but look at me staying tough! Be tough and you can get through anything too! It’s fine! You’ll be fine too! Just keep going! You got this! Put on your tough face! etc,.

Little White Lies right? Or more like hiding from the truth, hiding behind the truth, and hiding it from everyone else too!

What would it feel like to surround ourselves with more people who are completely honest about their struggles?

Freeing? Manageable? Brave? Other…

My truth is things haven’t gone the way I wanted them too, not yet anyway. I’m still here in the messy middle, digging my way out of things I’ve gotten myself into. Life life’d harder than expected as it does and it turns out chasing my dreams feels more like a brutally slow, crawl up a cactus filled mountain of failure. Failures I don’t show very many people. Maybe none of my failures were on purpose, but nonetheless, here I am still going. I’ll get it, sure. But I am not going to say it’s been fine. Not anymore. Because sometimes I am just not fine.

Some days suck. Some days are better. Some days are hot lava. Somedays I have multiple wins and then not another win for months. Everyday I am trying.

I think it would feel better for everyone if we would normalize raw honesty instead of rewarding perfectly packaged resilience.

The Real Truth: I’m BECOMING (still)…

And YES that’s FINE!

I’m still navigating my two divorces, my identity shifts (yes, plural!), the future empty nest I’ll hate so much I panic thinking about it, healing heartbreak, battling loneliness, depression, and anxiety. I’m still healing. Still going for my dreams. Still learning. Still figuring it out. I’m not confused—I’m just sometimes overwhelmed. And a lot of the time it’s hard.

I want to re-introduce myself this way, the woman who’s been shifting and it’s taking a long damn time. The woman who’s all of the above and then so much more. Where both good stuff and bad stuff happens. And stuff in the middle too. The woman who’s maybe just like you.

Christina’s words struck a cord. She’s truly a remarkable woman. Already a survivor. An inspiration. A true Icon. I grew up with her on Married With Children. I fell in love with her again in Dead To Me and I respect her even more after reading her truth-filled and fully-unmasked memoir. She may be at war with her body (again) but her life’s work and her honest reflection has never been anything short of brilliant.

This is me becoming okay with my truth.

This is me never giving up in spite of it.

This is me not being afraid of it.

This is me cleaning my slate and starting over. Once again. As many times as it takes.

Cheers to the future me telling the full truth and not sugar coating it anymore…

This is me truthfully Becoming Her…

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Is my drunk ex-boss really a fortune teller?

This is the exact same question I have been asking myself since that late night a few weeks ago as my boss (who’s not a great boss btw) swirled his (3rd) glass, half full of vodka, and the other half soda, like it was a crystal ball into my future.

He’s been known to say a lot of things. And a lot of things that make very little sense unless you are following along closely. He’s that type of person who talks fast, does most of the talking, and changes the topic mid-sentence. (Think too much cocaine brain.) If you drift off for just one second, you’ll come back very confused wondering how he got from point A to point B in one single conversation. Then you spend the rest of the conversation playing catch up, mostly confused, trying to patch together the magical woo woo meaning you were supposed to catch. (He gave advice to anyone he could.)

I had already learned this valuable, better pay the fuck attention lesson about him two summers ago when I had previously worked for him. I only took the job to relieve my very real and very crippling empty nester’s anxiety. It was a summer I vowed was going to be my one and only! I am a writer, not a server. This job was meant for survival purposes only, it’s not beneath me, but it’s not who you truly are Lorinda! — (Edited to note a year later I am still “surviving.” (Insert eye roll here). Not for him but for other really fun restaurants.)

But life’s fun like that. (Insert the thickest sarcasm here.) It can be a real big d!ck sometimes. It will seemingly piss all over your very thought out, very set in stone plans. (Insert my annoyance here.) Life likes to remind you that you’re not actually on your own schedule. Your comfy, cozy, well thought out plans— yeah, they can suck it!

You’re on the Universe’s or God’s or whoever you consider to be your higher up’s schedule. It likes to remind you that even if you are out there trying to do good in the world, it does not discriminate, even for the people who deserve it easier. The Universe or whatever, is challenging you to see how bad you want it, apparently. Smh… that’s what they all say at least.

So (insert a big fat) plot twist in my “plan”. Here I am two summers later working for the worst boss once again. (Roll eyes and shake head here for me please.)

How I got here I will explain later in the book. But for now, I am starting from this point simply because I wanted to write this opening chapter in real time. In the right now, where I am at…NOW… broke, frustrated, confused, angry, emotional, unstable, exhausted, sinking, feeling unsupported, feeling let down, feeling alone, feeling like an impostor, feeling like a failure, don’t know why I thought I could have more, don’t know why I’m trying, don’t know why I thought I could dream, or have more or why I thought I deserved more. I’m wanting to scream, give up, quit, yell, judge, point a finger, blame someone else, throw something, break something, and cry. Whew!!! Chew on all that! You’d never starve!

I really want to cry… like so bad, but I’m way too exhausted to cry. Have you ever just felt too tired to cry? It’s like the worst. (Said probably no one ever but those who truly get it, get it!)

I would just like for once to truly break the F down! The problem with that is, I’d have to pick my own damn self back up. That’s not an option because it seems like too much work if you know what I mean. Maybe another time. Anyways.

So back to the half vodka, half soda where I was once (again) preparing to be on my best, non-distracted, listening behavior.

Was it just the vodka talking or was my boss really getting visions that could solve all my problems? And do we believe in coincidences? I’m really asking you. Do we? (you’re in this with me now!) I have to decide if I believe it, like really for realz believe it. How many coincidences does it take to be too many coincidences at once? Is there a rule book on the number of coincidences it takes to be believable? Or am I that desperate?

But you see, his vision and (advice I take with a grain of salt) was just so accurate. Even through his rambling, all of his words were way to close to the truth and made way too much sense that I wish I didn’t have to give him credit for AND I was listening intently and completely sober! (He did let his workers drink on the job, but not me. Alcohol free here whooo hoo!) So, I didn’t mis-understand anything. I heard it all.

I SAW him look into his glass, swirling the last few sips of his drink (He drinks them in a beer glass, because it well…holds more…) saying he sometimes sees things and has visions. (If I was drunk, I probably would have never even batted an eye, but since I haven’t had a drink in three years, I will admit I was questioning in my head what I was actually seeing and hearing.)

Was I just that desperate for the answers to my failures? And when I say failure, I mean it’s looking pretty bad at the moment. (So bad, I’m working a job I said I’d never work at again and then taking fortune telling advice from my very drunk and shady boss whose did I mention was a bad boss.) I mean there has to be an explanation for my lack of success somewhere, right? Because I can’t really find one anywhere else.

The only real option I feel I had at that point was to take his vision (and advice that seems contradictory based on his business skills), the vision he gave me while he swirled around his vodka and soda. The alternative is more failure or worse… giving up. And I. Just. Can’t. Do. That. NO THANKS.

Here’s his vision along with his advice (that I clearly should question because he fucked up our paychecks and had no money all summer): Here we go!

1. (Vision in his Vodka) “Someone along the way steered you off your true path.” (This was something that was pressed on my heart before this conversation that I never said out loud before. That someone was a business coach I hired. She was all wrong for me. I lost almost a year with her. I eventually dumped her then had to go backwards and start over. It was so draining!)

2. (Vision in his Vodka) “You’re so close. It’s just one thing that’s off. One tweak. One decision away from your vision finally taking off.” (Paraphrasing now because fine maybe I wasn’t following along perfectly.) “Everyone says it’s about the universe and energy and everything happens for a reason but it’s really not. It’s about choices and what you do next that matters. It’s that one things that’s off that’s holding you back. Once you figure out what that one thing is, you will succeed.” Please not the universe? let it just be the one thing that’s off! Also, can you tell me what it is? Pretty Pretty Please.

3. (Vision in his Vodka) “You need to think about why you trusted someone you know you shouldn’t have.” (Ouchy! This I will touch on later but HoW DiD hE KnOw?!? OMG!)

4. (Advice) “You need to find the singles and keep hitting singles… 100 singles. Quit going for the doubles, triples & home runs. Do what works and gets the quick wins.” (Another translation, Penny’s make Dollars too.)

5. (Advice) “Get the easiest money right now. Find that and do that first. Get safe.”

The rest of my story is going to be told from the beginning. There’s the now which I just told you about, then there’s the beginning. There is no ending, I don’t think. By time I finish this book I will not be that successful, an award-winning author, or a richy rich woman rolling in hundred-dollar bills. I’m not trying to limit myself here, but more so I’m just trying to being honest about how things go when you start out and fail. This book will be published before I make it and that is the whole point!

If I’m being totally honest, I’m in a place where I am so sick of seeing the material “results” of people’s hard work. I don’t want to know your physical “things”, I want to know your struggles... that will make me feel like a normal human being. I want my readers to see parts of my worst days, especially as a fitness and mindset coach and author. I’m not popular right now. I’m not known. If this makes me known, then I’ll welcome it with open arms, but you won’t see me boasting about all I have and how you could have this life too kind of crap. Because let’s be honest, when you're trying to hang on with a somewhat firm grip, learn all you can, and grow…it doesn’t have anything to do with beach days, coffee day dates, or making three figures in one day. (Sorry, that one coach I hired was so annoying. Ugh. Insert eye roll here.) I want all that, or a different humbler version of that, I do, but this book has to do with actually meeting people where they are now. Not “what you can have” in an unrealistic image that’s painted perfectly to trick us into hiring them or falling for their work especially on social media.

As for me…this is where I am now…maybe with you… in this mess of life trying to hold down the shit sandwich I probably just had for lunch. If you’ve eaten or are currently eating a shit sandwich YUM, hey, hi, hello, let be friends!

*I may completely revamp this chapter to sound more like me today for the book. I’m just re-reading it after a year. Yes, I added a few things to this version but I’m giggling over how much better my writing has gotten in just one year! If anything, I’m so glad I documented this wonderful, totally real, insightful event in its real time. This is the only good thing I got from that shitty boss.

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When I dreamt of writing a dating book it did not include embarrassing myself by telling the whole wide world all about my “firsts”—But here we are anyway.

Warning: These firsts probably explain a lot about my dating luck, successes, twists of fate, life.

Firsts are supposed to be pretty great right? Like these wonderful, monumental moments that shape our entire future love life—that’s what I heard anyway…

Firsts Facts: We know that they only happen once—and let’s not forget about the whole-body experiences that happen (sweaty palms, racing hearts, shaky voices, etc) leading up to these very specific firsts that make them all that more important and memorable.

-first boyfriend/Valentine’s Day,

-first date,

-first kiss,

-first time falling in love,

-first time touching a penis, (yes, this too girls! Omg, I knowww! The bravery we had so young!)

-first time having sex…

These are all the firsts (doesn’t have to be in that order you silly little hoe) that we mature-ish, boy crazed, size A cup, horny teenagers can’t wait to experience. Am I right?

I’m sure you all remember yours.

Welllll…I couldn’t forget mine if I tried. Thank you Cupid ILYSM, mean it. NOT!

Here we go. I hope you enjoy this crazy ride. I sure didn’t.

First BF/Valentines from a boy.

Ugh…asking a boy out in 1992 was weird. I had just turned twelve and was in the sixth grade. And to be honest, I can’t remember how Flower Boy had become my boyfriend. I think it is safe to assume that he was passed a note that I didn’t write—or maybe one of my friends verbally ask him out for me. I’m almost certain it was behind my back. Which tracks because twelve-year-old girls can be rude af even if they are your friends.

Maybe I thought I kinda liked him and I actually wanted to go out with him. Maybe I passed him the note. Was I even that confident? Doubtful. Pretty sure my confidence didn’t peak until two years later in the eighth grade, when I got boobs.

My daughter had a boyfriend in the sixth grade. She told me that he asked her out himself. To be honest I was kind of surprised that he did. That felt…brave. Like a very bold move for an eleven/twelve-year-old. What a weird generation that texts in place of passing notes. Notes could be so mysterious. You can’t sign a text, love, a secret admirer. And I think that just takes all the fun out of it.

I do remember thinking that I didn’t really want to “date” Flower Boy. Having a boyfriend made you cooler though. It was part of your social status if you dated or not. Nobody wants to be the last of your friend’s group to have a boyfriend. Girls were so mean-ish even in 1992.

But part of me liked a different boy that was sentenced for the entire school year to the cubicle in the back corner of the room. The bad boy… he was always getting into trouble, and he wore these thick glasses, had a “tail”, (not the tails the kids wear these days identifying as a cat or dog. The tail I am referring to was called a “rat tail” and it was this long piece of hair that hung from the back of the boys shaved head, looking like a rat’s tail. It was a weird ass trend. Really not all that cute.) and he was a super nerd. Had I admitted out loud that I liked him, I would have lost all of my popularity status.

Was this the beginning of my attraction to the project boys? Food for thought. Smh… I’ll chew on that later… Maybe.

A very cute, tragically romantic, comical, mean, sick joke, maybe lucky, maybe not, fun fact about me: I was born on Valentine’s Day. Cue the awe’s and the omg lucky you’s. Semi-barf.

It is sometimes a blessing and sometimes a curse fr fr. Sometimes I don’t feel that lucky. Maybe one day I will.

Do yawl remember your classroom Valentine’s Day parties? I’m sure you can imagine how they were different for me. Decorated shoe box mailboxes and giant paper heart envelopes doubled as Birthday card collectors as well as housing my Valentine’s exchange cards. Sometimes I got separate cards for my birthday and sometimes I got combined ones from my peers in my classes. Sometimes I felt special that I got more than others.

Valentine’s slash Birthday festivities hadn’t yet started in our sixth-grade classroom when we all heard a quiet knock on the door. I remember sitting quietly at my desk, minding my own damn business when I saw Flower Boys mom through our classroom door window.

Flower Boys mom was tall, thin, pretty, and rich. You just knew she was rich. To a pre-teen girl it was that noticeable. She was dressed to the nines, full hair and makeup and she always smelled good. We’ve all seen her around, she was that noticeable. She’s what every young girl dreamt to grow up looking like and she was every teenage boys wet dream. She looked like hundred-dollar bills. She reeked of confidence. She was class. And why the fuck was she here?

*The following events felt like they happened in slow motion. Like most traumatic events do.

-The teacher got up to answer the door.

-Flower Boy got out of his seat and walked over to his mom.

-Flower Boy grabbed the super-giant, expensive (you know they were) bouquet of roses and an obscenely giant box of chocolates out of her hands. Why was everything so BIGGGG?

-Flower Boy turned and started to walk towards me while the whole class watched.

-I literallllllyyyy died of embarrassment. DEAD! fr.

I’m not even joking! If embarrassment were a twelve-year-old girl getting a giant bouquet of flowers and super romantic chocolates from a boy she didn’t really like in front of everyone in her class, she’d be me. Hi. Hello, the names embarrassment. Am I fine? No, I’m not fine!

I had my friend break up with Flower Boy for me the next day.

…and I didn’t feel bad about it.

(His mom wasn’t that cool anyways.)

Happy 12th birthday to me.

*If you enjoyed this Chapter of my future Dating Memoir, please consider getting a paid subscription to view other more detailed, more embarrassing, more what the fuck was I doing firsts and other chapters that I don’t dare share so publicly. It’s about to get good! Thank you! xoxo Lorinda :) smooches!

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I remember the first time I tried to become an entrepreneur. I was in my mid-twenties and married. I was in a marriage that came with a lot of you can’ts and don’t even think about it’s. We were sooooo young.***

But for whatever reason, there was this one thing that was a could. I had through trial and error found that there were certain things that were “allowed” so I went all in…as all in as I could with as much enthusiasm as I could muster up without getting my heart stomped on in fear of the no.

All in included: Colorfully printed tri-folded paper pamphlets, buying a few basic beading supplies, glue, and…word of mouth.

I thought I was a big deal.

I only had like two or three orders. I had no idea how to run a small business, and my recourses were very limited to the small town I lived in. The '“business” didn’t last very long.

But regardless Roses Remembered was born out of pure hope and deep-seeded freedom inspiration. I carefully made small-beaded bracelets or necklaces out of your special occasion roses. This was a way that you could keep those special moments with you forever. Or, until they grew moldy. Whichever came first.

But the memory I hold onto the most was how good it made me feel to DREAM, even if it was only for a short time and came with rules.

Looking back, I didn’t realize how I was making an attempt to align with my true self.

When you are in a controlling relationship, your identity is not always your own. Their’s very little freedom for you to figure any part of yourself out—not fully.

I didn’t get the chance to build for myself a solid foundation. I didn’t get the opportunity to get to know me. My foundation was getting built for me, starting from the very young age of sixteen.

I didn’t have the chance to look for opportunities until I was thirty, newly divorced and trying to make a whole new life for myself and my three young children. Survival instincts kicked in—then two failed marriages and five children later, I was finally ready to give myself the peace and the freedom to just be on my own.

It took a while to really tap into my creative self.

Since being on my own…

• I started up a successful daycare business.

• I created a small farm camp experience for younger kids that I ran for a whole summer.

• I wrote and self-published 4 totally true stories about my farm in the form of Children’s Books.

• I became a romance novel author—self publishing two so far! Whoop Whoop!

• I started a personal training business and built a full-sized gym in my garage.

• I created The Lifting Diet and Iron Confidence brands, self-published a confidence book, created a private coaching experience, and soon to-be courses on confidence in the gym and I am still growing!

Here’s the thing about life easy or not, you give yourself clues along the way.

I didn’t realize it then. I had no idea when I started Roses Remembered that it would be the start of me becoming the Force of a Woman I am today. I had no idea, otherwise I would have tried harder to get to where I am now sooner! Looking back though, I see it. Clear as fucking day!

Back then my foundation was meant to crumble. I was trying to build it, but the layers were not my own, how strong it became was controlled by someone else. It wasn’t being built to stand on its own.

I had to start over from scratch twice. Sometimes I get upset with myself at how long it took and is still taking me, but I am also proud of myself for being brave enough to make the changes I needed to make for myself and my children. And also, how brave I am to continue on this true to myself journey that I am on.

Entrepreneurship or Branding is not for the faint of heart. It’s a lot of no’s, risks, chances, and failures. It’s tough as nails out here. But I knew then in a way, and I know now, that this is what I was always meant to be doing. Helping others live in their true, strong, and most confident selves.

Now I am building rooms in my house. The foundation’s built. It’s strong. I managed to keep a thin layer intact regardless of what life demanded of me. And I’m doing it all on my own!

I am building a house that will one day turn into a legacy...

Ironically my ex-husband now owns a concrete company. Ohhhh… how life can be so cute…am I right?

When you look back at the past versions of yourself, were there any signs or skills that you may have missed or forgotten about?

Go back and audit your past self to see if there is anything you can pull back up or uncover that is useful to you today? Even if it is small. I could choose anger or disappointment for the cards that were delt for me but instead I choose to find strength and inspiration when I go way back!

I believe our foundation holds strongest when we go back and audit every stage of our lives and bring those important pieces of it to the present.

Those pieces for me became separate rooms in my house. There are rooms I’ll never go back in. Even in the darker rooms, I find a faint glow of light and tap into it. Sometimes I visit a room for a short time. Some rooms I’ve completely unpacked, taken over, and ordered a pizza.

What are the parts of the past you that are deep seeded that are true and good and useful today?

Our foundation needs all the versions of us included layer over layer. I don’t want to lose that part of me who tried and failed when I got my first shot at making something of my own. I want her here with me, rooting for the me that I am now. She didn’t know just how strong she was then, and she would never believe how much stronger she is now!

***Important Afterword—Any reference to my marriages & exes, particularly my first one (maybe just my first one IDKY) is coming from a healed place. I want to tell my truth, but I also want to protect my children’s feelings. Facts are facts, Jokes are jokes, but there is no hate or ill intentions on my end and in my writing. We are all in a good place. Most of us have grown, most of us have apologize, most of us have learned from our mistakes, most of us have changed our ways. Wellllll…..most of us… ILYSM Lorinda

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I found this picture of me from four years ago. Gotta love them Facebook and Instagram memories. Am I right?

My first thought was not kind.

Holy shit what happened to you? You looked so…………….happy, safe, secure, confident. You did all that work on yourself. Where did she go?

At that time, I had the art of being kind to myself mastered. Not anymore.

Not as much. Not as much as I’d like. Not as much as I am supposed to be teaching other’s the same.

I proceeded to go through a list in my mind of what happened to me… in no particular order.

1. I quit working out and gained 20 pounds of body fat.

2. I quit my high paying job—much too early.

3. I wrote a book and found out it was harder than I thought to sell.

4. I found a muscle tumor in my neck. Still unsure if it was cancer.

5. I got a boyfriend.

6. I hired a business coach that wasn’t a fit for me. Wasted so much time in the wrong direction. She blames me for the mismatch.

7. Almost lost my house—twice.

8. My migraines had become daily, my thyroid was high, my neck pain was a 10/10. My stress was 1000.

9. I took random jobs I hate.

10. I quit drinking and lost all my friends.

I’m certain I’ve forgotten something. I don’t even care. I look at that list and I hate it all.

Then I ask myself how? How did I get here?

No wonder you don’t recognize yourself Lorinda.

It’s more than the wrinkles I now see that consume my forehead. Why does there need to be so many? Other people just have a few. I have like 10.

It’s not the age around my eyes.

It’s not the pop-up grey hairs that seem to grow a whole foot overnight.

It’s not the weird hairs now growing out of all my moles.

It’s not that.

Do you remember that clip in Hook when the little boy pulls Peter Pans face back looking for the real Peter? He says, “Oh there you are Peter.”

That’s what it feels like. It’s not that I am getting older and that I have wrinkles and grey hair. I can fix all that.

It’s like when did my spirit get so…tired?

It’s like when did I let the stress of life bring me down?

It’s like why does trying to do something I love come with a cost?

How did I get so lost. Sucked up. Off track. Unrecognizable.

Photo from movieclips.com - RIP Robin Williams.

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You and I have broken up more times than I can count on my two hands. Most of those times have been in the last few months.

I don’t do the break up. Make up. Break up. Make ups. I don’t even do it for the make up sex.

Although if we could it would be pretty damn good. Regular sex with you was never just regular. It was everything.

You were always so far away. Too many states in-between us.

I feel robbed that we never got to have make up sex.

I’ve only gone back to someone else once. Idk why I did.

What I didn’t know when I met him or for the first year really, was that he grew weed in his flip houses. It was his get rich plan. Ok…

There was a part of me that was like I already love him, I guess. It’s just a little drug thing. Then I found out he sold cocaine. And did cocaine. And sold cocaine to a woman with children whose was not ok on the regular. Morally I was checking out. Vacations on drug money started to feel wrong. What if this woman died because of him? What about her kids? He said he’d change. He didn’t. I think part of me knew he’d fuck up again. And if he fucked up again then he couldn’t say he didn’t fuck up. One more time around…

How fucked up is that?

We only made it two weeks and I was done again. He moved what little things he had in my house out—one thing at a time. Seriously. A desk. A chair. A bag of clothes. The weights he never used. His toothbrush…it was the longest get the fuck out ever!

And I was cool with this decision because it stopped at one go back. You know all this already…

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I’m alone. I don’t care for being alone either.

There’s a ruffle of noise outside. I’m in my room and there’s nobody else home except three dogs and two cats.

The two younger dogs aren’t barking or trying to eat whoever’s outside head off, so that means they are probably up to no good in the woods behind my house. The left-over dog has one eye, smells like death, only hears loud startling noises, and is older than the dirt that covers my floors from all the melted snow and this lovely Western NY rain.

Charlie the left-over dog that has one eye, smells like death, only hears loud startling noises, and is older than dirt.

The cats are probably asleep on top of a left-out sweatshirt or jacket or inside my computer bag getting their cat hair all over the things I don’t want cat hair on. They aren’t like those fun cats that do bad things so you can take videos of them and go viral. They are just boring, regular cats who get cat hair on things. So, it’s not them up to no good.

I check my phone to see if my ring camera went off. It did. I spring up like a kid who just woke up on Christmas morning.

My Tarot Cards are here!

I yell this to no one at all. Just me. Home alone remember? I’m so excited.

While in NYC for my very first attendance of Cara Alwill’s (who’s totally more than fabulous IRL btw and is so worthy of idolizing, I swear she’s so cool she glows) The Tortured Bloggers Department reading salon event and to meet the amazing and funny E. M. Gallagher for her new book drop UGH. Anyway… with my new friend Marianna and her college roomie Rachel, I received my very first tarot reading.

P.s.- You can read all about our trip to NYC in 1-800-Marianna’s latest Substack.

Spoiler alert: It was a total babe fest.

This reading was totally unexpected, but I just knew all the cool girls were doing it.

I wanted in the worst way to be a cool girl. So, when Rachel mentioned she brought her cards, I knew I had to have mine read.

After we did a bunch of cool girl shit, the girls and I changed into our pajamies and got comfy on the little couch and the two non-squishy chairs in Marianna’s Ludlow Hotel suite. We were in fact living out one of my very recent daydreams. An adult pajama party.

Marianna glammed in the hotels crisp white robe with socks. Of course she made a robe look glamorous! Pssshhh… Rachel was in a few layers of mismatched comfy goodness and me in my black silky long pants and short sleeved matching shirt that I got off Amazon and fuzzy socks. We were more than fabulous. We were lit on a Wednesday night.

I patiently listened while Marianna and Rachel decided which tarot layout would be best for my reading. I secretly trusted them with my entire future. Because let’s face it—tarot is for realzzzies and I would pretty much find meaning in anything real or not, if that meant I didn’t have to live the life I was living atm. I was alllll the way in for all the changes the tarot gods wanted me to make. Hit me already!

Art that lined the Ludlow’s dining room. There were a lot of them, and it was creepy af but secretly I found them relatable. Shhhh…

They decided on a 7-card one-year spread to map out my entire next year. AND IT HIT THE FUCK SPOT ON. (Results might be a future Substack.)

Of course, I still have to do the work, and I will but holy moleyyy this girl, meaning me is gonna make it! I just know it. Scream!

The next morning we read Marianna’s tarot and I left NYC feeling like we were a bonded pack of spiritual goddesses ready to support and tackle our now very creatively successful and optimistic futures together.

Like we were now in some sort of glamourous tarot reading club.

I think we need a cool club name???

It’s now five o’clock. And at five o’clock I get anxiety. Almost every damn day. It’s a special form of hell and the only way for me to combat this is to leave my house. I totally feel like a two-year-old who needs distracted away from that thing she won’t stop touching. It makes me feel small. I don’t love this. I smack off the freshly laid cat hair from my computer bag.

When I start therapy, I should probably mention this. Or maybe I can ask the cards? Lol. Are they capable of knowing that? Fine… I’ll just start therapy.

For now—I pack up my computer and get ready to head to Starbuck’s to write this wonderful piece you are reading right now. Anxiety free.

But first I will pull a card.

I bought two sets. They were suggested to go together. Amazon is helpful like that. Why would I spend $19 when I can get this other thing that often goes with it for $43.72? What a deal! Of course I fell for it.

I bought The Akashic Tarot which is what Rachel read for me. And I bought the Energy Oracle Cards of the same author to play off of the main deck.

I opened the crispy ENERGY deck and decided not to shuffle. I didn’t feel quite ready to mess the cards up. Something about them being new felt powerful. I was just going to pull one card to guide my writing for the night.

First, I pulled all my hope from my soul—because if you don’t believe in all this magic fully what are you even doing???

My fingers tingled with anticipation but mostly fear. Cuz let’s face it—truth bombs are scary as shit am I right? I need my girls. They aren’t here. Press on.

I pulled the APPRECIATION card. I pulled it upside down.

FFFUUUGGGGER!

I didn’t care too much for that, so I turned it the right way.

Please don’t sit there an judge me. You do bad things too when nobody is looking. I would have never been caught.

Ten seconds later my conscience made me turn it back around. Whatever!

What did the card mean? I took a peek.

Listen, if I wanted to be yelled at, I could have thought of a few other ways to make that happen. I know who to piss off.

But instead, I chose to be a grown uuuupppp ewe and take it like a real woman. Right to my already soft and mushy ego.

The appreciation card upside down is a warning. Yippee!

I am not appreciating even the smallest of pleasures which is causing me to become stuck in my problem patterns. I’ve been caught in the prickly brambles -barf- of negativity and possibly even despair.

Ouch. Despair sounds so… yucky and final.

Problem patterns sounds mean. I didn’t ask to be here after all!

I asked to be a very successful writer who vacations and is fancy and shit and mingles with other hottie writers and to do that while my bills are paid and I maybe own a house in Charleston where I ride an old fashioned looking bike with a handle bar basket to the market and buy just picked fruit and veggies for me and my elderly neighbor lady who still does her hair pretty and wears bright red lipstick on the daily. I asked for that!

Okay Lorinda — You are focusing only on what you don’t have vs. what you do have. You are not choosing gratitude in the darkest moments of your life.

I feel completely called out.

The tarot never lies. I’m convinced.

But also completely terrified to pull my next card…

I guess I need an attitude adjustment. Insert eye roll first and then I’ll start.

If you don’t Tarot… what are you even doing?

Seriously I’d like to know…

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Apartment 9A

I didn’t know what Eric’s problem was or why he wasn’t returning my calls. In my mind I haven’t done a thing to him. We had only dated for a few months so it couldn’t even be something that was a big deal.

He’s the one that came onto me. He made the first pass with the whole “red heads are my weakness” line he used. Which I might add I’ve heard before. Since that day, he was over every night until one night he wasn’t. He’s been a ghost ever sense. That was three months ago, and I can’t get ahold of him for the life of me. I at least would like an explanation. You know, as a courtesy. I respect myself enough to demand an explanation.

I see him in or near the elevator from time to time and I know he is going up to see his brother but I don’t actually know what his brother looks like. Following him up would be embarrassing so I haven’t gone that far yet. I’m sure at some point that will be what I have to resort to. But for now, I will just keep trying to catch him.

Tonight I was not going to worry about Eric. Tonight I had a work party to go to that could lead to a huge promotion for me. It depends on if I can kiss enough of the boss man’s ass to be worth one of the two available spots. I was hoping I could.

Boss is a pig. Legit disgusting pig. A wealthy pig. He hires as many women as he can get away with for his advertising company. I swear he collects them. Something I’m sure his wife is well aware of but clearly looks past it. The ones who get his attention the most are the ones that can offer him the most to look at. And you better believe it; I’m going to play along! I need this job experience for my resume.

I plan on leaving Brick Advertising one day for their competitor, Sentimental. It’s been a lifelong dream of mine, but they wouldn’t hire me with my limited experience. I’ve also heard that they will pluck from Brick if the talent and experience is there. I know I fit the bill, but I would need this promotion first.

Sometimes my red hair can be a bit much. It’s got waves to it that can sometimes be unmanageable. I either have to go with whatever pattern it wants to lay in for that day or get a blow out and that is what I did for this event. It’s silky and straight tonight. Perfect for my tightly fitted, cleavage revealing, emerald green, strapless mini dress. I also went all out on this dress. It was a hard $900 to spend but well worth it if I get this promotion.

Eric told me that I was high maintenance. He’s not the first one I’ve heard that from. I’ve heard it from others. And they say it like it’s a bad thing. I think it’s a great thing. It just means that I hold myself to a certain standard. If I can’t get my nails done or have my weekly facial, I would probably lose my entire identity. Those things along with others are part of who I am, and they are what attract the kind of men that I attract. Not all of them are great men, I can admit that. Eric might be one of them, but I will hold out for the day that one does come into my life and can appreciate how I like to treat myself.

I ordered my uber black to pick me up at seven. The party started at seven, but I wanted to make a late entrance. More eyes would be on me then. Arriving late was something I had started as a teenager and it’s a trick I have found that works well. When I enter a room, almost everyone is already present and acclimated to the scene. When I walk in and they all have to turn their heads. I smile. I wave to a few people and then I apologize for being late. Nobody cares because they are stunned by my beauty. It’s a win. I definitely need that win tonight.

The party was at the local hotel ballroom. It’s called the End of the Year Ball. Not an original title and it’s not even necessary to have a party like this but, like I said Boss likes to look at the ladies and there are a lot of us. This is also where he announces his promotions. He purposely waits until the end of the night so that we all have to stay, and he decides based on which woman captures his attention the most at the party for the elected spots. I needed this promotion this year before it was too late for me to be a candidate. He has rules about who he picks. The more single and the less family you have the better. It’s completely biased and wrong but he’s the one with the millions in his bank account, not us. Next year I won’t even be considered.

My plan took off without a hitch. All eyes were on me, and I could see the envy in the other women’s eyes as I walked in. Everyone envy’s a true red head. Especially a hot one. I have had this day planned since last year when Savannah and Candy got promoted instead of me. Savannah left to have a baby and Candy flaked out because she wasn’t that bright. Her name was Candy for christ’s sake. Everyone knew she wouldn’t last. It was just that Boss had a thing for short haired blonds last year and that’s how he based his picks. I’ve spent the last year inconspicuously showing him that red heads are sexier. I’m about to find out if it worked.

Once I make it over to Sentimental, I won’t have to play along on this pig farm. Sentimental has class. I honestly think that the only reason Brick is so successful is because he has mostly women working for him, and we all know women are smarter than men.

I’m not going to deny that I have a boob job. Most of the women who are here do. It’s very hard to compete when tits after tits are fake. You don’t necessarily stand out in this crowd. The only way to stand out is to do it other ways. Like the color of your clothes, your shoes, the tone of your body, or your hair and makeup. Plus, the levels you are willing to go to flirt your way in. Does Boss actually sleep with the women? It’s not been confirmed, but there are a handful of women who swear they’ve slept with him. Nobody actually has any proof of it though.

I’ve been working out like crazy this last year. I took my legs from plain legs to Carrie Underwood legs in one year. Around the office I have only been showing them off selectively. In a way, I have been hiding them. Not completely but mostly until tonight. Tonight they are on full display. Skintight, short dress, and six-inch heels. By the looks on the women’s faces when I walked in, I’m guessing I have this promotion in the bag.

Four hours later of subtle leg placements, well placed lips on a champaign glass and flirty looks it was announced that I did get the position along with Candy’s sister, Peppermint. Yeah, I said that right. I don’t see her lasting any longer than Candy did. A month max.

I scheduled my uber black for midnight. I wasn’t planning on staying any longer than I had too. It came and picked me up then took me right back home. Saturday nights for me lately haven’t been real exciting. I’ve been staying in a lot more. Partly because I haven’t been feeling my best and partly because I have no one to date, or rather no one I want to date. I was thinking of taking some time off from men anyways. It’s been a really long time since I’ve been alone, and I think maybe I should really start to focus on my future self as opposed to having fun in the moment. Having fun got me here in the first place.

Once I have this promotional experience tucked under my belt and my new job at Sentimental, I will be viewed as a professional in the workplace. I like to plan and I don’t think it’s too early to start planning the rest of my career out. Besides just being a professional hottie is getting old. It’s not as rewarding as people would think. I craved more lately. A lot more.

My uber pulled up to the curb of my apartment complex at 12:25. I thanked the driver for the lift and headed in so I could finally put my achy feet up. These heals were brutal even on toned legs. I rounded the corner that goes to my apartment but also goes to the elevators and I see Eric there pushing the elevator button. He hasn’t seen me yet. This is good. Really good.

“Eric.” I say quietly from behind him. I had already removed my heals so he didn’t hear me approach him. He was startled at the sound of his name.

Oh Shit. I heard him say under his breath before he turned half-way around. I gave him a sarcastic smirk letting him know that I heard him.

I folded my arms together and stood there staring at him, waiting for him to say something else. Anything else.

He didn’t.

“Nice.”

Still nothing.

“If you keep pushing that button, you’ll probably break it then you really will be stuck down here with me.”

He let go of the button and turned fully around this time.

“What is it that you want from me Jasmine, because I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No actually I don’t.”

“Really?” I scoffed. “That’s cute! So you don’t know why I could be upset with you. No reason at all.”

“Not that I can think of no, I can’t. Can you maybe enlighten me please so we can get this over with and you can stop stalking me.”

“Stalking you? Are you serious.”

“What else would you call this?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe demanding a reason as to why I’m being ghosted.”

“Ghosted? You can’t be serious!”

“I am serious.”

“I don’t believe we were even in a real relationship; how could I ghost you?”

“You don’t think three months, every night, is a relationship of some sort?”

“Not really.”

He turned back around to push the button again. The elevator door dings. Then opens.

“Can you wait a second before you step in, please?”

He takes a step into the elevator but moves his hand to hold down the open-door button.

“I would just like an explanation as to why we stopped. That would at least be nice ya know.”

“Ok, sure.” He takes his free hand and runs it through his hair. “Yeah, I don’t really know.”

He lets go of the button and shrugs.

“Are you for real?” I yelled.

“Sorry, please leave me alone. Bye.”

Then he waves at me through the closing doors, but before they closed all the way I yelled, “I’m pregnant!”

The doors shut and I wait a few minutes for them to open back up but they don’t. I just told Eric that I am pregnant and he has no response. None. That’s Great!

I patted my slowly growing belly as I turned and walked towards my apartment. So, this is the kind of man my precious baby is going to have for a father.

Lucky us!

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Share Confessions from the Margins

End of March, Beginning of April 2022

Ray was a dancer from a city in Ohio. He owned a dance gym that offered hip hop dance classes. And he was my very first find on Bumble this time around.

He was cute and small. Small is not my type at all. But men do not put their true height on blast on dating sites and if they do they either lie, or my bad—I neglected to do my usual investigation of checking their social medias and examining photos for size comparisons. I was probably distracted by his sexy dance moves.

After spending months of my time on an ex-basketball player who felt well over seven foot, he may as well have been four foot flat. Okay I’ll play nice… if I am five foot four, he was probably five foot five. I honestly don’t know. But he was limber and he knew how to move his hips. I had never been around anyone who could actually dance before.

He moved in a way that those sexy guys move on concert stages and in dance videos. The kind we women drool over and sometimes pretend in our heads that they are dancing just for us. That is not how they move here in Western New York. NYC maybe, but here in hick town… we are lucky if a man dances at all.

I was already becoming obsessed.

And then he wrote me a poem.

You absolutely bet I will be sharing that poem with you.

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I’m driving back from Buffalo yesterday from a doctor’s appointment—I pull out my notes app and start to voice a little message of something I want to remember when I get home.

Because everything in my life has become an essay. It’s just where I’m at. You can hate it or you can love it and subscribe. ;) The choice is yours…

I say what I say then I put my phone back in its phone holder. I creep up to the next of four red lights. I look to my left and boom there she is. The woman I just made the note about, walking on the sidewalk. She’s right fucking there!

And I don’t know what it means…

Two days earlier I’m sitting in the back corner of Panara Bread in a booth with my computer and broccoli cheese soup bread bowl when this woman comes in.

She doesn’t look all that different to me at first, until I catch her looking at me, not shying away from the weird eye contact we were now engaged in. She did this multiple times—half twisted neck, half her face, half peering over the back of her booth at me. Right into my eyes.

I held her eyes, but I bit my tongue. I’m not one for confrontation. I’m a lover, not a hater but she was being weird as fuck. Like what’s your problem… b*tch?

I pulled up my phone and began texted my (now ex) boyfriend.

She finished her phone conversation with the domestic shelter and moved to another spot around the corner. Probably where there was nobody listening…

She had a can of pop. She had a snack. She was dressed warm. She had a phone and phone numbers. She had paper and a pen. She had her resources. She had no shoes.

She had a blue Wegman’s reusable grocery bag. It didn’t look full. In fact, it looked quite empty.

The very reason I pulled up my phone on my way home from my doctor’s appointment was because I was mad at myself that I didn’t give her my shoes.

I suddenly found myself daydreaming about what if I had approached her and asked her if she wanted to walk over to TJ Maxx and I’d buy her shoes. Would she let me? What would we talk about? I even went as far as to picture the kind of shoes she would pick out. Would she get crocs or gym shoes, or boots maybe…

I felt like I could have done something to help her and instead I did nothing. Nothing! And she might be walking around without shoes! What kind of person am I???

Surely there was a lesson in there for me. I should talk about it on Substack. Maybe Substack knows what I could have done better… (insert notes app.)

If anything, I would have at least admitted to someone who was willing to read this that I did nothing to help her, and I feel guilty as shit about it.

I set my phone back in its holder and I look up.

And there she was walking on the sidewalk!

No fucking way! I say out loud to nobody but myself.

At first, I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was just thinking about her. What are the chances really? I think and Poof she’s there. Why?

I looked down at her feet instantly to try to relive some of my guilt. She was wearing shoes nice ones… thank you, instant relief. She takes a few more steps. There’s the blue bag. Double relief. Her blue Wegman’s grocery bag was hiding behind her legs. It’s definitely her. I’m sure of it now.

I can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe it’s distracting me from my very brutal, gut wrenching break up. Maybe I’m meant to think about her.

I think about myself. I put myself in her shoes. (Thank God for the shoes!)

I’ve been in her shoes. Not on the streets. But in the abuse.

She said on the phone that night that her and her husband just fight. He drinks. They go around and around, and she can’t do it anymore. She had redirected her disability check so he wouldn’t spend it, and she could get a place to live with it. She can’t live that life anymore.

She put herself on a bus and left. She went to the streets. I could cry. This could have been me.

We have drugs in this town. A lot of them. This woman seemed normal. She seemed with it. She seemed STRONG. I don’t think she was on drugs. I’m almost certain of it. I hope drugs never find her. That would be so sad.

We’re taught in this very uncertain day and age to just mind our own business. We’re taught to be careful. Stay out of it. We hear all these crazy stories about encounters gone wrong. This woman is from 114 miles away. 2.5 hours away. She put herself on the streets of a county she couldn’t even pronounce right.

She said CHA-KEETA. It’s shuh-taa-kwuh.

She was done done. Done with him. Done with her old life.

I work a serving job at Bob Evans just on the outskirt of town. Next to the highway. Next to a hotel that shelters the homeless and less fortunate. We throw away so much food every day. Food we are not allowed to give away. Food we can’t help anyone out with. If it sits in the serving box, it gets thrown out no matter how full it is. One full tub of mashed potatoes would feed so many people. We throw full tubs out constantly. But we can’t use it to help. Why? That feels so wrong.

Because they will ask for more? Because it’s enabling? Like really whyyyy? I hate this so much.

It actually hurts.

Join the local food kitchen is what someone would suggest. Help out there.

I have. I’ve been there. What’s crazy is they don’t need me. They have so many volunteers. You end up getting in the way and you end up feeling useless. People post about it. I’ve posted about it. It’s not that helpful. And sometimes it’s for the gloat. That’s not supposed to be the point, right?

The point is to feel like you are really making a difference.

I don’t have much. But I had shoes. And I didn’t offer them up.

I don’t have much but I have a voice and I didn’t offer it up. I sat like a crow in a tree whose job was only to “look out.” Watch and wait. Observe.

I felt horrible and then I saw her. There she was right in front of me. But where was she going?

Maybe she’s headed to the hotel. That was the right direction… She won’t get no help from Bob Evans.

I felt so much relief that she was wearing shoes.

She doesn’t know this but—I saw her.

She doesn’t know this, but she’s earned my respect. More than I give most people.

I hope she knows how strong she is. I hope she isn’t sacred. I hope she finds her way. I hope she loves again.

I hope I see her again.

I don’t know what I’d do if I did. The situation does scare me a little. I have my kids to think about. How involved could I safely get? Is it just society putting fear in me?

If anything, I’d want her to know how brave she is. How strong she is and that there’s someone out there who sees her and is rooting for her. I’d at least tell her that. And to keep going. She will be okay if she just keeps going.

As for me. I’m catching the signs you’re throwing God and the Universe. Keep opening my eyes please. Keep challenging me. Guide me in the right direction. And Thank You for releasing some of my guilt.

But more importantly guide her in the right direction. She’s some of your best work.

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