Friday, July 19th, is Boobday!

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Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

So, happy Saturday/Boobday!

I couldn’t bring myself to post the meme yesterday. I’m so drained and flipping out and just felt petulant, I guess.

So here’s your bonus Saturday boobs!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

No one wants these anymore lol

NOT my tits:

Miss B is like me, she said, and her life timing was off and she forgot to send in her pics.

This our favorite photograph celebrating breasts; erotic to me.    

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Tantrums.

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I don’t know how else to describe what I’ve been going through except a psychic tantrum on all fronts.

I feel unmoored, terrified, emboldened, devastated, excited, powerful, overwhelmed, gleeful and lost.

Yeah….

It started when Pey left town with my ex for the two-week trip they usually do each year together at the end of June.  If one week without my baby is bad, two is exponentially worse.  Simultaneous to the separation, I embarked on a six-month-long side project at work, that if I pull it off, has the potential to completely change my life forever and those of everyone I care for and love.

Additionally, I have continued to process the enormous revelations related to my childhood trauma and the hole in my heart that ceaselessly demands my attention.  Peter, The Golfer, The Vet, random dates here and there, The Neighbor, powerful articles that sear my heart; drawing boundaries and gaining clarity in my life.  This all seems to be the name of the game for my 2019.

And I am a fucking wreck.

I am smoking again, drinking in excess, not exercising, procrastinating on almost all levels, and I’m going to bed at either 8:30 or staying out way too late with anyone I can get to spend time with me.

The funniest part of all of this is that I doubt anyone would have a clue.  Nothing but Me is falling through the cracks.

Everyone at work thinks I’m doing a bang up job, Peyton adores me as always and things are better than ever, my family are proud of me, my very best and closest friends don’t hate me and continue to support me, my animals are all fat and happy and get lots of scratches and pats and even the plants aren’t dead or even wilting.

I am living in an upside down world where shit smells like roses and the pretty things make me sick.

I’ve never been a “successful” person.  I have never dated anyone who really got and understood me, loved me wholly and rooted for me in all ways.  I have never been deeply vulnerable and connected to anyone.  I have never been financially stable.  Ever.  I have never treated my body like a temple – I’ve always been more partial to a Caligula type of lifestyle.

Yet, I am in the midst of casting aside everyone in my life who treats me like I am worth about as much as a pack of bubblegum: fun to chew for a little while, but ultimately disposable.  I have distanced myself from friends who aren’t caring about my heart and time and done the same with the men.  I am listening to my inner voice for the first time in my life and embracing the awesomeness of that: I get to choose whom I share Me with.  I’m not interested in just anyone anymore.

Still, I’m horny, lonely, and terrified.  I cum each morning and then cry as I whisper to no one, “Leave marks on me.  Please.”  Who would?  I don’t know.  But I yearn for that person in all of this all the same.

I’m allowing my tantrums to play out and watching myself carefully.  Yes, I am making poor decisions, but I think what would be worse would be to beat myself up for them.  I am a steady ship – always have been – I will course correct eventually.  I just may be fat and asthmatic by the time I do, but so what.

One of the most powerful things I’ve realized this year is that seducing someone and getting something from them is not actually love, affection or validation.  It is a nutrition-less elixir that keeps me high and distant from what I need most: grounding.

I look at all of my relationships – from those that involve throbbing cocks to those that include bottles of wine and confessional hearts – and I can see how much I hold back and how impenetrable I really am.  Everyone thinks I’m so open and I still can’t understand why.  No one knows my heart; I never show it.

I’m never brave enough to draw lines and demand better and more and different.  I accept – sheepishly, gratefully – and live on emotional scraps.  I send all the wrong messages that this is ok.  But I actually want people who are as strong as me.  After all, I could handle a boundary set on me and to be asked for better, more or different from someone.  I’d jump at the opportunity to show my love and loyalty.  If a relationship crumbles because I express my needs then so be it; let it scatter in the wind.  Good riddance.

Good riddance to the men who say they want a strong and sexy woman, powerful in who she is, but when she expresses herself shut down and retreat, taking their ball with them.  Fuck the men who say all they want is casual, never showing up to see what’s beyond the playgrounds of our bodies and eliminating the joy of more.  Screw the people who are so fragile they can’t reach beyond their own fingertips to be careful with others’ tender hearts, tromping on everyone on their little private, selfish trail of tears.

I’m tired and cranky and flipping the fuck out.  Excited and enormous in my hope, equalled only by my terror to fail by not trying.

My life is waiting for me just around the corner.  I swear I can feel it.

Fuuuuck.  This is so scary.

 

 

The Neighbor moved away. Again.

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I’d noticed this week that his car wasn’t around in the mornings or at night.  I thought maybe he’d started going to the gym again or perhaps he’d found a lady friend.  But this morning, as I struggled to feel natural below his third-story balcony in the dog park I braved a glance up and instantly noticed something was different.

All the blinds in his windows were pulled up, a closet door was left open, and most telling of all, all the black and white patio furniture was gone.

The moving truck I’d driven by on Friday and seen him walking towards all sweaty and hefty was his after all.  I’d considered it, but quickly dismissed it.  It’s only been 9 months since he moved in, after all, but there it is: he’s gone.

Finally.

And hopefully for fucking ever.

I’d like to think my note had something to do with it.  Or running into me all those times the last few months.  Or maybe my “HBD” written in spit on his dirty window the day before his birthday because I was so sick and tired of the bullshit.  You wanna move back next door?  Fine.  Happy fucking birthday, asshole.

Of course I doubt any of those things – save for possibly my initial note – had any effect on him.  If he was caught off guard by it I can only blame his lack of due diligence.  I mean, if it were me and I was planning on moving into the building next to an ex of mine I’d have done a little work to make sure he was gone.

In any case, I am finally free.

Hopefully.

Except now I’m worried he’s going to show up in my next complex come fall…

 

Friday, July 12th, is Boobday!

Posted on

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

So… I never posted yesterday. This time of year is always hard for me (just look at any of my July archives if you want to know why) and my [very rare] hermit-ing was in full swing. But that’s ok. I’m the master of my own domain (no pun intended) so I’m doing it on a Saturday instead.

The link is still good through tomorrow, though, so please link up if you’d like!

Love you all so so much and so many of you are in my thoughts (Eye, Molly, Rebel, AM, and LSB specifically).

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Friday, July 5th, is Boobday!

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Ughhhhh. I did it again! You’d think I had some kind of brain injury my memory is so bad, but the truth is that my brain is crunching on a lot of things right now and it’s just not able to keep all the balls in the air.

Anyhoo – at long last, it’s here!! Link open through Sunday!

Sorryyyyyy!

xx

Hy

Full Boobday Guidelines here.

One of two ways to participate:

1) either submit a pic to me via email (hyacinth.jones@hotmail.com) OR

2) submit a link below to your own blog post for Boobday.

Also, just as a reminder:

If you send me a pic, be sure to tell me if you want to be anonymous or not and what your pseudonym is (if you have one or I gave you one)

Tell me why you chose the photo you sent

And don’t forget to comment on everyone’s posts! This is all about spreading the love!

My tits:

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Fighting it all.

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I feel tears somewhere in my throat, or maybe packed deep behind my face.  If I allowed myself to sit with my feelings they would be there, but I don’t have the time or the space.  I should be working right now, but I recognized the pull to pour it out, so here I am pouring away.

I said it before and I’ll say it again, I have to teach people how to treat me and I am no longer going to accept scraps.

Since Peter became single and took up with One-Month-Girl he’s been a total shit.  When he had a girlfriend being second fiddle (or 13th) was fine, but now that he has the freedom to spend more time with me, his friend and confidante of three-and-a-half years, he isn’t.  In fact, I am being treated like the ex-girlfriend, and I am not here for it.

Last Friday he texted to say Hi and tell me he felt good as new and incidentally was too busy to see me that weekend.  Well fuck that.  I haven’t heard from him since.

I texted this morning asking if he could hang out or at the very least have a quick chat “to say Hi (and other things).”  The last time I drew a line in the sand regarding how someone treats me was three weeks ago – with him – and he essentially talked me out of it.  So today the line will be deeper and possibly scratched in wood.

And before that it was with The Neighbor and he cried and begged me not to – repeatedly – and I ignored my gut and flapped in the wind for three fucking years wondering when he’d leave me or I’d finally catch him in a lie.

I’m a little crushed.

I’ve recognized that my damage extends to my appearance of having no vulnerability or neediness.  If you met me in real life you could see quite clearly that I don’t need anyone.  I am an island, self-made, big and tough.  I have weathered an absolutely brutal post-divorce relationship with my ex-husband and my heart breaks every single fucking week my baby leaves me.  I’m like a fucking soldier in a 20-year war.

I run my house, have 3 animals, have built a career from literally nothing, and take care of everyone around me.  I don’t need anyone.  And men need to be needed.  Peter has made that abundantly clear.

He just texted while writing this – his tone seems different and he confirmed he’s “back at OMG’s.”  Yeah, duh.  He says he wants to see me still. 

I’ve effectively erected walls to block out The Golfer from my consciousness with varying degrees of success.  I can’t think of Peter without thinking of TG.  Together they were a great pair for me: one was sweet and kind and caring and the other was passionate and intense.  Also combined they were a colossal butt munch: TG forever lost in the mist of alcohol and golf and Peter submerged in lies and betrayal.  But their basic unavailability felt safer than them being available and still rejecting me – which is how I feel with Peter now.

I’ve had to tell two other men that I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything because to be honest, my heart isn’t in it.  I feel so worn down, desperately searching for my center.  I’ve considered so many “themes” for July that I’ve decided to literally take each day one at a time.  Is it a “dry July”?  Do I throw myself into working out?  Do I not date?  Do I abstain from contacting TG?  Do I indulge the skin crawling urge to smoke or do I just loosen the belt?

We’re going to try to see each other tomorrow or later in the week.

I’m so busy this week I’m not able to schedule moving my body and am desperate for it.  I almost want to hyperventilate over it.  I contemplated going this morning just past dawn, but the spiders are busy spinning their beautiful little traps and I’m not really excited about walking through 30 of them.  The last time I tried that I was moderately traumatized and began jumping at wood formations that lurked in the corner of my spider-seeking eyes.

Everything feels like I’m holding back and in.  My breath, my feelings, my life.  I need to exhale, let it out in one big whoosh.  Yell from the rooftops.  Something.

TG has summarily ignored all my attempts at interaction and I have resigned myself to it: he has been completely honest about what he’s willing to give and so long as I continue to stand with my hand out, I only have myself to blame.

And yet I know that the second I see The Golfer’s name pop up on my phone the butterflies will dance in my belly and I’ll forget to breathe all over again.

 

It’s time for quiet now.

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The Golfer ignored this.

Just a few things running through my mind today:

Working out for three months, moving, shopping for new furniture, my career, friends, Mens, sex and losing it, drinking, loneliness, excitement, determination, hope, warmth, longing, anger that I keep seeing my fucking ex-boyfriend everywhere I go on my apartment property, why I care that The Golfer won’t text me back and why Peter is being a dipshit, my dog might be too fat like me, how I caught two women at the party saying complimentary things about my looks so I must not be a troll, smoking again a little, the married British man trapped on a Fourth of July holiday hahaha, becoming friends with The Vet, chatting with my mom like a normal person, missing my baby who’s so far away, only one more week to go!, tomorrow is the beginning of the second half, a fresh start, that curry makes my belly ache, I can’t wait to be done with Cheers and move on to Frasier, I am both lonely and ok.

Thank you for being here with me and for me, guys. Internet Boyfriends are really the only boyfriends worth having anyway.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


It’s time for quiet now.

Posted on
The Golfer ignored this.

Just a few things running through my mind today:

Working out for three months, moving, shopping for new furniture, my career, friends, Mens, sex and losing it, drinking, loneliness, excitement, determination, hope, warmth, longing, anger that I keep seeing my fucking ex-boyfriend everywhere I go on my apartment property, why I care that The Golfer won’t text me back and why Peter is being a dipshit, my dog might be too fat like me, how I caught two women at the party saying complimentary things about my looks so I must not be a troll, smoking again a little, the married British man trapped on a Fourth of July holiday hahaha, becoming friends with The Vet, chatting with my mom like a normal person, missing my baby who’s so far away, only one more week to go!, tomorrow is the beginning of the second half, a fresh start, that curry makes my belly ache, I can’t wait to be done with Cheers and move on to Frasier, I am both lonely and ok.

Thank you for being here with me and for me, guys. Internet Boyfriends are really the only boyfriends worth having anyway.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Worth the 20 bucks.

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Pooh-pooh Amazon dresses all you want, but this dress delivers.

I wore it last night for drinks with The Vet and it ended up in a pool on his bedroom floor next to his. It was like The Rapture.

We didn’t have sex – he had whiskey dick and I passed out – but apparently the dress was a good choice.

Also, The Golfer will be too busy with end of Q2 craziness for the next two weeks to see me.

But let’s get back to The Vet. Despite the naked debauchery, I think I found a friend, and that feels nice.

Now I’m going to put my phone down and rejoin the 31st birthday party I’m at.

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


My brain hates me.

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I dream a lot and every once in a while I seem to like to torture myself.

I couldn’t tell you if any parts of this are from some repressed place of my mind or if it’s all fabricated.

I fucking hope it’s all a dream.

What I can tell you is that all the feelings are real: my sense of responsibility, my shame, my feelings of helplessness, my complete lack of trust in my sister (and people), my disappointment.

Ironically, I’d like to think that these are all things that I can change, namely being able to trust my sister and people. How different would my life be if the world were generally more safe than dangerous?

Anyway, here it is:

I was young, late teens, and in my father’s bed. He was huge, warm, and naked next to me. I felt out of place and didn’t know how I’d gotten there, though I felt as though I had manipulated my way there to be closer to him than my sister.

He rolled to his side, facing me, and I lay perfectly still on my back, not breathing. The head of his hardon pressed hard into my thigh until it hurt.

I hoped it would only be that, but I was also flattered at the affection. In that instant I flipped. This was not right.

I adeptly maneuvered my way away and he lost interest. I lay there, heart pounding hating myself for going quietly into the night, so I began to scream. Out of no where.

Loud and long and keening in hopes my little sister would come to my aid, but she didn’t.

Dad and I argued. Why was I doing this? I’d liked it, he said. I screamed how sick and gross it was and how fucked I was.

I ran to wake my sister, certain that she would jump to my aid, but instead she met me with a tidal wave of mistrust and doubt.

I begged her to call the police; they’d know what to do.

When they arrived I feared I didn’t “look hurt,” but I hoped that the possibility of incest would spur them on the protect both me and my sister.

They were more skeptical than my sister and I was left standing in the rain watching them drive off.

Then my nephew came in to tell me that he still had a sore throat from the night before and inadvertently saved me from myself.

Forty-three has been an interesting year for me, that’s for sure.

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