Crying in the closet.

Not the closet, but whatever.  It’s been a while.  Hi.

I have never felt my aloneness so keenly as I do now and so I cried in the fucking closet.

I am alone with all the fear for the future, I am alone in my struggle to keep all the balls in the air, I am alone in homeschooling a defiant, confused, and sad pre-teen, and – as usual – I am alone in love.

I sat on the floor with my laptop set on my giant fuzzy pillow.  My therapist’s wizened face watched me with kind eyes as I wept into my hands.  I wondered what she thought of the clothes organized behind me, hung neatly and in order of type of dress.  I did that the first week of quarantine.

Two weeks after I made the heartbreaking decision to cancel my trip to London on March 11th my ex texted to suggest that I keep our baby because there were so many families in our broken-home chain that I guess they had all decided it’d be safer for the kids to shelter in only one place separately.

I didn’t hesitate, “YES ABSOLUTELY I’LL DO IT.”

I have now had Peyton every minute of every day since school shut down 6 weeks ago and the world screeched to a halt.

I knew it’d be hard, but I also knew it’d be incredible. I hadn’t been able to be a mother uninterrupted since nearly 10 years ago. Yes, yes, yes, of course my baby will stay with me. I’m the kind one, the unselfish one, the smart one, the better, stronger, more capable parent. Yes, I’ll do it.

My child has no memory of only one stable home where the rules remained the same, the love the same, the bed and pillows unchanging.  I wanted to do this.

What I didn’t account for was the complete overwhelm.

I’m working more than ever and am buried under never-ending demands while constantly dealing with the world coming to a mother fucking end.  The heartbreaking injustices, the Sophie’s Choice of daily decisions to survive for so many.  Are there even words to describe the existential crises and trauma we are all experiencing together?  Things will never be the same and my soul is mourning.

Plus, while it’s a beautiful, honorable thing to be solely responsible for another’s well being, I feel like I am barely surviving myself.  Am I a good enough mother right now?  I fucking hope so.

I cried in the closet because I’d had yet another battle about school work and fuck is that English teacher for real?? Does she think I have nothing else to do but sit on my child all fucking day to make sure her need to make students work X amount of time is met?? Why haven’t they just called it already??

School’s out, take a break, mourn the end of life as we know it, parents. Make sure your kids are safe and happy. We’ll make it up next year/over the course of their lives because who really needs to know how to find the area of a fucking trapezoid anyway?  Jesusfuckingchrist.

I can’t talk to my ex – he’ll blame me and push to take Pey away; I have no partner to lean on –  my friends are sympathetic, but can’t understand; my family watch helplessly – they trust me, but have no solutions, either.

I get up early to write down assignments and scour the school site for information, but my child has been lying for weeks despite my best efforts and now I’ve moved my old iMac two feet from my little work station at the dining room table so I can support and help throughout the school day.

At night, after work, I tell myself I’ll work more on the school work, but I’m ignoring work that I need to do for myself and so say Fuck it instead and watch Gilmore Girls and have a glass of wine, make dinner, and cuddle with my sweet, angry, sad one.

We talk and laugh and the dog and cat pile on us.  For a moment all seems normal.  Of course I’m home on the couch on a Friday night because Pey is here.  And then I remember that even if I were childless, I’d still be alone because that hasn’t changed and it’s not safe to leave the fucking house.

And Peyton has been sleeping with me again this week; mothering has literally become something I do in my sleep.

As the years have ticked by it naturally happened less and less and when we moved to our new apartment in November we stopped entirely.  At my ex’s, the rule is no children allowed in the master bedroom for any reason.  Bad dreams, rough day, nothing, no, no, no.

Pey accepted it, was stoic about it, but at my house it was always, “Hey mommy? Can I sleep with you tonight?” and I would melt because, Of course, baby. Anything you need. They won’t always want to be close to us like this; what’s the rush to make it stop?

Then this week my ex refused to let Peyton come stay with him for just a weekend.  He wanted a full two weeks.  All or nothing.

“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?” Yes, my baby said. Yes.  Because this fragile, little baby human was rejected by a father who’s more interested in what he wants rather than what his child wants.

So yes, honey, of course you can sleep with mommy because your little heart is being broken. Your school is closed, your friends are just a bunch of idiot kids too and don’t call anyone either, you can’t have play dates or play your favorite sports, you can’t see your coaches or your teammates, your grandparents, your father won’t let you come see him because he’s mad you won’t stay longer, and you’re trapped in the house with a 45 yo woman who works full time, makes you do distance learning against your will and let’s not forget all the chores and bedtimes that are still enforced. Yes, sleep with me, baby. Forever if you need to. Forever.

Then my loneliness kicks back in as I strive to meet and solve that of my little love’s.  Fuck, the loneliness.

It’s so acute, like a knife in my heart, and it makes me panic to think about when Pey will finally go back to my ex.  I will be so so alone then – and I don’t do alone.

I feed my demanding extroversion through dating and men; they’re how I survive myself and the abandonment I experience every other week when my little one leaves me.

Abandonment. That’s what I’ve discovered during this quarantine: sharing custody  is akin to full blown abandonment to my nervous system – every other week – and I never get to recover or work it out or even feel it for what it is because then we are reunited and I’ve spent a week working longer hours and filling my time with men and wine and deep dreams about nothing.  I anchor my feelings at the bottom of all things, an ocean of nothingness, hidden from myself so I can start all over again in another 7 days, just so I can get out of fucking bed and look normal.

That era of distraction and distancing from myself is irrevocably over and I will have to feel my loneliness and face it head on.  The Universe wants me to notice.

The world is molting, shedding its layers of abuse and misuse and slowing down. The earth is breathing more deeply, people are waking the fuck up, we’re all crying for the loss, the injustice, the fear, the calamity.

This much I know for sure from crying in my closet: I want to love.  I want to love myself.  Better and more than ever before.  I want to be able to weather watching my child leave me over and over without dying inside, without craving stupid fucking dick.  I want to keep empty, greedy men away from me and my most precious parts.  I want to grow and fly and soar above the destructive decisions I ordinarily make.  And most importantly, I want to help my little one’s heart to heal alongside mine.

I’m looking forward to crying in my closet again and highly recommend it.  Everyone should go have a good cry in theirs.

 

Being alone again.

A lot.  All the time.  Barring my small herd of animals that depend on me for all their worldly needs.  And my child.

Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever have a partner again.  It seems virtually impossible; I feel like I’m so – I don’t know – far away.  Like on another planet.

I won’t go into it now, I’m still chewing on it.

 

February Photofest

Friday, August 2nd, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

I’m in San Francisco this morning, hence my lack of getting this together last night.  I fell asleep on the plane and was barely functional once at my sister’s.  It’s 55º this morning and I think I’m in heaven.

Believe it or not I actually took some pics this week – for my Irish friend I’d mentioned last week.  I was feelin’ it for some reason so decided to document.  Who knows when I’ll feel that again.

Ok, I gotta run.  Children everywhere and I have things to do.

xx

Hy

 

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:

All the workout clothes leaving marks.

 

NOT my tits

Lola has fanzzzzz.

A fan submission of her getting off to my pics.

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


A quiet morning.

I woke up this morning to quiet, a stillness. No one was texting me and – more importantly- no was not texting me.

I told The Golfer last week that I was busy for two weeks and would hit him up when I got free again. This morning I realized I could see him tonight, but my resistance to rejection is either high or low, depending on how you look at it: I don’t want to process yet someone else not wanting to spend time with me.

I don’t remember the last time my life was this man-free. I have always jockeyed for attention and sex from someone. If there wasn’t someone on deck, then I was plotting how to get someone there.

Today, I took my baby to the airport at 5 am to fly to the west coast to be with my sister, took the dog to the river for a two-hour hike and binge-watched Broadchurch on Netflix – the entire first season.

And I completely forgot about The Golfer.

I also avoided doing some administrative life things, but oh well. Sometimes I’m a shitty adult. Sometimes I kill it. Who’s signed up for 4 gym classes this week? This girl.

I took a selfie for the first time in weeks while on the trail and it’s so not sexy, so not revealing, so not sexual in any way I felt like it was worth sharing.

Just me being me. Hot and sweaty at the water’s edge sitting on an exposed root of a 50 ft tall cypress. No nipples, no nudity. Paddle boarders and kayakers rowed by in the baking sun while the dog cooled off in the dark waters along the bank behind me.

I felt calm. And relieved. No one was hurting me and more importantly, I wasn’t allowing it.

Sweat it out.

Sinful Sunday

Friday, July 12th, is Boobday!

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!

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


Friday, July 5th, is Boobday!

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


Friday, June 28th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

I had the worst fucking dream last night and I wonder if it had anything to do with my last thoughts last night about clarity and boundaries. I’ll post it in a minute – it has no place here.

In other news, I bought my tickets to London! I watch fares on an app called Hopper (I highly recommend it) and use my CapitalOne Venture card for everything to earn miles. My flight is under $500 and will be erased with my reward miles I’ve earned this year. Woohoo!!

And today is the last Boobday of Every Damn Day in June! Which makes it all the more funny that I’d forgotten all about it. Again. I swear if my head weren’t attached…

Love you all!

Fucked up dream to be posted shortly…

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:

Hi, how ya doin’?

::

NOT my tits:

Miss B enjoying herself.

I thought I would submit something different than a bra picture.  I’ve discovered in the past 10 years that I am a Masochist on taking pain, although not humilation.  I’m grateful that I have breasts that can be enjoyed in a consensual relationship.  

::

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


::

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter


Friday, April 5th, is Boobday!

Hy tits banner in black and white v neck t shirt

Apologies for the late posting, but none of my shit was cooperating – still no clue what’s going on, but it just took foreverrrrrrr for everything load and open and blah blah blah, blah blahbityblah.

But here it is!  The linky tool changed, so if there are any glitches, lemme know.

I’ve been vegging out on the couch all day re-watching the last season of Game of Thrones.  Fuck, that show is good.

Also, I feel like Goldilocks.  The bed is always either too hard or too soft…

Love you all!

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:

Black and white photo of Hyacinth leaning over a white bed in only her white lace underwear
Just leaning in…

NOT my tits:

 

Sandy making me want to where checkers, too!

Someone went home shirtless ?

::

Miss B rocking her gifts.

The attached picture is a beautiful handmade bra I received last week as a gift. I’m looking forward to wearing it under the sheer blouse picture I submitted for Boob Day last week.

::

 

 

You are invited to the Inlinkz link party!

Click here to enter

I’m sad, too.

Good angles only.

The man from Saturday, The Golfer, has been flirting with me and I honestly can’t figure out why.

In the harsh Tuesday morning light I look at myself and don’t see much worth physically desiring. He was drunk, that’s how he ended up in my bed, otherwise why would a gorgeous 35 year old man want my middle aged and rapidly sagging-where-it-never-used-to-sag ass?

It’s not the right time of the month for me to be feeling this way – I can’t quite make sense of it – except that I must still have an emotional hangover from that night.

He came and sat with Tina and me already drunk, but massively charming nonetheless. I watched her drape herself all over him and flirt like she was drowning, but I sat in between them and seemed to inadvertently block any real foreplay between the two of them.

He was there for something, but he wouldn’t quite come out with it. Then he told us he’d hit a major professional milestone, a jackpot, if you will. I heard him say “multi-millionaire.”

Tina, lover of millionaires that she is, perked up and convinced him to order the most expensive bottle of bubbles on the menu then left to go to the restroom. Now just the two of us, I inquired further about the moment for him.

“I’m gonna get sad for a minute,” he said with his head in his hands, “then I’ll be ok.”

I rubbed his back a little and told him it was alright, not entirely sure what he was about to say and not wanting to get overly invested in a drunk stranger’s drama.

“I mean no offense, but today is a really big day for me and I’m spending it with two women I don’t know.”

His friends, nearly as drunk as him, had tried to pry him away to go home earlier, but he’d refused. “I never leave the house, I don’t date, I’m totally alone and I had no one to share this with. Not really. I just tagged along with them, crashed their date.” I kept rubbing his back.

“I know how that feels,” I replied. “Take a deep breath and just enjoy tonight. It’s how I do it.”

Tina returned with her signature bad attitude and the moment was over. We were at a swanky hotel, after all, drinking Veuve Cliquot. The tears would have to wait.

That’s not a normal convo to have with a random drunk dude.

Maybe that’s why I went ahead and programmed his name in my phone, for the simple fact that I’m sad, too. I’m sad that I’m alone and drifting, bouncing from hookup to hookup like a skipped rock on the Lake O’ Many Mens.

I haven’t programmed a name in so long I barely remember the last time. It must have been Elliot, and before that Luke? God, I don’t even know. Both men who for whatever reasons didn’t want to be with me in the end.

As TG and I fucked each other senseless in the soulless black of my room it seemed we both held on for dear life. I wept from the sheer force of pleasure coursing through my body and he acted high on the perfume of my ejaculate and cries.

He flipped me over and licked my asshole and bit my cheeks, he pounded my pussy with his cock and his hands and buried his face between my legs like a starving man with a mouth made of the softest petals.

And then he texted the next day and tried to convince me to come over so we could do it all again. Not only was I hungover and recovering emotionally, but I felt embarrassed. Would he even want me in the light of day? Is it even worth my time even if he did?

He’s tried to get me to come over each night since. He’s funny, awkward, viciously self deprecating, and from what he said at the hotel, hates his mother.

It might appear that he’s one to avoid without question, yet his name is in my phone all the same because I’m sad, too, and for just a minute I’d also like to pretend that someone cares I exist.

February Photofest