If only…

If only I were less slutty this would all be less complicated. I would say there are seven people who are being actively being impacted in an ongoing way with our nonmonogamy. We have talked to 3.2 of them. (I started a conversation and it didn’t get finished and it has a long way to go.) 2 are scheduled for next week. I have a date on the books with the person I started to talk to and didn’t get to finish. I need to book one more person over.

I definitely started off with some of the most easy going folks.

Let me say, as someone who is not easy going dealing with people who are is such a treat. Wow. You make life so pleasant. Thank you for that.

I am… not going to write today about how the chats went. Complicated. Layers of reasons. Suffice to say: yes I was blushing. I still can’t believe I’m saying some of this shit out loud. Doing it is easier than talking about it.

I really have no idea how my life will look at the end of the year.

I am feeling overwhelmed at having this many people who are like, “Ok on bad days call and ask for…”

But… you don’t understand. People find out about the bad days from my blog. Otherwise they are invisible. I don’t ask for help. I don’t communicate my needs in a non-passive-aggressive-just-for-documentation-sort-of-way.


Because being direct about my needs mostly hasn’t gone well so that’s a habit I just dropped. It’s complicated.

The more I need/want something the harder it is for me to say out loud that I want it.

I’m fucking obnoxious. But when I was a kid revealing a strong need or want was a way to get targeted for having it. I know I need to get over my childhood. I’m working on it. It comes in layers. I’m not done with this layer yet.

I remain grateful to the tips of my toes for Noah. The only person who never ever makes comments about how I write too much. He’s glad I give him so much of a window into my head. It overwhelms other people.

Hey, you are allowed to opt out any time you need to. You don’t need to give me an elaborate explanation. You don’t need to tell me, “You just write too much.”

No. I don’t. I write how much I need to. Maybe it is too much for you to handle reading given the constraints of your life and your reading speed, and that’s ok, but it doesn’t mean I write too much.


I’ve spent a lot of the last few days meditating on the idea of being the “biggest bitch” and what that means to people. Over my life time I have repeatedly been told that I am the biggest bitch. By men and women. I’m evaluated with other negative words too of course, but biggest bitch has come up more than once so I’m thinking on it.

I think about what it means to want things and want relationships and demand that your boundaries matter.

I think about what it means that some people desperately want me to get better at asking for things and being at least a little demanding and then there is everyone else who wants me to shut the fuck up.

Life is like that for everyone, I think.

I’m thinking a lot about what I want the shape of my life to look like. I’m thinking about the people I want in my life. I’m trying to figure out why I want the things I want. The reasons are changing as I went from having an amorphous “I waaaaaaaaaaant” to “I want _______.” Those are different.

Why do I want you? I could list reasons why, if you were curious. Why are you worth the trouble? I can tell you. I think about it. There are reasons or I wouldn’t bother. As has been pointed out with a chuckle more than once lately I do have a very full life.

If I’m trying really hard to pull you into it… it’s not out of pity. It’s not out of obligation or meh.

I want you.

You get to decide how you feel about your end of that. I don’t get to tell you how to feel. I want you to like you as much as I like you. Then maybe I can learn to like me as much as you like me.