Knights and the sun

Several days ago, I decided to treat myself with a second tarot reading on my birthday. The last few weeks had been alternately frustrating and enjoyable, with few job leads but plenty of time to take my newish bike to White Rock Lake. And my gym visits are showing results.

While I know little about Tarot, I did research the cards that appeared during my reading. There wasn't a single negative card. Instead they were all positive, especially the two Knight cards, as this translated into a message that I was already well on my way to a meaningful journey with a valuable destination. And she drew the Sun, which is another positive card.

Another December bonus was the sudden appearance of my former cub, Darren*. He was in town on business and had time for an early dinner before heading home. While I can't help but wonder what could have ensued if I'd invited him to my house, I felt more comfortable with a public venue. He didn't act disappointed with lack of a booty call, so chances are he was also wondering what sort of chemistry might or might not prevail. He looked as if he'd put on a bit more weight, but it wasn't a distraction. 

In the meantime, my cyber-flirtation with Cincinnati* continues. He's turned up the naughty meter a bit, which I'm seriously enjoying.

Since he occasionally mentioned another meeting in 2019, I eventually decided to state my views once and then leave the ball in his court. I said that he would be the one who decided when and where we met again. I then asked if this was odd, and he said that it made perfect sense considering our different employment situations and my plans to take on contract jobs in 2019.

I decided to take a mindful attitude to this, and to not postpone other plans in the hope that Cincinnati would eventually extend an invitation. 

I'll be glad when 2018 is behind me and I can move forward with leaving Texas.

* See The Usual Suspects.

Hang on while I overthink this

In case you have not already guessed, the chats between myself and Cincinnati* have quickly returned to what they were like before I visited him a year ago. 

At first our chats were hesitant. I was careful not to be online that often as I didn't want to appear to be waiting around for him, and I still feel that these relationships are one-dimensional at best. Then one day he casually asked if I had purchased any new corsets lately.

It didn't take long for us to begin discussing lingerie and stockings, and how he would like to assist me with putting them on. After the first chat he half-apologized for being forward, but I pointed out that I would have stopped him if I hadn't been comfortable. So he's proceeded to describing what he'd like to do in the shower with me.

I should point out that he never talks about actual sex; just the removal of lingerie.

We're back to talking almost every day on Messenger. He's sent me links to lingerie he likes, wanting my opinion, and I've given it. And he's talked of eventually getting together and doing what we're talking about.

I did bring up the subject of how he'd told me how I'd played with his feelings during 2014-2017. I apologized but I also gave him a realistic version of how painful it had been to lose my house, and to be unemployed for so long, and to watch my mother fade and die. But I didn't talk about my ongoing problems with online relationships, hopeful coward that I am.

Renewing the relationship with Cincinnati was what I hoped for during most of this year, but I can't forget how badly last year's visit went. So I'm keeping busy with other things while I wait out the holiday season and its lack of job leads.

*see The Usual Suspects.

slow cyber seduction strategies

After I received the unexpected, polite message from Cincinnati*, I decided to wait a day or two before answering. I was surprised to hear anything from him at all, so I couldn't decide how to respond. But part of me would like to eventually bump up the intimacy.

I'm sure there must be a country and western song that says something like "how can I miss you when you won't go away?". Probably a Kinky Friedman song. So I decided to take the same approach.

I eventually did answer. I admitted I was surprised, albeit pleasantly. I said I was planning to move out of Texas. I made most of the chat about him, not me, although I did mention my new bike.

I can't see that he's changed at all. He still cycles nonstop - he mentioned logging over 6,000 miles in 2018. He is overworked and stressed, but feels he needs to be responsible. 

He did say that it was nice to speak to me again, and that he'd missed me. But it doesn't explain why he never tried to reach me this year. 

I think I need to be careful that I'm not trying to get him interested in me again, just because he dumped me and my ego was/is bruised. But I have plenty of other pursuits for the rest of the year: clearing out the rest of this house, finding some contract work, and rehoming the rest of the cats. I have decided I don't want any cats at all now. Losing Toby, Walter and Bodhi was so painful.

* See The Usual Suspects.

road trip (no shama lama ding dong)

The Seattle trip finally happened a couple of weeks ago. Rachel* and I loaded 20 kitties into a rented van, including three of my fosters, and spent three days driving north. 

We went through New Mexico, Colorado, Idaho and Utah, stopping a couple of times to take in the sights for an hour or two. Rachel has a thing for waterfalls so we stopped in Twin Falls and Shoshone Falls, which is part of the Snake River and close to where Evel Kneivel attempted to jump the river.

It was raining when we reached Seattle Humane, which was a place all animal shelters should aspire to. Okay, they're better-funded, and there appears to be a higher percentage of folks who don't let their pets run wild and breed nonstop. But they don't euthanize for space and even accept ill animals. I did feel a bit sad about leaving two of my three foster cats as I'd become attached, but no so sad that I kept them. 

Sleeping on the floor of a van is not pleasant so I finally sprang for a hotel room in Yakima after we dropped off the cats, and another one two nights later in Durango, Colorado. This is where I did a bad thing, which was to lose my Saint Gertrude medallion. All attempts to bribe management to visit the room and find it were in vain.

Perhaps the loss of my Saint Gertrude triggered my decision to send Cincinnati* a small gift I had planned to present to him last November. It was a special medallion of the Madonna del Ghisallo, the patron saint of cyclists, and was designed to attach easily to a bicycle. It didn't arrive from Italy until I had returned from visiting Cincinnati, and by then things had gone awry between us. So the medallion had been living in my dresser for almost a year. I enclosed a small note explaining what it was, why I bought it, and that I was sending it now because I planned to move soon.

I did not expect to hear anything from Cincinnati upon receipt of the medallion, and I half-expected him to return it unopened. But instead, he unblocked me on Facebook and sent me this message:

"I received your letter and gift and it meant a lot to me. I'm so sorry to hear of your mother's passing. I can't imagine the sense of loss you're feeling. Please feel free to respond if you'd like to talk further sometime."

Although I wanted to respond, I couldn't think of what to say. So I waited a day before I did.

* See The Usual Suspects.

death among the tomatoes

Yes, I am watching The Godfather. I hadn't seen it in its entirety for a long time, and like the second film/prequel, it's a superbly told tale. 

I had a pleasant text surprise a few days ago from Darren*. I don't know what brought it on, as he said nothing about any future trips to my neck of the woods, but it doesn't matter to me. I confess I sort of stalked him on Facebook a few weeks ago and it looked as if he'd gained a bit more weight, but it didn't bother me, even though the facelift surgery has killed my appetite. I've lost about 15 pounds since leaving the hospital.

The facelift continues to heal, although I was warned that the neck would take a few weeks to settle down and it's taking its time. The numbness is receding and the smallish scar under my chin is fading, but there's still a bit of lumpiness here and there.  But when I'm looking at my image in a grocery store video monitor, I'm thrilled to not be looking at a tired and drooping face any more. So it was all worth it.

Otherwise, things are on hold. I had planned to help drive a van full of cats to a large Seattle shelter, but the departure keeps getting pushed back a day or two. And I may very well stay here in Texas until next spring. Ideally I would like a 100% cat-free house so Ian* can sell the place if he likes. Now that he's taken another job in New York, I really can't see him ever returning.

Woops, there goes Connie's husband, right after Michael Corleone assures her that he's not going to have him killed.

Every time I watch a scene with Al Pacino, I remember when he opened his taxi door on me some decades ago in London. He was appearing in a play called American Buffalo. He was even shorter in person; he barely came up to my chest even though I was wearing fairly low heels. 

* See The Usual Suspects.