There are times, a person comes unsolicited into your mind, capturing a part in your brain you never asked them to navigate freely. Right now, I find my thoughts going to the Biomedical Engineer. Which, is truly bizarre. Then again, I felt such synchronicity and a catalyzed result from crossing paths with him I truly needed. I listen to this song I love, although there are many, certain ones loop on repeat certain hours, certain days. Tonight, is the Midnight Cowboy’s time to loop, by John Barry. I highly recommend you look it up, right now. Actually, go here. If John Barry sounds familiar, he did a bunch of songs for James Bond movies between the 1960s to 1980s. Oh how I love James Bond movies. I have added in “Far From Any Road” from the True Detective theme song (god what a good show) by the Handsome Family here. There, that is how I feel. That is how he makes me feel. Albeit, nobody can make you feel anything, but I think you know what I mean. Now, I want you to feel the way I do right now. Unbeknownst to him.

I can always tell what part of my life I was in by certain songs I come across in a playlist of mine. Certain songs stay long term. I’m talking about you, Coma White. I never listened to The Midnight Cowboy until the last several months, and Far from Any Road was a few years ago, back in my hardcore pole dance training days. I miss that. I miss them. Hence, I am not quite sure why this reminds me of him. Neroche is undoubtedly tied to him, as I have mentioned before, he introduced me to them and they have been tied to my soul ever since. When I listen to it, I don’t think of him though. I think of myself. I think about listening to it while giving a guy a blow job in my friend’s place while she was out with her boyfriend, and spat his cum into a cup on her coffee table. I might be a horrible guest at times. Or, well used to be. She’s a horrible cat owner in my failing attempt at excusing this. Her place was also when I got obsessively introduced to Casefiles and, in my opinion, the best true crime podcast. I love that the host is anonymous and I am low key entranced by his voice. Anyways, we’re here to talk about Mr. Biomedical Engineer, not the random guy. I can’t even remember his name. I just know he had a cool jeep and brought me to the ferry once, or was it he picked me up? I can’t remember.

In this moment I can only think that thinking about the Biomedical Engineer is nothing, in fact, to do with him, but more so what he represents or represented to me. A part about me, that is needed to transcend something…right now. He was handsome, and there are many handsome nerdy guys out there. He was strong, there are many strong men out there. He was weird. Lots of those, absolutely. Hiding a secret, yeah, no thanks. He had a tattoo, love that, but again, not that. Music was a thing, between us, random songs that were his favourite, that happened to be completely tied to my soul as well. Ahh, Wicked Game came on once, it was this remix, he thought I had snuck it onto his music. No, I hadn’t. Perhaps you notice by now I love my sad, sad girl songs. Sad makes me happy. There are people you come across you know nothing about, and perhaps should know nothing about, yet are forever entangled by some sort of essence. Some people you know a lot about, and are bonded by trauma or shared interests. Others you thought you knew inside and out, yet, they never existed. I think he is the first one, and it is quite alright by me if it is one sided, as we had enough weirdness between us in the brief moments we flashed upon one another. It just makes me so fucking sad, not the good kind of sad, not the thoughtful moments, philosophical kind of sad. I wish I knew what it was that made me sad. Because it isn’t him inherently. If I figure it out, I will let you know. For now, it is a mystery for me.

It has been six years, I think, I am trying to remember my hair colour. It has changed so frequently, that is generally my gauge as to what I was doing or whom. Yes, I am capricious, fickle, a flight risk, impulsive, gun shy. Although, none of that matters as I am content being house bond most of the time, quarantined, babying, working. Whatever may be. I was blonde, honey blonde in a long transition from ginger to become platinum. Sigh, that didn’t last long. Living in my most beloved 1940s house with two roommates, the ones who fell in love there, got married later and now live down the street from me. Six years, yes, it was then. Mr. Biomedical Engineer was really into women’s rights. Love. That. Something on the University campus about women and he had a pin he wore. God, he had horrible fashion. So many men here seem to wear plaid. The Canadian way is plaid. Plaid. Plaid. Plaid. Redneck plaid. I don’t mind it actually.

He loved flowers, as I do, too. He brought me to the most beautiful park I would ever dreamt even existed in our city. He did weird impulsive romantic things, the only other person to do that sort of thing was the first sociopath I ever dated ten years ago. Story for another day. He looked like Johnny Depp in many ways from the Secret Window. Mr. Biomedical Engineer and him both have glasses. For whatever reason, 80% of my boyfriends or lovers, or something have had glasses. Is this a requirement? Apparently without meaning to. You can be smart with contacts, you know. I don’t even have a glasses fetish and I find them a bit annoying to work around. Loved his voice, I do have a heavy voice fetish. That is a make or break for basically everyone I go near. Perhaps too much weight is given on the voice fetish, but regardless, it’s my thing. I will say, very rarely do people get into my head. I shake them out before I ever thought of inviting them in. I shake them out before they even realize there was a chair for them, perhaps, in the first place. But again, it isn’t specifically him, something symbolic about him or something I am forgetting about myself my brain is trying to remind me of. I LOVE film-noir and neo-noir, he introduced me to his favourite movie, Brick with Joseph Gordon Levitt. Going back to The Midnight Cowboy, I probably should watch the movie, and I do love anything from the 1960s or about prostitution.

I hope I find a path from these intrusive thoughts around Mr. Biomedical Engineer, and find the part of myself calling out. Pika had used to say to me she could taste my sadness when I was melancholy. Taste my sadness.

I wish you could have seen the way she looked at me when she would say that.

• My only certainity is uncertainity
• How to Sharpen Your Mind. Outthink the Robots.
• (no title)
• Late Night Thoughts on Valuable Content
• Loss of Innocence

Tonight I made the quick decision to save some of my sanity and rejoin Tumblr. I miss it. I could overdose on GIFs and little pictures all day long. I have so many fond memories of blogs, always had a blog, even as a kid. Love writing, memes, and art. I’ve decided to rotate Pinterest, Tumblr, and Houzz in-between all the work. Social media and pages to save my own misery and dread I have for how much I have to be on the computer. How much dread and disdain I have even looking at my computer, which once used to bring so much pleasure for many, many years prior.

I am not sure why this didn’t occur to me before. Work hard, play hard. Something something something. No, I am not sharing my Pinterest, Houzz or Tumblr with you all. It is my sacred space!

I will, share the tags I follow though. Some of them, haha.

Vintage, pin-up, celebrities, asethetic, romance, sculpture, hollywood regency, art deco, museums, movies, puppies, runway, hollywood, library, pets, painting, health & fitness, home decor, antiques, glamour, gifs, DIY, history, Italy, Rococo, macabre, gothic, Midcentury, 1960s, art history

• My only certainity is uncertainity
• How to Sharpen Your Mind. Outthink the Robots.
• (no title)
• Late Night Thoughts on Valuable Content
• Loss of Innocence

2021 already seems a blur, doesn’t it? Amongst the litters of random masks along street sides, joining crushed cigarette butts in holy matrimony. Mr. Baby is 26 months old. It is like yesterday we were stuck in a fucking bible camp after a most religious city in Alberta. I began watching Lucifer last night, finishing off season five. In great delight, season six is out. When I was staying with a friend’s mom during my third trimester of pregnancy, she caught me watching the devilish show downstairs once and was horrified. I got a sound Christian disturbance lecture and had to sneak my Lucifer viewings, else be cast out quite likely. If only people within the bible camp later knew a raped whore was cradling her newborn baby amongst them. Baby daddy has been blocked from any of his shenanigans after not wishing Mr. baby a happy birthday two years in a row. Good job, deadbeat. Plastering pictures of #daddyslittleprincess across Instagram and Facebook with his fourth child 6 weeks younger than my Mr. baby. He finally decided to introduce her to the world when she is nearing two years old. Some people value images more than what’s ethical. He has followed the exact trajectory of gross predictability I had assumed upon him and am ever more confident in how I have protected Mr. Baby from him.

Upon lighter news, I can walk in shoes as of two days ago. Well, I am allowed to be in shoes. Six weeks ago, tomorrow, I had my surgery. Stuck in my mind is the anesthesiologist had told me she had broken her ankle, too when her child was 16 months old. She had just moved from South Africa to the UK. Have you ever felt that with someone, a stranger, with such small exchanges, you both just see and understand it from one another? She understood, which goes a long way. She understood the nightmare first hand. And there she was, many, many, many years later, talking to me. I suppose I will make a longer post about all that ankle recovery stuff, as I did find some random blog posts on broken ankles did bring me great comfort. However, the ones I found did NOT have quick recovery, and mine certainly has been. I want to show some light for another version of recovery. It is weird to still feel disconnected from my body, I’ve practiced dance for over 18 years, which is all about walking and connection to your body. Of all the things. I waddle and limp at the moment, but I practice a lot each day to strengthen the left side. I have been very lucky my pain has been little to none throughout this experience.

Unfortunately breaking my ankle was one of the best things that has happened to me in the last couple years after Mr. Baby of courseeeee. My sister has been staying with me and helping, I think of her as a sister hubby. Like damn life is easier when you have someone helping with a kid. Like holy CRAP this is easy, comparatively. I’m feeling this way being busted up, looking forward to when I am fully able to reap the glory of an easier work load FINALLY. She helps with the morning, brings him to my parents in afternoon, does all the laundry, dishes, pet stuff, and various other little things. She has my back against my parents and I forgot how she always was that when I was growing up too. She is ten years older, but people used to always think she was my mother when I was a child. I vividly remember that. I do cooking for all of us most of the time, I love the deep cleaning, and she has my card to do the grocery shopping. Definitely don’t miss dishes, laundry or various other things. She has felt more accomplished and empowered instead of laying around at home all day. And when I am better, she is going to continue on as like a nanny and I will keep sharing all my food and sending her money. I truly enjoy that such a horrible traumatic event has been an amazing thing for both of us, and not out of some deranged optimism, it is shining in our faces how it was the only way to really create this opportunity. Go figure.

My sister is “disabled” with a brain injury and autism, she struggles holding down a regular job. Not from any slight of capability, she just needs more breaks because of her health. It is so fucking stupid how cookie cutter society tends to be in the detriment of so many brilliant minds and powers in the world. Yet, ironically, we are obsessed with progress. Being my nanny she can take as many freaking breaks as she needs, and someone won’t be barking down the pipe at her. She gets everything done every single day, she gets things done quickly after I ask or even mention something. She is a better worker than most people I’ve worked around. I just wish our mother wasn’t a narcissist, as matching us together would have made sense. Not telling my sister my life was so easy LOL LOL OLOLOFLOSLFOSFKDESOFKDOFK LOLLLLLLLL and things were great at home LOLLLLL. Thanks mother dearest. The second my sister found out about my ankle she came powering over and saw me stranded, surrounded with meats, almond milk, and various food from the fridge on the floor, the shelves. Mr. Baby had cultivated what he wanted to eat, and I was helpless in child mining. My parents had left me and I was struggling. I told her how things have been even before the ankle and she was horrified. I had thought my sister was working full-time, thanks to mommy dearest. She wasn’t, she was broke and working 2 hours a week thanks to Covid. Now, here we are. I am less of a slave to motherly life/work/household chores and she, has an abundance of food, more money and a purpose. I also, finally, can date as before I had no coverage and my precious babysitting hours from my parents I dedicated to work and a bit of Pilates. Gosh, like she can do an evening which I haven’t had. Now, where will Mr. Boyfriend be? haha. I am the happiest I’ve been in a long, long while, even with the broken ankle I have been just so happy.

I’ve been homebound more than I have in any part of my life, even with earlier bits of Covid I was going for a walk every single day for the baby to fall asleep, have fresh air or grab some small groceries. Since the injury, I didn’t leave my apartment for two weeks, then another three weeks. Now it has been two days and I have little to no interest leaving at the moment again. I look forward to when I am well enough to be in my beloved reformer Pilates and a really cool team training gym I had joined the pre-signup for prior to being hurt. I can’t waittttt to be there all the time and surrounded in a community. I miss the insanity of my pole dance community, I miss aerial hoop, I miss the crazy glory of how much pain you endured or executing a cool trick. The same crew predictably every day. I doubt the team training will be as nuts as a dance crew is, but regardless will finally be satisfying my thirst for athletics. Maybe that is where Mr. Boyfriend will be as it will be a regular routine for both. Although it has been worth the sacrifice not doing what I have wanted to in taking care of Mr. Baby, the first couple years are so crucial. I see my surgeon again in late, late October. Will see when I am cleared for harder exercise, and gosh, the retraining in stilettos? My precious, beautiful, beloved shoe collection, how I miss you.

I finished the rest of my counselling and it always leaves me with clashed realities, she has been impressed by my intelligence, as was my last counsellor. I miss being in school with the gliding possibilities and shared minds alike. The reality of whatever Miss Chloe and the reality of my passions have slept an early grave for many years. I had mapped out the exacting plans to have my Ph.D in Psychology by now, little unaware of long depression and a circadian rhythm sleep disorder to wreck destruction on it all. I quit my antidepressants for the first time in several years in the midst of an abusive relationship, an infant, and the waking of Covid. How fun is that? And I’ve been okay. I’ve been great. Go figure. Sometimes I wonder if I hold onto something not in the cards, instead of letting it go. I finally was doing okay, back to Miss UBC. Then, pregnant. Haha. Next, pandemic unravelling what work I had known for so long. I think it would be nice to forget it all. Because, what is the point, really? And I don’t mean that in a melodramatic melancholy way. I mean, practically. Except if only the limbic system recognized logic.

I always did think I would be a dominatrix. Like a Psychologist/Sexologist/Health Psychologist and then also a Dominatrix. That is something, too, I miss the BDSM community. I will go to the shibari training when it is open again and learn how to tie people up, artfully, haha. I suppose, perhaps I have had it a bit backwards all along. It might just be full-time Dominatrix first, then something else later. Another, for years people have thought I was in burlesque or asked me why I am not. Haha, I spent so much time around burlesque dancers and strippers, too, training around them. I just thought work was the path back to school. I miss volunteering, I worked at the hospice palliative care for a few years as a clinical volunteer, helping alongside nurses. It would be nice to do what I truly want to do, instead of what is necessary to navigate the world. I think it’s possible though, I had an insatiable ennui and anguish before Mr. Baby, despite the unfortunate how to be circumstances, I think it is possible now as that emptiness is gone. Guess we shall see.