It’s been something like 5 years since I’ve written to this thing, and may prove to be 5 more still before I write to it again. Not that it matters, being that it’s a purposefully darkweb blog that no one’s read from in a very long time, as my logs confirm.
Life continues to ebb and flow and move and shake. Covid has been strangely good to me, having already lived in such isolation to have hardly been impacted while avoiding it, and having received many months unemployment that far exceeded any of my earnings since working in tech in the early 2000’s. For once, I’m genuinely unconcerned with money for the most part, and without having to tolerate some bumbling man in my space.
I’ve remained single now for seven years; truly single, as opposed to the fake ‘I’m just on okcupid looking for friends two months after my breakup’ single. It is fucking glorious, and it would take an absolute act of god to get me to date again, though I am entertaining returning to SW, as a dom, with the sex machine I’ve replaced men with.
I’m currently the answer to life the universe and everything, having turned 42 last November. Heroic of me, I know. Despite the continued real-world confirmations of my lifelong warnings that society has been seriously collapsing, suicidal ideation has lessened for me over the years, though not gone away entirely of course. I am medicated now, and have been for about 3 years, on very light doses of both lithium and prozac that barely even register in my blood. It helps I think, but getting away from people has helped more.
After my aborted tour in 2018 (I re-read my black sparrow music parlor journal entry recently; wow was that woman a bitch. Just literally fuck her and fuck her stupid venue) I settled in Tacoma for a while, remounted my massage practice and worked until the pandemic. The moment lockdown was announced in March of 2020, I responded to the universal nudge and closed my healing business for good, with a hefty sigh of relief.
The idea was to settle and heal, but what I actually did was settle and hustle. It wasn’t until the world stopped that I really began processing the impact of multiple years of homelessness and constant struggle, revealing my psyche as a system with distinct alters. Apparently this was not an isolated experience for me, and I’ve enjoyed seeing many other people come to similar awareness on social media. For my part, the most amusing element is how I managed to know this all along and still keep it a secret from myself.
Though I miss elements of how it used to be, I’m beyond thankful to be off the road, which is now saturated with newly homeless vehicle dwellers. As my life imploded in 2014 I remember being so angry at my ‘friends’ who just stood around and watched, unable to comprehend being unable to find housing. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t occasionally imagine some random person from my past jolting up from their morning cup of coffee suddenly realizing from out of nowhere how right I was. About capitalism. About gender. About politics. About feminism. About everything.
But I was not right about everything. I had and have many things wrong, and grown tired of being loud, living chronically wrong online. Which brings me to why I am here, journal diary blog thing that no one else ever sees: I have once again wiped most of my social media, and believe I may come back to you.
I hand write some things and vlog others, but you my love… you have been here for me since Courtnee began, since Lore and Katie created her to communicate and operate in the outside world safely. You have existed creeping up on 30 years, in many forms and iterations. And now that I understand our needs more – that Rex performs, Lore hacks, ‘nee writes, Kat sings, Jet vlogs, and Katie eats cereal – there are things I want to say that shouldn’t be seen. Plus, there is still a book to write.
I believe there is a headspace for you again. But only time will truly tell.