Good Days Bad Days

the good days are really good.

the bad days are less.

today’s bad days are different from the bad days of last year.

which is a good thing.

but when they are bad.

its best to ride the wave.

i read a book recently that was very intense.

it was about depression.

a person i admire

a person who i knew struggled

(don’t we all? i am one to believe we all get depressed.)

this person shared her story of getting to the other side of her depression.

this book got into some dramatic and insane nitty gritty.

her over the top despair was actually hilarious

( have i written about this before?? I can’t recall. I repeat myself often don’t i??  ) 

all said. i have never been diagnosed with depression

it’s in my family tho

i do, however deal with things.

and sometimes those things are at a high pitch.

rather randomly i wrote a short fantasy the other day

it was about the kings court

and a particularly brazen lady in waiting.


that lady in waiting was me.

i think the written moment and the desire to express was because of this shirt

see image below.

given the right undergarment a gals breasts can billow.

in this case, a very tired worn out sports shelf bra offered some… billow

heaving is perhaps a better word.

i like the feeling.

i like it a lot actually.

on my day trek this weekend

i rambled in my brain

i told myself a different version of the fantasy.

i narrated the experience from both the kings perspective

and from the lady in waitings perspective.

both sides of the same story.

it was steamy. amusing and quite distracting.

by the time i made it to my destination.

i felt horny.

a lovely thing.

well not so lovely when it’s just me, myself and I.

sortof a waste


i tried to author that in my head version later

not sure i did the story justice

perhaps a work in progress.

perhaps not.

i think the blurty shorter version was better.

i don’t know how i might ever fulfill my delight in victorian clothing. costumes.

reality of them is perhaps not so delightful

a gal i know recently fitted with a corset, barfed her brains out after trying to digest her dinner while wearing one.

just saying

in today’s day where the heck does one wear such a thing.

in my minds eye

i have a different figure

i can wear heels

my face isn’t that of a circus act


there is lots and lots of lust.

i am wanted.

i think if i had to choose

i’d not be a lady in waiting in high court.

i’d be the gal in the kitchen

barefoot with the torn, dirt stained hem

clothing in simple natural hues

or i’d be a lady of the “outlander” kind

just so i could be around bearded men

wearing kilts.

oh my.

i’d be a healer

or an artist.

there would be stone castles

( i’ve never been near a real castle )

rolling green hills

and romps.

lots of groping.

heaving breasts and all.

my recent bad days had me tearful. overwhelmed. reflective and beyond myself indecisive. hard to explain what that is like

my chemistry is trying to recalibrate

since it took years to fuck me up.

( i’ve been at this for a YEAR now. This new program – under a month )

what took a very long time to get to broken.  won’t be all fixed in a month?

not a very practical or reasonable thought

patience i say to myself. patience.

i am so fucking tired of being patient.

current status:  horny and broken.

the long weekend helped distract.

i had no agenda.

i let the days go as they did.

i wished for a beer.

and a hug.

i imagined a muse in my life

a vested lover

a creative who gets the way my mind and heart intertwine

and when he comes over — that he bring some cheese.

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