Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 38

Sometime after I malingered at a motel in a town of 600 people in South Dakota waiting for the prognosis on the spare vehicle I gave my brother which had died near mile marker 177 during our cross country caravan, I had the thought that smoking and small town life go together like ham and cheese. Or chips and salsa. Or rum and Coke. I did not smoke, but it seemed like a good idea to capture the tenor of the moment. The resigned despair. The stoic isolation characteristic of the suffering that quietly popolates rurul lives all over the world, I reckon.

The Crusher didn't come back. She had to be towed to Rapids City and scrapped. It's too bad cuz when she ran, she was a beauty. Sun roof for miles. Elegantly boxy platinum exterior. Tires mildy suggestive of Monster Jam. She sliced through snow drifts and could go for brunch after muddin'. But The Crusher was born a Westerner and decided to die one, refusing to budge much beyond the western Plains.

And now my brother helped me with an epic cross-country move and would have no SUV to show for it, one his grandson could have gone on adventures in and his wife might have filled with secondhand treasures. The Crusher was a secondhand treasure. And now she is buried treasure.

I've done a helluva lot of letting go lately. My job of over 6 years. My house of more than 14. My marriage of over 18. My home state for more than 21. I sold or purged at least half of my belongings beyond the items that had left during the divorce. I lost a vehicle. I held on to my giant puppy and my clothes and a reliable Korean car and a Drummer Boy. But I couldn't take him with me, either. The trunk of my car is small and he's lanky.

There was a big welcome party for me in Illinois with prosecco and fireball shots in hot apple cider and catered Italian Beef. To date, neither Daisy nor myself have pooped in our hosts' hot tub. The Toucher (see Part 14) attended the party mostly without incident. However, the Taurus from Part 14 assigned to shield me from The Toucher pretended to slip in the hot tub and grabbed my boobs to steady himself, then lingered. Then he announced to the rest of the tub that my buoys were real. Weary from the 1800 mile journey that had just ended earlier in the day, I rested in my robe with Daisy on the world's largest bean bag near my host's in-home bar when the Taurus was once more pressed into service. The Toucher began to circle and peck around me on the bean bag like a crow testing highway roadkill. Expectectant partiers looking his way, the Taurus told The Toucher to "leave that bitch alone." Was I the bitch, or was Daisy?

The Taurus is correct. My boobs are real. I am real. This is real. I have to remind myself that all of this has happened and I made it happen and now I have to keep making it happen. I don't know what to do. I have applied for health insurance and a job I actually want and opened a bank account and forwarded my mail. Now what? Wait for my new life to start?

During my first week in Illinois it kept raining like a sonofabitch, which did not help me feel confident about recent life choices. No sunshine-y optimism to borrow from the outdoors. How do you get grounded in a rain puddle? Just pretend it's the azul Mediterranean Sea and backstroke, eyes pointed where the sun should be?

My hosts have been very understanding about Daisy. Like when she forgot she was potty trained. Or when she uses their puppy as a chew toy daily. When I left to get sushi and Daisy thought I was hiding in the basement, she tried to claw through an interior door to get to me. After that happened, I stayed up all night crying, having a 3 hour panic attack, and looking for places to live in places I didn't want to live in anticipation of being kicked to the curb. But I'm still here and Daisy is returning to her more dognified Washington state manners.

What will happen this week? I get a primary care physician and my dream job? I meet the perfect roommate with a passion for Great Danes, middle-aged nudity, and wine with bubbles? The rain stops until spring? I quit worrying and magically everything is fine forever going forward? Stay tuned and we'll find out together.

Until Next Time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness