AnOublietteofThought

October is my month. The good. The bad. The what the hell just happened?! More often than not, it arrives in October. More often than I'd like to admit, it arrives on my birthday. Not near, though that happens, too. Often enough that I get looks when filling out important details.

I always get excited for October. It is when the air begins to change, and I can unruffle my dusty feathers and preen again.

Usually.

This year, I find myself more hesitant than normal. I am trying to ignore that tingle because I'm not entirely sure it's real or manifested by circumstance.

Yesterday was such a day of high highs and low lows. I allowed myself to get my hopes up. I allowed myself to dream possibility as more than a far-off glimmer of imagination. I dreamed up all the ways life would change for the positive, and I focused a lot on being able to swim again.

I love swimming so much, though I've not had the pleasure to do so in several years. There is just something about the water that comforts me. It envelops. It lifts. It stirs to match movements. It allows me to sink and just be without the need to dive. And when I need the extra push, it resists and forces me to engage and feel every molecule of my being slicing through its hold until once more we tumble to surge forward again. There is a synchronicity.

I have not dove for even longer, but there is something about teetering up high, toes on the ledge, arms spreading wide in open abandonment, just knowing that as soon as you take the plunge, you will be caught. Everything will pause in that glorious brief second or so as you plummet in controlled flight, and then the water is there — opening and embracing. It quenches that need for absolute absorption and understanding.

I should be real with myself. I'm not sure I'd take the leap. Older bones. Softer flesh. It can be a long way down when unsure if you'll go splat or not. I thought about that a lot, too. Did I still yearn to dive, or did I find more contentment in the floating? My spirit, my brain, and my body are not always in agreement with yearnings and capabilities these days.

Yes. I allowed myself to give in to a dream yesterday. Briefly, ever so briefly, life stopped feeling like a climb.

I confess, there was a time when I enjoyed the weight. There was something about the persistence in trekking against the burdening force. Success was sweet as soon as my heel met destination. But that no longer is the case. Now it just feels like a hampering and painful slog when I would rather dance.

I am looking forward to next week. Today, our high is lower than our lows have been. Over twenty degrees lower than our highs have been. It won't stay, but the nights will be cooler. My return to nature is just around the corner, and I feel the thrill of fresh air and singing trees calling to me. I'm also excited because I know how impactful it will be on my weight loss journey. Hopefully, before the sun brightens, I will be back where I wish to be. I have hope in that. I have hope.

This morning, I have ignored all news. I slept in for an hour or so. I stretched. I calmed my mind and centered myself. Yes, I did briefly yearn for completion and I wondered if I would ever feel whole. But mostly... mostly I shook out the dust, reabsorbed my kinks, and I allowed my wings to spread back-crackingly wide to the new day.

It was but a moment, but sometimes that is all we need to refresh and travel onward.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Rent went up because of course it has. Manager got in my face because I commented on how sad that is in this economy. He also made a snarky comment about all Republicans being rude when I told him that he was being rude. More was said before. I responded, telling him that was both a stupid and ignorant thing to say, and I walked out the door. He hates Independents and Democrats.

It could be said that such a response as mine was also stupid. I don't respond well to aggressive male posturing. I understand that it's meant to intimidate, but it just makes me want to step into it and smile in dare. I don't, but I did probably smirk. It's also probably not smart to tell your residence manager that you don't like him. Oh, well. He shouldn't have been an ass.

It is sad that they keep raising the rent each year. Where I live, 31% of the workforce's wages are so low that a two bedroom apartment takes anywhere from 43% (You don't want to live there.) to 60.1% of their net income. This is before utilities and food, etc. It's just so ridiculous. Maybe I'm out of touch, but I don't think so. My shithole apartment costs more than the mortgage on my house had cost. That included multiple acres of land. It disgusts me.

I should probably eat. I thought I found a nice alternative, but it did not have central air, and that is so not happening voluntarily. I have many more thoughts on the subject of real-estate, but I would probably piss off a lot of people. Not that I mind that on this topic. I have found most landlords I've had contact with to be extremely oblivious and more than a little bit racist in varying directions. Don't get me started on my state's laws concerning the subject.

Also don't get me started on asshole judges who have zero compassion for the immigrant children coming before them. How dare you? How fucking dare you? I am so disgusted. If I did not dislike reading law books so much, the immigration situation would push me back to school. I am very annoyed. Food it is.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

I have decided that tonight I am going to take a walk down memory lane, because I'm just trying to figure something out for myself. I haven't been able to let go of something that was said over the weekend. Mostly because it's been said before. Also, I do recognize it is less about me and more about this other person's perception, but that they have this perception bothers me. And I'm not sure what to make of it.

I was told that I am sexually manipulative, and that I use my overt sexuality to get my way. I know this person was just lashing out, and they have even admitted that I have not been trying to be sexual at all. But they still said it when angry, so it's in there somewhere. And because that has been said before, it really gets under my skin. I was also told that my lack of being overtly sexual is also manipulation.

I like to think that I am very careful with my sexuality. I would probably be much happier and much more fulfilled if I could be looser with it. I just can't. That is not me. I am very much a relationship kind of sexual person. There has to be connection for me, and not just “eyes meeting across the room let's go bang” kind of connection. I'm just not attracted to it. Such instances are not able to shut my mind down so that I can enjoy it. And frankly, there's just nothing superficial about intimacy for me.

My body is a temple. My mind is a temple. My heart is a temple. My soul is a temple. To offer one is to offer all, and the very idea of using it as a weapon is sacrilege to me. For someone to see kindness, support, compassion, and interest as manipulation concerns me. But then I have to realize that their life has what has caused them to see this. I also realized from some other things that have been said, that there is insecurity about whether they believe themselves good enough for me. And that breaks my heart for their sake. I have tried very hard to counter it, but I don't know if I'm going to be able to. I'm not sure that I'm okay with that.

Also, when looking backwards, I am pretty sure that I have not encountered that either. Not in that way. I have always been with men who are quite confident in themselves to one degree or another. I certainly have never been the one leading the sexual interest. Am I flirtatious? Absolutely! A good flirtation can take years off of one's age. Do I tease? Of course! Never in a manipulative pull away manner, though. Am I overtly sexual? Goodness no! I am too much of a dork to be overtly sexual. When I try to be overtly sexual, I crack myself up and just end up laughing. I don't think I could be overtly sexual if my life depended on it. Maybe for a short time, but then I would just grin really cheesy because I pulled it off. My dork-factor, when happy, has no limits.

It is true that I am touchy feely with my lover. There is an intimacy there that soothes and relaxes a man. Plus, I just enjoy showing and receiving affection. That is not manipulating. The belief is just so confusing, and I wish that I could see it. I'm trying to see it in myself.

Perhaps I have a misconception of myself. Younger me definitely could not have done that. She did not have the sexual confidence in herself to do so. I have the sexual confidence in myself. I know who I am. I know what I like. I'm not afraid to say what I like. I'm not afraid to show what I like. And I definitely make it a point to understand what my partner likes. Does that mean that I potentially come off as manipulative? Is it because I make a point of learning and understanding my partner's desires and where my partner feels pleasure and how my partner feels pleasure? Not just sexual pleasure.

I think what is throwing me about this is that I would think if your partner goes out of their way to do all of these things, and does so in a natural manner that brings the person joy, why in the world would there be insecurity? Is that a warning flag to me, or is it something that can be overcome? I have already changed my behavior because of accusations of flirtation. I enjoy lighting up a person's face. That should not be a negative thing. This sucks. It really, really sucks.

Maybe I'm not going to look back at the different men I've dated. As I write this, I think about how careful I am. I think about how I watch my wording. I think about how I don't really share my creativity with him, because I don't like the responses or lack thereof. I think of how I go out of my way to learn everything I can about his profession so that when we are speaking on important topics concerning it, I can be a good listener and have an informed discussion. That tends to get overlooked. I wonder why I am finding all of this acceptable? Have I forgotten what it feels like to share passions with another person that I am also intimate with? I think I possibly have. I think I possibly have. Meh.

I am also realizing as I write this, that part of what bothers me beyond the accusation and him not seeing me accurately is that I have pulled back my sexuality to such an extent that I am wondering does this mean I will have to keep it pulled back because even me pulled back is apparently “intense” to him? That is concerning. That is concerning.

At my age, it is not like I am going to want to rip him apart. Well, maybe. But I definitely enjoy some psychological play. I enjoy intimacy. I enjoy discovery, curiosity, the melding of two souls learning each other. I can make almost anything intimate. There's much more fun in creating intimacy out of the mundane because it's unexpected! In fact, I'd take intimacy over sexuality most days.

I don't know. The whole masculine space of today confuses the hell out of me. I wish I understood better how persons of my age group navigate it. I have spoken to both single men and women on today's dating. Especially women. I definitely would not be comfortable navigating it in the same manner that they do. It is rather humorous to be so very open and forward-thinking yet feel as if I belong in a different time. I guess I'm just a hypersexual prude. (Please don't read that clinically, dear reader.)

I have to figure out how to not allow what was said to place me on guard. I am tired of constantly squishing myself down for other people. I've squished myself so much I'm not even sure I know who I am anymore. Sexually manipulative... I am tempted to scorch him in an October Libra spotlight and let him feel what being overtly sexual would actually feel like, but that would probably be considered manipulating. Plus, he'd enjoy it too much, and I refuse to reward such a comment.

This sucks. I miss when men would charm the hell out of you and actually court a woman. Give me a Neanderthal over whatever is happening in the world today. I'm truly unsure if there's decent, available men at my age who do not flinch at the simplicity of my magnitude. That's not fair. I'm sure they exist... somewhere out there in the great beyond.

Between that and a few other things said, I just know that I don't enjoy having my loyalty and character questioned due to his insecurity. I can have compassion for insecurity. We all have insecurities. I am unsure if I still have the patience for weaponized insecurity. It makes me sad.

Clearly the comment has riled me. I don't succumb easily, nor feel a sexual tug towards someone easily. It takes a lot for me to let my guard down. A whole lot. He knows this very well. Not riled. Hurt. I strive to stay naked in our exchange. I find myself feeling like covering up. Damn it all!

(Definitely not edited into a fluid read, but that's how my journaling is. I let the words land on the page where they want to, and hopefully manage to gather something from my stream of consciousness.)

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

I just made myself eat canned salmon for lunch. I haven't had canned salmon in a very long time. I don't like salmon, in general. Not cooked, not canned, not smoked. I only like sashimi with a generous dollop of wasabi and pickled ginger.

Because I haven't had it in forever, I forgot what it looks like upon opening the can. It looked worse than sardines. When I eat sardines, it is with skin and bones. This had skin and bones, too.

I may give the other cans away.

This is a note to myself that I will likely never read. “No matter how much you like sashimi, and no matter how much you think your body would enjoy having the canned salmon added to your diet — it is not for you. The bones are different than in the sardines, and it's possibly even more fishy. Ugh! You just burped salmon! You never burp! Nope! No! Nadal! Whatever were you thinking?!”

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Tonight I am rattled. I thought I had gotten past being able to be rattled by projection, but I clearly haven't. It sucks to know that someone is likely just verbally lashing out due to their own stress, but they take things so far that it can't be unheard.

I am just not emotionally equipped for the whiplash. I can feel it, or I can numb down, both acknowledging and burying at the same time. It makes me so very tired.

I think I just have to accept that this is part of that person's personality as it has happened numerous times over the last handful of years. But so many promises along those lines were broken tonight.

In the books I'm reading, one of the main characters constantly silently says to himself, “You will not break me.” I don't know how many times I've said that to myself over the last decade or more. A lot. I was taught to put on a brave face, smile, and never let them see you sweat. I've occasionally broken those rules and lived to regret it.

I am concerned about my emotional response. I am concerned about my analytical response. I dislike the emotional manipulation. I simultaneously understand and don't understand it, but that doesn't help. It just makes things worse.

I am trying to carefully journal to get it out of my system without really saying anything too detailed. Trust is so very important to me. Intentional destruction severs something inside of me. I don't really get upset over minor breaches. Everybody screws up at some point. The big ones are a whole other ballgame. Tonight had extra innings. Look at me using sports metaphors like I have a clue about what I'm saying.

As I write this out, I realize that I do not like the position this places me in. I really do not like the position this places me in. I try to be like the Lotus — rooted in earth, flowing with water and air. I think I grow weary of the dance, and wish to sink back into the chilling, dark depths of a solitary escape.

I have been told by more than one person that I simultaneously over-empathize and over-intellectualize. I can't argue that. It has long been my default setting. To do anything other takes a lot of willpower and effort on my part. I've been placing real focus on “compassionate boundaries” the last year or so. Setting up boundaries for this particular person is just really challenging. Really, really challenging. Sometimes it feels like in order to find peace in this world, a person must barricade themselves beyond the stratosphere. A dangerous act of self-innihilation for sure.

I made myself sleep and have started my day. I dither between vacancy and expulsion. Is it possible to truly become tapped out? I think maybe it is. I know that the fire still burns within. I can feel it there — a slumbering coal in wait. But I am unsure if I desire to kindle. My worldly observations are not for the faint of heart, and the instinct to retract my energy is overriding the illusion of hope's success. I wonder if this is what it feels to be the walking dead.

Mask back in place, I ready myself for another step. I am becoming void. Just one... more... surrender...

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

With noodling neck, romancers raze the living. Slipping. Sliding. Seductively slithering. A curve towards the masses. A bend where tongues fork sway. Plate not the bowled defendant. Shout “Spaghetti!” and twist delay.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

When I was younger, I thought the choice women my current age made to be alone was strange and sad. Now that I am this age, I see it in a very different light. I think they just grew tired of constantly needing to tiptoe and wear masks around partners who claimed to like them as they are, but showed otherwise. At some point, it's simply no longer worth the energy.

Tonight, I am sad. I am tired. I am alone. But at least I can mostly be myself. It is too bad I prefer having a partner. I'm not sure I still believe one exists for me. Sometimes, it would seem, that knowing ourselves becomes a liability. This world breaks my heart.

Also, I still think macaroni is disgusting. It's mushy, cheesy, bland, and I don't like the way it feels on my teeth. I don't care if the world loves it or if it's been baptized by truffles and lobster. It's still gross in my book, and I refuse to pretty up my words so that someone feels better about themselves. It's macaroni! I'm sure there's plenty of food I like that another might find beyond disturbing. The utter ridiculousness baffles me to the point of a mind-numbing stillness.

© 2026 AnOublietteofThought. All rights reserved.

Late this afternoon I had the pleasure of listening to a loud conversation celebrating the “bold greatness” of he who is going to drive me to homicide by the very people he's going out of his way to crush. Thank you for that, thin walls of my dwelling. The dissonance is real, and my brain is woefully shattered. My heart? My soul? My...patience.

I'm attempting a smidgen of diplomacy in my scrawl, when I really want to be dropping f-bombs left and right and banging my head numb against a brick wall. Just for reference, I don't really bang my head against walls. I respect their right to remain erect and grant me the privacy to be naked in my own home too much to do that. However, in my itty bitty noggin, I am a headbanger extraordinaire. Especially when the batshit crazy invades my space.

Fucking hell! I just don't get it. Unless you're a pasty, rich, white guy who has dipped himself in Cheeto sludge in an attempt to get mistress number four to look past the latest STD you got while getting banged by Ronny in the truckstop head after a late night meet-n-greet with Jesus because you went and blew your kid’s college fund on some crypto scheme, what in the ever loving Hello Kitty makes you fall for that idiot's bullshit?

Where is an asteroid when you really need one?

Also, quit calling and texting me. I get that the election is a big deal where I'm at, and people are working themselves into a tizzy because oopsiedoodles the red sleight-of-hand fudged things up a bit too much. I'm just going to block. Know your audience. There's plenty of public writing with my actual name on it to clue you fuckers in on if I want to attend anything that has the names you're mentioning.

No. Just no.

They did the whole “send them to an island” thing. I wanted to open my door and request a one way plane ticket. A remote island where I'd need not be aware of the extraordinary amount of hatefulness, greed, and intentional ignorance in the world sounds like paradise. One of the young women in the group even passionately expressed that she hoped women's voting rights would be taken away because “she ain't got time fer that.”

Clearly.

I am now going to go make myself some healthy ice cream, pop a few glycine, slather myself in magnesium, begin the eight Dungeon Crawler Carl book, and hopefully sleep the night away. This shitshow needs to stop before all of the fumes ignite. (I'm looking at you, Supreme Court of the Useless and Deranged.)

Just checking to see if this works. If so, this afternoon's mood tunes. I can't dance on my feet, atm, so I shall dance while sitting.😸