ladyloveswolves7

With all the casual and not so casual cruelty, outright torture and murder of animals for fun, profit, food and just plain human nastiness, in your face every day, it is no wonder that people in PETA come across as unhinged sometimes. It must be like Sisyphus every day only ugly and worse and even more demoralizing. It seems like it would slowly drive you loonytoons and that members would start to go over the edge and do crazy stuff.

Saw a photo of my sister posted to Facebook by her grandson yesterday. She was at Michelle's place for Thanksgiving (Swiss Chalet). It was only a back view and her hair looked terrible and she is chunky. I realized as I was looking at the picture that it was always ME that maintained contact and did all the running around to maintain a relationship with her..never ever the other way around. I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she actually drove anywhere to visit any of the homes I have ever lived in. Last time she wrote was that nasty, snubbing email on June 29, 2021 and since I did not reply and have not reached out since...there has been silence. I do not even comment on her Facebook posts. It is like she is dead to me...but I still mourn the loss of what we did have.

I stumbled across something weird and interesting and shocking. There is a sexual category to be pigeonholed into...like heterosexual, homosexual, lesbian, trans, and asexual. Asexual has a lot of subcategories like caedsexual and fictosexual. I suddenly realized that there was an explanation for my disconnection in the physical...why my body just did not seem to be aware and that my mind drove me to do things that it thought it should do at the time but the body was just an instrument and not a participant.

Wow, to finally know at 76 what the fuck was wrong with me my entire life and realize I am not alone in this either. Amazing. It explains why I never understood other women's craving for sex or craziness when they did not get it or their pleasure when they had it. I can remember stretching my mind trying to understand something ...like hearing a sighted person describe colour.

It was like that with religion, everyone around me with faith, and me wondering how do I get that. All those trips to every denomination church, all those services, all those bibles and nothing. The mind and body just refused to belief. I wanted it, I wanted what those people seemed to so fervently believe but in the end I not only could not believe but found it hard not to think that they were PUTTING IT ON for effect. It is still unreal to me and I still look at people spouting their beliefs as not quite all there.

All those books I read with sex and never able to actual ask a human female 'what is it like...what does it feel like'. No wonder this last fifteen years have been the happiest of my life, no wonder growing old where I and society no longer think of me as a sexual being and not having someone is a normal thing, or not being interested at all in sex or masturbation or books with sex or anything to do with sex..can now be considered normal because I am PASSED IT.

I no long have to hide what or who I am from people. I love having my bed to myself, I love single person stuff. There is so much shit I don't want anyone else to see or know about, that I never want to have to explain to another human being. Basically, anything I ever want to see or do is best enjoyed alone, on a bed with a book or a computer or a notepad and no other noise whatsoever.

I do not want people/men to look at me with appreciation or with sexual intent. I am neuter in all the tests I take on personality. Introverted and of no sexual identity whatsoever. It is why I put on so much weight...a fat suit to hide behind. In 2013, I lost a lot of weight because I felt safe from that gaze in men's eyes and then Finton made a pass that I had to deflect and I felt the fear and within a short period of time I had my fat suit back on for five years. This year with Peter gone and Finton gone I am again losing the weight. I walk the world oblivious to other people of any sex. All my friendships and acquaintances came to me...I never sought them. I never tried to MAKE a friend or chase a lover...I often tried to fend them off at the start but if they were persistent then gradually I started reciprocating..not because I physically wanted to (I was often repulsed at people wanting to hug or say I love you or kiss you even on the cheek as they arrive or depart) but because my mind told me the motions required. It never ever felt natural and spontaneous. There are still a minimum of people in my life, I am not a joiner, I do not like to socialize, I do not like small talk. I also have no filter when I am forced into situations where I am one on one with another person. Words just seem to flood out of me...to keep them at bay or to drive them away. I hate going outside and talking to people can be excruciating and I am always happy when I go to get the mail etc. and meet no-one. I like a lot of alone time. I like having my own shit around me untouched by others.

Why I recognized caedsexual (result of trauma). None of what I read stated the trauma was in childhood. I was withdrawn and an outsider even before it happened but disconnected forever after. Chicken and egg. What I am, what I might have become as a result of trauma is certainly not a choice. It is what I have been as long as I can recall.

Haphazard and inconsistent childhood...nothing to hold onto...no safety net. Life was so random and precarious. Adults so untrustworthy and unavailable. No love or affection from anyone except predators wanting sexual things. It appeared that all I had to offer the world was my body and that body was wooden and it was my mind that was bruised.

Speaking of families - memory is so unreliable but my recollection is: Wendy was always MY responsibility. She was also the winsome little girl who stayed for dinner, got the cookies and freshly baked bread right out of the oven from neighbours and landlords. I was the one across the street shivering looking in the window. I remember ironing (standing on a box), I remember scrubbing clothes in a cement sink on a washboard, I remember putting clothes through a ringer washer and hanging them on the line in all kinds of weather. I remember frozen sheets. I remember dampening with a sprinkler bottle or putting in the freezer. I remember peeling a million potatoes and scraping wax off floors and rewaxing. I remember painting all the green squares on the huge linoleum kitchen floor on Queen Street while my mother painted the white. I remember hanging wallpaper with my mother. Where was Wendy? I do not remember her at my side sharing chores. I think I remember dinner preparation or dishes at Queen Street when Bent came into our lives. Too bad I cannot ask her her memories of that time....the bitch has decided I am a waste of her time.

The internet and email arrived in my life at a perfect time and suits me. My perfect relationships are faceless people sharing their minds electronically.

Ah, as for the asexual subsections:

The sexuality of being attracted to fictional characters, people who play those characters, and occasionally to other fictsexuals or avid fans

Person 1: Why don't you go out with some real people instead of fantasizing about X-Files characters all day?

Person 2: I can't! I'm fictsexual.

My fantasies never include me..as me. I am always watching and manipulating from behind the scenes or if I am one of the characters...I can be any sex but always focused outward and never recognizably me.

When I read a book there is a mind picture that forms, a taste almost of the atmosphere, a sense of the space, a visual of the characters and a feel for entirety

I am reading a book for the second time and find it is an entirely different experience from the first time. That fact is what makes rereading possible. Depending on how much time has elapsed since the first reading I may or may not enjoy a book as much the second time or I might enjoy it even more. One can age out of books or grow into them. This was just as funny and I still love Jane even if my visualization of her has changed. It was a really good series and I am glad there is another one to read and wish there were more.

I think this explains how I can reread a book multiple times and every time is like the first.

When Kira called on Friday to tell me Andy died and I was so shocked I don't remember the details very clearly. So I went on line to check how they determine time of death because he could have died any time between Sunday and yesterday or today (that part I missed when the cops broke down the door). I read about lividity and rigor and stuff like that. So then I went back to my book the final Dixie Hemingway and damned if within an hour I wasn't reading about her finding a body in a pool of blood and the lividity of his bare legs. Now this is book number ten in the series and not one of the previous books mentioned lividity in any context. So it is another instance of the weirdness that is my life.

I wrote the above note to myself (I am beginning to keep track of these oddities).

I finished the Blaize Clement series and had planned on reading Laurien Berenson’s Melanie Travis series so I started that series yesterday before Kira called. I am now on book number two in the series and all of a sudden it hit me…Andy and his wife bred standard poodles and I had one of his black poodles (I named him Starsky). Starsky’s was originally named Booberry and his sister Baaad To The Bone had a kennel name of Razzberry. Razzberry went on to get in the record books as having three champion offspring. Andy and Shan used the kennel name Khairoh and I was doing online research on it today before I went back to my book and realized that this series is all about Peg who breeds black standard poodles and Melanie her niece who is learning to show a black standard female Faith. I was reading along about what is involved in showing a dog, the ribbons, the judges, the care for hair and it hit me…more weirdness of timing in my life.

I just went back into the notebook that tells me when to breathe (I stole that from Donna Andrews’ character Meg) and found this entry from July 21st. I was reading Virginia Lowell’s Cookie Cutter series and eating a cookie and thinking about the bucket of Tiffany coloured fondant I had in the cupboard. I have never baked a cookie in my life and when I got the first novel in this series it just so happened my neighbour gave me a cookie cutter for Christmas (a tiny weirdness)..it was attached, to some tea towels she was buying for me, as a decoration. Off my own bat months later I bought myself a poodle cookie cutter because I have a poodle and when I got a cat I got a cat cutter. They sat on my fridge and I was hoping my store would have Pillsbury sugar cookie dough that I could roll out and test my cutters on…there was no thought in my mind of actually making my own dough. Anyway, I was just wondering if I could roll out fondant and use cutters on it just to see what it would look like and so I tried it and it worked a treat. Not only that but I got to use my mother’s rolling pin that I have had in drawer since 1993 and never used. I then did research on line with question and learned there is such a thing as fondant cutters but it said you could use cookie cutters too…which I did. Then I got to the final book in the series Dead Men Don’t Eat Cookies and on page 13 – dead man with what looks like a cookie cutter necklace I found and one of the ladies says “it is even smaller than a fondant cutter”. This is book six in the series and this is the first mention of fondant or fondant cutters – not ten minutes after I did a search about fondant cutters. I have had that bucket of fondant for almost two years and my cookie cutters almost as long and this was the first time I connected them in my mind..of course I had been reading cookie cutter mysteries and royal icing so the leap to doing something with my cookie cutters was not a leap but the rest of it….weirdness. I have so many instances of this…was it Jung who postulated the great unconsciousness in which we are all linked?

I have frequently joked that there are times I feel like my head is broadcasting and the world is picking my brain because as soon as I think of something…it appears on whatever I am reading or watching or listening to or someone mentions it.