Material Concerns

As much as I might strive to rid myself of materialism other than a certain level of comfort, fun, and pride in my values, it would seem that life tends to relieve me of it without my help.

I’ve never been completely homeless—unless one counts hopeful transit without a sure destination in mind—for more than 24 hours. Of course, that was when I was an attractive and charming teenaged runaway. I also used that charm in which to get myself professional jobs later on with a nearly unbeatable presentation.

As much as I may sympathize with prostitutes having known quite a few, I’ve never actually been one (by choice; I’ve accepted offers I could not refuse, but that’s another story). I’m lucky that way in discovering and largely preserving my sexual sacred. I’m not interested in describing such a thing in detail to strangers and children. No. Sorry. This isn’t Kindergarten! Not everyone gets a turn. Yecccch!

Everyone is not equal. Status, experience, and character all count; albeit my notions of “status” are esoteric. Experience doesn’t necessarily grant one wisdom albeit it helps. Character is one of those fragile notions that are informed by one’s own experience and don’t translate well from one ideology or religion to another.

Since I have experienced profound connection and intimacy lasting as long as five years, albeit usually less, albeit tending to transition to friendship, I don’t pretend to provide some sort of philosophy that can be perpetuated over generations. Rather, in my experience, my best partners have been those who either do not have children, are estranged from them, didn’t want children in the first place, or are otherwise broken genetic specimens with no desire to perpetuate their own pathology. Such pathology was just as likely to have been perpetrated upon them by their own family members, and that of their parents, their parents’ parents, and so on.

Excess population in relation to resources always leads to atrocities, with perhaps an intervening “cult” phase, and I am not referring merely to strong language on the internet. I understand that some people believe that my only moral choice was to abandon myself at some sort of religious orphanage, convent, mission, etc., and to be celibate after what was done to me. I however chose to reclaim my own sexuality for myself rather than to live in fear of it. After all, with a Reverend for a father, which ideology should I have embraced? Yours?

Persons with intact, positive, growing families really have no place in my world and they have the right to insulate themselves from me. Hope is essential when one has children and the depths of despair to which I have been subjected to are not trials that I advocate. I didn’t chose them. I was born into them.

I started “running away” as a child and you could say that I’ve either been really lucky or there are some form of “angels” watching over me. I have had some incredibly positive experiences to go with my tragedies. However, my last spate of tragedies over the last 17 years is about all I think that I can bear. Of course, I know that God is not going to give me anything I can’t handle whether such “handling”; occurs in this life or the next. I believe in Love as the most important thing and stubbornly keep getting up to go search for it.

Having experienced the paramount of Love according to my own values I suspect that it’s all downhill from here. Part of the pain is just sitting here in Florida waiting for some internet lawyer and unseen judge to decide that they’re through with me, and then the estate is legally mine enough to put everything in my name. It isn’t much but what Axel and his father knowingly and by proxy did for me is more than any other man has done for me. Sure, I lived in a much nicer home, with a 30 thousand-dollar Rolex, driving a nicer car, with a fancier husband, but all that was just dust designed to distract me from the greater objective, which was to rob and destroy me. The home was paid for wholly by me. The travel, however, which I had always wanted to do, and the farm (likewise) were phenomenal, even if they were all mostly my idea and also entirely on my dime. Why I somehow felt safer hitchhiking in the U.S. alone in the ’70’s but barely scratched the surface of international travel on my own is somewhat of a mystery to most but not to me.

I remember when the 70’s were over and so was the possibility of hitchhiking alone without problems, in the San Francisco Bay Area. The last couple of times I did it, the drivers who picked me up were incredulous that I would do something so dangerous. Didn’t I know how dangerous it was? That was my signal that media had also penetrated the minds of persons who were less kind who would thereby decide that I was merely “fair game”.

It seems like every man who has ever been hurt by a tall blonde WASP (or thinks that he has) tends to find me. Likewise, every girl or woman who believes that if it weren’t for the existence of me, she would be a fairy princess living in a castle, tends to find me. I admit to being less concerned around the former than the latter. This is largely due, I suspect, to my thinking and brain patterns which tend toward the masculine while still remaining female and feminine. Modern feminine programming just did not penetrate my brain sufficiently. Where it did penetrate in such a way as to make me vulnerable to my future husband however was sufficient for me to realize just how toxic is the programming.

When it became apparent that I was expected to both be obnoxious and a feminist in retaliation toward the whole male sex for my experiences, I had my epiphanies. Why were these women so unhappy but I’m not? I was traumatized but not toxic. Why was I able to attract Axel to me and they weren’t? I felt that I had a mission to perform, and so I started blogging, here and elsewhere, and wrote my one and only book that is actually written under my own nom de plume rather than someone else’s. (In addition to technical writing I’ve done some ghostwriting.)

I’ve started another book however current events in both my private and the public sphere have distracted me and I’ve lost my focus. The loss of Axel’s sister as a friend was a huge blow. (Hint: It’s about money but not in the usual sense.)

After a childhood of changing locales and schools every 2-3 years and otherwise enduring the social issues that entailed, while meanwhile being treated as some sort of a pariah by most of my extended family members (they knew deep in their hearts what was going in on my immediate family and probably didn’t want it to rub off), it came as a great surprise and delight to me that adult men liked me! No it wasn’t just sexually using me. They smiled and we would converse and do things together. It must have been difficult to know that they were falling in love with a kid, and certainly illegal, but, what is a “kid” anyway? Is it someone with loving, concerned, mature, protective parents? Besides I was tall, composed, and “passed”.

I even toyed with the thought of hopping a freighter overseas until men who sounded like they knew what they were talking about talked me out of it. Not for purposes of keeping me for themselves, you understand. They just didn’t want someone else to do me worse.

Men for the most part desired to protect me. None actually wanted to keep me for very long, but they enjoyed my company and liked having me around. Besides, I had ambitions, such as I had been told so many times by teachers, test scores, and of course my men (I can’t really bring myself to call them “boyfriends”) how intelligent I was, my depth of dedication, tenacity, and character, and how otherwise I was practically guaranteed success.

I believed them and became successful! Then I married a trophy husband who had the magical effect of causing my entire extended family to lionize me. It was pretty heady.

Of course, given that it turns out that my husband had actually brought down a major hospital before I met him gives me some cause for relief for not being his only fool. He truly was the “master of manipulation,” he thought himself to be. He shared with me this sobriquet toward the end, perhaps to attempt to goad me into attempting an escape. It worked. I survived. I don’t know whether he expected that last or not.

Meanwhile, as the months roll on, and the estate is still not settled (due to county bureaucratic reasons) I find that the pressure just keeps right on mounting and I’m probably willing to say just about anything to make the pain stop. The pain isn’t nearly as bad as watching my beloved animals suffer and die but it still makes me feel like a slowly boiling frog.

I find as a result that I have nearly no patience for Progressive men interested in trying some conservative strange. The next romantic possibility who even uses the words, “real,” really,” or “reality,” is going to be in for a rude shock.

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