Breathing Briny Ocean Air (so to speak)

Third time's a charm. That's right, folks. I'm getting married a third time. This is coming from the girl who at twenty-six, with no boyfriends in sight, felt a deep desperate horror that she would grow ancient without ever marrying. I felt so ugly and unloveable. And now, in less than fifteen years, I married and divorced twice and am now approaching my third marriage. 

"My aunt has married nine times," a co-worker told me when I confessed how uncomfortable I was being married three times. "But she's probably a sociopath."

My partner, Steve, brings out the me in me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have another relationship inside. Relationship exhaustion. 

I don't know how I ever thought polyamory was a good idea. It goes against everything I want in life and I'm still emotionally paying for that. 

Always trying to find myself, I felt even more lost the past several years, twisting myself into coupledom. No wonder I avoided dating for so long. But feeling so lost meant choosing things that grated against my core, like a polyamorous lifestyle. I'm still recovering. 

This last year was: Simplify. Simplify. Avoiding excess stimulation. Rotating through the same meals. Having a routine. Self care. Why the hell am I blogging? It feels like it fits. No pressure.

I have lots of blogs in me, anger blogs, grief blogs, lighthearted, heavy. Today is a warm up. A short hello after a year convalescing. (In the past, doctors prescribed ocean visits because the salty air was good for the infirm. Wouldn't that be nice?) 

I am ready, but my engine idles.

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