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My life is in transition, and I knew going into this birthday, it would be hard. I usually take if not the week of, at least the day of, off, but I couldn’t this year. I moved right before it. I had class that day and so much studying to do. There was no getting around how hard the day would be.

Add to this the trials and tribulations of my early days in my new city: Got sick the day I moved. The movers didn’t deliver my things until a week after my birthday. I was sleeping on the floor on blankets and my back was killing me. I had a huge exam to study for and was nervous as fuck. It was all too much. My birthday was doomed long before the day of.

My friends and my boyfriend tried to make the situation better. I was able to come back for Fourth of July weekend and see folks right before my birthday. I spent a lot of time with Phox. He gave me my gifts early. He was so thoughtful and so kind. My friends sang Happy Birthday to me on the 5th right before I had to drive back. All-in-all, everyone did their best.

But I woke up turning 43 with a sadness that didn’t really let up for the entire day. Despite the birthday texts and a call with Phox, I stumbled through my responsibilities with the weight of depression holding on tight and not letting up. 

Finally, a hail Mary: I saw a movie. SuperGirl. Thank goodness. Some small spark of happiness bloomed. Maybe it was the escapism of a film. Maybe it was my doing something just for fun. Maybe it was feeling comfortable, resting on something that wasn’t the floor or a camp chair, for the first time in the city. Whatever it was, I was just happy my mood changed and I felt less sad.

Ultimately I know this is only temporary. I have just finished my first month in this job. Only twenty-three more to go. As a person who counted down the days until residency graduation, I can safely say this is WAY better. Having more freedom than in residency, in a program that has less required time, and getting to do the thing that inspired my journey into medicine everyday is amazing. It’s just hard being away from those I love.

I am currently heartened by the fact that I am in a liberal city and have made contact with the kink scene here. I am hopeful that community and *fingers crossed* eventual friendships will help make my time here enjoyable.

But for now, 43 will go down as a stinker of a birthday. So be it. Worst. Birthday. Ever. Hands down. No contest.

This hasn’t happened in quite some time. This feeling, familiar and exciting and nerve wracking and full of hope and dread at the same time.

You give THE BEST hugs. And purr so nice in my ear. And have the most adorable smile and nature. It was very obvious I wasn’t the only one to notice. You were absolutely the bell of the ball. I almost felt like I was standing in the way of your adoring masses, having time to have a one-on-one conversation with you. But I was very happy to have met you and got to spend some time with you. And I got a hug bye, too.

While studying today, I found myself randomly thinking about all the nasty mean things I want to do with you or that I want you to do to me. Blowing you on my building’s patio at 2am, hoping none of the neighbors see us out their windows. Grinding on your dick on the lounge couch, hoping no one comes in or hears us as they pass by. Fucking me while I’m bent over my bathroom sink. “You like that?” you ask with a hand around my throat and the other gripping my hip for more leverage to pound into me. Your teeth at the crook of my neck. Your lips around my nipple, devouring my breasts. I want to be filthy for you. Can I be filthy for you?

I thought of you sitting on the patio couch facing towards the view of the city, your left arm stretched out across the back, your right hand in my hair, encouraging my throat farther down on your dick, with those passing by none the wiser.

The image of your eyes locking onto to mine through the bathroom mirror; making me watch you as you’re fucking me senseless. At first I was leaning over the sink, washing my hands, rocking my hips back and froth because it felt good. But then your hand slides across my lower back, and then down my skirt, forcing the fabric to the floor. A slight swift kick to open up my legs. Your seamless unbuttoning of your jeans, unzipping your fly, and then easing into me. My head lolling, my gasp echoing off the tile, only for you to grip my hair, pulling my vision back up to see you, see us.

I’d gag on it if you let me. Gag gladly til I cried, then beg you to let me keep going.

I masturbated thinking about you. 

Shit, I am so fucked…

I’ve come to the point in my life where I don’t put up with a lot of bullshit. This is especially true when it comes to men. Don’t get me wrong, I have had wonderful experiences with many different men. But I have also been disappointed by many, many more. 

A great example of this was this morning. 

Friday during my shift, I got the bright idea of actually scheduling fun things for this weekend. I already had one thing lined up, but I ended up scheduling three more things.m. It’s the weekend: Let’s have fun!

One of the things that I scheduled was a breakfast date with a gentleman who actually approached me on the street last wee. It was very random but also kind of cute. He was moderately attractive, not a 10, but at least a solid 5 to 6. I was willing to give him a chance.

Our texting for the week had been haphazard. My life is busy. And I made it known when he approached me that I was not going to diminish myself to have other people fit into my life. So I made a specific date and time with him for a 10 AM breakfast today. He gave me a yes, so I thought we were good. 

I woke up this morning at 9 AM and I texted him at 9:30 AM asking again for confirmation for our breakfast. There was no answer. 

At that moment, I had a decision to make: was I going to be bummed by this apparent ghosting or was I going to go on with my day, allowing for joy and happiness to be an option. You know which one I chose.

I decided to get breakfast from the restaurant I had planned for us to eat at to go. I was also going to walk to a nearby coffee place while the food is being made. I had my morning planned with what I believed to be lots of self-care. Or just a little treat. 

So it was that at 10:30 AM I was about to step into my apartment complex when I got a phone call; it was him.

This ended up being a not great interaction. I guess anyone could’ve guessed that. I expected an apology or a plan for another date. He told me he didn’t think I was serious and he didn’t know if I liked him. In my mind, I thought “How would I know if I liked him if we haven’t interacted in person save for the 5 minutes that we chatted when I met him?” His words then took on an accusatory nature and it was obvious to me that the conversation was going to get heated. So I said, I’m just gonna back away. He said OK and hung up on me.

I think in his mind, he was humbling me, or trying to assert dominance, or… I don’t know. I don’t know what was the point of all of this. He approached me on the street. He asked for my number. I was just going about my life and this random person inserted themselves into my day. I left open the possibility of maybe. And he talked himself out of pussy.

Part of the spiel I gave him when we first met was that I have a big brain, a big mouth and a big ass, and I am not willing to diminish any of those for any man. My life is full without a partner. I have lots of friends and I have a purpose that helps drive me each day. I love who I am. I like the idea of a partner who, you know, loves all of that about me. And I’m not willing to change that for some random who said hi.

So yeah, that happened this morning. After he hung up, I walked into my apartment, checked my mail, said hi to some of my friendly neighbors, and then sat down and ate my delicious breakfast and drank my delicious coffee. I watched two episodes of The Pitt. And I prepped some Heated Rivalry art that I am going to put on my wall. All in all, this has been a lovely day, despite that one little blip this morning.

Love yourself is so simple and yet so profound. In a world that tells women to acquiesce, to diminish, to beg, I refuse. I love me. My friends love me. We’re all great. So if you want to be a part of my life, you need to see that and love that too. If you want to change me or diminish me or belittle me or to humble me, goodbye.

I love this blog. It has been a part of my life since 2008. I have posts centered on people who are no longer living. So much of my life I shared in this space.

And then my blog was hacked, and I almost lost all those memories.

I got the blog back, barely. And the fear and mourning I felt when I almost lost this space gave me a wake up call.

So, I need a break from being this open. I need to figure out how I want to move forward in this space. And I need to give myself time to do that.

There will be more posts, more stories, more of me. But, for now, I need to hold this space for me and let less of myself out there for a world that isn’t always kind, caring, or respectful.

I don’t even know where to start.

Even though my favorite numbers are 5 and 25, in general I don’t like odd numbers. So during my 41st year of life, things just felt odd. Off. Maybe it was because it was a time of transition, where literally everything was tenuous; it was always front of mind that this stage in my life was coming to an end.

Now I am living in the world of that transition, my future laid bare before me, the fruits of my efforts finally ripe for the picking.

Thus with this birthday, I feel settled. Not in a way that precludes change, for as a person we are always changing, and as a doctor I am always learning and growing, but in a way where I feel fully in myself, accepting of myself, and happy with the person I am.

Monty Python fans will appreciate the title of this post, and it does feel like I am living in my meaning, my life’s purpose, for being here. I am finally a doctor. Not just a resident, but an attending making decisions for my patients and helping to guide them in their healthcare as they see fit.

Along with my career accomplishments, I am feeling more in myself emotionally. Though I want to see my therapist more, I do have one and she understands the restraints of my job, granting me ease when it comes to scheduling appointments. (Saturday morning therapy sessions are a game changer.)

I have embraced, and fully evangelize, my status as a nerd and the many ways I embody that word. I am a TV nerd, a board game nerd, a writing nerd, a romance nerd, a movie nerd, and, my favorite, a sex & kink nerd. I know so much, love sharing what I know, and learning even more from others. And though I do not share the many facets of my life with everyone in my life (re: work life balance, keeping certain folks out of my business), I am not ashamed of any part of me. 

My ties to the people in my life that matter, my friends and family, feel strong and secure. This was especially evident to me during my graduation party, when forty people made the time and effort to come and celebrate my hard work over the past twelve years. Seeing the different sects of my families (my father’s side, my mother’s side, and my play cousins) congregating together and sharing a meal warmed my heart in a way I did not know was possible. My friends from all over, even from states away, being able to join in on the celebration, and meet some of my family, helped me see the beauty in my multilayered life. What a great party. What great moments.

In my break before starting my new job, I had the luxury of just being. For two weeks, I did nothing but sleep, eat, and read. During the entirety of my break, roughly two months, I think I burned through eight books. I forgot how much I loved to read just for fun.

I saw Beyonce. I saw Clipping. 

I went up to New York three times this summer. I experienced Shakespeare in the Park for the first time. I saw Audra McDonald as Gypsy Rose Lee. I let myself weep at Hadestown. I went to the Warriors silent disco in Lincoln Park. I visited the Kit Kat Club and saw Cabaret for the first time. I intermittently laughed and balled while taking in the wonderful play Purpose. I ate three meals at Gale’s Broadway Rose and visited MoMA twice (collecting multiple magnets, two art books, and one Snoopy plushy along the way). I got to tap back into the me that has nothing to do with my job and everything to do with art and enjoying each moment of my life.

In this meaning of life year, as I suffer the slings and arrows of a new position, learning and growing from lessons big and small, my hope, and my goal, is to still remain me, growing in my purpose every day.

May the fun and frivolity abound this year as I rebuild my roster (since I’ve moved), figure out the mess that is my mother’s house, organize and purge my new apartment, and settle into this life I get to live. 

I am indeed blessed.