I’ve watched you for a while now and I have to say that I am disappointed.  You seem to be proud to have been the other woman.  What makes you think it’s ok to be out here ruining lives without remorse?

So this post was a draft from 2017.  I am not 199% sure what prompted me hitting the drafts today but the Universe doesn’t make mistakes. I do, but the Universe does not.

I recall this email, and my immediate fuck you response to it.  I never got beyond posting the video though.  I no longer attend every fight I am invited to and this was one of those moments.  Funny how it’s drifting through my head right now though.

Have I ruined anyone’s life lately? To answer that question I would assume I ruined someone’s life at all.  I don’t think I have.  I’ve fucked up from time to time but ruin? Doubt it.

So what is the mentality of the ‘other woman’?  Short response is that it depends on the woman.  Since I am the only woman I can speak for without speculation I will share a little of the history of Nicole.

Once upon a time I was afraid to love.  Frankly I am still afraid in a lot of ways, but these days for the most part I plow through fear.  The more I do it the better I get at it. This is one of those moments though when I have to ask myself….yo bitch WTF.

I’ve spent the last 18 months moving to this moment and trying to separate the corn from the husk is proving more challenging than I imagined.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past 18 months reminding myself that the Universe doesn’t make mistakes, and as I type this I don’t want to alter that.  That is a lesson I need to retain, and if I did a search for terms here I would be reminded that more often than not I confirm that the Universe always has my back.  Who has my front though?  Who is going to block me when I do something epically stupid?

I absolutely understand that I can’t move in anger.  I absolutely understand I can’t move in uncertainty.  I absolutely understand the risks in front of me.  I absolutely understand that if I ‘fail’, I can get back up again.  With all this understanding though, I am still here typing this instead of answering the offer letter.

What offer letter you ask? The one for a new opportunity in San Francisco.

In the immediate days after the Daddy person went back West I became laser focused on making that the last trip he’d have to make to see me.  Yes his babies are still here, but seeing me was not something I wanted on his agenda.

I don’t think I’ve unpacked the trip totally here.  I also don’t think that I will.  Too many intimate moments to describe in detail.  Too many variants to pick just one.  The Cliff’s Notes version is I love him, I miss him, I want him, I have questions.

In the week after his departure the ‘phone’ didn’t ring.  I even interviewed for a different position at the current gig, you know that place I don’t want to work at any longer.

Then I got an email.  Then I took the advice of the little one and took the interview.  Then then I knocked that shit out the park, and before the close of the business day they sent me a link behind which was my offer. Yep, even knowing I was in Philly.

I needed that.  Seriously.

My work ego is tattered after the year with this current job. This reminder that I really am that bitch was needed.  I also needed something to move me off the fence and missing him was that moment.  In another moment I am going to have a conversation with myself about why I needed a catalyst.  This ain’t that moment. This moment is me taking all the data of the past 4-5 days and making it coherent.  There is something I need to know and right now I am missing the fuck out of it.

Or not.  The fact that I can’t see it might be the whole ass answer.

I am simply at a point with Daddy that I never expected to be.

I am at a moment that looks like something I’ve seen before, and I keep saying this ain’t that.

It feels like it though. If nothing else I can just say that up until about a week ago everything made sense, even the shit that didn’t, and now what doesn’t make sense won’t move from in front of me.  If I am the irresistible force it is the immovable object.

I also keep hearing his voice from that Sunday night…make it make sense.

I can’t.

What I also can’t do is separate the idea that this could just be cold feet and trauma response vs gaslighting.

And yep that is a word.

The fact that I would even type that in a thought about the Daddy person.  Yeah.  Whitney Houston there is a problem.