Adventures in solitude, indeed.

There are times when life hands you some unexpected shit.  Take me, for example.  Last year, I thought I was fairly happily married, would be trying to have a child this year, and was actively directing a play by a dear friend while maintaining co-directorship of the burlesque troupe I founded.  My health was fairly good; I was on the paleo diet and loosing weight.  By all accounts, things were good.

Reality, when faced with honesty instead of blind hope, paints an much more mercilessly fucked up picture.  The marriage(s) had been failing possibly even before they begun, as my husband and wife were a better match for each other than I was to them.  I tried.  Dear god, did I try.  And they, in their own ways, tried, too.  Sometimes, I think we might’ve nearly killed each other in the process.  Towards the end, things were calmer, but that’s probably because in hindsight we emotionally separated before we actually talked about doing it. It’s over now.  The divorce papers should be in the mail to me.  My life needed to and is in the process of starting over.  As I left New Jersey for Mississippi, I wasn’t sure about much of anything except needing to get away.  Polyamory left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I didn’t know if it was circumstances or that I couldn’t do it anymore.

I’m not quite ready to have a child yet since I’m still on my anti-anxiety/depression meds.  I’ve been thinking long and hard about whether I should go off them or not to have a child.  If I really need them, it might be more selfish to go off them to subject myself and anyone around me to the hormonal imbalances and subsequent mood swings plain, old pregnancy brings, let alone what might still be my grab bag of emotional and brain chemistry issues.  On the other hand, I might could soon not need the meds.  I’ll only know once I try.  But clearly…not ready to have a baby from my womb meats yet.

Thankfully, the play went off brilliantly and was received quite well by most I spoke to.  The thanks go to Jeff for a great script and to the amazing cast I had the privilege to work with.  A few of the people in the production are now very close friends and it also helped me re-establish a friendship with someone very dear to me.

Burlesque…I don’t know what to do about burlesque.  The troupe is in extremely capable hands and is thriving from what I can see.  My future with it is uncertain.  I don’t know how much time and effort I can dedicate to it, and it deserves so much love and energy.  Plus, last year was harder on me than I realized.  Putting on a character as I was losing touch with myself took it’s toll.  Right now, the pendulum has swung wildly away from glamor spells of my old religion, of the multitude of characters I’ve created for stage or work or my relationships, and is now seeking out who the hell Genevieve is, what she wants, and where she’s going.

In the process of that, I’ve done a lot of food self-medication to get me through the dark times of separation, losing my job, and moving halfway across the country away from almost everyone I’ve ever known.  It was time for me to take a giant step back, examine my life, and figure out the next part of.  In short, I needed to have some “adventures in solitude.”  Turns out, that’s the name of a New Pornagraphers song.  My friend Jamie posted it to my FB when I wrote about how finally, my passion was back.  Great song, and very fitting to where I am and where I’ve been.  It’s also great to have my passion back.

Revelations can come at such unexpected times.  As I I was emailing a dear friend about polyamory, and the simple reply I intended was nonchalantly pushed out the window by something…alive, breathing, invigorating.  Passion took over.  I got out my poly bible, “The Ethical Slut.”  I found my copy of “Opening Up.”  As I explained why it made sense to me, what the pioneers of the ethical slutdom had to say, I realized that the question of whether I was polyamorous or not anymore was really being answered in what I wrote.  It wasn’t “this is what I used to believe.”  It was very strongly, clearly “this is what I believe, this is what works for me, and just because my first primary poly relationship didn’t work doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try for it in the future.  Along the same lines, I recently pointed out to the same friend that poly shouldn’t be blamed for the demise of my marriage(s) any more than monogamy or heterosexuality should be blamed for the demise of his previous relationships.  It’s not the style that’s the problem.  As long as it’s practiced honestly, actively, and happily it makes a lot of damn sense and works really well.

Writing about it really put it in perspective for me, and I’m profoundly grateful for that clarity.  When I was finished with the email, I also realizing how much passion I have in advocating for polyamory and also for sexual freedom.  I need to do something with this, but I don’t fully know what yet.  My sister and I have talked about collaborating on an erotica series.  I have some unfinished manuscripts floating around that desperately need attention.  I’m near a major city, so I think I should check out if there are any organizations I can join. It’s so fucking wonderful to feel invigorated, to find an important piece of my own puzzle.

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