PontificaMuse

I’ve been having visions of dying alone when I’m old, but not in the normal, sad story way.  It’s a liberating image, passing away in my sleep with no fuss, no muss, no family spatting over how to take care of me, or fighting over who gets my stuff, or making me feel guilty for having the nerve to die and leave them.

After years of disappointments, failed relationships, and seeing more of the bad side of people than not, the idea of being completely alone with myself has more appeal than I ever expected.  I’ve put my all into too many relationships, until I no longer have enough for myself.  It’s fucking exhausting.  Of course, they always start mutual, such that I even thrive under the support and encouragement of another.  But it always, always changes. And somehow, in the end, I’m left as the only one still giving to the relationship, always getting taken for granted.

I’ve tried each time to not become bitter, to not carry the pain of past relationships into a new one.  But fuck it.  I’m embracing bitter, wearing my pain as my armor.  I know I can always rely on me.  I relish the beauty of being alone.

I wrote prolifically, pouring my soul onto paper through the tip of my pen, raw, unedited, fully exposed.  From the chaos of my mind, feelings that ranged from optimistic and happy to angry and irrational and everything in between spilled onto page after page over the years.  Some of my musings and rants became fodder for essays, poems, and very short stories, a select few of which were pretty great, and others…definitely less so.  Regardless, I loved to write!

Until one day, quite abruptly, I lost that passion.  More accurately, it was stolen from me, though that is a story for another day.  I created PontificaMuse to reclaim the cathartic outlet of simply writing.  I have no idea where this path will take me or how this site may morph. My goal is simply to rediscover my voice and perhaps amuse, inspire, or occasionally commiserate with others along the way.