Namaste blog tribe
I’ve been fucking with this blah-g for six and a half years now.
That’s a hot minute.
When I started it, I was at the end of a nine year marriage what was one of the saddest, most neglectful relationships I’ve ever endured. Then I left Australia after about a decade, and came back to a city I had to escape from a very long time ago for reasons outside of these parts. 
And she saved me, Manhattan picked me up, brushed me off and gave me a chance to use the only resource I have beyond my every day being – ink – and build a life for myself in midtown, Writing.
I really didn’t care though, because my heart was broken. So I entered quick into another relationship, with someone completely sad and self destructive. In the end, I’m glad I helped him. I also reached a point where I needed help, but my whole life was on the other side of the world. Besides that, I don’t ask for help.
One thing I’ve learned being on my own – ask for help when you need it. Don’t expect anything, but asking helps.
I finally asked the Universe to stop kicking my ass for a minute. With men, explicitly. I’ve had some really shit ones.
And you’ll never believe what happened like, three weeks ago…
A French painter essentially fell from the sky and landed at my feet. For the past few weeks, I’ve been being fed, and feeding, some of the finest French cuisine up and down midtown east. Licking spoons and holding hands. Speaking French, writing French love poems and planning a trip to French Polynesia, and possibly the south of France.
I’m about to go write a story about high heels to include in my latest novel. I finally know how it ends.
To all of you who have been here from jump, thank you and love always. Some ride.