I’ve been quite pensive over the past few months. It started just before Thanksgiving, continued on through Christmas, and still plagues me now that the holidays are over.

Reading Jessie Beth’s post One Year Ago prompted me to go back through my own writing to a year, three years, seven years ago, and read some of the things I wrote back when writing wasn’t all I ever did, and I wasn’t spewing my guts all over the sexy side of the internet. And I noticed a lot of things that I’ve really never noticed before. Huge changes that you don’t really feel when they happen, but are always obvious to other people.

For example, I’m happy. Not just in my relationship, but in my life, as well.

I’m slowly losing interest in our neighborhood, and I’ve come to accept that, even though I love our cozy little apartment, we really need something bigger. If only to accommodate our growing Liberator collection. Though the main reason is our loud-ass bird who thinks he needs to scream his damn fool head off from about 8am till around 2pm. In such close quarters, it’s entirely too loud.

This disinterest in living in a chaotic, crime-riddled environment such as the one we live in now is a brand spankin’ new development. Though I love (in that neighborly sort of way) the few neighbors we have left who haven’t moved away from the violence, I can no longer trust that the danger will stay two blocks away. It’s right across the street. And I’ve come too far, lived too long, gotten way too close to living my dream to let it, accidentally or on purpose, enter my home.

I’ve accepted myself for who I am. I know I’ve still got quite a few faults. As BadBadGirl said this morning, nobody’s perfect. And while once upon a time, I might have touted striving for perfection, these days I think contentment, and comfort, and happiness are far more important than perfection ever will be.

Besides… Perfection is relative, as Sir once pointed out to me on Twitter.

I’ve learned how not to let disagreements interfere with really good relationships. Be they friends, or my owner, or the few people in our family I still like. Love and understanding and acceptance aren’t always easy, but they are essential to holding any relationship together.

I’m marveling at being able to live my dream. I mean, yeah. What I want is to sell a few fictional novels, get rich, buy a house by the ocean, and find a way to turn my wealth into a bazillion jobs for people from all over the spectrum. Especially with how many of our friends and neighbors are jobless because there are none, and not because they lack the skills. But reality’s a harsh mistress, and right now, my reality is I’m getting paid to write about my relationship, and my sexploits, and sex news instead. And I’ve yet to become wealthy in the monetary sense, though my life is so rich it gives even the biggest sweets lover a stomach ache. And nothing I do is generating jobs. And I’m okay with that. I’m still getting paid to write.

I don’t blame myself for everything that has gone wrong in my life anymore. And I’m slowly gaining the wisdom to know the difference between what I caused and what I didn’t. I’m learning that accepting personal responsibility can only get you so far. That at some point, you have to also accept that you’re not always the cause, and lay blame at the feet of the person/thing/whatever that is. This is huge.

And I’ve forgiven myself for the things I did cause.

Baby Rayne is growing up.

Sometimes I look back on the days when I was just Baby Rayne. When hearing about girls younger than me involved in a serious owner/property relationship, or even pursuing one, was almost completely unheard of. When people would laugh at M’s and my relationship, and expect my collar to come off with all the quickness of velcro like other girls my age.

Sometimes I wish I was still just Baby Rayne. With all the naivety of a teenager stepping out into the world with her eyes wide open for the first time. When everything was sparkling, and new, and rosy. And I still believed there was this magic bubble around couples who were meant to be together, and nothing would ever go wrong, and we’d effortlessly live happily ever after.

But it’s hard work, getting to know someone well enough to be comfortable letting your guard down. And then accepting any faults they were hiding while theirs was still up. And finding ways to avoid your own faults because you know they don’t like them and you want to make them happy. So hard that when you get to the point where you’re sinking comfortably into their life, and things are effortless, you’re still suspicious.

I think I’m even beyond that point. I’m not suspicious anymore. I’ve come full circle to scared again. Because I spent so much time suspicious, that now I feel like it’s slipping away, and I’m searching for ways to fill it up with happy memories, and love, and life.

Maybe we have more than one midlife crisis?

Anyone know of a cheap yellow Camaro for sale?

Just kidding. Ew. I’ll take a purple Mustang, instead, please and thanks. What?