I started writing F*ckery Free, the sequel to F*ck You Watch This, back in the summer of 2022. After all the fuckery I have experienced in my life, it was quite nice to start writing a book about living life completely void of fucks. When I was on my last big solo trip to Norway, Croatia and Czech, I hit the 25K word mark and decided it was time to stop, take a breath, slow down, keep living life and come back to it later.
That was nine months ago. A lot has happened since then, and I recently realized that I might actually have fucks to give. But it’s not about the number or the significance of them, it’s about what they represent.
F*CK ONE: Living my dream.
I woke up one Wednesday morning in early October and decided I hated where I was living and where I was working. I gave a fuck about my life and my happiness, so I donated everything I owned and packed up my SUV with what belongings I wanted to keep (and of course my souldog, Bula), and moved to New York City.
It wasn’t easy. I worked my ass off for two months, pounding pavement every day to find a job and an apartment. But I gave a fuck about my future and fulfilling a dream to live in the big city, so I did it. My other massive goal for life in the big apple is being discovered as the talented writer I am… with three published books in just one year, I was determined to live in the publishing capital of the world.
I query agents and publishers every weekend, so far no luck. But I won’t give up. I know how competitive the market is, but I also know how much passion lives in my writing and my insane imagination.
F*CK TWO: True love.
Friday, May 19, 2023. My nine-year-old bulloxer, Bula, didn’t scarf down her bowl of food like usual. She eventually did eat, but she grazed throughout the day instead. I thought maybe since she’s aging, she is just changing her routine a bit. But within the next two days, she didn’t eat much, if at all. I didn’t want to overreact but I felt like something was wrong.
Wednesday, May 24, 2023. After trying a steroid and prescription to treat a possible infection, the vet found cancer – it had spread everywhere and she was too sick to continue living. My hand shook and tears burst from my eyes as I signed the paperwork to euthanize.
She died in my arms at 5:30 PM.
My next big solo trip had already been planned, and I reluctantly went on it… even though I had to force myself, I was feeling too depressed with Bula’s sudden death to go try and have fun. I smiled through some good moments of sightseeing and taking tours of the cities Budapest, Florence and Rome. Fake – all fake. I slept much more on the trip than I did anything else, and that made me feel guilty as well as ashamed. Things at home were so shaken, it was not easy to have a good time out and about.
I was not myself. How could I be myself while overwhelmed with so much grief? All I wanted to do was come home to this apartment that I built from scratch with Bula and continue to sob and mourn. I figured if all I want to do is sleep and cry, I should just do that at home.
I thought I always knew how much I loved Bula, but it wasn’t until she left my life that I truly felt that she was the love I’d never known with a person. She was my true love. And so, I care about true love. I give a fuck about true love.
F*CK THREE: My passions that make up WHO I AM.
I woke up yesterday and realized that there was one thing the big solo trip had taught me (or maybe re-taught me is the better way to put it). I’m still audacious. Despite the insane levels of grief and other turmoil going on in my life, I fucking flew my ass all the way to Budapest, then to Rome, took trains to and from Florence with cancelations and bullshit… and ten days later, I flew ten hours back home.
I’m a lot of things, and not a lot of things. But I know exactly what those things are.
I’m loyal, loving, caring, honest, and empathic. I have a lot of creative talent: writing, painting, designing, ideation, video production, photography. I have people skills (cue Office Space quote) that naturally draw others in and exude levels of trustworthiness and a will to guide. I’m funny, smart, curious, creative and crafty.
I’m not a good singer, cook, mathematician, softball player, runner, exercise enthusiast, fashionista, makeup lover, political conversationalist, budgeter, or texter. I’m terrible at dating, too.
I give a fuck about the powerf in my passion, impact in my talent, and tenacity in my drive. I give a fuck about helping people be successul and doing so independently, in arenas where my talent is appreciated and embraced. I’m ready to dig deep and find that girl who wouldn’t have ever given up, and bring her back to life.