The serendipitous taste of living, loving and lust.
Hello, and a warm welcome to my springtime shutdown blog.
Why did I go silent and unreachable for a few weeks - you may have been wondering. If you have been following my public sphere, you'll know what I’ll address for the majority of this blog.
If you don’t know, buckle in! As I’m going to do my best to convey the last few weeks plus some hopes, joy, manifestation and introspection for the next hour it takes for me to craft what I wish to publicly say right here for whoever shall read it.
For those of you who are members of my private club, ‘The Woods Club’, there is already a more detailed blog hidden behind that paywall that accurately and visually depicts what I’m going to dance around a little here. But for privacy, this blog shall be a little more metaphorical.
March, simply put, has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions. I’ve faced my own mortality in a way no one my age should ever experience. You may think I’m joking, but I am not. There were moments in the last few weeks, several, when I truly thought ‘this is it’. Moreover, it has been a moment of real clarity for me that life is such a fragile concept, and we spend far too much time not considering that it could end in a snap of one’s fingers and not enough time out there truly doing extraordinary things that bring us the maximum amount of joy. All the stress and responsibility feels like a trap, we get stuck in it and only when we suddenly find ourselves sat in an A&E department with what can only be described as an unknown head trauma (can confirm, my least favourite thing involving the word ‘head’) - can we, me specifically - consider that we simply have not lived life in meaningful way, enough.
This month, I experienced something I’m going to refer to as the ‘E.T headache from hell’.
Now you may see the word headache and think, ‘for fucks sake, she’s on about a headache’.
Well, let me entertain you and regale you with how a ‘headache’ almost ruined my life.
It started with a bang. The most intense and unusual headache of my life, so extreme that I was sent straight to A&E, do not pass go, don’t wait for a GP appointment- straight into the fire. My head was trying to self-implode, and there were symptoms on the side that my head had never produced before. This began a two-week ordeal where I progressively got worse, my ‘E.T headache’ was mimicking serious life-threatening conditions that were debilitating and, quite frankly, terrifying. But there is something here that is quite affirming. I don’t do standard illness; much of my life has been a tale of extremes. I extremely like sex, so I make a living from it. My love for the arts is an all-encompassing extreme; I don’t go a day without consuming or creating it. And of course, if I’m going to have a medical emergency, it’ll be because the specific type of medical emergency is so rare that it takes almost two weeks for a Dr to finally work out what it is and treat it. I found myself at last in the 1% club of something! And I will not shut up about it for the next few months, as my admittance to this one almost ended me in a comedy of errors.
You perhaps are wondering how I’ve landed on the moniker ‘E.T headache’. Well, you may laugh here - I did when I realised it. But there were a few times I escaped the hospital. And by this I mean, I was left alone waiting with no answers, and my cranial explosion was doing things to me that the environment there was not conducive to conscious thinking or even clear thinking at all. I became a tad disoriented and utterly obsessed with going home. I imagine a confused, petite in stature and exhausted little maniac who is half paralysed and unable to walk in a way that doesn’t inspire an Oscar-worthy performance of a drunk at sea. Take that and mix with a dash of hand obsession to make sure the digits are still doing what I ask of them with a mumbled mantra of ‘home, I want to go home’ and bingo! You have the E.T headache from hell, doing a rather hilarious and ‘I wish I could see the CCTV and then set it on fire in a trash bin’ experience that I shall never forget and pray never to go through ever again.
So here lies the ruins of Winter Woods, two weeks in the extraterrestrial state of a head that decided to become a grenade on a whim.
I have not wobbled out of it unscathed; there has sadly been a fallen soldier in this fight.
My eyesight.
In the last few days, I’ve had time to finally sit with this and absorb it. I may seem a little vain or self-indulgent here, but there is a shock I have to find peace with, to go from perfect vision to my current state, overnight, with a lightning strike. And now, I require glasses. Yes, you are reading that correctly! I now wear glasses and will have to do so for at least a year before having my eye checked again to see if it’s corrected itself or if this is a permanent consequence of my brain committing an abduction.
I do have it on great authority that I suit the look. But it is taking some getting used to. And I’m having to relearn how to do my make-up and make myself what I view as attractive again, with the impairment to what I can see. It’s frustrating, but at the same time, I’m very thankful that it is only my 20/20 vision I’ve lost and not something easily rectified with specs or recoverable in the sense I live and breathe to see what I hope is many more days on this earth. Whatever planet my head went to this past month can get in the bin too, with the evidence and memories.
You may have realised, reading this, that there is something obvious that I also lost during this whole ordeal. And that is my ability to work. Not only did it put me in situations of genuine peril, but well, I perhaps wasn’t as close to death as I believed I was at the time, but as there was no answer and morbid mimickers, I had no other way to view it all at the time. But it also completely put an end to all the kisses, touches, tongues and sweat. There was no sex, love making or fuckery. The only thing being fucked was my life and well-being, which should be a criminal offence. I’d like my brain to serve some time… on a beach, I’ll get to that!
I almost lost everything.
And now, I’m in a period of recovery and rediscovery.
I want my life back.
And I want men, warm and hot, in my bed every day and every single night.
I’m sure you can imagine what I’ve endured. Haemorrhaging money, unable to cook for myself, travel cheaply, the medication, the eye tests, the glasses, suddenly thrust on me with a balance to be paid. So now I find myself in a place of instability. My mind and health may have settled and recovered to their new base point. But there’s work to do to get myself back on solid ground professionally and financially.
What I need the most right now are dates. All of the dates! I need to get out and see the world again; my lips have done far too much praying and not enough slaying. Break me out of this alien convent and get me back to being the Winter Woods.
A Gothic little sex bomb is the only weapon I wish my body to wield.
My diary is open from today through until, well, forever. Because not only do I have a backlog of bills, but I am also so incredibly horny I fear that in itself could trigger my little ‘E.T’ problem. Stress is a trigger, wonderful, excellent… do people understand how stressful modern life is? The world we’ve built for ourselves is not conducive to a stress-free existence. We are kingdoms built on the stress and strain of those at the bottom and the constant wheel of ‘go, go, go’ driven into the heart of a capitalist society. I digress, we’re where I!
Oh yes, help.
I need help. I do, there’s no shame in that. And if you are reading this and the helpful sort with a heart so big and golden, he can’t read this and not do something about it. Then, thank you, because I’ve left a lot out of this for privacy’s sake, and it has been the truest form of the phrase ‘A LOT’.
The number one thing I really could use right now is a second set of glasses. As I only have the one, I can’t wear them in any photographs or work snaps due to them being recognisable or connected to my other life. I have another public life, and never the two shall meet. I’m sure you can understand. Also, everyone keeps asking to see photos of me now in my brand-new life, which I can’t share yet.
They would be the glasses I wear for dates, also an investment for those with a kink for the hot intellectual woman in the room. I’ve found a pair, they’re red to remind me of the trauma that made them a requirement, but also as it’s my favourite colour… and as I can’t wear my red bottoms for a while, as I find my footing, I think adding a touch of colour to my face would be a worthy replacement. They have been added to my throne, which you can find here - Throne.
Secondly, via throne, you can also help me more directly with a little love note of well-wishes that get me back on track and caught up on all the responsibilities that life has put before me in a conspiracy with my E.T brain to cause maximum havoc.
Now, let’s do some manifestation. I can say this with complete conviction. ‘I have never needed a holiday more in my entire life’, a hot and sexy break that doesn’t break me but breaks the back bone of stress and realigns my sanity. You’ll see on my website a page called ‘run away with me’ - please do, I’ve discounted trips away for the entire year that are comparatively less than an overnight play date. Don’t walk, run! Run away with me this year, and let’s live life to the fullest.
And finally, some things would really help me right now. I sold most of my clothes to pay for things (initially it was due to weight-loss as I’ve dropped another dress size. Yay, small victories! However, the funds had to be reallocated away from new clothes due to *gestures to all of the above) - so I am in need of a few staple wardrobe pieces. Alongside toiletries, groceries and anything a gift card can cover, whilst I work to pay for the important and utterly dull things I am responsible for that the clusterfuck impeded. There is also the truth that my confidence has taken a knock, as I adjust to my new look and learn myself anew; it would be nice to get some of that back. And be the bad bitch I know and love completely. Thistle and Spire are having a sale, and if you wish to help me get my sexy back, then that is an option. It’s not my most coveted, as unfortunately, life’s essentials are, but as I survived the alien invasion, I think I deserve a little luck, so I’m going to put my manifestations out in the universe and see what happens. Below, I’ve linked some gift cards that would be greatly appreciated. My email is datewinterwoods@gmail.com
Uber (to get me to my further appointments as I do have to attend more medical commitments for a while)
And now I’ve reached the end of this chapter.
I do hope it is the end and not an ongoing storyline that just won’t die. No matter how much it feels like it. I want to thank two people in particular. Over my many years in this life, I’ve made some great connections, extraordinary ones in magical ways. To Mr J & Mr M, without your support during this time, I don’t know how I’d have gotten through it. Help isn’t always a physical thing, it’s conversation and a simple ‘I’m here for you, I hear you, you aren’t alone’, and for that I’m so very fucking grateful. It’s no secret I lack the family unit that many take for granted. For me, I am the head of my house, and it’s a very small house, derelict in truth. And somewhere along the way in the ten years I’ve been ‘Winter’, these two found me, and I found them right back. The friendship is real, and I’ll always cherish it.
For now, it’s goodbye.
A less dramatic one than I was envisioning a week ago. Far less tears and terrible poetry that dances with death. It’s less so a goodbye and more so, I hope, ‘a see you soon’.
With all my love,
Winter Woods x
